The hallway outside Liora’s office always smelled like two things: cigarette smoke and fresh printer ink.

  I used to think it was weirdly comforting.

  Now it just made my stomach twist.

  Hifumi walked beside me with the report stack held carefully against her chest, like the paper was fragile and not the two of us instead. Her posture was straight, but her shoulders were tense in that familiar way—like she was trying to look normal by acting even more normal.

  I wasn’t. I was one breath away from hyperventilating again, and it pissed me off that my body wouldn’t stop betraying me.

  “Okay,” I whispered, staring down at the report like reading it again would magically erase the last forty-eight hours. “We hand this in, she skims it, she calls us idiots, we apologize, we go back to our desks, and we never, ever go near a fast food restaurant again.”

  Hifumi blinked. “…That’s not realistic.”

  “Let me have this.”

  She didn’t argue. That was how I knew she was still shaken too.

  We stopped in front of Liora’s door.

  I lifted my hand to knock—

  —and froze.

  Because voices were coming from inside.

  Not shouting. Not screaming.

  But sharp. Controlled. The kind of arguing that didn’t need volume to hurt.

  “…three high-tier gates this month,” a man said. Smooth voice, irritated like a scratch under silk. “And this is how you repay me?”

  Liora replied, flat and tired. “I’m suspending you because you turned half a shopping district into gravel.”

  A pause.

  Then the man’s laugh—soft, almost amused.

  “Collateral damage.”

  “Collateral damage is a parked car,” Liora said. “Not a bakery.”

  Something hit the desk. Not hard enough to break it—hard enough to make a point.

  “You want to bench me,” he said, voice still calm, but there was an edge now. “After all I’ve done.”

  “I want you out of the field until you can follow orders.”

  Silence. A longer one.

  Then he spoke again, quieter, and somehow that made it worse.

  “You need me.”

  I heard a lighter click.

  Liora exhaled smoke. “I need hunters who can keep collateral to a minimum. Not headlines.”

  “You think I’m the problem.”

  “I think you’re a liability.”

  Another pause.

  My throat went dry.

  A liability.

  That word was not used lightly in a guild like ours.

  The man’s voice shifted, still controlled, but pride cracked through it like glass.

  “You’re making a mistake.”

  Liora didn’t rise to it. “I’m making a decision.”

  Footsteps.

  The door opened before either of us could pretend we hadn’t been listening.

  He stepped out.

  Tall. Clean-cut. Too clean-cut—like he styled his hair even for dungeon raids. His jacket looked like guild-issue training gear, but old, faded at the seams, and the insignia had been scratched at until it was barely recognizable.

  His eyes flicked to us.

  Not curiosity.

  Not interest.

  Assessment.

  “Office staff,” he said.

  Not an insult. Not praise.

  Just classification.

  Like we were chairs.

  He walked past without slowing down.

  The air felt wrong as he passed. Not magical. Not like the system. Just… like standing too close to a running engine.

  Hifumi swallowed.

  I realized I’d been holding my breath.

  From inside the office, Liora’s voice came again, like nothing had happened.

  “Come in.”

  We stepped inside.

  Liora sat behind her desk, cigarette between her fingers. She looked like she hadn’t slept. She also looked like she didn’t care.

  Her gaze flicked to the report stack and then to our faces.

  “Ignore what you heard,” she said.

  “Yes ma’am,” I blurted immediately.

  Hifumi nodded. “…Of course.”

  Liora’s eyes narrowed slightly, like she was evaluating whether we were lying. Then she waved her cigarette toward the chair.

  “Report.”

  Hifumi sat carefully.

  I sat like the chair might explode.

  Hifumi slid the stack forward. “This is the full incident report for the McKing anomaly. Witness statements, timeline, and the response log from emergency services.”

  Liora tapped ash into an already overflowing tray and flipped the first page. Her eyes moved fast.

  I watched her read like it was a bomb she was defusing.

  For a moment, she didn’t say anything.

  Then she sighed.

  “The kitchen vanished.”

  “Yes,” Hifumi said quietly.

  Liora flipped another page. “Only the entrance remained.”

  “Yes,” I said. “And the guy behind the counter just… disappeared. Like the kitchen got deleted.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Liora’s gaze lifted. “And you two decided the best response was to stand there and stare.”

  I opened my mouth—

  Hifumi beat me to it. “We were… overwhelmed.”

  “Mm.” Liora’s tone said that’s not an excuse but it’s an explanation.

  She skimmed further, jaw tightening slightly at parts only she understood.

  Then she set the report down and looked at us fully.

  “You did the right thing by backing out,” she said.

  I blinked. “We did?”

  “You didn’t run into the anomaly.” She took a drag. “You didn’t try to be heroes.”

  Hifumi’s shoulders loosened a fraction.

  Liora exhaled smoke and leaned back. “But you also didn’t report it immediately.”

  My face heated. “We did! We called—”

  “You called after you stood there long enough for someone to take a photo,” she cut in. “Which means this becomes a media problem.”

  I wanted to sink into the floor.

  Hifumi’s voice was small. “Sorry.”

