Eastern District Gate Challenge (1)

It had been a few days since that rooftop conversation with Talia — the one that Lanz had absolutely, definitely, one-hundred percent not been replaying on loop in the back of his skull like an unpaid intern forced to run the same commercial over and over.

He'd buried it under school, bad cafeteria coffee, and the faint hope that if he didn't think about it too hard, maybe it would stop feeling like she'd peeked behind the world's dumbest curtain.

Now it was Friday night. He was supposed to be gearing up mentally for that Tier 2 Gate he'd clocked on Miko's sketchy tracking app — the one he kept telling himself was an easy payday if he could just piece together something resembling armor.

Instead, he was sprawled belly-up on his cardboard like mattress, phone hovering above his face at an angle that threatened to drop it right on his nose.

He flicked through the Alt System's gear screen with the same dead-eyed energy as a kid flipping flashcards before a test he had no chance in hell of passing. The inventory was basically a list of bad jokes that just got sadder the longer he stared.

The Goblin Dagger — rusted to the point that any pawnshop clerk would probably laugh him back out the door. The Aged Blade Fragment? Technically priceless, but also cursed with the world's most passive-aggressive tooltip that may as well have read, "Bound and Non-transferable. Enjoy your shiny thingy, peasant."

The lightweight chest padding was about as sturdy as wet cardboard. The cracked ring, which gave him a whole +1 VIT, looked like it belonged in a cereal box prize pool. He rubbed a thumb over its chipped edge and muttered, "Maybe if I sell everything at once, I can afford a new pair of boots. Or half a fried dumpling. I don't f*cking know."

He was halfway through considering whether he could get a part-time gig at a sketchy gear recycler when his phone buzzed violently in his palm.

It was the group chat!

Kenji had dropped something, probably another video of some idiot faceplanting mid-dungeon run — because nothing screamed "study break" like watching other rookies eat floor tiles for likes.

He squinted at the clip thumbnail: [EASTERN DISTRICT GATE CHALLENGE — LIVE HIGHLIGHTS]. A familiar concrete plaza, cheap banner strung up over the entry gate, crowds cheering like it was a neighborhood festival crossed with a minor safety hazard.

Random hunters in mismatched armor sets posing for the camera before throwing themselves into short, timed solo runs just to see if they could squeeze out a tiny bit of prize money.

Kenji's text came in right after the link:

"YOOOOOO look at this dude faceplanting off a frost platform. personally i rate this sh*t S-tier comedic timing😭😭"

Before Lanz could even snort, Leo chimed in, casual as ever:

"they bumped the prize for open entry, i think it was 1000 credits this time. Bet you wouldn't do it hiro"

That got Hiro typing faster than a keyboard warrior:

"brrrrrrro I could win that sh*t if I wasn't busy being poor✋🗿🤚"

Kenji replied with a perfectly timed, "Skill issue," because of course he did. Lanz rolled his eyes and let the conversation scroll past, the lazy back-and-forth banter floating right over him — until the number hit him again.

He sat up so fast his blanket nearly tangled around his neck like a cheap executioner's knot. "A THOUSAND F*CKING CREDIT?!?!?!" he exclaimed, eyes flicking from his rusty dagger on the floor to the smudged ceiling light above him. "That's a real helmet and a new cloak — that's not rummage-sale discount gear. That's actual replacement parts."

The chat was still going — Kenji and Hiro bickering about how they'd "totally enter if they weren't so busy this weekend," and Leo adding in useless trivia about last year's winner, some B-rank showoff who cleared it shirtless for extra drama.

Lanz's fingers hovered over the keyboard, then typed:

"yooooooo, let's go tomorrow since school's been frying my— our brains. it's f*king break time!!!!!!!"

Simple and harmless. Just the usual group-buddy Lanz planning a dumb trip to watch idiots be idiots, well, he is one idiot as well, so...yeah.

