The testing room smelled faintly of sterilized metal and recycled air, like someone had sprayed antiseptic over hopeless dreams.
A woman in a crisp green-and-white suit stood behind a transparent console, her expression equal parts professional and bored… the kind of expression that said this wasn't the first life she'd disappointed today, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.
"I'm sorry, sir, your results have come back unchanged. You still possess the skill: F-Rank – Continuous Growth."
She pronounced it like she was diagnosing a terminal illness, and in some parts of the Inner Rings, she might as well have been.
A casually dressed man with black hair, blue eyes — Riven — stared at her, blinking like maybe if he just stood still long enough, reality would reverse itself out of pity. It didn't. Reality was heartless, and so was the debt collector that would be knocking on his door next week.
The woman extended a dull grey envelope — standard issue from the Esper Management Association – Testing Division — and he took it with slow hands.
"Thank you…"
Not that there was anything in there to be thankful for. Just a certificate of mediocrity, stamped and sealed in red ink. Twenty-five thousand Union coins, an entire month of living on nutrient paste, and a dream straight into the gutter.
He suddenly fell to his knees.
He looked defeated, exhausted, and utterly drained of all strength.
He exhaled, long and slow, before muttering,
"Twenty-five thousand... I could've bought some new clothes. Or a water purifier. Or... or those sweet boots with thermal soles. Hell, even a lifetime subscription to Virtual Girlfriend Pro would've been a better investment. At least she'd lie to me nicely…"
The envelope crinkled slightly as he tightened his grip.
"Oi! If you're done crying, step aside, man! Some of us have jobs to go back to," someone behind him in the line scoffed.
Riven flinched like he'd been struck, scrambling upright. "I—I'm sorry! Sorry, really!" he stammered, clutching the envelope to his chest like it might shield him from shame.
He stepped aside so fast he almost tripped over his own foot, face flushed as a dozen eyes turned to him — some with annoyance, a few with pity, and at least one with the smug relief that came from not being the one at the bottom.
He hated that most of all.
Riven kept his head low as he headed toward the exit of the Testing Hall. And then the whispering turned into words.
"Did you hear? F-Rank. Continuous Growth. What does that even mean? He's gonna grow some vegetables?"
"Pfft, no. Maybe he 'grows' more useless as the day passes…"
Laughter.
Riven winced. His face burned, but he didn't look back. Just keep walking.
"Twenty-five thousand Union coins for that? Man got scammed by the gods."
"Should've just bought a shovel. At least then he could dig his own grave."
"I heard that skills like that make you get better over time… like, a lot of time. Centuries. You'll be amazing right after you die of old age."
"Poor bastard. I heard a rumor he comes here every month. Why does he even bother? People don't suddenly gain skills overnight."
Another wave of laughter crashed around him like dirty water. A group of younger testers, barely old enough to qualify, whispered loudly on purpose as he passed.
The sliding glass automatic doors hissed shut behind him with a soft whoosh, sealing off the voices of the Testing Hall. Outside, the sky was grey — not with clouds, but with the smoggy breath of a thousand spires and a million struggling lives.
Riven stood at the edge of the walkway, the wind tugging at the sleeves of his oversized shirt, carrying the bitter sting of industrial rain somewhere in the distance. Below him, the lower platforms buzzed with transit drones and mag-runners. The city never stopped. It didn't care who you were, only whether you had something to offer.
He sighed and let the breath trail out of him like it might take his self-pity with it. No such luck.
"They have a point… why do I even bother?"
The envelope was still in his hand, slightly crumpled now, like it had absorbed his frustration. He shoved it into his bag, then rolled his neck until it popped.
"Status window," he said.
There was a subtle chime — one that only he could hear — and then translucent text bloomed into his vision, hovering like ink on glass:
⟡ STATUS WINDOW ⟡
Name: Riven Cael
Age: 22
Level: 3
Race: Human (Baseline)
Tier: 10
Stats:
Strength: 33 (Next: 34 in ~209 days)
Agility: 31 (Next: 32 in ~300 days)
Endurance: 35 (Next: 36 in ~97 days)
Intelligence: 36 (Next: 37 in ~73 days)
Luck: 2 (Next: 3 in ~6,931 days — lol.)