  Liora stared at us for a beat, then waved her cigarette like she was waving off the apology.

  “I’m not firing you,” she said flatly, as if that was a thought that had actually crossed our minds.

  My heart stopped anyway.

  “However,” she continued, “you are staying late today.”

  I felt my soul leave my body. “Why.”

  “Paperwork.”

  “That’s cruel.”

  “That’s employment.” She flicked ash. “You caused a scene. Now you document it.”

  Hifumi nodded like she deserved it.

  I wanted to argue. My mouth opened—

  —and the building alarm chirped once, a short tone that wasn’t a city siren.

  A different kind of alert.

  Hunters in the outer office shifted. A few stopped mid-step like someone had paused them.

  Hifumi’s gaze flicked to them. “Gate?”

  Liora’s eyes narrowed. “High-tier gate, eastern commercial district.” She stood, cigarette still in hand. “Of course.”

  I sat frozen. “We’re staying late and there’s a gate?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s not— that’s not fair.”

  Liora pointed at me with the cigarette. “Fair is a bedtime story.”

  Then she pointed at Hifumi. “You two are on evacuation support. Sector C loading zones.”

  Hifumi blinked. “…We’re still being punished?”

  “You’re being useful.” Liora grabbed a jacket off her chair. “Try not to die.”

  She walked past us like this was a normal Tuesday.

  Because for her, it probably was.

  Hifumi and I stood and followed the flow of people moving through the building. Hunters grabbing gear. Staff pulling out emergency binders. Radios crackling. Someone yelling for cones and barricades.

  I clutched my clipboard so hard it bent.

  Hifumi glanced sideways at me. “Breathe.”

  “I am breathing.”

  “You’re breathing like you’re being chased.”

  I snapped, “Because I might be!”

  She didn’t argue that either.

  By the time we arrived, the sky was already cracked.

  That’s the only way I could describe it.

  Like reality had been pressed inward until it splintered, and now something green and shimmering was leaking through.

  The gate hovered above the street, a vertical tear in the air with light spilling out like fog.

  Barricades were going up. Police were pulling civilians back. Emergency services were trying to form order out of screaming.

  And our guild—

  our guild moved like an organism that had done this a thousand times.

  Hunters formed the front line.

  Support staff, including us, fanned out to direct civilians into evacuation routes.

  Trucks lined the curb, engines idling.

  I swallowed and lifted my clipboard.

  “Sector C loading zones,” I muttered. “Okay. Okay. We can do this. We have done this.”

  Hifumi’s voice came out quiet. “We haven’t.”

  “Shut up.”

  She gave me the gentlest look I’d ever seen from her, which somehow made me feel worse.

  Then the first monsters came through.

  Not slow.

  Not cinematic.

  Fast.

  Armored quadrupeds that looked like someone had fused a rhino with a beetle and then sharpened it until it hated everything. Horns. Plates. Too many joints.

  They hit the street like a stampede.

  Hunters surged forward.

  Light flared—skills, buffs, something like that. I couldn’t see the interface, but I could see the effects: bursts of green and blue and red, shockwaves, impacts.

  Steel rang against armor.

  A hunter took a hit and skidded backward, boots carving lines in asphalt.

  My knees wanted to lock.

  I forced myself to move.

  “This way!” I shouted at the civilians, trying not to let my voice shake. “Keep moving! Don’t stop!”

  A man stumbled, looking back at the gate. “What is that—?!”

  “Not your problem!” I snapped, then immediately regretted how harsh it sounded. “Sorry. Just— keep moving.”

  Hifumi guided an elderly couple toward the trucks, hands steady despite the tension in her shoulders. “Here,” she said softly. “Step up. Slow. It’s okay.”

  I didn’t understand how she could sound like that.

  Like the world wasn’t ending.

  Then I saw it.

  Hifumi wasn’t calm.

  She was focused.

  That was her version of fear: lock in, do the job, don’t think too hard.

  Meanwhile my fear was… everything. Every thought at once.

  A shockwave hit the street, rattling windows.

  I flinched violently.

  And then—

  I saw him.

  The hunter from Liora’s office.

  He stepped through the crowd like he belonged at the front.

  Like he couldn’t stand being anywhere else.

  A couple hunters greeted him casually.

  “Thought you were taking a break.”

  “Changed my mind,” he replied.

  No one questioned it.

  Because why would they?

  He was one of our strongest.

  And nobody knew he’d been suspended.

  Liora hadn’t updated the files yet.

  My stomach twisted into a knot.

  Hifumi’s eyes flicked to him, then back to me, like she was checking if I’d seen it too.

  I nodded once, tight.

  He moved.

  Fast.

  Too fast.

  He hit the first armored beast head-on and cut through it like it was paper.

  No hesitation.

  No teamwork.

  He didn’t dodge—he advanced.

  Every strike looked like it was meant to be seen.

  A shockwave cracked the asphalt beneath him.

  A storefront window shattered behind him.

  Somebody shouted, “Watch the perimeter!”

  He didn’t even look.

  He drove forward again.

  One of the beasts slammed into a delivery truck.

