The morning air in sector four carried the usual mix of smells. Burnt oil from generators, food being cooked on street carts, and something organic that had gone bad days ago but nobody had bothered to remove. Finn pulled his hood lower over his face and kept his pace steady as he walked through the back alleys toward his destination.
The cores sat in his Spatial Cache, invisible and weightless but worth more money than most people in the outer districts would see in years. Now he just needed to convert them into credits without drawing attention or getting robbed in the process.
Most people would go to the official Hero Registry exchange centers. Clean, regulated, safe. They'd also take a thirty percent commission and require identification and documentation for anything above D-rank cores. Questions Finn didn't want to answer.
But he knew another option.
The outer districts had their own economy. Black market wasn't quite the right term since it wasn't technically illegal to buy and sell cores privately. Just heavily discouraged by the authorities who wanted to control the flow of valuable resources. Independent dealers existed in the gray space between legal and criminal, operating openly enough that everyone knew where to find them but quietly enough that officials pretended not to notice.
Finn had written several of these dealers into his story as quest givers and resource vendors. Characters who'd buy anything without questions as long as you knew the right things to say.
He turned down a narrow street that dead-ended at a shop with no sign. Just a reinforced door and a small window with bars. The kind of place that looked abandoned unless you knew what you were looking for.
Finn pushed the door open.
The interior was cramped and dim, lit by a single overhead light that buzzed with inconsistent power. Shelves lined the walls, filled with equipment in various states of repair. Beast parts preserved in jars. Weapons with their prices scratched into tags hanging from the handles. Everything covered in a thin layer of dust that suggested the owner cared more about inventory than presentation.
Two people occupied the space. A customer arguing with the man behind the counter, and the owner himself.
The owner was exactly as Finn remembered writing him. Late fifties, heavyset, with a beard that had gone more gray than black. He wore a stained apron over clothes that might have been nice once. His hands were scarred from years of handling beast materials and his expression suggested he'd stopped caring about customer satisfaction decades ago.
The customer was younger, maybe mid-twenties, holding a cloth bag that probably contained cores. His voice was rising in frustration.
"Fifteen hundred is insulting! These are quality C-rank cores from Steelback Lizards. They're worth at least two thousand each on the official market."
"Then go to the official market," the owner said flatly. "See what they offer after taking their commission and asking where you got them."
"I'm a registered hunter. I've got documentation."
"Then you definitely don't need me." The owner crossed his arms. "Fifteen hundred per core. Take it or get out. You're blocking my door."
The customer's jaw tightened. He looked like he wanted to argue more but something in the owner's expression suggested that would be a waste of time. He grabbed his bag and shouldered past Finn on his way out, muttering something about highway robbery.
The door slammed shut.
The owner looked at Finn with the same disinterested expression. "You here to waste my time too?"
"Depends," Finn said. "You still buying cores?"
"If they're worth buying."
Finn approached the counter and pulled a single C-rank core from his Spatial Cache, letting it materialize in his hand. He set it down on the scarred wooden surface.
The owner picked it up, examined it for a few seconds, then set it back down. "Razorback Boar. C-rank. Twelve hundred."
"I've got more."
"How many more?"
"Six C-rank. One B-rank."
That got the owner's attention. His eyes narrowed slightly. "B-rank? Let me see it."
Finn pulled the red core from his cache and placed it on the counter.
The owner's entire demeanor changed. He picked up the B-rank core carefully, turning it over in his hands and holding it up to the light. The deep red color caught the dim bulb overhead and seemed to glow from within.
"High B-rank," the owner muttered. "Good structure. No fractures." He set it down gently. "Where'd you get this?"
"Does it matter?"
"Might. B-rank cores don't just show up in the outer districts."
"I was hunting in the northeast sector. Got lucky."
The owner studied Finn's face, what little he could see beneath the hood. Looking for tells. For signs of lying or nervousness. Finn kept his expression neutral and met the man's eyes. Not like he cared, just putting up a show.
After a long moment, the owner grunted. "Seven thousand for the B-rank. Twelve hundred each for the C-ranks. Total of fourteen thousand, two hundred."
It was a fair price. Better than fair, actually. The official market might offer more on paper but after commissions and taxes Finn would walk away with less.
"Fourteen thousand, two hundred," Finn repeated. "But only if the old paths still lead to new gold."
The owner froze. His eyes locked onto Finn's face, searching for something. Then slowly, a smile spread across his weathered features. The first genuine expression Finn had seen from him.
"Well I'll be damned," the owner said quietly. "Haven't heard that phrase in years. You know the old ways?"
"Enough of them."
The phrase was something Finn had embedded in his story as a password of sorts. A way for players to get better deals from certain merchants if they'd explored enough and talked to the right NPCs. It translated roughly to acknowledging the black market's history and traditions, showing respect for the independent dealers who'd existed long before official regulations.
