The interior of the Korean Hunter Association Headquarters was a masterclass in bureaucratic intimidation. The ceilings were vaulted high enough to accommodate a small giant, the floors were polished marble that echoed with every step, and the air was thick with the distinct, oppressive hum of concentrated mana. It was designed to make the unawakened feel small and the newly awakened feel appropriately reverent.
I felt neither.
I approached the main reception desk, a sprawling semicircular construct of brushed steel manned by half a dozen stressed-looking clerks. The line was mercifully short. As I stepped up to an available clerk—a young woman with frazzled hair and a name tag that read 'Choi'—she didn't immediately look up from her monitor.
"Name and purpose of visit," she said, her voice carrying the flat cadence of someone who had asked that question five hundred times today.
"Akiyama Rinko," I replied, letting just a fraction of the Alluring Whisper bleed into my tone. "I have a 10:00 AM appointment for an official awakening evaluation."
Clerk Choi blinked, her hands freezing over her keyboard. She looked up, and for a moment, her professional facade cracked. The Aesthetic talent ensured I was striking, but it was the sheer, undeniable presence of Rinko's physique and the quiet confidence radiating from me that held her attention.
"A-Akiyama Rinko," she repeated, her voice suddenly breathless. She scrambled to type the name into her system. "Yes, of course. Right here. Japanese expatriate, recently awakened. Please, uh, please take this form and proceed to Assessment Room 4 on the second floor. A proctor will be with you shortly."
She handed me a clipboard with a digital tablet attached. Her hand brushed mine as I took it. I didn't flinch, but I felt the subtle spark of the Sticky Fingers perk activate—a microscopic jolt of electrifying sensation that made her gasp softly and pull her hand back, a flush rising to her cheeks.
"Thank you," I said, offering a small, polite smile. I turned and walked toward the elevators, leaving her staring after me.
It was almost too easy. The Communication talent was constantly feeding me data: the micro-expressions of the people I passed, the subtle shifts in their posture, the underlying emotional currents of the room. I could read them like open books. The Administrative talent analyzed the flow of paperwork and personnel, immediately identifying the bottlenecks and inefficiencies in the Association's structure. I could probably reorganize this entire building in an afternoon, but that sounded suspiciously like work.
I stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for the second floor. I was alone in the car, which gave me a moment to review my strategy.
The evaluation process in Solo Leveling was straightforward. First, a measurement of raw mana output using a specialized crystal. Second, a physical assessment to determine combat class—Fighter, Mage, Assassin, Ranger, or Healer. Third, an assignment of Rank from E to S.
The trick was the crystal. It measured the ambient mana a Hunter naturally emitted. For a normal Awakened, this was a fixed quantity. For me, it was a choice.
With Inexhaustible, my reserves were functionally infinite. If I let the crystal measure the true depth of the well—the combined weight of Vergil's demonic heritage, Morgan's sorcery, and Gabriel's archangelic grace—I would likely shatter the device, just as Jinwoo eventually did. I would be instantly classified as an S-Rank, or worse, a National Level anomaly.
I needed to simulate a cap. I needed to construct a false "maximum" output that would register solidly in the A-Rank tier.
The elevator doors chimed and slid open. I stepped out into a wide, brightly lit corridor lined with reinforced doors. Assessment Room 4 was halfway down the hall. I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The room was vast, resembling an indoor gymnasium more than a medical clinic. The walls were lined with impact-resistant plating, and the floor was a dense, shock-absorbing polymer. In the center of the room sat the focal point: a large, spherical crystal mounted on a metallic pedestal, connected to a bank of monitors and diagnostic equipment.
Standing next to the crystal was a man in a crisp Association uniform. He looked to be in his late thirties, with sharp eyes and the unmistakable bearing of a combat veteran. A B-Rank, judging by the tightly coiled aura he projected.
"Akiyama Rinko?" he asked, looking up from a tablet. He paused as he took me in, his eyes lingering for a fraction of a second longer than was strictly professional before snapping back to my face. The Aesthetic talent working its passive magic again. "I'm Proctor Kang. I'll be conducting your evaluation today."
"A pleasure to meet you, Proctor Kang," I said, bowing slightly in a traditional Japanese greeting. The Paper Trail had established my backstory, and I was committed to playing the role.
"Likewise," he said, clearing his throat. "Let's get started. Please place your hand on the crystal. It will measure your baseline mana emission. Don't try to force it; just let your natural energy flow into the device."
