Lyra stared dumbfounded at the scene before her.
She was inside an impossibly large conference room, pristine and utterly silent, bathed in the bright, warm sunlight that streamed through the vast windows. Across the polished surface of the table sat a figure in a tailored suit, his features obscured by a pure white smiling mask. The man, the self-proclaimed Paradise Boss, was the epicenter of a chilling, profound mystery. He sat in a relaxed yet elegant posture, his legs crossed. The mask's simple, curved expression gave no clue to his eyes, making his presence deeply unsettling.
Snapping back to reality, Lyra forced out the first thought that came to mind. "Is this… an Instance?"
She glanced around the room, knowing that the time difference between the outside world (midnight) and this location wasn't the most shocking factor in a world of Dungeons.
"To be precise, it's an interview location… but calling it an Instance isn't entirely inaccurate," the masked man replied, his voice gentle and measured.
Lyra immediately lunged for her core question. "Do you know my sister? Where is she now? Is she safe?"
Vincent paused, the white mask tilted slightly. "Regarding that," he said, his tone flat and unyielding, "I think that's something you'll need to investigate yourself. I can't give you an answer."
Lyra's bewilderment was plain. "What?"
"This is Paradise's interview location. We invited you here today primarily for an interview. As for other matters—including your sister—you can investigate them yourself after you've joined. The prerequisite, of course, is that you're willing to sign the contract."
The cold clarity of his statement forced Lyra into a long silence. She took a deep breath, focusing her gaze. "Alright then. What kind of organization is the Paradise exactly? Why did you choose me?"
"First, to answer your second question—the most important one—we chose you because you possess the potential to join us. Our evaluation is complete and accurate. We extend this invitation based on your inherent future capabilities."
"As for the first question: What are we?" Vincent tilted his head, the mask's expression unchanging. "We are, for now, a private human freedom organization. If you fear we're connected to the God's Advent Sect or other races, you can rest assured. All our members are exclusively human, and we are sworn enemies of all traitors."
Lyra's brow furrowed deeply. The answer was deliberately vague, offering only a basic security guarantee.
"And what exactly would I be required to do if I joined?" she pressed, trying to find the catch.
"You don't need to do anything specific," Vincent said, shrugging slightly in his seat. "Go to Instances, level up, live your life. The only unbreakable rules are: don't betray humanity, and don't betray Paradise members. There are no other mandatory requirements."
Lyra was utterly perplexed. What was the point? If there were no mandatory requirements, how would this be different from simply remaining an independent Professional?
Vincent, sensing her suspicion, chuckled softly. "You're thinking that there seems to be no difference between joining Paradise and not joining, correct?"
Her silence was agreement enough.
"On that point, I must keep you in suspense. You will naturally know the incredible difference after you sign the contract. The contract contains simple guidelines for member actions, but they are beneficial guidelines, not difficult mandatory tasks. And as for benefits? That, too, you will know once the contract is officially executed."
Lyra frowned, realizing she had learned nothing of substance. The Paradise Boss was obscuring everything—the mission, the benefits, the mechanism of the organization itself. Why so much secrecy?
Vincent leaned back, delivering the final, decisive line. "You don't trust me, I understand. But you must trust your sister, right? After all, she's the one who submitted your resume to us."
The mention of her sister shattered Lyra's caution. The mystery of the man was one thing, but the hope of tracing her sister's whereabouts—and the implicit trust her sister placed in this organization—was everything. She couldn't afford to walk away.
The calculated gambit worked. Lyra was silent for only a moment, her face a mask of internal struggle, before she gritted her teeth in a desperate commitment. "Okay. I'll join!"
Vincent sat up straight, his hands resting on the table. "Excellent. Let's finalize the paperwork."
With a flash of clean white light that seemed to dissipate the sunbeams, a single sheet of paper—an official system contract made of what looked like white vellum—materialized instantly in his hand. He gave it a gentle push, and it slid across the massive table, stopping precisely in front of Lyra.
Lyra picked up the contract, her hands trembling slightly, and began to read. She was shocked by the simplicity of the terms.
Three Core Requirements:
When achieving Instance records (speedrun, first-clear, or public rankings), the name 'Paradise' must be publicly displayed. Act under a chosen codename and maintain the secrecy of her true Paradise membership identity. Never betray humanity.
Nothing else. No financial clauses, no mandatory missions, no legal constraints.
But the first clause—the requirement to break records and enter rankings—made her expression turn deeply strange. She was a Rank 0 Priest. Record-breaking was the domain of Epic Assassins and high-tier damage dealers, not support healers struggling to reach Tier 1.
"I've read the contract, and there are no major issues," she said, looking at the masked CEO with genuine confusion. "But… I'm just an ordinary Priest. Breaking speedrun records and such—do you truly understand my profession?"
Vincent chuckled, a dry, confident sound. "Believe me, Lyra, we understand you far better than you currently understand yourself."
"If you are willing to join," he prompted, his voice firming, "sign your name in the designated area. Then, the meaning of those clauses will become clear."
Lyra hesitated for one final, agonizing moment, then picked up the prepared, archaic quill. There were two signature areas. The first required a codename.
"Are there any requirements for the codename?" she asked, hoping for a final clue.
"The codename can be anything, preferably one or two characters," Vincent replied. "But as a suggestion, you might want a name that leans towards the concept of ice or cold."
Lyra frowned, thoroughly confused by the seemingly random hint, yet she knew the hint must be significant. She stopped questioning. If her sister were involved, she would follow the instructions.
Taking the quill, she signed her new codename decisively: Frost.
With her true name signed beneath it, the pact was sealed.
"And then?" Lyra looked up, the pen still in her hand.
The Paradise Boss was already rising from his chair, a final, gentle gesture of the mask's smile settling over him. "Then, welcome to the Paradise, Agent Frost. If there's anything we need to entrust to you in the future, we will call your phone. Until we meet again."
"Huh? That's it?" Lyra hadn't fully processed the dismissal. The next moment, a flash of dizzying white light consumed her vision, and she felt the familiar, terrifying pull of spatial displacement. Her figure instantly vanished from the pristine conference room.
She stumbled, finding herself back on the worn rug of her own locked room. Lyra stood blinking, utterly bewildered.
That was it? The contract was signed, the promise made, and she was simply sent back without a word of explanation or benefit.t?
Just as confusion gave way to deep frustration, she noticed a faint, flickering purple light illuminating her hand.
Her heart jumped. She looked down, realizing the contract had reappeared, clutched in her grip. But now, eerie purple flames were consuming the white vellum. The fire was silent, magical, and terrifyingly real.
Lyra shrieked, instinctively flinging her hand, but it was useless. The purple flames, acting with the intelligence of a magical parasite, flowed instantly from the contract onto her bare skin.
The burning sensation was not painful, but absolute. She was greatly alarmed. Had she been tricked after all?
Before she could react, her System Panel—the mandatory interface for all Professionals—flared to life, popping up directly in her vision without her summoning it. She watched in horror as the purple fire not only spread across her body but also onto the System interface itself!
Her white, ordinary Professional status panel was now on fire!
The basic text of her class and skills flickered violently, dissolving and rearranging itself as the purple light spread, turning the interface from clinical white to a deep, resonant purple hue. A wave of profound, world-altering energy washed through her.
Lyra gasped, her eyes widening beyond disbelief. She stared at the System Panel, the old, useless text of her life vanishing, replaced by something magnificent and terrifying. Her entire being was plunged into boundless, absolute shock.