Morning.
Ren sat on the floor with his back against the damp wall. Phone in hand — screen cracked at the top left corner, but still on.
Guild registration: deadline in 3 days.
From the bedroom, Mira's breathing came through steady. Last night's fever had come down, but Ren knew his sister's temperature could spike again at any time.
He stood, pulled the biscuit tin from under the loose floorboard. One bill left inside — enough for two days if he skipped lunch.
He put it in his pocket, closed the flat door quietly, and headed out toward the guild district.
---
The guild district was somewhere he'd never been.
Large buildings rose on both sides, with iron and glass signboards: Golden Dragon Guild, Black Dawn Guild, Eternal Thunder Guild. Elaborate logos on every door — dragons, swords, shields, fire.
The line in front of Golden Dragon already snaked out onto the sidewalk. Ren glanced over: dozens of people, some already in uniform, some still in regular jackets.
Behind him, a man exhaled loudly. "Queuing again. Always queuing. Same every year."
Along the road, an announcement board listed active dungeons. White text on black, updated in chalk:
Dungeon Level 3 — Location: East City — Reward: 50 million
Dungeon Level 2 — Location: West — Reward: 15 million
Dungeon Level 1 — Location: South — Reward: 2 million
Ren scanned the numbers, then his eye caught a line at the very bottom.
Dungeon Level 1 — Zone C — Reward: 500 thousand — Status: Open
No dungeon name. Just a code. Beside it, small red text: Minimum rank D recommended.
Ren looked around. Nobody was looking at that board. Everyone passed it like it wasn't there.
But the board was clean. No dust, no scrawled notes. Like it had never been touched. The board beside it was covered in taped papers and handwriting. That red line stayed clean.
"Hm." Ren raised his phone and took a photo.
Then he walked toward the first building.
---
Steel Dawn Guild
A large glass door opened into a room with gleaming marble floors.
Behind the reception desk, a woman with her hair pinned up smiled professionally.
"Good morning, how can I help you?"
"Registering," Ren said.
"Please show your ID and stat panel."
Ren pulled out his student card — still valid until next month — and opened his stat panel.
NAME: REN
RANK: F
SKILL: SYNTHESIS (RANK F)
STAT: STR 7 | AGI 9 | INT 15 | VIT 6 | MANA 8
The woman read the panel. Her smile didn't change, but the corners of her eyes tightened — like someone reading a price tag and realizing they don't have enough.
From behind Ren, whispers started.
"Rank F? Seriously."
"Look at his skill. Synthesis? What even is that?"
"No idea. Sounds like a support skill."
The woman didn't look toward the whispers. Her eyes stayed on Ren.
"I'm sorry," she said. "We don't accept rank F."
Ren tilted his head. "Even though my INT is 15? That's above average for rank E."
The woman blinked. That wasn't a response she expected.
"Policy is policy," she said.
"Policy is just a rule someone wrote," Ren said. "Rules can be re-evaluated if the data changes. My skill is new. There's no data on it yet. So technically, rejecting me is statistically premature."
The woman's smile faded into something tired. "Sir, please leave."
"Understood," Ren said. "But for the record, your policy is based on incomplete information."
He turned around.
The glass door closed behind him. The two who'd been whispering — stared at him with open mouths.
The woman stifled a laugh behind her hand.
Ren didn't look back. He pulled out his notebook and wrote:
Steel Dawn — rejected. Reason: rank F. But their rejection logic is flawed because they have no data on my skill.
---
Eternal Thunder Guild
The receptionist here was male, with short hair and a tired face. He read Ren's panel without expression.
"Rank F?"
"Yeah."
"Synthesis? Never heard of it."
"New skill," Ren said. "First time appearing in this year's graduation. So technically, you're looking at the only data point in existence right now."
The man stared at Ren. "What?"
"My skill. It's unique. There's no record of anyone else having it. So if you reject me, you're not rejecting a rank F. You're rejecting a potentially groundbreaking skill because it doesn't fit your existing categories."
The man's tired face somehow got more tired. "Our minimum is rank E."
"Rank is just a letter," Ren said. "Synthesis could theoretically combine two rank E items into a rank D item. That's exponential growth. But if you don't want exponential growth, that's fine."
"...Please leave."
Ren noted it down and left.
Beside the door, a Hunter in a camo jacket was filling out a form. He glanced over, read Ren's panel from the side, then shook his head.
"Rough, kid."
"It's not rough," Ren said. "It's unexplored territory. There's a difference."
The Hunter opened his mouth, then closed it.
Ren walked out.
---
Golden Dragon Guild
A long queue. Ren stood behind five people.
In front of him, a young man in a leather jacket kept tapping his thigh.
"So much waiting," the young man muttered.
"Waiting is just time spent not collecting data," Ren said.
