Thanks for 800 powerstones! Bonus chapter will be uploaded later today!
======
I shouldered through the revolving door with Miguel trailing behind me. The CHA-LA lobby stretched before us, all sleek modernist architecture with soaring ceilings and polished stone floors. The usual orderly flow of hunters and staff had transformed into something resembling a red carpet event. Camera crews jostled for position near the central staircase while security personnel in Association uniforms created a human corridor.
"Fuck me," Miguel whispered, craning his neck. "Is this normal?"
"Not even close."
The crowd pulsed with a different energy than the usual Association vibe. Alongside the hunters in practical gear stood fashion photographers, entertainment reporters, and social media types with expensive cameras and carefully curated outfits. The collision of two worlds—practical monster killers and image-obsessed influencers—created a bizarre dissonance.
I scanned the room, locating the porter licensing desk across the lobby. "This way."
As we cut through the crowd, I noticed something odd. People glanced at us, then did double-takes. A woman with a press badge nudged her cameraman, whispering something that made him swing his lens in our direction.
"Why are they looking at us?" Miguel asked under his breath.
Before I could answer, a flash went off in my peripheral vision. Then another.
"Is that a hunter?" A woman in designer glasses whispered to her companion.
"Must be. Look at him."
"A-Rank, you think?"
"Has to be. They all have that look."
I kept my face neutral, though internally I cringed.
'Arcan, is this going to be a problem?'
『Social attention is generally harmless unless it interferes with your objectives. The misconception about your rank could be advantageous in certain scenarios.』
A young reporter stepped directly into our path, microphone extended. "Excuse me, sir. Are you here for the Demara evaluation?"
I side-stepped her smoothly. "No comment."
She persisted, keeping pace. "Are you affiliated with Phoenix Imperium? Or perhaps the Scavenger Guild?"
Miguel looked between us, bewildered by the attention.
"We're just here for some paperwork," I said, keeping my tone neutral but final.
The reporter's eyes narrowed with the instinct of someone who smelled a story. "You're not on the press list. Are you a visiting dignitary? Foreign hunter?"
I caught Miguel's eye and gave a slight head tilt toward the licensing desk. He nodded, understanding my silent instruction to keep moving.
"Maybe he's royalty," someone whispered loudly enough for us to hear. "European hunters have those connections."
"Could be. Heard Mr Demara was setting his daughter up with a European hunter."
The whispers followed us across the lobby. I didn't correct them. Let them think what they wanted—as long as they stayed out of my way.
We reached the licensing counter, where a digital display showed: "Now Serving: 62" and "Window 11."
I approached the intake desk, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes and the long-suffering expression of someone who'd seen too many entitled hunters in one lifetime.
"Porter licensing," I stated.
She didn't look up from her computer. "Name?"
"Xavier Valentine."
Her fingers clacked on the keyboard. "Existing hunter ID?"
I slid my ID card across the counter. She scanned it, eyebrows rising slightly as she looked from the photo to my face, then back to the screen.
"And your associate?"
"Miguel Gonzalez. New applicant."
She handed me a ticket. "Number 78. Wait times approximately forty minutes."
I nodded thanks and guided Miguel to a row of chairs along the wall.
"Dude, what was that about?" Miguel's eyes were wide. "Those people thought you were somebody."
I shrugged. "Association's always full of rumors."
"No, man. They were taking pictures. Of you." He studied my face. "Though I guess you do look different today. Like, really different."
I didn't elaborate. The changes to my physical appearance were a side effect of my upgraded attributes—enhanced muscle density, improved skeletal alignment, optimized cellular efficiency. Nothing dramatic individually, but collectively they created a very noticeable difference.
Before Miguel could press further, a man in a tailored black suit approached us. His earpiece and the subtle bulge of a shoulder holster marked him as private security rather than Association personnel. His gaze fixed on me with unsettling intensity.
"Excuse me, sir." His voice carried the practiced neutrality of someone used to handling high-value clients. "Are you here for the hunter evaluation today?"
I straightened slightly. "No. Porter licensing."
The man looked between Miguel and me, confusion briefly crossing his features. "Porter? Are you sure?"
We both nodded.
"My mistake." His eyes lingered on me a moment longer before he tapped his earpiece discreetly and retreated toward a door marked "Authorized Personnel Only."
