The officer doesn't grab my arm.
He doesn't need to.
The way he walks tells everyone watching that I'm not being escorted for my comfort. Two more uniforms flank us as we cross the training field, boots clipping against concrete, shoulders squared like they're moving a problem from one room to another.
Behind us, the noise swells.
Students whispering, scouts pretending they're just passing by, staff raising their voices to restore order. I catch fragments as we pass.
"Public window."
"His name."
"Did he hack it."
"D Rank my ass."
Minho's voice rises once, controlled but loud enough to be heard.
"Officer. My squad witnessed the incident. I request to submit a statement."
The officer doesn't slow down. "Later."
Minho keeps pace for three steps, just outside the officer's shoulder, like he has a right to be here.
He doesn't.
He knows that.
He's testing whether he can force himself into the narrative anyway.
The officer stops abruptly. Minho almost runs into him.
The officer finally turns his head and looks at him for the first time. His eyes are flat.
"This is an Association matter," he says. "Go back to your squad."
Minho smiles politely. It doesn't reach his eyes. "Understood."
He steps back, but his gaze tracks me as we move again. He doesn't look angry. He looks focused, like he just confirmed something important.
He can't control me in front of everyone.
So he'll try to control what everyone believes about me.
We reach the assessment building. It's all clean walls and frosted glass, too bright for the kind of work it does. The signage is simple, professional, and designed to make you forget this place decides who gets fed and who gets discarded.
The officer swipes a badge and leads me through a corridor that smells faintly of disinfectant and old paper. A receptionist looks up, sees uniforms, sees my student lanyard, then looks back down like the safest choice is not knowing.
We stop in front of a door with a small placard.
Evaluation Review Room 3.
The officer opens it.
Inside, a rectangular table, three chairs, a wall monitor, and a camera in the top corner pretending to be small. Two people are already waiting.
One is a man in a crisp Association suit, hair neatly parted, posture straight. He has the look of someone who hasn't stepped into a gate in years but still signs the papers that send people into them.
The other is a woman with her hair tied back, tablet in hand, eyes sharp and tired. She doesn't look up right away. She's already reading something.
The officer gestures toward the chair facing them. "Sit."
I sit.
The officer remains by the door. The two other uniforms stand outside the room, visible through the glass, watching.
Containment without bars.
The man in the suit folds his hands on the table. "Kang Jaehyun."
His voice is calm. Not friendly. Not hostile. Neutral in a way that can turn into either depending on what I say.
"Yes," I reply.
He nods once. "I'm Deputy Director Park. This is Analyst Choi."
Analyst Choi finally looks up. Her gaze runs over my face, not like a person studying another person, but like someone confirming an entry matches a file photo.
Deputy Director Park taps the table once, a habit more than a threat. "You were involved in a gate irregularity. A public System audit was initiated. The System flagged you by name."
He pauses, watching for reaction.
I give him none.
He continues. "Explain what happened."
I keep my voice even. "The gate changed inside. A creature beyond classification was present. A public audit window appeared. I complied with the first prompt. The System then detected an external irregularity and generated an evacuation route."
Analyst Choi's eyes narrow slightly, as if I just used the correct phrasing for something I shouldn't know.
Park's expression remains smooth. "That's a summary. Not an explanation."
"It's what happened," I say.
Park leans forward a fraction. "You triggered the audit."
He says it like a conclusion, not a question.
I look at him steadily. "The System triggered the audit."
Park's lips tighten. He doesn't like losing control of language.
Analyst Choi taps her tablet, then turns it slightly so Park can see. "The audit sequence is abnormal."
Park doesn't look away from me. "Your status panel was incomplete."
I nod once. "I displayed my status."
"It was incomplete," he repeats.
A pressure builds in the room, not mana, something more human. Authority. Expectation. The assumption that if they ask hard enough, the truth will present itself.
My private overlay flickers at the edge of my vision, faint.
Hidden Authority: 0Detection Risk: 44%Audit Observation: Ongoing
That last line is the only one that matters right now. The System is still watching. If I spike it again in this room, the people across the table won't be the biggest danger. The System will.
Park slides a thin folder across the table toward me. It stops just short of my hands.
"Monitored Track," he says. "Do you know what that is."
I don't touch the folder. "A restriction."