Within seconds, Kenji replied:

"bet. free show"

Hiro:

"u're paying for my hotdog. wait, you're poor too fuck"

Leo:

"if we're going i'm ranking every scythe user by drip"

He let the phone drop onto his chest, the screen dimming just enough to catch his reflection. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, all teeth, the kind that would look absolutely villainous if anyone bothered to see it. He tapped a lazy rhythm against his sternum, sarcasm practically dripping from the inside of his skull.

"Break time, huh. Yeah right, it's f*cking time to make some money."

He closed his eyes, already half picturing the prize payout, the new gear, the idiot boys cheering from the sidelines, completely unaware that the rookie hunter they'd be losing their minds over wouldn't be some street-stage hero.

It would be 'HIM', Zero.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow was gonna be one hell of a show.

Saturday rolled in on the backs of sleep debt and cheap breakfast sandwiches. It felt like the fastest week they'd had in months, and yet somehow it also felt like they'd waited forever for this dumb little outing. By the time Lanz and the other three idiots — well, he was the fourth idiot, so technically that math held — spilled off the bus into the middle of the Eastern District, the street was already vibrating with the energy of people who hadn't been told yet that this whole thing would probably be a glorious mess.

The plaza surrounding the temporary event gate was alive in the best and worst way possible: vendor signs flickered over stalls steaming with skewers, fish balls, weird fried vegetables, and suspicious meat on sticks that no health inspector would ever approve. Pop-up booths lined every corner hawking knockoff charms, cheap Hunter masks, and half-broken gear that looked more like cosplay props than actual equipment.

There was a big screen propped up above the crowd, too, feeding the chaos with a loop of highlight reels — some half-decent runs from rookie hunters showing off their best stunts, some poor sap landing face-first in a slime trap that replayed on a comedic loop with a bright "FAIL" sticker every time he bounced. Cringe ass content.

Hiro was the first to break formation, wandering toward a fried snack stand with the solemn reverence of a man about to risk his digestive tract for the thrill. He came back dual-wielding what looked like battered fish balls on sticks, one in each hand like a carnival version of twin swords. He thrust one into Lanz's face like he was offering it up for inspection. "Behold, deep-fried dungeon monster, probably... I think."

Lanz leaned back just enough to avoid a whiff of fish oil and questionable batter. "It smells like all my regrets combined with the ocean, but you do you," he muttered, but Hiro had already taken a huge bite and was nodding like he'd found enlightenment in squid form.

Kenji, meanwhile, had Leo in a death grip conversation about polearms versus scythes as they drifted along the row of booths. He pointed dramatically at a rusty spear replica hanging from a vendor's display rack, his voice louder than necessary. "Polearms are peak combat, peak style, peak everything. More reach, more control, you look like a legend when you spin it right."

Leo sucked at his drink pouch with the unimpressed air of a man who'd heard this argument a thousand times and had won it every time. "Polearms are just for people who can't commit to a sword or an axe. Scythes have actual soul, they're spooky, they've got drama. You spin a scythe, you're a main character. You spin a spear, you're a background guard."

Kenji scoffed like someone had insulted his entire bloodline. "Scythes are just edgy farm tools for people who don't have a real strategy."

"Yeah, says the man who whiffed every polearm simulation you ever touched," Leo shot back, grinning.

"Touché."

Lanz hung back a step, hands stuffed in his pockets, trying not to look too interested in the big event banners that flashed the prize money on rotation — a thousand credits, enough to buy him an actual helmet and a cloak that didn't look like it had been chewed on by rabid goblins.

He nodded along to the back-and-forth, offering up the occasional "Yeah, totally" while he mentally ran through the odds of pulling off this stunt and getting away with it. Every new clip that played overhead — every half-assed showboat swing, every amateurish combo someone tried for the crowd — just cemented the idea that these people were begging to get dunked on by someone with actual moves. Not that he's any good, but still better than any of these bozos.

They spent a good hour like that, drifting from booth to booth, burning through cheap coins on rigged festival games and taste-testing whatever snack Hiro's bottomless stomach discovered next.

Some kids zipped past them wearing flimsy Hunter masks that sat crooked on their foreheads, swinging foam swords at each other and yelling made-up skill names at the top of their lungs.

