The Saitama branch of the Global Mage Management Corps was louder than usual.
The kind of loud that meant someone important had either arrived… or someone was pretending to be.
In the communal lounge—where the coffee tasted like despair and the air always smelled faintly of burnt ozone—Renjiro Kaen stood triumphantly on a coffee table, an espresso cup raised like a sacred relic.
"And then," he declared, voice echoing off the industrial ceiling, "with the Queen's mandibles this close to my throat—" He demonstrated by pressing two fingers dramatically against his neck. "—I made a choice. Either I unleash my final technique… or we both die heroes."
A collective gasp rippled through the junior mages.
"I gathered every drop of my D-Rank reserves," Renjiro continued, eyes blazing with theatrical intensity. "Compressed the space between dimensions. Folded it inward. And then—"
He slammed his foot down on the table.
"—Star-level collapse."
A clerk near the vending machines dropped her canned coffee.
Even a couple of C-Ranks leaned in slightly. A Singularity-level event in a Grade D zone wasn't normal. It wasn't something you just casually pulled out like a spare lighter.
From the back of the room came a small, strangled voice.
"It was… very bright."
Alex Scott was attempting to become one with a potted fern.
He had positioned himself behind it at an angle that suggested he hoped photosynthesis might accept him as one of its own.
Renjiro's head snapped toward him.
"Scott!" He pointed dramatically. "My eyewitness. Tell them. Did I, or did I not, erase that nest with a single devastatingly handsome strike?"
Thirty pairs of eyes pivoted.
Alex felt his internal organs attempt evacuation.
Public speaking. In Japanese. In front of combat mages. Why is my throat doing this? Why is breathing manual?
"H-Hai," he managed, staring very intently at a scuff on Renjiro's boot. "Mr. Kaen was… overwhelming. The mana-pressure was so intense I… fainted. When I woke up, everything was gone. It was like… like a god had descended."
There was a murmur. Someone actually whispered, "Sugoi…"
Renjiro laughed, jumped down, and slapped Alex on the back hard enough to nearly introduce him to the fern.
"Hear that? A god! Kid's got poetry in him."
Alex made a small noise that might have been agreement or organ displacement.
"Stick with me," Renjiro added, looping an arm around his shoulders. "Some of my talent might rub off on you. Or at least you'll learn how not to pass out every mission."
Laughter scattered around the room. The crowd drifted away, satisfied.
Alex stood still, smiling faintly until the attention dissolved.
MISSION: OMIYA KEMPO FIELDBASE PAY: 15,000 YEN
He exhaled softly.
Then the deductions loaded.
5,000 Yen — Equipment Damage (Scuffed Mana-Vac)
3,000 Yen — Inactivity Penalty (Loss of Consciousness During Engagement)
2,000 Yen — Administrative Processing Fee
TOTAL DISBURSEMENT: 5,000 YEN
He blinked.
Five thousand.
That was barely groceries for three days if he avoided protein.
"I could… dispute it," he whispered.
He immediately imagined the front desk receptionist adjusting her sharp glasses.
"Why did you faint, Scott-kun?"
"Did you interfere with your superior?"
"Are you medically fit for field duty?"
No. Absolutely not.
He accepted the cash and left before the kiosk could change its mind.
The Seiyu near his apartment was brightly lit and merciless.
Alex navigated the aisles with precision. Poor Man's Math engaged.
Rice: discounted.Milk: necessary calcium justification.Mackerel tins: protein-per-yen ratio acceptable.Eggs: too expensive this week.
At the register, he unloaded his basket carefully, like it might judge him.
"2,150 yen," the cashier said flatly.
He handed over two thousand-yen notes. Then coins.
Ten. Five. One.
He counted twice.
2,110.
He checked his other pocket.
Nothing.
Forty yen short.
Forty.
His ears burned.
"I—I'm sorry," he murmured. "I think I'll… put back the milk."
There was a pause behind him. A shift in weight. Someone sighed.
The cashier didn't look up. "Sir. There's a line."
Heat crept up his neck.
They can see the GMMC patch. They're wondering why a mage can't afford milk. This is how reputations die.
"I'll cover it."
A calm voice.
A hand extended past him, placing a 100-yen coin on the counter.
Alex turned slowly.
Mai Ishida stood behind him.
Her GMMC combat jacket was unmistakable—sleek, tailored, marked with the silver insignia of a B-Rank. Her black hair framed a face that was sharp without being unkind.
She looked mildly amused.
"You're in my department," she said. "You work with Renjiro, right?"
His brain shut down completely.
"I will repay you immediately," he blurted. "I am deeply ashamed. Please do not report this incident."
Mai blinked.
"It's forty yen."
"I understand that the economic burden—"
"Scott-kun." She gently placed a hand on his shoulder before he could fully prostrate himself. "It's fine. Let's move before this becomes a scene."
They stepped outside.
Cold air hit his face like mercy.
"Renjiro's claiming he executed a spatial collapse," Mai said casually as they walked. "Is that accurate?"
Alex stared at the pavement crack like it contained state secrets.
"It was very bright," he said carefully. "Then it wasn't."
She hummed softly.
"He's talented. But that kind of compression… that's advanced. Even for A-Rank candidates."
"He said it was a secret technique."
"I'm sure he did."
They walked in silence for a moment.
"You shouldn't let him push you around," she added. "Support roles matter."
No one had ever said that to him before.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
She asked about England. About adjusting to Japan. About the Event.
Each question felt like standing under a spotlight.
As they passed a narrow alleyway, his fight-or-flight reflex made the decision for him.
"Oh! A cat!" he shouted suddenly.
Mai turned instinctively.
Alex vanished.
It wasn't elegant. It wasn't heroic.
But it was fast.
When she turned back, he was gone.
Mai stared at the empty sidewalk, then toward the alley.
"…Interesting," she murmured.
His mana signature had felt strange. Not weak. Not strong.
Flat.
Like still water covering something deep.
Alex didn't stop running until he reached his apartment building.
As he caught his breath, a holographic billboard flickered to life across the street.
THE 2025 GMMC TOKYO OPEN — FESTIVAL OF MIGHTOPEN TO ALL RANKSGRAND PRIZE: 10,000,000 YEN
Ten million.
He did the math instantly.
Rent. Utilities. Food. Ten years minimum.
He wouldn't have to speak to anyone for months.
It was impossible, of course. F-Ranks were decorative participants. Opening acts.
Still…
"Thinking of entering?"
He screamed.
Renjiro leaned casually against the mailboxes like he'd been waiting there all evening.
"How did you find my house?" Alex gasped.
"I'm your superior officer. I have access to your file," Renjiro said cheerfully, which did not make it better. He slung an arm around Alex's neck. "We're entering."
"We?"
"Team registration." He held up his phone.
TEAM NAME: THE BLAZING SINGULARITYKAEN, RENJIRO — D-RANKSCOTT, ALEX — F-RANK
"You registered us?" Alex whispered.
"Think about it! Publicity! Sponsorships! You're my lucky charm. Every time you faint, something legendary happens."
"I don't think that's causation—"
"Details."
Alex imagined it.
Tokyo Dome. Cameras. Thousands of spectators. National broadcast.
His vision tilted.
Ten million yen…
Thousand-person audience…
Live commentary…
"Scott?"
The floor rose gently to meet him.
Renjiro sighed as Alex collapsed.
"At least he's consistent."
No cosmic light.
No celestial geometry.
Just a very stressed nineteen-year-old boy lying on apartment lobby tile next to a bag of discounted rice.
Renjiro nudged him lightly with his shoe.
"Get some rest, partner," he said. "We're going to Tokyo."