"It's a safety protocol," he corrects, voice still calm. "When a subject displays irregular interaction with System functions, we place them under observation. We determine whether they are a risk to facilities, personnel, and the public."
He watches me carefully as he continues. "Monitored Track can limit your gate access. It can restrict your team assignments. It can delay your progression."
So that's the leverage.
They don't need to punish me openly. They just need to starve me quietly.
Analyst Choi speaks without looking at Park. "He's D Rank officially. Limiting access would freeze him."
Park gives a small nod, then looks at me as if he's offering me a deal.
"Cooperate," he says, "and this becomes a formality. Resist, and you will find gates very difficult to enter."
I meet his eyes. "What does cooperation mean."
He pauses, then says it plainly. "We need the source of the irregularity. The reason the System flagged you. Whether you have access to functions you should not have."
Analyst Choi's fingers tap her tablet again. "We also need to confirm the gate did not imprint on you."
Park gives her a brief glance. "Yes. That too."
Imprint.
In my first life, I learned that word late, after it had already ruined people. A rare phenomenon where a gate left something behind. A marker. A condition. Sometimes a curse disguised as a blessing.
I keep my face neutral.
Park watches. "Have you experienced any unusual System prompts."
The honest answer is yes.
Hidden Authority exists.
The audit observation exists.
The sealed trait exists.
If I say any of that out loud, this stops being an interview. It becomes containment.
So I answer with the truth that harms me least.
"The public audit window was unusual," I say. "That's all."
Park's gaze sharpens. "You are aware that lying during an Association review can result in suspension."
"I'm aware," I reply.
Analyst Choi looks at me for a long second. "Your first status panel showed Basic Reinforcement and Minor Perception."
I nod.
She taps her screen and the wall monitor turns on with a soft click. A paused video appears. Grainy, overhead camera footage from the training field.
It's the moment the System window appears above the gate facility.
Subject Flagged: Kang Jaehyun.
Even recorded, the sight of my name in the air makes the room feel smaller.
Choi resumes playback.
The footage shows students flinching, staff turning, scouts stepping closer. It shows the officer speaking to me. It shows Minho stepping forward. It shows my face as I comply.
Then the footage glitches slightly, static lines ripping through the frame for a fraction of a second.
Choi pauses it exactly there.
"The system camera feed shouldn't glitch," she says quietly.
Park's tone stays neutral. "But it did."
He leans back. "We can't ignore anomalies in our own facility."
I look at the frozen screen. The glitch is small. Most people wouldn't notice. Choi noticed.
She's dangerous in a different way than Park. Park wants control. Choi wants accuracy.
Park folds his hands again. "Let's talk about incentives. You understand what a D Rank career looks like without sponsorship."
He doesn't wait for my answer. He says it like a lecture he's given many times.
"Your base gate stipend covers transport and meals. Your first month earnings, if you clear consistently, might be enough for a single low grade weapon upgrade. Most D Ranks quit within six months."
He pauses, watching me.
Then he adds the real hook, the one meant to make me lean forward.
"With guild sponsorship, the same rookie can earn more in one week than a normal D Rank earns in a month. Better gear. Better gates. Better training."
So we're talking about money now. Not as a dream. As a structure.
Park continues. "A public System flag makes you visible. Visibility attracts guilds. Visibility also attracts problems. The Association exists to prevent the second category from killing the first."
Analyst Choi's eyes stay on me. "If you cooperate, we can guide your placement in a way that protects you."
Protect.
A soft word used to hide a cage.
Before I answer, the door opens.
The officer steps aside as someone enters.
A man with a limp and dried blood on his sleeve. The supervisor from the gate.
He looks exhausted, jaw clenched, pain carved into his posture, but his eyes are alert. He's the kind of person who has seen worse than paperwork and still shows up.
Deputy Director Park's expression shifts, polite. "Supervisor Oh Seongjin."
So that's his name.
Oh nods once, not bothering with small talk. "You requested my statement."
Park gestures to the chair beside the table. "Sit. Tell us what happened."
Oh sits, winces slightly, then looks straight at Park.
"The gate was misclassified," he says. "The internal path collapsed. The chamber layout changed. A creature beyond E Rank was present. A public audit window appeared. It targeted the student."
