The huge restaurant loomed above the street.
It was towering over the surrounding buildings like a monument of wealth. Its tinted glass walls shimmered faintly under the morning light, reflecting passing cars and pedestrians.
Alexander stood on the sidewalk, glancing at his wristwatch.
10:40.
He was forty minutes late.
His stomach twisted with anxiety as he jogged up the marble steps.
The automatic doors slid open, releasing a faint rush of cool air.
The air carried the scent of roasted meat, wine, and expensive perfume.
Inside, the restaurant glowed in warm crimson tones. Every surface—from the velvet chairs to the patterned carpets—was drenched in a deep red.
Making the place feel both elegant and intimidating.
Alexander barely noticed. He fumbled for his phone, reading the message again.
Table 34.
He looked around and realized each table was neatly numbered with small gold plaques.
All he needed to do was find number thirty-four—and pray that the agent from the Federal Bureau of Hunters was still there.
He hurried down the aisle, eyes darting from table to table. But in his rush, his shoulder slammed into a passing waiter carrying a tray of red wine.
The tray tilted.
A sharp gasp followed as the glasses toppled. Red wine splashed across his white shirt, soaking it instantly. The waiter's face went pale.
"Oh my—! I'm so sorry, sir! I didn't see you there!"
Alexander froze, mortified.
"No, no, it's my fault, I wasn't looking where I was going," he said quickly, bowing slightly.
His voice trembled with embarrassment.
All around them, the restaurant fell silent for a moment. A few patrons turned in their seats to watch.
Their eyes scanned him from head to toe—his cheap black slacks, the scuffed shoes, the messy hair that refused to stay down.
The waiter, a young woman with trembling hands, looked terrified. Everyone who ate here was either a high-ranking hunter or obscenely rich.
If her mistake upset the wrong person, she could easily lose her job. She hesitated, glancing at Alexander's chest, probably looking for a hunter's badge. When she didn't see one, confusion flickered in her eyes.
Was he a government official? she seemed to wonder.
Alexander didn't stay long enough to reassure her. He scanned the rows of tables again, ignoring the burning stares and murmurs.
Then he saw him—a man in a black suit sitting near the corner. His posture was upright, his expression sharp, a beautiful gold spectacle slightly over his nose.
On the small gold plaque in front of him was the number 34.
Alexander swallowed hard and hurried over, still blotting at his stained shirt with a napkin.
"Hello, sir. Sorry I'm late," he said, forcing a small smile.
The man looked up slowly. His neatly combed hair and narrow spectacles gave him the air of someone who measured everything he saw.
He spoke with a faint accent, his tone polite but distant.
"It's not a problem. The important thing is that you made it, Mr. King."
His eyes swept over Alexander, lingering on the wine stain. A hint of disgust flickered across his face.
"Let's skip the formalities," the man continued, leaning back slightly. "I'll get straight to the point."
He placed his hands on the table, fingers interlacing neatly.
"Representing the Federal Bureau of Hunters, I'm here to offer you an opportunity to completely clear your debt."
Alexander's head snapped up, like a bomb had gone off near him. Then his eyes narrowed—suspicion.
For a moment, he thought he'd misheard.
The words replayed in his mind like an echo.
His enormous debt—cleared? It sounded impossible.
What kind of offer could erase a debt with that many zeros? he thought. What would I have to give up? My body? My freedom?
Before he could speak, a waitress arrived with a tray of food. She placed a steaming plate of rice and fried chicken in front of him and bowed before slipping away.
The smell made his stomach twist painfully. He hadn't eaten since yesterday, and the sight of the food almost broke his focus.
He forced himself to stay composed, though his eyes lingered on the meal longer than he intended.
The agent studied him quietly. He had expected Alexander to react with shock or excitement—to grab at the offer like a drowning man.
But the Alexander's cautious expression made him reconsider.
Beneath the tired face and clumsy manners, Alexander wasn't entirely naïve, he realized.
Without another word, the agent slid a file across the table. A pen followed.
"First, you'll need to sign this document," he said evenly.
Alexander looked down. The paper bore a simple header: NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT.
He frowned. There was a cold weight in the man's voice that made him uneasy. Maybe he was just being paranoid—but it wouldn't be the first time a big organization buried its dirty work behind legal paperwork.