Mana: 47 / 47 (Regeneration Rate: 0.6/sec)
Skill(s):
• Continuous Growth — F-Rank [Evolveable]
A passive, unscalable trait. All attributes grow by 0.01% every 24 hours.
- Growth is constant, uninterrupted by combat state, illness, or mana depletion.
- Includes physical stats, mental faculties, magical threshold, and adaptive thresholds.
- Effect is permanent, accumulative, and unaffected by outside buffs or nerfs.
- This trait grows along with the user. Under specific unknown conditions, it may evolve.
Riven squinted at the panel, lips curled into a dry smirk.
"Right. At this rate, I'll be semi-decent in... five years. Unless I die of malnutrition first."
He sighed.
"Fuck my luck."
Just as Riven waved away his status window with a tired flick, his phone vibrated.
Not once.
Twice.
Then it began to ring.
He froze.
There were only a handful of people in the world who still called instead of texted. And only one of them had the kind of psychic timing that could pinpoint his most miserable moment with the precision of a sniper.
Riven slowly pulled the scuffed, screen-cracked device from his pocket — like he was disarming a bomb — and there it was:
Incoming Call: Manager Wang
For a heartbeat, he considered ignoring it. Faking death. Launching himself into the mag-runners below and letting fate sort it out. But no.
Manager Wang didn't leave voicemails.
He left scars.
Riven thumbed the answer button.
The roar hit him instantly.
"RIVEN! Where the hell are you!?"
The man's voice was gravel wrapped in caffeine and rage, loud enough that passersby gave Riven startled glances.
"I—I'm on my way! I told the others I was heading for a re-appraisal—"
"Oh, spare me the drama!" Manager Wang cut in, voice crackling with fury. "You pull this same stunt every new month. You think we don't notice? You think I enjoy having to reshuffle everyone because the weakest grunt on staff is off chasing fantasy updates to his skill tree?"
Riven flinched as if the words had physical weight.
"I swear, sir, I'll be there in ten minutes—"
"Damn right you will! Because if I have to see Jin and Toma pick up your slack again during a Level Three supply run, I'm docking your pay so hard you'll owe me just for clocking in!"
The line didn't disconnect — Manager Wang hung up the way a guillotine does. Fast. Final. Fatal.
Riven stared blankly at his reflection in the blackened screen of his phone.
Pay cut.
The words echoed like a death knell through his skull.
His breath hitched. His throat went dry.
If his pay got cut...
Forget saving up for another re-appraisal next month. Forget affording the watered-down nutrient paste that passed for meals. Forget scraping together enough for heat credits or the occasional back-alley mana stabilizer. Hell, forget even paying rent on his run-down, sixth-floor shoebox of an apartment that shook every time the mag-trams passed overhead.
If Manager Wang really cut his pay, he'd be lucky to afford two liquid meals a day — and that was if he skipped flavor additives entirely.
And the loan sharks?
Those smiling bastards with gold teeth and shock-sticks?
They were already circling. He could feel it in his bones. Late payment once? They broke your door. Twice? They broke your legs.
He couldn't afford to get fixed up by a healer — potions these days cost an arm and a leg. Literally, if you couldn't pay up front.
He couldn't afford any of it.
Not when he was still paying interest on the first two.
His grip on the phone tightened until the case creaked. A low, pained groan crawled up his throat.
And then—
"Shit—shit, shit, SHIT!"
He spun on his heel and bolted.
No more slow shuffle. No more quiet shame. Riven ran like the devil was at his heels — because in his world, the devil charged interest.
He ducked between two hovering cargo drones, sidestepped a sanitation bot spraying mist across the pavement, and leapt over a sleeping alley-cat mutated enough to grow a second tail. The city blurred around him — all sharp corners, steam vents, and flickering neon. His boots slapped against the ferrocrete, too worn for good traction, and his bag bounced against his side.
Every breath felt like it scraped his lungs raw, but he didn't stop.
He couldn't stop.
Because if he got there late, and Manager Wang followed through…
Then the hunger wouldn't just be metaphorical anymore.