The transition from the dusty silence of the ruined tower floor to the sterile, buzzing efficiency of the Hunter Association infirmary was a sensory shock. They had given me a name—"Zero"—a placeholder befitting a man with no past and, as far as they were concerned, no documented rank. The title was logical, I conceded. A perfect starting point for a variable.
Dr. Kuroh, a man whose lab coat was more wrinkled than his perpetually worried face, fluttered around my bed. He was the Association's lead Tower Biologist, and he spoke in breathless paragraphs about monster ecosystems and energy signatures.
"Your readings are... clean," he said, peering at a data slate. "Too clean. After a battle with a Memory Reaper, we'd expect psychic residue, temporal distortions, something. But you... you're a blank slate. It's magnificent! And terrifying."
He saw a miracle. My internal analysis suggested a different conclusion: a man with no energy signature doesn't have one to be read in the first place.
My "rescue" had cemented my reputation before I even had one. The story had mutated with every telling: the lone survivor, the silent warrior who had single-handedly slain an SS-rank threat. The Association, led by the politically astute Director Helia Morn, didn't correct the rumors. An undocumented powerhouse appearing out of nowhere was a valuable asset, a symbol of hope. Or a weapon.
My only "power" was the silent, ceaseless stream of data processing in my skull. I watched people, analyzed their micro-expressions, and decrypted their motivations. It was all a complex system of inputs and predictable outputs. A system, I was learning, that governed this entire world. Towers, Hunters, Ranks from F to S—it was a game with established rules. And I was an anomaly who had just broken the scoreboard without ever playing.
My quiet observation was interrupted by the infirmary door slamming open.
"So, you're the big shot who took down a Reaper?"
The voice was loud, sharp, and laced with aggressive skepticism. A woman strode in, her fiery red hair tied back in a messy ponytail. She wore the standard B-Rank Hunter gear, but hers was scuffed and scorched. This was Rika Blaze, and my internal analysis flagged her immediately: Threat Level: Moderate. Temperament: Volatile. Strategy: Predictably aggressive.
Behind her, a man glided into the room with the chilling silence of a predator. He was tall, impossibly lean, and his movements were precise to the millimeter. His gaze was like ice. Valen, "The Glass Blade." An S-Rank Assassin. His presence dropped the room's temperature by several degrees.
"Rika. Your volume is unnecessary," Valen stated, his voice a low monotone. He didn't look at her, his eyes fixed on me. "The Director sent us to assess the asset."
Rika scoffed, crossing her arms. "He doesn't look like much. They say you're SS-Rank. I don't buy it."
"Your belief is not a required variable for the facts," Valen countered coolly.
This was the comedy duo I'd been warned about. The hot-headed B-Ranker and the cold S-Ranker. A classic pairing of fire and ice. He mocked her recklessness; she bristled at his machine-like demeanor. It was painfully predictable.
"My performance is not available for public review," I said, my voice flat. I analyzed their stances, the slight tension in Rika's shoulders, the unnerving stillness of Valen's hands. He had seen me in a past life, the document had said. His stare felt heavier than simple curiosity.
To satisfy the Association, I was assigned a "practical evaluation" on one of the Tower's lower, "safer" floors. A simple extermination mission. Rika and Valen were my designated chaperones.
The floor was a mockery of a forest, with crystalline trees and grass that crunched like glass. Our targets were a pack of Rift Howlers, wolf-like beasts known for their disorienting sonic attacks. Rika charged in, fire erupting from her fists. "Just stay back, 'SS-Rank.' Wouldn't want you to break a nail."
It was a foolish strategy. The Howlers used their sonic bursts not just to attack, but to communicate, sharing a mental link that alerted the entire pack to their position. Killing one would bring ten more.
"Don't engage," I said calmly.
Rika ignored me, blasting a Howler into ash. As predicted, the forest echoed with a chorus of new howls. They were surrounded.
Valen didn't move. He was waiting. For what? For me to act. To reveal the god-tier power I didn't have.
My brain went into overdrive. Asset: Rika Blaze, fire type, short-range explosive combat. Asset: Valen, precision fighter, fragile body, unsuitable for prolonged combat. Environment: Crystalline structures, high sound conductivity. Enemy: Rift Howlers, sonic attacks, swarm tactics.
The solution was obvious. It wasn't about power; it was about physics.
"Rika," I ordered, my tone leaving no room for argument. "Hit the large blue crystal cluster to your left. Full power. Now."
She hesitated, confused and annoyed.
"What? That's nowhere near them!"
"Do it."
Gritting her teeth, she unleashed a torrent of fire at the massive crystal formation. The structure didn't shatter. It vibrated, humming like a tuning fork. I had calculated its resonant frequency based on its size and the ambient temperature.
The Rift Howlers shrieked, their primary weapon turned against them. The amplified frequency I'd created by having Rika strike the crystal was perfectly pitched to overload their sonic senses. They stumbled, disoriented, clutching their heads.
"Valen," I said, turning to the assassin. "Your turn. Precision strikes to the auditory canals. They are incapacitated for precisely 4.7 seconds."
Valen's eyes widened fractionally. For the first time, he looked at me with something other than cold assessment. He became a blur. In less than five seconds, he moved through the pack like a phantom, his blades striking with surgical accuracy. The howls died, replaced by a profound silence.
Rika stared, dumbfounded, at the felled monsters, then at the vibrating crystal, then at me. "You... you didn't even move. You used us like... like chess pieces."
"Your term is crude, but functionally accurate," I replied, stepping past them toward the shimmering gate that marked the floor's exit. "Strategy is more efficient than brute force."
I had solved the battle with logic and traps, just as planned. But as we stepped through the gate, a system-wide alarm blared, red lights flashing across the portal's frame.
[WARNING: UNREGISTERED ANOMALY DETECTED. FLOOR BOSS PROTOCOL INITIATED.]
The gate slammed shut behind us. The ground trembled, and from the center of the crystalline forest, a creature made of reanimated human bodies stitched together by glowing parasites began to rise. A Flesh Puppet, but larger than any Dr. Kuroh had ever described. It fixed its mismatched eyes on me, and from its many mouths, a chorus of stolen voices whispered a single, chilling phrase.
"You do not belong here."