The room was loud until Landen and Maledic stepped through the door. Heads turned, backs straightened. People drifted toward them, slowly at first, then faster, the way a crowd closes in when something's about to happen.

“They finally showed up,” someone said.

“Who are they?”

“The top ranks. Mifaso and Maledic.”

“The top three, in the same room? Something big's about to go down.”

Maledic paid no attention to the chatter. His eyes were locked straight ahead, fixed on what they came here for, like the rest of the room didn’t exist.

Landen, on the other hand, was struggling. The tight space, low ceilings, and wall of body heat made him instantly claustrophobic. Between the stale, recycled air and the suffocating stench of sweat, the pressure was mounting.

Trying to keep his composure, Landen held his breath and scrunched his nose. He was convinced he looked ridiculous. In reality, the effect was the exact opposite: to the onlookers, he looked like a stone-cold mob boss, with Maledic acting as his silent Enforcer.

Suddenly, a figure cut through the crowd and stepped directly in Landen's path.

“Welcome to the Underground,” River said, flashing a smirk. He’d rehearsed this entrance in his head for days, but Landen didn't give him the satisfaction. Treating River like mere background noise, Landen just averted his eyes and walked right past him.

A collective “Oh” was heard amongst the onlookers. “Did River just get rejected?”

Finally, they reached the leaderboard, and Landen immediately spotted his name at the top. Leaderboards were something he was very familiar with. Back on Earth, checking his rank was the first thing he did every morning and the last thing he did before bed, making sure he was still at the top and always gauging how much harder he needed to grind to stay there.

This board had his name at the top too, but it felt different. He hadn’t earned this position the way he had the others. It had simply been handed to him. To Landen, that made the title meaningless.

His eyes scanned down the list:

Second Rank: River Ashlock. Third Rank: Maledic Thorne.

Interesting, Landen thought. Someone here is ranked higher than Maledic.

He turned around. “Who is—River Ashlock?”

“I am,” River said, stepping up again with that same smirk. He kept closing the distance until their faces were mere inches apart, locking eyes.

“They're going to fight,” someone muttered.

“Right here?”

“Right now.”

The murmurs spread. An anxious tension gripped the room, putting everyone on edge—everyone except Landen.

God damn, this guy’s breath is bad. System, is there a way to turn off my sense of smell?

“Negative. Might I suggest breathing through your mouth instead?”

Then I would taste it instead.

"Then might I suggest not breathing."

You’re useless.

He scrunched his nose tighter and tilted his head back to avoid the fumes, inadvertently hitting River with a look of absolute disdain.

“Why are you standing so close to me?” Landen rasped. Because he was suffocating, his voice came out as a deep, terrifying growl.

A flicker of fear crossed River’s face. He scrambled back a step, causing the crowd behind him to shuffle backward in sync. Nobody had ever looked at him like that. There was something in Landen’s cold, unblinking glare that made him feel like he was an inch away from being slaughtered.

Desperate to save face, River forced a smile and offered a hand. “River Ashlock.”

Landen didn’t take it. He just glanced at the hand, scanned the surrounding crowd, and turned his back. He took a long, desperate inhale of cleaner air and sighed with relief.

System... do toothbrushes simply not exist in this universe?

Behind him, River stood frozen, stunned by the cold shoulder. But it made sense—this guy was the top-ranked fighter for a reason. No wonder nobody’s been able to beat him or gather intel on him, River thought.

“So—” River hesitated. “What brings number one down to the slums?”

Landen kept his back turned. It was easier to breathe this way. “I came for information.”

​"Information isn't free down here," Ryker interjected. "You want answers? You earn them in the ring!"

Landen slowly turned to glare at him, pressing a fist against his nose to block the smell. To Ryker, it looked like a subtle, terrifying threat.

“Do you own this place?” Landen asked quietly. “Because last time I checked, my name was at the top.”

Ryker’s posture instantly deflated, and he shut his mouth.

"What kind of information are you looking for?” River asked.

Landen paused, measuring his words. “During the freshman outing, my team was attacked, not by beasts, but by freshmen wearing hoods. I have reason to believe the person who ordered the attack is in this room. ”

The room went rigid again as people began eyeing each other suspiciously.

Then Landen reached into his coat, and everyone reached for their weapons. Maledic tightened his grip on his greatsword.

Instead of drawing a weapon, Landen pulled out two shimmering, glass-like spheres. The ambient glow illuminated the stunned faces of the surrounding students.

​The Rare Bristleback cores.

“Give me the information I’m looking for, and you can have these.”

Everyone leaned in. Those cores would provide a hefty sum of money if they got their hands on them.

Even River’s eyes widened slightly. Rare beast cores of that caliber were almost impossible for freshmen to obtain.

Recovering his cool, River waved a hand dismissively. “No need for a bounty. I can help you—nothing happens down here without my knowledge. If it was someone in this room, I’ll find them and deliver them to you.” He paused. “On one condition.”

"Let's hear it."