Park's eyes stay steady. "Did the student cause the collapse."
Oh's jaw tightens. "No."
Park raises a brow. "You're certain."
Oh holds his gaze. "I watched it happen. The collapse occurred before the student touched anything. The gate shifted on its own."
Analyst Choi's fingers move fast on her tablet.
Park turns slightly toward me again. "Then why did the System flag you."
Oh looks at me for the first time since entering. There's no fear in his eyes. No fascination either. Just a tired, careful attention.
"I don't know," Oh says. "But I know this. If the student hadn't moved when he did, we'd have lost people."
Park's mouth tightens.
He doesn't like gratitude. Gratitude makes containment look like injustice.
Analyst Choi finally speaks, voice low. "There was an external irregularity."
Park's eyes flick to her.
Choi taps her tablet and the wall monitor changes to a still image. A heat map. A rough scan of the gate chamber. The central depression glows brighter than everything else.
"This is where the gate stabilization protocol focused," she says. "The System did not complete the audit. It redirected."
Park leans forward slightly, interest breaking through neutrality. "So the student drew the System's attention to the irregularity."
Choi's gaze stays on the screen. "Or the System used the student as a vector to identify it."
Vector.
That word lands heavier than it should.
Park looks at me again. "If you can interact with irregularities, you become a risk. You also become useful."
He says useful like it's an offer.
It isn't.
It's a warning that I'll be treated like a tool.
I choose my words carefully. "What happens now."
Park glances at Choi, then at Oh, then back to me. He makes his decision.
"We don't have enough to suspend you," he says. "Not yet."
Oh's jaw loosens slightly. Relief, hidden.
Park continues. "But we can't release you without observation. You will remain on Monitored Track. You will be assigned to supervised gate placement."
Choi scrolls on her tablet, then speaks like she's reading a line item. "Training Gate 12. Tomorrow morning. Supervisor Oh Seongjin assigned. Additional observer assigned."
Park nods. "Correct."
My eyes drop for a fraction of a second, not to the folder, to the idea of the gate name.
Training Gate 12.
The hidden layer answers even without me asking, a cold whisper at the edge of perception.
Training Gate 12Public Classification: E RankInternal Flag: UnstableParameter Drift: ActiveAnomaly Probability: Rising
So it's flagged.
Not publicly. Internally.
They're sending me anyway.
Park watches my face like he expects panic. I give him calm.
Oh shifts slightly, discomfort in his eyes. He knows what unstable gates do. He has probably buried reports like this before because he was told to.
Park taps the folder once. "This is not punishment. This is verification. You will enter, you will follow instructions, and you will not attempt any irregular interaction with System functions."
He pauses, then adds, "If the System flags you again, you will be detained for deeper assessment."
Detained.
Containment, just with cleaner language.
Choi's eyes lift from her tablet. "One more thing."
Park looks at her.
Choi's voice is flat, tired, precise. "The additional observer is a rookie evaluator from Internal Security. She has authority to override your team lead if she deems you noncompliant."
Park nods as if it's routine.
Oh stiffens. "Internal Security is unnecessary for a training gate."
Park finally shows a hint of irritation. "It's not for the gate."
His eyes return to me.
"It's for him."
Choi taps her tablet again, and my name appears on the monitor with a new line underneath it.
Monitored Track: EscalatedObserver Assigned: Seo Yuna
A name I haven't seen in this life yet.
But my memory catches on it anyway.
Not from the end of the world.
From the middle.
From the point where the Association stopped pretending it was only protecting people.
Park stands, signaling the interview is over. "You will be escorted to temporary lodging within the facility. You will report at 0600. Do you understand."
"Yes," I say.
Oh looks at me, something complicated in his face. "Tomorrow, stay close. Don't try to be a hero."
I meet his eyes calmly. "I won't."
That's not a promise.
It's a decision to survive.
As the officer opens the door and gestures for me to stand, my private overlay flickers again.
Not a warning.
A new prompt.
Audit Observation: OngoingNext Audit Trigger: Gate EntryEstimated Enforcement Threshold: 50%
I keep my expression neutral as I walk out.
Inside, I start planning.
Because they didn't just schedule me for a supervised gate.
They scheduled me for a test.
And the gate they picked is already drifting.