  The truck rocked.

  Civilians screamed.

  The hunters at the edge scrambled to keep the stampede from reaching the evacuation routes.

  He kicked the beast mid-lunge.

  The beast flew.

  The truck flipped.

  I stared, horrified.

  “That’s…” Hifumi breathed. “…excessive.”

  Excessive.

  Perfect word.

  He wasn’t incompetent.

  He wasn’t sloppy.

  He was overwhelming.

  And didn’t care what broke in the process.

  The hunters fought like coordinated chaos—signals, formations, covering each other.

  He fought like he was alone.

  Like the dungeon was a stage.

  And he was the only one meant to be seen.

  A horned monster lunged at him from the side.

  He didn’t retreat.

  He took the hit on his shoulder.

  Armor crunched.

  Then he smiled.

  And split the monster in half.

  Green light flared briefly around him—leveling glow, maybe, or some skill activation. It faded quickly.

  I couldn’t tell what it meant.

  I just felt the chill of realizing how strong he was.

  And how little he cared.

  “Hifumi,” I whispered, still directing civilians with one hand. “This is why she suspended him.”

  Hifumi didn’t answer immediately.

  Her eyes were fixed on him.

  “…He’s going to get someone killed,” she said finally.

  The sentence landed like a brick.

  Because she wasn’t being dramatic.

  She was being accurate.

  A hunter nearby got knocked sideways by one of the beasts. He slammed into a bus stop. Glass exploded. He rolled, trying to get up.

  Before anyone could reach him, the suspended hunter dashed past and cleaved the beast that was about to gore him—

  —but the swing kept going.

  It carved through a streetlamp.

  The lamp toppled.

  It crashed into the sidewalk.

  It missed the injured hunter by inches.

  The injured hunter stared, breathing hard.

  The suspended hunter didn’t even look down.

  He just kept moving.

  Like saving someone was an afterthought.

  Like the real goal was the performance.

  My mouth went dry.

  I kept waving civilians forward. “Move! Move! Keep going!”

  My voice cracked.

  I didn’t care.

  Let it crack.

  Let them think I was pathetic.

  As long as they moved.

  Then the fight shifted.

  The main stampede was thinning.

  Hunters were pushing the remaining beasts back toward the gate.

  Liora moved through the chaos like she belonged to it. Calm. Efficient. Cigarette still in her mouth somehow, even while she dodged a horn and shattered a beast’s armor with a single punch that made the air boom.

  The gate flickered.

  A final beast charged—

  —and the suspended hunter met it head-on, blade buried deep, and forced it back like he was driving a stake through the world.

  The beast screamed.

  He smiled.

  Then the gate collapsed.

  The green shimmer folded inward and vanished like a curtain being yanked shut.

  Silence hit the street in a wave.

  Not total silence—sirens still wailed in the distance, and civilians still cried and shouted—but the battle sound was gone.

  Hunters stood breathing hard.

  Ambulances rolled in.

  Cleanup teams moved forward.

  Civilians behind barricades started clapping, because humans clap at anything that didn’t kill them.

  I didn’t clap.

  My hands were shaking.

  Hifumi’s hands were shaking too, but she hid it by adjusting her clipboard.

  The suspended hunter wiped his blade clean like it was a casual chore.

  Another hunter clapped him on the back. “Good to have you out here.”

  He smiled. “Of course.”

  Then Liora approached.

  Her expression was unreadable.

  She didn’t yell.

  Didn’t argue.

  She stopped in front of him, cigarette ember glowing, and said quietly—

  “Office. Now.”

  He met her eyes.

  Still smiling.

  “Sure,” he said, like he hadn’t just ignored a suspension and rewritten the street.

  He walked past her.

  Past the hunters.

  Past the staff.

  Past us.

  For half a second his gaze flicked toward Hifumi and me.

  Not interest.

  Not threat.

  Just a glance that said: background.

  And then he was gone.

  Hifumi exhaled slowly, like she’d been holding her breath for minutes.

  I realized I had too.

  Behind us, civilians continued to be loaded into trucks, because the world didn’t stop just because the gate had closed.

  Hifumi looked at me, voice quiet.

  “…Kaede.”

  “What.”

  “…We heard her suspend him.”

  “Yes.”

  “And he still went.”

  “Yes.”

  Hifumi swallowed. “That means he doesn’t care what she says.”

  I stared at the street where the monsters’ blood was still steaming.

  My throat tightened.

  “Yeah,” I whispered. “I noticed.”

  Hifumi’s eyes lowered to her clipboard.

  She didn’t say the rest.

  But I could.

  If he doesn’t care what she says… what happens when he decides he doesn’t care what anyone says?

  A gust of wind blew dust through the street.

  A flyer skittered across the ground.

  Someone yelled for more barricades.

  The city kept moving.

  And I stood there with a clipboard in my hand, feeling like I’d just watched something important crack—something that wasn’t the sky this time.

  We went back to work.

  Because that’s what staff did.

  Even when the hunters were the ones fighting.

  Even when the monsters were gone.

  Even when the danger wasn’t.