Outside the Seeker Association, the world moved on like nothing had happened.

No reports. No mention of the evaluation machine shattering under my hand. Nothing.

As for the previous examiners… they were probably tucked away in a secret briefing room by now.

Honestly, I wouldn't be shocked if the Association had one of those pens that flashed and wiped memories clean—just another tool to keep their secrets buried.

Walking around the streets, I kept my pace easy, unhurried, like I was just another face in the crowd.

Hayes said he needed to report me to some other government agency as per protocol. That was fine. If things ever went sideways, I could vanish without a trace.

But I didn't want to waste this opportunity.

And from our talk, it was obvious Hayes wanted me affiliated with an organization as soon as possible. Something with rules and paperwork.

It would make me easier to track. Easier to predict.

Which, ironically, made it the safest move for me.

I slipped through alleyways, weaving until I was far enough.

Then I dismissed the clone.

My vision shut down for a split second, and my consciousness was back in my luxurious office.

Everything it had on it at the moment of unsummoning went with it—clothes, ID, all of it—sealed neatly into the card.

Which also meant I could drop everything right now, pick up a crowbar and a mask, and make a career out of burglary.

Banks. Vaults. Private collections. In and out before anyone even realized something was missing.

…A tempting thought.

But nah. That sounded like too much work for too little spotlight.

I headed to my bedroom and summoned the clone onto the bed.

First thing I did was check the ID. Front, back, edges.

No electronics. No trackers. Just a regular piece of semi metallic material. Good. Nothing there that could trace me.

Then the clothes. Seams, collars, hems. I ran my fingers over every fold, every hidden spot. No bugs. No transmitters.

Clean. Completely clean.

With that out of the way, I unsummoned the clone again, and headed back to my office.

I tapped at the keyboard, eyes glued to the screen—looking busy. Like I was deep in work, even if I wasn't.

Every real task? Already dumped on my employees. That was the whole point of paying them. I just had to look busy while they earned their salaries, a perfect ecosystem.

Roughly 30 minutes later, I pressed the internal phone line, which only worked inside the building—and rang the Public Relation Department in the fifth floor.

Yeah. My very own PR department.

They existed for one reason: scrub the net clean of bad press and flood it with good stories until the algorithm itself started rooting for me.

"Status?" I inquired, maintaining a firm tone.

A familiar voice answered, already halfway into a report about the charity run I paid for.

Medicine. Health checkups. Dental work. Eyesight screenings—everything, rolled out across the poorer regions of the city.

Why did I do this?

Well. Back in my old world, it was a solid strategy to build a good reputation.

My team then turned it into a good story.

Headlines. Clips. Emotional edits. Comment sections overflowing with praise.

It got so out of hand that a lot of internet users started spinning a conspiracy: I was supposedly running for governor this year.

I snorted.

'Me? Politics?'

I would have to be a fucking Evil. Selfish. Psychopathic. Heartless.

Just to even—

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling, lips twitching.

Why did I feel like I would be a perfect fit?

There was no way that was true.

I knew I was evil—sure—but not that evil.

There were levels to this kind of thing. A hierarchy.

I was somewhere around the murderer-and-blackmail tier. Solidly brutal, maybe even ambitious… but nowhere near the summit.

The peak was reserved for assholes who smiled into cameras while signing policies that gutted their own people.

The kind who shook hands, talked about "hard choices," then went home richer—paid off by corporations jacking up the price of basic medicine. Insulin. Lifesaving stuff.

I rolled my chair back, hands laced behind my head, proud that I'm not the worst of the worst yet.

"Good work " I said into the phone.

I didn't wait for the thank-you.

"Now listen carefully. I want you to contact the biggest news outlet in the city. After that, pull in the top social media influencers—every platform, no exceptions."

"Tell them DEGEN Guild is making an announcement three days from now. Not just big—historic."

Alright, maybe I was exaggerating a bit—but I did have a plan brewing.

They nodded and started hashing out a marketing plan, for me to approve later.

That left me with plenty of time to myself.

So I returned to my bedroom and sat cross-legged on the floor, slipping into a meditative state.

I focused on my breathing—not just to cultivate, but to think.

To go over everything I had, strip it down, and figure out how to push my combat ability further without relying on the system handing me cards.

It took a couple of hours, but I finally reached a good enough progress in some of them.

"Oh, it's already night?" I leaned against the glass, staring out at the tower in the distance, the surrounding buildings pressing close around it.

Then I shut my eyes and let my Qi spread.

It flowed outward, mapping the area 30 meters around me. Every wall. Every doorway. Every living presence.

This was a technique I developed after meeting that Darkness representative with the weird ability.

Qi Location—a pun on echolocation, like the way bats navigate.

With enough training, I could actively stretch it out to twenty meters. Passively, about ten.

Of course, it still wasn't perfect.

When I'm sleeping, the radius shrank down to just two meters—barely enough to keep a skilled assassin from slicing my head off.

I wondered what would happen in my next breakthrough.

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