“You beat me in a match.”

“I’m listening.”

“If I win, I take your title.”

Landen mentally calculated his options. The title meant nothing to him, but this guy was ranked second, meaning he was likely the strongest person in the room. If Landen fought him right now, his lack of actual combat power would be exposed instantly, revealing him as a total fraud. He wasn't ready for that yet.

“Fine,” Landen replied. “I assume there is a fighting simulator here?”

“The ‘Bubble,’ yes. We have our very own Underground Battle Arena right outside the door.”

“Good. We meet here, same time next week. That gives you seven days to gather information.” Landen turned to leave, then paused. “Oh, and one more thing.” He glanced over his shoulder. “The person they were targeting was Ember Strife.”

The room’s energy shifted instantly. Glances darted wildly from person to person; it was clear almost everyone knew about Ember's situation. Off to the side, perched on a high ledge, Cedric bit his lip to hold back a grin.

Noticing the shift, Landen’s eyes narrowed.

They know.

He immediately dropped into a low stance, tapping the MOBA Bracer on his wrist. Beside him, Maledic drew his greatsword, ready to unleash hell.

Before either could move, River stepped in, placing a heavy hand against Landen’s chest to hold him back.

Landen looked down, feeling the solid strength behind River's arm. He's strong.

“It’s premature to fight now,” River said smoothly, that cocky grin returning. “Same time next week. I’ll bring you the ones responsible for Ember’s attack. In the meantime, let's not destroy what we’ve built down here, shall we?”

Landen let his stance relax and stepped back. “Fine. But understand this: nobody touches Ember.” He swept his gaze across the room with a look that could kill, causing several students to flinch back.

Without another word, Landen and Maledic headed for the exit.

Once they were clear of the crowd, Maledic looked at Landen, proud. “I didn’t realize you were such a badass.”

Landen blinked. “What are you talking about? That felt like a completely normal conversation.”

“Right... So, what’s your plan now?”

“I’ve got a disciplinary session scheduled with Professor Drex.”

Maledic nodded grimly. “Meet me back in the room when you’re done. If you plan on winning that match next week, we need to start training immediately.”

Back inside the den, Cedric slid down from his ledge and sauntered over to his captain, a massive grin plastered across his face.

“Hey, River,” Cedric chuckled. “I know exactly who he’s looking for.”

River’s smile widened.

— — —

Meanwhile, outside the academy in the Highcrest district—an exclusive, elevated region reserved for the wealthiest families—Micah Rush sat slouched in a grand armchair, twisting his pointed mustache with one hand while leaning heavily on a cane with the other.

He offered a lazy wave of his wrist. “Have the maids leave. Immediately,” he ordered in his high-pitched voice.

Beside him, a tall, well-dressed butler clapped twice, gesturing for the staff to exit. The young maidservants hurried out, navigating nervously around the intimidating crowd that filled the grand hall.

It was the Rejects, assembled in full force. Standing right at the front were the casualties of the latest failed strike: the brute, the trapper, the doubler, and the water-user. All four slouched weakly, battered, bruised, and barely able to keep their feet.

Micah was getting impatient. His upper lip twitched as his fingers worked at his mustache. Nothing in his revenge plot was going according to plan, and Micah was a man who demanded absolute perfection. Everything about his environment was meticulously staged to project dominance—from the towering ceilings and plush crimson carpet to the oversized throne-like chair he occupied. It was a space specifically designed for a king.

Pursing his thin lips, Micah addressed the room in that same shrill whine. “I find it hard to believe a whole squad of you couldn't handle a single girl.”

A few guys in the back chuckled at his voice.

“She isn't just any girl,” one of them called out. “You’re talking about Ember Strife. Cindercrest bloodline—”

Micah slammed the tip of his cane against the floor. “I know who she is!” he shrieked, interrupting the man.

A collective shift went through the crowd. Eyebrows raised and gazes narrowed as the students silently questioned who this spoiled brat thought he was, barking orders at them.

“Progress is taking far too long,” Micah pressed on, ignoring the rising hostility. “Pranks and scare tactics aren't cutting it anymore. We need to break her. Make her pay for her arrogance! Kill her if you have to—I don't care.”

The butler leaned down, speaking in a low, measured tone. “Sir, with all due respect, this is becoming an unhealthy obsession. Are you sure you aren't pushing this too far?”

“Absolutely not!” Micah snapped. “Insulting a noble is punishable by death, and nobody insults me and gets away with it. In fact, we're escalating. Whoever brings her to me alive—or dead—will receive triple the original bounty.”

A murmur rippled through the room as he raised the stakes.

Suddenly, a computer terminal nearby chimed, followed by the quiet whir of a printer spitting out a fresh document. The butler stepped over, retrieved the paper, and scanned the text.

“Sir,” the butler said, “a message just came through from Cedric Lowen.”

“Give me that!” Micah snatched the page right out of his hand.

As his eyes scanned the text, a broad, grotesque grin spread across his face.