Z-City, Hero Association Branch.
The lobby looked like a casting call for chaos.
Men of every build, style, and questionable fashion choice stood in neat lines, holding paperwork like model citizens. If anyone had seen them earlier—when they moved like predators in another world—they wouldn't have believed it.
Now?
They looked like office workers on their first day.
"Next, please."
A receptionist smiled politely at a man well over two meters tall.
"You're applying to become a hero?"
"Yes," Ivanov replied, posture straight, tone measured. "I've trained for years. I believe I'm more than capable of handling the job. Protecting the weak has always been something I respect."
The receptionist nodded, typing away.
"Great to hear. Confidence is important. Name, please?"
"Ivanov. Also… can I choose my hero name?"
"Sorry, no. Hero names are assigned by the Association."
"I see." He nodded, surprisingly cooperative. "And when is the next evaluation?"
"You'll be notified. Usually within a week. Please leave your contact details."
Ivanov hesitated.
"That might be… difficult. I've been training in isolation for a long time. I don't exactly have identification on file. Is there any flexibility there?"
The receptionist's smile didn't waver.
"In that case, you'll need to register with the police first. Once your identity is verified, you can proceed with testing. Next, please."
Ivanov stepped aside.
For a moment, his expression didn't change.
Then he joined the others gathering off to the side.
And just like that, the illusion cracked.
"This is ridiculous," someone muttered under their breath. "They have no idea who they're talking to. I could flatten a whole block if I wanted."
"Yeah, and then what?" another replied. "We're not in our world anymore. Sit tight. Play along for now."
Grumbling. Frustration.
But no one made a move.
Not yet.
Then—
The alarms went off.
Sharp. Urgent. Impossible to ignore.
A voice echoed through the building.
"Warning. Hostile presence approaching the Z-City branch. Threat level: Tiger. All A-Class heroes, respond immediately. Description: male… highly attractive."
A strange pause followed that last part.
Then—
Every reincarnator in the room lit up.
Opportunity.
Finally.
Ivanov stood first, energy snapping back into place.
"Stay here," he said to his group, confidence returning in full. "I'll handle this. Once I'm officially recognized, I'll make sure the rest of you get fast-tracked."
Cheers followed.
Momentum building—
Then it stopped.
Ivanov froze mid-step.
His expression shifted.
That pressure again.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
Without a word, he lowered himself back down, blending into the group like he'd never moved.
"…Boss?" someone whispered. "Why are you sitting?"
No answer.
Because at that exact moment—
A voice rang out from the entrance.
"Alright, this is the place, right? Let's not waste time. Get someone out here and run my evaluation. I'm aiming straight for S-Class."
Boom.
Noah Vale dropped into the lobby like a meteor that decided, halfway down, to be polite about it.
Heads turned.
Faces froze.
Him?
Every reincarnator in the room had the same thought.
Is he serious?
Ivanov didn't look up.
"He's signing his own death warrant," he said quietly. "Let the Association deal with him."
Noah glanced around, taking in the room.
Recognized faces.
Familiar energy signatures.
And all of them… standing in line.
He raised an eyebrow.
Seriously?
Before he could say anything, a figure flashed into his path.
Fast.
Very fast.
A man with short blond hair and a tight black outfit skidded to a stop, electricity practically crackling off him.
"I'm A-Class Rank 20, Lightning Max," he said with a sharp grin. "You've got some nerve causing trouble here. Now you're going to—"
He didn't finish.
He didn't get the chance.
Noah's foot was already there.
It came down like a verdict.
Crack.
Max's face met the floor at speed.
Stone shattered. His body followed, driven straight into the polished marble until he was embedded like a stamp pressed too hard.
Noah rested his foot casually on the back of Max's head, applying just enough pressure to flatten him completely.
"Is this it?" Noah asked, glancing around. "This is what passes for A-Class?"
Silence.
Shock.
Then—
"I'll take you on!"
A massive man in a tank top charged forward, muscles stacked like armor.
"I'm A-Class Rank—"
Noah moved.
No windup.
No flourish.
Just a shift—
—and his elbow was already buried in the man's abdomen.
The impact folded him.
Literally.
His eyes bulged, breath leaving him in a violent burst as his body arched around the strike. For a second, it looked like Noah's arm might punch straight through him.
Then the man collapsed.
Out cold before he hit the ground.
A-Class Rank 9.
Gone in one hit.
Now the room broke.
Staff scrambled. Some backed away. Others stared at the monitors, already recalculating.
This wasn't Tiger-level.
Not even close.
This was Demon territory.
Minimum.
Which meant—
S-Class candidate.
Noah nudged the unconscious hero aside with his foot and dragged a chair over, dropping into it like he had all the time in the world.
"I think we can skip the A-Class auditions," he said. "Anyone stronger around?"
His gaze drifted toward the staff.
"I heard there's an S-Class Rank 3 operating out of Z-City. Silver Fang, right? You got a number for him?"
No one answered.
They didn't need to.
Everything happening in that room was already streaming live to headquarters.
A-City, Hero Association HQ.
"Demon-level?" one executive asked, frowning at the footage.
A staff member shook his head.
"No. Human. Unknown identity. He took down A-Class Rank 9 and Rank 20 instantly. No visible strain."
A pause.
"He's requesting immediate S-Class certification. Says if we don't process it today… he'll come here himself."
Silence settled over the room.
Someone leaned back in their chair, exhaling slowly.
"…And he wants S-Class?"
"Yes."
Another pause.
Then—
"Give it to him."