I walked over to the pedestal. The crystal was smooth and cool to the touch, pulsing with a faint, internal light. It was a fascinating piece of magical engineering. The Science and Engineering talents immediately began dissecting its function, analyzing the mana-conductive lattice within the stone and the conversion algorithms running on the attached monitors.
I placed my palm flat against the surface.
Here we go.
I didn't push. I pulled. I engaged the Information Defense to its absolute maximum, wrapping my true power in a conceptual shroud so dense it was practically a black hole. Then, very carefully, I let a controlled, metered stream of Taima particles leak through the defense and into the crystal.
I calibrated the output using the Administrative talent's precise numerical control. I wanted to hit the upper-middle echelon of A-Rank. Strong enough to be a highly sought-after asset, but not so strong that I tipped into the terrifying, unquantifiable realm of the S-Ranks.
The crystal flared.
It didn't just glow; it erupted with a brilliant, blinding violet light that cast sharp, dancing shadows against the walls of the gymnasium. The monitors attached to the pedestal shrieked, the graphs spiking dramatically before leveling off at a high, sustained plateau.
Proctor Kang took a sudden step back, raising an arm to shield his eyes from the glare. "Good lord," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the machinery.
I held the output steady, maintaining the exact frequency and volume I had decided upon. The Stress Defense kept my heart rate perfectly calm, my breathing even. To Kang, I looked entirely relaxed, effortlessly projecting a massive amount of power.
After ten seconds, the monitors chimed a double-tone, and the light in the crystal began to fade back to its dormant state. I removed my hand.
Kang was staring at the main monitor, his mouth slightly open. He tapped the screen a few times, as if verifying that the numbers weren't a glitch.
"Well," he said, his voice noticeably tighter than before. "That is... highly irregular. I mean, it's highly impressive. Your mana emission is solidly in the A-Rank tier. In fact, it's one of the highest A-Rank readings I've seen this year."
"I see," I said, feigning a polite, mild surprise. "I knew I felt different after the awakening, but I didn't realize it was to that extent."
Kang looked at me, a new level of respect—and a healthy dose of wariness—in his eyes. "With an output like that, you'll have every major guild in the country knocking down your door by tomorrow morning. But mana is only half the equation. We need to determine your combat class."
He gestured toward the far end of the room, where a series of reinforced training dummies and target ranges were set up. "You brought a weapon," he noted, nodding at the katana on my hip. "I assume you're a Fighter or an Assassin class?"
"Fighter," I confirmed. "My family practices a traditional sword art. I believe my awakening has... enhanced my ability to utilize it."
"Let's see it, then," Kang said, picking up his tablet and walking toward the observation area. "I'm going to activate the dynamic combat sequence. The room will generate holographic targets and physical projectiles. I want you to destroy the targets and avoid or deflect the projectiles. We're measuring speed, reaction time, and destructive force."
I walked to the center of the testing area, drawing Ishikiri Kanemitsu from its scabbard. The blade slid free with a soft, metallic hiss. It was a beautiful weapon, the steel folded and tempered to perfection.
"Whenever you're ready, Proctor," I called out.
"Initiating sequence in three... two... one."
The room plunged into semi-darkness, illuminated only by the sudden, harsh glare of holographic projectors. Six glowing red targets materialized in a circle around me, hovering ten feet in the air. Simultaneously, a series of hidden turrets in the walls whirred to life, firing a barrage of high-velocity rubber kinetic rounds.
To a normal human, it would have been a chaotic blur of light and pain. To me, it was moving in slow motion.
The Martial talent processed the trajectory of every projectile instantly. The Psychic talent, borrowing a fraction of Evil Morty's predictive modeling, mapped out the optimal path of movement before my muscles even twitched.
I didn't use Void Art. I didn't use Devil Trigger. I didn't even channel a significant amount of Taima particles. I just used raw, unadulterated physical skill.
I moved.
I stepped inside the arc of the first volley, the rubber rounds whistling past my ear by millimeters. I pivoted on my heel, bringing the katana up in a sweeping, two-handed arc.
Itto Style.
The blade sheared through the first holographic target, the kinetic force of the swing generating a localized pressure wave that shattered the second target before the steel even touched it. I didn't pause. I dropped into a low crouch, sweeping my leg out to evade a low-angle volley, and launched myself upward.
I twisted in mid-air, the katana flashing in a complex, multi-directional pattern. Three, four, five targets vanished in a spray of pixelated light.