Still, he was only a D-rank hunter buried in debt. It wasn't as though he had any real leverage or value here.
He signed the document. "If it's just about keeping secrets," he muttered, "I can manage that."
The agent's lips twitched slightly. "Good. Now that you've signed, I can explain."
He opened another folder and took out a few pages, covered in notes and maps.
"In exchange for clearing your debt, you will participate in a dungeon raid personally commissioned by the FBH.
This operation is… off the record. We've identified unusual readings from a particular dungeon—anomalies that don't match any known classification."
Alexander blinked. "Off the record?"
"That's right," the man said calmly. "And your participation will be mandatory."
Alexander leaned back, uneasy. "I don't know why you chose me specifically," he admitted.
"I'm not strong. In fact, I might be the weakest D-rank out there. I'll only be a liability. And besides…"
He hesitated. "I don't even have my hunter's license right now."
The agent smiled faintly. "You don't need to worry about all that. We'll arrange for a replacement immediately.
Just be ready by tomorrow morning. Someone will contact you with the details."
He stood, buttoning his jacket smoothly.
"And, Alexander… don't be late this time."
With that, the man left the restaurant, leaving the faint scent of cologne and authority in the air as he walked away.
Alexander sat in silence for several seconds before his eyes drifted back to the plate of food. The tension drained from his shoulders.
Then, without hesitation, he picked up the spoon and dug in.
The fried chicken crackled under his teeth, perfectly seasoned.
He didn't care about the stares from nearby tables or the stain on his shirt. He ate quickly, shoveling spoonfuls of rice into his mouth as though he hadn't eaten in days.
When the plate was empty, he leaned back and sighed.
"This is the perfect chance to get my license back," he murmured. "If I'm going to join that raid, I'll need it anyway.
Maybe this'll also help me forget that Sarah probably sold my old one on the black market."
He pushed the empty plate aside and stood, still chewing the last bite. "Love really makes people do stupid things," he muttered, shaking his head.
By the time he reached the downtown FBH branch, the evening light was fading through the clouds.
As promised, someone was already waiting for him near the reception desk.
The attendant was polite but brisk, handing him a form to fill out.
"Name, contact details, address," the man said.
Alexander filled everything in, then followed him to a side room where a small machine sat on a pedestal. Inside it, a glowing stone pulsed faintly.
"Place your hand on the device."
He did as instructed. A soft hum filled the air, and light spread across the stone's surface.
Moments later, the man nodded.
"Confirmed. Mana output consistent with D-rank. You're registered."
Alexander exhaled as the attendant handed him a thin metallic card—his new hunter's license. It gleamed faintly under the fluorescent lights.
When he finally stepped outside, the city was quiet. Streetlights flickered on. The clock across the street read exactly midnight.
He rubbed his eyes, exhausted, when his pocket buzzed. His phone screen was cracked, but he could still make out the name flashing across it.
Big Boss.
His stomach dropped. That was Hendricks, his employer.
He answered hesitantly. "Hello, sir. Um… do you need something?"
A burst of shouting exploded through the speaker.
"You useless piece of—!"
Alexander winced and held the phone away from his ear. "Sir?"
"I just realized you're completely worthless!" Hendricks barked.
"What was I thinking hiring you? Essence Craft had enough funds to sustain an A-rank hunter, and now thanks to your incompetence, my company is going under!"
Alexander's heart sank. "Wait, what—?"
"Anyway," Hendricks said sharply, "you're fired."
The line went dead before Alexander could respond.
He lowered the phone slowly, staring at the dark screen. His shoulders slumped.
Then something clicked in his mind.
He checked the time again—12:01 a.m.
A chill ran down his spine. He remembered the warning from that blue screen. If the daily quest remains incomplete, the host will be fired from his job.
"This…"
The thought alone triggered it.
A chime rang in the air, and the translucent blue window appeared once more before his eyes.
[Daily Quest Failed. Punishment Delivered.]
Alexander's eyes widened in horror. His throat went dry.
The system was real?
And if it could take his job, what else could it take?
He stared at the glowing screen, heart pounding.
"Just what in the hell is going on?" he whispered.