Kenji tried to hype Hiro into buying a knockoff dagger from a sketchy gear stand just to "test the craftsmanship," but Hiro spent the money on fried sweet potato instead.

Then, with timing so perfect it felt scripted, Lanz's phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, eyes scanning the blank screen that didn't actually say anything useful — but that didn't matter.

He let his shoulders droop like a man whose dog had just run away with his homework, and dropped to one knee so dramatically that Leo nearly choked on his drink. Hiro leaned in, snack stick still halfway to his mouth.

"What happened? Dude, you good?" Hiro asked, all concerned eyes and half-mouthed chewing.

Lanz held up his phone like it was a funeral notice. He sniffed once, dragging out the moment like he was auditioning for a terrible stage play. "M—My mom just texted," he said, voice cracking right on cue.

The group went dead quiet. Leo actually tilted his head, frown deepening. "She okay?"

Lanz looked away, bracing one hand against the pavement as if the tragedy might physically knock him over. "She… she needs help…"

Kenji squatted down, hand on his shoulder, his dramatic "bro support" mode fully engaged. Hiro mirrored him, eyes wide, snack momentarily forgotten. The big screen behind them flickered through another replay of a contestant getting smacked by a slime, but none of them noticed. The air was heavy with fake tragedy.

"She needs help…" Lanz repeated, voice low, "…with the groceries."

Silence befell upod the idiots. Then, like a switch being flipped, they all dropped to the concrete in unison, arms flung out like they'd just been told Santa wasn't real and taxes were due tomorrow.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! "

The sound echoed so loud that a passing kid in a Hunter mask actually flinched and bolted back to his mom's stall.

Hiro's snack stick hit the ground, forgotten forever.

Kenji pressed a hand to his chest like he was about to deliver a eulogy.

Leo just covered his eyes with one palm, shaking his head slowly in pure, exaggerated despair.

Lanz tried not to laugh at how stupid they all looked — he really did — but a snort escaped as he picked himself up, brushing dirt off his pants.

He forced his most solemn, dutiful-son face, the one that practically radiated tragic nobility. "I'll be going now," he said dramatically. "She needs her handsome son."

Kenji clicked his tongue, flicking him a sarcastic finger-heart. "Go, you grocery knight. May the shopping bags not break."

"Bring back snacks or you're dead to me," Hiro muttered from where he was still sprawled on the pavement. Leo lifted his drink pouch like a glass of cheap wine and gave Lanz the slowest, dumbest wink imaginable.

"We'll tell you every dumb thing that goes down," Leo said, grinning like a cat. "Promise."

Lanz waved them off with a smile sweet enough to make a lesser man gag, spun on his heel, and disappeared into the rows of stalls. The second he turned the corner — the sweetness, sunshine, and rainbow ass acting — dropped like a mask sliding off a cartoon villain.

"I can finally kick off this fawwwwwwwking plan."

End of Chapter 20.

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ALT SYSTEM — USER PROFILE: ZERO

Level: 10

EXP: 2 / 100

Next Unlock: Skill — Crimson Slash

Global System Tracking: DISABLED

World Rank Association: UNLINKED

Stats:

STR: 8 | AGI: 8 (Affinity) | VIT: 3 | DEX: 1 | INT: 7 | WIS: 0

[Available Stat Points: 0]

[Derived Stat — MANA: 35 / 35]

Skills:

[Phantom Stride Lv.1] (Active Skill)

[Blade Control Lv.1]

[Parry Timing Lv.1]

[Reflex Sync Lv.1] (Passive Skill)

[Combat Awareness Lv.2] (Passive Skill)

[Skill Fusion Menu: Active]

[Dev Tree: Tier 0 Access Granted]

[Developer Node – Fusion Core Anchor: Active]

[Skill Slot Available — Unassigned]

Equipment:

Aged Blade Fragment (??? Rarity) (Bound)

Goblin Dagger

Spiked Boar Tusk Shard

Lightweight Chest Padding

Boots of Basic Mobility

Fingerless Gloves (Basic)

Starter Cloak: Faded Black

Training Ring (+1 VIT)