Most people didn't know it. Most people didn't need to. But those who did got treated differently.
The owner's entire attitude shifted. He pulled out a small leather-bound ledger from under the counter and flipped through pages covered in cramped handwriting.
"Old paths to new gold," he repeated, still smiling. "Your generation usually doesn't bother learning these things. Too focused on guild politics and hero worship." He looked up. "Tell you what. Fifteen thousand flat for the lot. And I'll throw in a U-wallet at cost instead of the markup I usually charge."
Finn blinked. That was five hundred more than the original offer plus a discount on the wallet. The phrase had worked better than he'd expected.
"Deal," Finn said.
"Smart kid." The owner pulled out a scanner from behind the counter. "Let me verify the cores first. Standard procedure. Then we'll do the transfer."
Finn placed all seven cores on the counter. The owner scanned each one methodically, comparing readings to something in his ledger and nodding to himself. After a few minutes he seemed satisfied.
"All legitimate. Good quality. No corruption." He pulled out a lockbox from under the counter and stored the cores carefully. "Now, about that U-wallet. You got one already?"
"No."
"Figured. Most hunters your age still use physical credit chips like barbarians." The owner reached under the counter again and produced a small device. It looked like a leather strap with a glass panel embedded in the center, roughly the size of a watch face. "Universal wallet. Syncs with the city's credit network. You wear it on your wrist and it displays your balance. Tap it against any registered terminal to make payments. Standard model runs three hundred credits but I'll give it to you for two hundred."
"That works."
The owner pulled out a tablet and tapped through several screens. "Give me your wrist."
Finn extended his left arm. The owner fastened the U-wallet around his wrist and pressed something on the tablet. The glass panel on the wallet flickered to life, displaying a string of numbers.
[BALANCE: 0 U]
"Now let me transfer your payment." The owner tapped more screens. The numbers on Finn's wallet flickered and changed.
[NEW BALANCE: 15,000 U]
Finn stared at the display. Fifteen thousand Union credits. More money than Finn Porter had ever possessed. Enough for academy enrollment with money left over.
"Transaction complete," the owner said. "That wallet's registered to your biometrics now. Only responds to you. Someone tries to steal it, it'll lock down automatically." He closed his ledger. "You need anything else? Equipment? Information? I've got connections if you're looking for work."
"I'm good," Finn said. "Appreciate the deal."
"Come back anytime. Anyone who knows the old paths is welcome here." The owner paused. "Word of advice though. B-rank cores draw attention. You start selling them regularly, people will ask questions. Keep your head down."
"Planning on it."
Finn left the shop and stepped back into the alley. The U-wallet sat against his wrist, displaying his balance whenever he glanced down. This was proof that his plan had worked.
Now for the harder part.
He made his way through the outer districts toward sector five, where Peter's workshop was located. The buildings here were similar to sector three. Old, cramped, maintained just enough to keep from collapsing. People moved through the streets going about their business, most of them looking like they'd rather be anywhere else.
Peter's workshop occupied the ground floor of a building that had probably been a garage once. The bay door was partially open, showing cluttered workspace inside. Finn ducked under the door and found Peter hunched over a workbench, soldering something that sparked every few seconds.
"Finn!" Peter looked up, pulling off safety goggles. "Didn't expect you so soon. Thought you said to give you a day."
"Got it done faster than expected."
"Got what done? You still haven't told me what your mysterious plan was." Peter set down his soldering iron and turned to face him properly. "And before you say anything cryptic, I want actual answers this time. How exactly are we paying for academy enrollment?"
Finn pulled back his hood and held up his wrist, displaying the U-wallet.
Peter leaned in to read the balance. His eyes went wide.
"Is that... fifteen thousand credits?"
"Fifteen thousand exactly."
"How?" Peter's voice rose an octave. "How did you get fifteen thousand credits in one day? Did you rob someone? Please tell me you didn't rob someone."
"No robbery. Just sold some cores."
"What cores? You didn't have any... wait." Peter's expression shifted as he worked through it. "The Razorwolf cores from when you got separated from your hunting party? Those were D-rank. Worth maybe a few hundred each at most. Even if you had a dozen that's nowhere near fifteen thousand."
Finn had known this question was coming. Had prepared an answer that was technically true but left out critical details.
"I went back to the Outlands yesterday. Found a nest. Higher rank than I expected but manageable. Collected cores and sold them."
"You went hunting alone?" Peter looked horrified. "Are you insane? You could've died."
"But I didn't."
"That's not the point! You just awakened. You don't have training. You don't have proper equipment." Peter ran his hand through his hair. "What nest was it? What rank?"
"C-rank beasts mostly. One B-rank that I got lucky with."