The turrets recalibrated, tracking my aerial position, and fired a concentrated burst designed to swat me out of the sky.
I smiled.
I engaged just a fraction of Vergil's Dark Slayer style. I didn't teleport—that would give away the Void Art—but I utilized the sheer, explosive speed of the Nephilim physique. I kicked off the empty air, the Athletic talent allowing me to perfectly control my momentum, and plummeted toward the final target.
I brought the katana down in a devastating vertical cleave. The blade passed through the hologram, struck the reinforced polymer floor, and carved a three-inch trench into the material with a screech of tearing synthetics.
The room lights snapped back on. The turrets powered down.
I stood up slowly, sheathing Ishikiri Kanemitsu with a smooth, practiced motion. I hadn't broken a sweat. My breathing was perfectly even.
Proctor Kang was staring at the trench in the floor. The polymer was designed to withstand impacts from B-Rank blunt force trauma without scratching. I had just sliced it open with a sword.
"Evaluation complete," Kang said, his voice sounding slightly hollow. He tapped frantically on his tablet. "Combat class confirmed: Fighter. Speed and reaction times are... well above the A-Rank average. Destructive force is exceptional."
He looked up at me, shaking his head slowly. "Miss Akiyama, you are officially an A-Rank Hunter. I'll have your license printed and your profile updated in the Association database within the hour."
"Thank you, Proctor," I said, offering another polite bow. "I appreciate your time."
"Don't thank me," he said, offering a wry, slightly overwhelmed smile. "Thank your genetics. You're about to become a very wealthy, very famous woman. I strongly advise you to hire a good lawyer before you sign any guild contracts. The big players are going to descend on you like vultures."
"I'll keep that in mind," I replied smoothly. I already had the Administrative and Communication talents drafting the exact parameters of the contract I intended to negotiate. No vulture was going to get a piece of me.
I left the assessment room and navigated the labyrinthine corridors back to the main lobby. The evaluation had gone perfectly. I was officially on the board, positioned exactly where I wanted to be: powerful enough to be untouchable by the mundane world, but obscured enough to avoid the cosmic crosshairs.
As I waited by the reception desk for my license to be printed, I felt the familiar, subtle prickle of observation. It wasn't magical scrying—the Trace Defense would have blocked that entirely. It was mundane, physical observation.
I shifted my stance slightly, allowing the Covert talent to map the sightlines of the lobby.
There. Standing near a cluster of vending machines, pretending to read a newspaper. A man in a sharp suit, wearing mirrored sunglasses indoors. His posture was too rigid, his attention too focused. A guild scout, undoubtedly. But not a desperate, bottom-feeding scout like the one outside. This one had the cold, clinical demeanor of a corporate operative.
White Tiger? Hunters? Or maybe the Fiend Guild?
It didn't matter. Let them watch. Let them report back to their Guild Masters that a new A-Rank had appeared in Seoul. Let them prepare their pitch decks and their signing bonuses.
Clerk Choi hurried over, looking flustered but excited, holding a sleek, black plastic card.
"Here is your official Hunter License, Miss Akiyama," she said, practically vibrating with nervous energy. "Welcome to the Association. It's an honor to have you."
I took the card. It bore my name, my photo, and a large, stylized 'A' in the upper right corner. It was the key to the city. The key to the world.
"The honor is mine, Choi-ssi," I said, giving her a genuine smile. I let the Sticky Fingers aura flare just a fraction as I took the card, a subtle, lingering warmth that made her shiver and smile back, completely disarmed.
I turned and walked out of the Association Headquarters, the morning sun hitting my face. The air smelled like exhaust fumes, street food, and opportunity.
The plan was in motion. I was an A-Rank Hunter. I had infinite power, infinite stamina, and a mind built for manipulation. I had no loyalty to anyone, no obligation to save the world, and a bank account that was about to explode with zeros.
I pulled out my smart device and opened the Bounty Tracker app. The screen populated with dozens of red markers—Gates that had recently opened across the city, waiting to be cleared. Each one represented monsters, magic crystals, and a massive payout.
I selected a B-Rank Gate located in an abandoned industrial park on the outskirts of the city. It was the perfect place to stretch my legs, test the limits of the Devil Trigger without an audience, and maybe see what Morgan le Fay's necromancy could do to a dungeon boss.
I hailed another taxi.
"Where to, miss?" the driver asked.
"Take me to the industrial district," I said, settling back into the leather seat. "I have some hunting to do."