The young man turned around. "What?"
"Nothing. Thinking out loud."
The young man stared at Ren for a moment, then slowly turned back around.
Fifteen minutes passed. Twenty.
Finally his turn.
The receptionist — an older woman with glasses — looked at Ren's panel.
"Rank F?"
"Yeah."
"Skill: Synthesis?"
"Yeah."
The woman took off her glasses and exhaled. "Young man, try looking for a guild that's… smaller. We can't take rank F."
"Can't or won't?"
The woman's eyebrow twitched. "Excuse me?"
"Can't means you're incapable. Won't means you're choosing not to. Which one is it?"
Behind Ren, someone groaned. "Just move on already."
The woman put her glasses back on. "Won't," she said flatly. "Next."
Ren nodded. "Honest. I appreciate that."
He stepped aside.
From behind, a voice cut in: "If you're getting rejected, step aside. Wasting everyone's time."
Ren didn't turn around. He noted it down and left.
On the sidewalk, he stopped and opened his notebook.
Golden Dragon — won't accept rank F. At least they're honest about it being a choice.
He closed the notebook and looked at the fourth building across the road: Silver Garuda Guild.
Before he could cross, someone tapped his shoulder from behind.
"Hey."
Ren turned.
In front of him stood a young man, mid-twenties, with a worn jacket and messy hair. On his chest hung a guild badge.
"You just finished registering?" the man asked.
"Yeah."
"Rejected?"
Ren looked at him. "Three rejections so far. One of them admitted it was a choice, not a limitation."
The man blinked. "What?"
"Nothing. Yes, rejected."
The man laughed. "Me too. Four guilds, all rejected."
He held out his hand. "Bima. Rank D."
Ren shook it. "Ren. Rank F."
Bima's hand stopped mid-shake. "Rank F? And you tried the big guilds?"
"Yeah."
"Of course you got rejected, man."
"That's what everyone says. But no one can tell me why, other than 'policy' or 'minimum rank.' Those aren't reasons. Those are just rules someone made up."
Bima stared at Ren. Then laughed.
"What's your skill anyway?"
"Synthesis. Combining two things into one."
Bima's laugh stopped. "Combining things? Like... glue?"
"Like glue, but permanent. And the result isn't just stuck together — it becomes a single new thing with properties from both originals."
Bima scratched his head. "That sounds..."
"Interesting?"
"I was gonna say weird."
"Weird is just unfamiliar. Familiarity comes with exposure."
Bima was quiet for a moment. Then he held out his palm. "Look. My skill is [Temperature Boost]. Sounds cool, right? All it does is warm up a cup of coffee. Can't get it to boil, can't use it for fire. Just... warm."
Ren looked at Bima's palm. Then he touched it.
"Warm," Ren said.
"Yeah."
"Consistently warm?"
"Same temperature every time. Like holding a mug."
Ren's eyes lit up. "That's actually interesting."
Bima frowned. "Interesting how?"
"Consistency is rare. Most skills fluctuate based on mana or emotion or whatever. Yours is stable. That means it's predictable. Predictable things can be combined with other predictable things to get predictable results."
Bima stared at Ren like he was speaking another language.
"...You're weird," Bima said.
"People keep saying that."
---
They stood on the sidewalk while a bus passed and a woman in a suit pushed past them without slowing.
Bima looked at Ren. "You're not giving up?"
"Not enough data yet to conclude it's useless. I've only tried three guilds. That's a sample size of three. Statistically insignificant."
Bima blinked. "What?"
"If I haven't tried every guild, I can't know. Maybe one of them is desperate enough to take a rank F with a weird skill."
Bima went quiet for a moment. Then he laughed again — different this time. Not pity. Confused, half-impressed.
"You're weird," he said again. "But I like you."
Ren didn't react. "Where are you headed next?"
"Silver Garuda. Though I'll probably get rejected again."
"Try anyway. Even rejection is data."
Bima shook his head, smiling. "You talk like a textbook."
"I talk like someone who thinks before speaking. There's a difference."
They crossed the road together.
Halfway across, Bima asked, "Rank F, weird skill, rejected everywhere. Why not find other work? Factory labor, security guard, whatever."
"My sister needs medicine," Ren said.
Bima stopped walking. He looked at Ren.
No laugh this time. Just a nod.
"Good luck, man."
"You too."
They parted at the Silver Garuda entrance.
Ren had already spotted a small board at the end of an alley beside the building. A wooden board with handwritten text.
Guild Tanah — Accepting all ranks.
---
The alley was narrow — two people couldn't walk side by side. The smell of urine and damp cigarettes hit immediately.
Guild Tanah's door was rusted iron with no proper handle. Just a hole where someone could slip a finger in to pull it open.
Ren slipped his finger in and pulled. The door opened with a heavy groan.