Miguel leaned in. "What was that about?"
"No idea." But I had my suspicions. Someone had noticed us and sent their security to check. The question was, who? And why?
『Analysis suggests a 78.3% probability that individual was affiliated with Phoenix Imperium security detail rather than Association staff,』 Arcan offered. 『Clothing quality, posture, and equipment signature indicate private sector training.』
The lobby's ambient noise suddenly shifted, conversations dying as all attention turned toward the main entrance. The automatic doors slid open, and a wall of security personnel entered in tight formation.
"Holy shit," Miguel breathed. "That's her."
Nicole Demara glided into the CHA-LA lobby with the ease of someone born to be photographed. Her pink hair cascaded in perfect waves past her shoulders, framing a face that balanced between youthful beauty and sophistication. She wore a white cropped jacket with gold accents over a black bodysuit that showed off her alluring figure. Thigh-high boots with subtle magical reinforcement completed the ensemble—practical enough for a hunter evaluation while stylish enough for her inevitable social media posts afterward.
Two steps behind her walked Evelyn Chevalier, the S-Rank bodyguard whose golden flames had become something of a legend in hunter circles. Unlike her charge's fashionable attire, Evelyn wore a tailored suit that managed to look both sexy and combat-ready. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and her purple eyes scanned the room continuously.
Cameras flashed in staccato bursts as reporters shouted questions. Nicole smiled and waved but didn't break stride, moving through the chaos with ease.
As their procession passed near our section, Nicole's gaze swept the waiting area. For a fraction of a second, our eyes locked. Something flickered across her face—surprise, perhaps, at seeing someone she didn't recognize amid the usual Association crowd. Then she winked, a quick, deliberate gesture.
Miguel sucked in a breath beside me.
"Holy shit. She totally winked at me." He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly self-conscious. "Why would she do that? She doesn't even know me."
"Maybe she likes construction workers," I offered.
Miguel punched my arm lightly. "Laugh all you want. That was definitely aimed at me."
The Demara entourage disappeared into an elevator bank reserved for VIPs and high-ranking Association officials. As the doors closed behind them, the lobby erupted into fresh conversation.
"Now serving: 63 at Window 7," the automated announcement chimed.
I settled into the hard plastic chair, keeping one eye on the lobby's ebb and flow. The crowd had shifted after Nicole's entrance, clustering near the VIP elevators in hopes of catching another glimpse when she emerged.
Miguel couldn't stop grinning. "Man, did you see her outfit? That jacket probably costs more than my truck."
"The boots were interesting." I kept my voice neutral. "Mana enhanced material."
"How can you tell?"
I didn't mention my newly acquired Six Eyes that had revealed the complex magical lattice woven through her clothing. "Hunter equipment has a certain look."
The automated system chimed again. "Now serving: 66 at Window 2."
'Arcan, what's your read on Nicole Demara?'
『Analysis indicates A-Rank mana capacity with support-type affinity. However, her signature contains unusual harmonics suggesting specialized abilities.』
'Specialized how?'
『Insufficient data for detailed classification. The complexity of her mana pattern implies enhancement or amplification capabilities.』
That tracked with the careful staging of this evaluation. A billionaire's daughter with rare support magic would be valuable to any guild. The media circus wasn't just vanity—it was marketing.
"Think she'll pass?" Miguel asked.
"She's already passed." At his questioning look, I elaborated. "This is theater. You don't arrange this kind of publicity unless you're certain of the outcome."
"Cynical much?"
I shrugged. "Realistic. Everything's politics at this level."
The next twenty minutes crawled by. Miguel alternated between scrolling through Nicole's Instagram and pestering me with questions about porter protocols. I answered mechanically while tracking the room's shifting dynamics.
More guild representatives had arrived, their expensive suits and calculated poses marking them as clearly as uniforms. White Wolf Guild's contingent clustered near the eastern wall, while Phoenix Imperium's people maintained positions closer to the VIP elevator. The tension between them was subtle but palpable.
"Now serving: 77 at Window 6."
I straightened. "We're up next."
"Finally." Miguel cracked his knuckles nervously. "What exactly do I need to say?"
"Let me handle it."
"Number 78, Window 11," the system announced.
