The drive into the city was a quiet one. Only the soft sound of the engine and the occasional shift of gears broke the silence. Conus sat beside his father, eyes fixed on the skyline as towers of steel and glass rose higher with every mile. Among them, one building stood out. A jet-black skyscraper pierced the clouds, its mirrored windows catching the sun and scattering it like blades of light.
This was The Pugnator Management Office.
It appeared over the district, its very design was a statement of genius architecture. Even from the car, Conus could feel the grandeur of the place.
They parked and crossed the courtyard of polished marble, entering through tall revolving doors. The lobby opened into a vast atrium, ceilings stretching high above and chandeliers spilling crystal light like frozen stars. Yet the beauty of the architecture was not the only thing that stole Conus's attention.
The people as well.
Everywhere he looked were men and women of varying ages, each with a faint glow above their heads. Levels shimmered in his vision: Level 24 (F), Level 39 (E), Level 102 (C). Almost everyone in the building was a Pugnator, their auras in the air like restrained storms.
Now, Conus could say he was almost certain the letters in brackets were ranks. The higher the level, the greater the rank. This was quite the convenient ability.
Ishira walked with easy confidence, nodding to familiar faces. Conus trailed close, doing his best not to stare at the glowing numbers that only he seemed to notice.
At the elevator, Ishira pressed the twelfth floor. "Registration," he said quietly.
The doors opened to a quieter but no less impressive space. Glass partitions lined a long reception hall. Rows of chairs were filled with Pugnators, each waiting patiently, their energy pressing subtly against Conus's senses.
At the far end of the hall, a young woman sat behind a counter. Her chestnut hair was pulled into a neat ponytail, and sharp hazel eyes softened as she smiled. Her name tag read Joan.
"Good morning. Registration?"
"For my son," Ishira replied, his tone calm and steady.
Joan tapped quickly at her terminal. She asked for his documents, of which he handed to her.
"Seventeen. A little late, but that is fine. There is only a late registration fee of one thousand dollars." Her words carried no judgment, only routine.
"That is nothing," Ishira said, sliding a black card across the counter.
Transaction complete, Joan handed Conus a ticket. "Please wait until your number is called."
Conus glanced at it. No. 45.
They found seats near the glass wall, overlooking the atrium below. Conus leaned back, ticket in hand, watching numbers blink across the overhead screen as soft sounds marked each new turn.
That was when he noticed her.
One chair away sat a girl, knees bouncing, the heel of her boot tapping rapidly on the floor. Her ticket, No. 44, rested loosely in her fingers. Above her head glowed Level 1 (F). She was striking in a quiet way, with olive skin, sharp cheekbones, and a cascade of dark hair framing curious brown eyes. She bit her lip, clearly nervous.
"Nervous?" Conus asked her.
She laughed softly, the sound a little shaky. "Is it that obvious?"
"A little," he said with a faint smile.
She nodded, still restless. "Got the Dream yesterday. I am still trying to believe it."
"Happy birthday in arrears." Conus tilted his head.
"Thank you," she smiled. .
"Are your parents here with you?" He asked.
The smile faltered. "No. Orphan here. It is just me." Her voice was calm.
"Conus," he said, offering a hand.
She hesitated only a moment before taking it. "Nadia."
After a pause, she leaned closer, her nerves replaced by curiosity. "So, what can you do?"
The question caught him off guard. He stayed silent for a beat, and Nadia lifted her hand. Frost bloomed across the armrest, a thin sheet of ice spreading outward. The air cooled slightly.
"See?" she said with a smile. "No big deal. Your turn."
"My ability is not so flashy," Conus said, meeting her gaze. "It is more… unconventional."
Her smile only widened. "Unconventional is interesting."
Before he could respond, she plucked his phone from his lap. Conus blinked, surprised, as she tapped quickly on the screen.
"There," she said, handing it back. "Text me. Maybe you can show me sometime."
On the screen, her number appeared: Nadia ❄.
Before Conus could reply, a chime sounded.
"Number forty-four."
Nadia stood. She glanced at him, winked, and walked towards the open door. "Do not forget to text," she said lightly before disappearing inside.
Conus stared at the empty chair, frost still glimmering on the metal.
"Number forty-five."
He rose, following the usher through the same door.
The hallway was narrow and sterile, lined with hidden conduits that sounded softly. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant. He was led into a small room with a single chair and sleek machines.
"Sit," the usher said politely before leaving him alone.
Moments later, a doctor entered. Middle-aged, thin, face expressionless. Without a word, he clipped wires to Conus's hands and temples and started the machine.
Colors flickered across the screen. His pulse quickened as a harsh red bar filled the display. The doctor remained silent, simply wrote F on a branded slip of paper, and gestured towards another door.
Conus tucked the slip into his pocket and moved on.
The next room was larger. At a desk sat a woman, glasses reflecting the light. Above her head glowed the highest number he had seen yet: Level 135 (C).
"Welcome," she said with a small smile. "I am the head registrar. Please sit."
Her questions came swiftly. Name, age, birthplace, family, health. She typed as he answered, her sharp eyes studying him.
Finally, she asked, "What abilities did the Dream grant you?"
Conus hesitated, then decided to show. He stepped into the shadow under her desk, dissolving into darkness and emerging somewhere in the corner.
"Can travel through shadows," she noted calmly, typing.
Conus did not stop. He let the darkness in him swell, pressing outward. The room grew heavy, the air thick with dread.
The registrar simply lifted her hand. The sensation shattered like glass. "Effective," she said. "As your power grows, that could be quite the trick."
"Anything else?"
"Yes," Conus said quietly. "Death Rot. Any wound I cause can spread corruption until my opponent dies. Slowly."
The woman's eyes sharpened. She typed with more care this time, interest clear. "Unusual. Lethal. High potential."
Then, she asked him for the paper he was given. Conus reached into his pocket and handed it to her.
When she was done, she folded her hands. "Your combat rank is F for now. Your ability set will take time to evaluate. Beyond rank, there is an Ability Grade, reflecting long-term potential. Some remain low, some rise to greatness. We will see which you become."
She closed the file. "Your ID card will arrive by mail within two weeks. Until then, this slip is your proof of registration. Do not lose it." She said, handing the slip back to him.
Conus nodded, tucking the paper away.