Inside, the room was small — even smaller than Ren's flat. Walls dingy, floor bare cement, furniture worn: one scarred wooden desk, three chairs in different colors, and a full ashtray in the corner.
A man sat behind the desk. Around fifty, hair half-white, face creased. His black leather jacket had faded at the elbows. On his chest, a guild badge — plain metal.
He was smoking, the smoke drifting up toward a cracked ceiling.
In the corner, the chair farthest from the door, a woman sat without moving. Short hair, black jacket. Her face wasn't turned toward Ren, but Ren felt her attention.
"What do you want?" The man's voice was rough.
Ren stood at the desk. "Registering."
The man — Ren mentally called him Brek — leaned back in his chair. Cigarette still between his middle fingers. His eyes moved over Ren from head to foot.
"Rank?"
"F."
Brek's eyebrow went up. "Skill?"
"Synthesis."
Brek paused, Drew on his cigarette.
"Synthesis," he repeated. "What's that?"
"Combining two objects into one new object. The new object inherits properties from both originals."
Brek stared at Ren. "Like welding?"
"No. Welding keeps the two pieces separate but attached. Synthesis makes them one thing. No seam. No boundary. Just... one."
Brek took another drag. He looked at Ren's stat panel, then at Ren's face, then back at the panel.
"You're rank F."
"Yes."
"With a skill nobody's heard of."
"Yes."
"And you came here."
"Your sign said 'Accepting all ranks.'"
Brek chuckled.
"Okay," he said. "You're in."
Ren blinked. First time today someone hadn't turned him away.
"...Okay?"
"Rank F is fine. As long as you work. Thirty percent commission."
Ren didn't answer immediately. His eyes moved across the room: scarred desk, mismatched chairs, full ashtray, cheap badge on Brek's chest. Then the woman in the corner — clearer now. Her face was flat, but her eyes tracked every movement Ren made.
"Twenty-five percent," Ren said.
Brek's eyebrow went higher. "Twenty-eight."
Ren ran a quick calculation: next three days, medicine, food, advance.
"Deal. But I need an advance payment."
Brek stopped smoking. He pressed it out in the ashtray.
"New members don't usually ask for advances."
"I'm a new member who's rank F," Ren said. "And I have a sister at home who needs medicine today. Not tomorrow. Today."
Brek held Ren's gaze for a long moment.
Finally Brek let out a breath. He opened the drawer, counted out several bills, and handed them over.
"Forty thousand. Deducted from your first earnings."
Ren took the money. "Thank you."
He turned. At the doorway, he glanced once more toward the woman in the corner.
Their eyes met.
She didn't smile. Didn't nod. Just looked.
---
At a pharmacy near the guild district, Ren bought children's fever medicine. Small box, orange packaging, eight thousand.
He put it in his pocket. Money left: thirty-two thousand — enough for a week, maybe ten days if he was careful.
He walked home.
On the way, his phone lit up. He opened the photo of the announcement board.
Dungeon Level 1 — Zone C — Reward: 500 thousand — Minimum rank D recommended.
Small reward. But why had nobody taken that job?
He thought back to the board: clean, no dust, no taped papers or handwritten notes. While the board beside it was covered. That red line stayed untouched.
He searched for more information about the dungeon on his phone.
No record of anyone ever taking the mission.
"Hm," Ren said to himself. "Either it's dangerous, or the reward is too small, or..."
He stopped walking.
Or nobody knows about it because nobody looked.
---
Flat. Evening.
Ren opened the door.
Mira was sitting on the floor with a piece of paper and a crayon. She looked up when Ren came in.
"You're back."
"Yeah."
"Where's the gift?"
Ren pulled out the medicine box and set it on the chest. "This."
Mira looked at the box. Then at Ren. Then back at the box.
"That's medicine."
"Yeah."
"That's not a gift."
"You need it."
Mira put down her crayon. She stood up, walked to the chest, and picked up the box. She read the label — not that she could read, but she looked at it anyway.
"Orange," she said.
"Tastes like orange."
Mira opened the box. She took out one strip of pills and held it up to the light.
"Ren."
"Yeah."
"You bought this instead of food."
Ren didn't answer.
Mira put the strip back in the box. She set the box down carefully.
Then she walked to Ren and hugged his leg.
"Next time," she said, "buy food first."
Ren stood there with a five-year-old hugging his leg, telling him he was stupid for buying medicine instead of food.
"...Okay," he said.
Mira let go and went back to her paper. She picked up the crayon and continued drawing.
Ren leaned against the wall.
He looked at the iron and magnifying glass still on the chest. Then at the medicine box beside them. Then at Mira on the floor.
He pulled out his notebook and wrote:
Tomorrow: figure out why iron + glass didn't work.
Also: buy food first.