"Lucky." Peter stared at him. "You fought a B-rank beast and got lucky. Do you hear how insane that sounds?"
"I had help. Ran into some other hunters. We worked together, split the loot." The lie came smoothly, easily. Finn had practiced it in his head during the walk over. "Point is, I got what we needed. Fifteen thousand is enough for both enrollments plus equipment."
Peter looked like he wanted to argue more but the number on the U-wallet display was hard to dispute. He sagged slightly, the fight going out of him.
"You're different, you know that?" Peter said quietly. "Ever since you came back from that hunt where your party ditched you. You're acting like someone else."
"Near-death experiences change people."
"I guess." Peter didn't sound entirely convinced but he let it drop. "So we're really doing this? Academy enrollment?"
"We're really doing it." Finn smiled. "Pack up whatever you need. We're going to school."
Peter laughed, the sound slightly hysterical. "School. Right. Hero academy. Because that's a normal thing for people like us to do."
"Nothing about our lives is normal anymore."
"Fair point." Peter started gathering tools from his workbench, stuffing them into a worn backpack. "Give me ten minutes to grab my stuff. And Finn? Thanks. For including me in this. For actually following through on your plan. I know I give you shit about being weird lately but... thanks."
Finn nodded but didn't respond. Gratitude made him uncomfortable in ways he couldn't quite articulate.
They spent the next hour preparing. Peter packed his tools and a few personal items. Finn returned to his apartment to do the same, though he had far less worth taking. Most of what Finn Porter owned was trash. He grabbed a change of clothes and left everything else behind.
When they met back up, both of them had hoodies pulled low over their faces.
"You think this is necessary?" Peter asked, gesturing at his hood.
"Our faces are probably on wanted posters after the celebration incident," Finn said. "Pictures won't be clear from security footage but no point taking chances."
They navigated through the outer districts toward the inner city, staying in crowds when possible and avoiding main streets with heavy security presence. The checkpoints between districts were less strict during daytime but they still drew attention wearing hoods in warm weather.
The inner districts looked exactly as they had during the hero celebration. Clean streets. Well-maintained buildings. People who looked like they'd never worried about where their next meal was coming from. The transition from outer to inner was jarring, like crossing into a different city entirely.
Bastion Seven Hero Academy sat in the northern section of the inner districts, occupying enough space to be its own small neighborhood. As they approached, Finn could see the scale of it.
The outer fence stretched in both directions farther than he could see, at least twelve feet high with security measures built into every section. Not to keep people out exactly but to clearly mark where academy property began. Beyond the fence, buildings rose in organized clusters. Training facilities. Dormitories. Administrative buildings. All of it maintained to standards that made the inner district's normal buildings look shabby by comparison.
The main gate was crowded despite the early hour. Hundreds of people had gathered, all presumably here for early registration. The diversity was striking. Kids from the outer districts in worn clothes, clutching documentation and looking nervous. Wealthy families from the inner districts wearing outfits that probably cost more than a month's rent. Everyone mixed together in a mass of humanity all pursuing the same goal.
"Holy shit," Peter breathed, pushing his hood back slightly to see better. "It's huge. I knew academies were big but this is... this is its own city."
Finn looked at the buildings in the distance. The training grounds visible beyond the gate. The sheer scale of resources represented by everything he could see.
He'd written this. Had spent hours designing the academy layout and describing its facilities. But seeing it real and functional was different. This place would shape the next generation of heroes. Would give them resources and connections and everything they needed to succeed.
And somewhere on these grounds, Marcus and Vanessa and Joel had trained. Had learned their skills. Had built the foundations that let them become S-rank heroes.
Finn was about to walk the same path. Use the same resources. Stand in the same spaces.
The thought should have made him nervous or excited or something. Instead, he just felt cold focus. This was a step. One step toward getting strong enough to face them.
His eyes scanned the crowd, taking in faces and trying to gauge the competition. Most people looked nervous or excited. Some looked arrogant, like they already knew they'd get in. A few looked desperate, like this was their last chance at something better.
Then Finn's attention caught on someone.
A kid about their age standing near the gate with his hands in his pockets. He looked relaxed in a way that suggested confidence rather than arrogance. He was tall, maybe six feet, with a lean build that suggested he was athletic without being bulky. His hair was bright red, not dyed but natural, catching the sunlight in a way that made him stand out in the crowd.
Finn's breath caught.
He knew that face. Had spent weeks designing it. Describing it. Writing scenes from his perspective.
Red hair, tall and the confident posture. Standing exactly where he should be at this point in the timeline.
It was him.
The main character of his story. The protagonist who was supposed to save humanity. The chosen one with protagonist powers and destiny on his side.
Standing twenty feet away, completely unaware that the author who'd created him was staring.