We approached the counter where a different clerk sat—younger than the intake woman, with close-cropped hair and wire-rimmed glasses. Her nameplate read "Sarah Chen."
I placed our ticket on the counter. "Porter licensing."
She glanced up, then did a slight double-take. Her fingers hesitated over her keyboard.
"ID please?"
I slid my hunter card across. She scanned it, frowning at the D-Rank designation.
"This can't be right." She looked between my face and the screen.
"Recent changes. Haven't updated the photos yet."
She studied me for another moment, then shrugged. "Happens sometimes after gates. Growth spurts. Renewal or modification?"
"Renewal for me. New application for my associate."
She turned to Miguel. "Hunter status?"
"Unregistered." He shifted his weight. "Just porter work today."
"Contract details?"
I produced the job listing from my phone. She scanned the QR code, eyebrows rising slightly.
"From the Iron Dragon Guild? They usually handle their own logistics."
"Special circumstances," I said smoothly. "We have a personal connection to the assigned hunter."
Her expression softened almost imperceptibly at that. Guild politics were delicate things, and personal relationships often transcended official channels.
"I see." She tapped a few keys. "Standard porter certification requires a basic physical and written exam. Wait time is currently three hours."
Miguel tensed beside me. I kept my voice casual. "Any chance of expediting? We're contracted for 2pm today."
She checked something on her screen. "That's... cutting it close."
"Very close," I agreed. "But I'm sure someone with your experience can help us navigate the system efficiently."
It wasn't exactly subtle, but sometimes acknowledging someone's power to help or hinder you was the smartest play. Plus, looking good didn't hurt. She drummed her fingers on the desk, considering.
"There is an accelerated evaluation protocol," she said finally. "Usually reserved for emergency situations."
I waited, letting her reach the conclusion herself.
"Given the time constraints and your existing hunter status..." She began typing rapidly. "I suppose we could classify this as a priority certification."
"We'd appreciate that."
She printed several forms, sliding them across the counter. "Fill these out. Medical station three for vitals. I'll flag it as urgent."
The next forty-five minutes passed in a blur of paperwork, basic physical tests, and a shortened version of the porter safety exam. Miguel scored surprisingly well on the hazard recognition portion—probably from years of OSHA protocols.
By 12:35, we had temporary porter badges clipped to our belts. Sarah even expedited the lamination process, handling our cards personally instead of sending them through the standard system.
"Remember, these are provisional," she warned, handing over the credentials. "Full certification requires completing the standard testing within thirty days."
"Understood." I met her eyes. "Thank you for your help."
She waved us off with the ghost of a smile. "Just be careful out there."
As we headed for the exit, the lobby had largely cleared out. Nicole's evaluation was presumably underway upstairs, and most of the media circus had migrated to the press room to await results.
"That was smooth," Miguel said once we reached the parking structure. "How'd you know she'd help us?"
"People in bureaucratic positions often have more discretionary power than they let on. Sometimes they just need a reason to use it."
"And what was our reason? Your charming personality?"
I unlocked the Mustang. "More likely she appreciated that we treated her like a person, not a obstacle."
We pulled out of the parking structure into late morning traffic. The drive to Westlake would take at least an hour, assuming we didn't hit construction.
"So," Miguel said after a few minutes of silence. "Nicole Demara, huh?"
"What about her?"
"Just interesting timing. All that media stuff happening today of all days."
I kept my eyes on the road. "You think it's connected to our job?"
"Nah, probably not." He paused. "Though Westlake isn't that far from Century City. That's where Phoenix Imperium is based, right?"
It was a fair observation. The timing did seem convenient—a high-profile evaluation happening the same day as an unusual porter contract.
'Arcan, thoughts?'
『Correlation doesn't necessarily indicate causation. However, the statistical probability of these events being entirely unrelated is approximately 98.7%.』
"Let's focus on what we know," I said. "Iron Dragon Guild contract. Tenten's our hunter. Everything else is background noise."
Miguel nodded, but I could tell he wasn't entirely convinced. Neither was I, if I was being honest. But that was a problem for another time.
I merged onto the freeway, pushing the Mustang up to speed. We had less than ninety minutes to reach our destination, and LA traffic waited for no one—not even a billionaire's daughter or a newly enhanced D-Rank porter with too many questions and not enough answers.