The incense in the room had burned down to a pile of gray ash by the time Francis finally spoke.

We were sitting in a space that felt too small for the amount of grief packed into it. The walls were thin enough to hear the neighbors’ television, a mocking sound of canned laughter that cut through the silence like a dull saw. Francis hadn't moved for an hour. He just sat there, staring at the black-framed photo of his mother.

I was about to suggest we just walk away. I wanted to tell him that Arslan and the shipyard were a poison we needed to flush out of our systems before we both ended up in the ground.

“It would have been better if I had the money sooner,” Francis said.

His voice didn't sound like his own. It was a delirious, jagged rasp, like a machine running without oil. He finally looked at me, and I saw a heat in his eyes that made the hair on my neck stand up.

“We were fools, Yujin. Absolute fools. We played by the rules for years, thinking the Association would give a damn if we lived or died. It was that poverty that killed her. It wasn't the sickness. It was being weak enough to let the world step on us.”

“Francis, stop,” I said, reaching out with my one hand. “We’re hurting. We aren't thinking straight. We need to quit. We need to take what we have left and find a real life.”

Francis shook his head, a slow, rhythmic movement that looked almost robotic. He stood up, towering over me in the dim light of the apartment.

“I can’t ever live like this again,” he whispered. “I can’t go back to counting coins for a bowl of soup while my family rots. This world... it isn't made for people like us, Yujin. It’s made for the ones who take what they want. It’s made for the strong.”

“We’ll lose more than just an arm next time,” I argued, my voice rising. “It’s greed, Francis. It’s a trap. Arslan is just using us until we’re spent.”

Francis looked down at me. His gaze drifted to the stump of my left arm, a cold, clinical look that made me feel smaller than I ever had in a dungeon. He stepped forward and pushed me lightly—a shove that held more strength than a D-Rank should have possessed.

“You should quit,” Francis said. There was no heat in his voice now. Just a flat, hollow certainty. “You’re right. You’re done. What are you going to do in a dungeon with just one hand anyway? You’d be a liability. You’d be the reason I die.”

He walked to the door and didn't look back.

“Go home, Yujin. Stay in the light. It’s where you belong.”

I didn't see him for a long time after that.

Life has a way of moving forward even when you’re missing a limb and a best friend. I took the money I’d saved from the shipyard and buried it. I spent months in physical therapy, learning how to exist in a world that was suddenly twice as difficult to navigate. I got my certifications. I studied. I found a way to be useful without a sword in my hand.

A year passed.

I was sitting in my small kitchen, grading papers for a basic mana-theory class, when there was a knock on the door. It wasn't the heavy, impatient thud of a landlord. It was three sharp, rhythmic raps.

I opened the door and froze.

Francis was standing in the hallway. He was wearing a tailored charcoal suit that probably cost more than my entire year’s salary. His hair was cut short, styled with a precision that made him look like a CEO or a high-end guild representative. But it was his body that had changed the most.

He was broader. His muscles were thick, defined, and vibrating with an energy I could feel from three feet away. He didn't look like a D-Rank porter anymore. He looked like an S-Rank monster wearing a human skin.

“Yujin,” he said, a smooth, attractive smile playing on his lips. “I heard you were doing well. Can a man get a meal for old times' sake?”

I was happy to see him. I really was. I’d spent a year wondering if he was dead in a ditch somewhere. I invited him in, and Mina made us a simple lunch, though she looked as wary as I felt.

Francis ate with a grace that felt entirely foreign. He talked about the city, about the new gates popping up, and about how much the world had changed. Then, he set his chopsticks down and looked me in the eye.

“I have a job for you, Yujin. Nothing dangerous. I just need someone I can trust to round people up. People like we used to be. Desperate people who need a chance.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, metallic card.

“And I want to get you a prosthetic. Not the cheap Association trash. I’m talking about a mana-synced limb that feels better than the original. I can make you whole again, brother.”

I looked at the card, then at him. I could see the blue cracks in his logic. I could see the same darkness I’d seen in the shipyard, only now it was polished and wearing a suit.

“No,” I said.

Francis blinked. “No? Yujin, I’m offering you a life. I’m offering you a way out of this cramped apartment.”

“I’m already out, Francis,” I said, looking at the stump of my arm. “I’m a professor now. I help kids. I’m not going back to the dark. And I don’t want a hand bought with the blood of people like us.”

Francis stood up. He didn't look angry. He just looked disappointed, the way a parent looks at a child who can't understand a simple lesson.

“You always did think small, Yujin,” he said, heading for the door. “You were always content with the crumbs. But I won’t forget you. You were my best friend. If you ever change your mind, you know where to find the shipyard.”

He left. I didn't see him again. Not until Hana came home.

The flashback ended with the soft clink of a spoon hitting the ceramic bowl.

The apartment was dark now, the evening shadows stretching across the floor like long, ink-black fingers. Yujin sat there, his one hand resting on the table, looking like a man who had just finished a marathon.

“I work at the local university now,” Yujin said, his voice coming back to the present. “I’m a professor for the awakening department. I guide the kids who wake up with a rank they don't want. I help them find career paths that don't involve dying in a hole for Arslan. I thought I was doing enough. I thought I’d left that world behind.”

Hana was gripping his hand, her knuckles white. Seraphina was standing by the window, her white hair glowing in the moonlight. Roonie was tapping furiously at his tablet, his face grim.

“Roonie,” I said, my strategist brain finally clicking into gear. “You said Francis was in the medical wing, right? The guy from the shipyard?”

“Yeah,” Roonie said, not looking up. “Association ICU. He’s stable but unconscious. They’ve got him under heavy sedation because his mana levels are fluctuating like crazy.”

I felt a cold prickle at the base of my neck.

If the man in the shipyard was the same Francis who had visited Yujin a year ago—the man who looked like an S-Rank but was registered as a D—then we were in a lot more trouble than I thought.

“We have to see him,” I said, standing up. “Now.”

I had a very bad feeling.