On the ground floor, people moved steadily through the large glass entrance, their faces filled with anxiety and hoped.
For many, becoming a Seeker was the only way out of poverty. That was why almost everyone who awakened signed up right away, even though fighting monsters came with a very high chance of dying.
As I walked closer, I noticed many people wearing ties and coats, while others sported formal jackets.
These were recruiters. Their hungry eyes scanned the crowd, looking for potential targets.
"Hey kid, looking to register?" A balding man in a cheap suit stepped into my path. "I represent the Sharp Fang Guild. We offer great benefits for newcomers."
I brushed past him without a word. These vultures made their living poaching ignorant newbies for small-time guilds, earning commissions for each person they signed.
Big-time guilds, on the other hand, didn’t need to lift a finger, unless it was for high-rankers, (B )Rank and above.
Seekers naturally flocked to them, hoping for access to better grinding spots and high-quality gear.
"Boy, don’t get ahead of yourself. You’re probably just an F Rank. E at best," the half-balding man sneered in contempt.
I didn’t bother wasting my breath on his taunts; anyone who behaved like that was obviously struggling with their own set of problems.
The lobby inside was massive, with high ceilings and sleek modern design.
There were also tons of posters of the top 10 S Ranks in the country.
I stopped halfway, my eyes caught by a poster of the same girl from the park’s . She was really pretty, no matter how many times I see her face.
’Hai-Yen,’
Shaking off my admiration, I refocused on the present and made my way to the new applicants’ area.
An employee glanced at me with a tired, almost bored expression as she handed me a form.
The moment I flashed my ID, her bored expression melted like ice cream in the sun. Her eyes went wide, and she practically jumped from her seat.
"Oh! Mr. Ace Mercer... right away, sir," she said, suddenly all business. "You don’t have to wait in line or fill out any extra forms. Priority processing, just for you."
Ah, the magic of status and money.
The people around me sneered—probably thinking I’m some rich kid who got it easy because of my connections, which was completely true.
I flashed them a smile and a nod that basically said, ’Hey, not my fault I was born rich.’
One of the employee told me to sit on the sofa while the other had to sit on metal chair, same one seen in airports.
"Mr. Mercer, I’m sorry you have to wait a few minutes, but rest assured we’ve already made adjustments to reduce your waiting time."
"Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind."
"Would you like something to drink while you wait?"
"Oh, lemon juice, please."
The employee looked a bit troubled. "Ah, Mr. Ace... we don’t have a fancy kind of juice, but we do have coffee or tea."
"What? Why would I care if it’s expensive or not? I just asked for a lemon juice."
It occurred to me. Because I’m the son of a billionaire, everyone immediately assumes I eat and drink gold for breakfast.
"I’m really sorry, sir. I’ll get your juice right away." She bowed her head, and a few seconds later, returned with four cans of juice from different brands.
I almost facepalmed myself. What was I supposed to do with all these lemons? I’m not some kind of lemon addict who can’t go a day without consuming them.
But the employee looked completely shaken. She must be new, probably fresh out of college.
"Thanks, I’m fine now, so you can go."
She bid me farewell, and I was left waiting to be called.
"Sung Jinwa," one of the facilitators called out.
"Here." A weak-looking young man, probably fresh out of college, stood up. His hands trembled as he followed the employee through the double doors.
Ten minutes later, he emerged with slumped shoulders and reddened eyes. F rank, most likely. The lowest of the low.
He would be lucky to land a job as a mule for teams that barely make anything from towers after deducting operational costs.
Worse, he would just be there to meet the numbers requirement—and would end up with an even smaller share.
That’s what I thought—until he clenched his fist, and in that moment, I saw the determination of someone who would never let his rank control his life.
Very commendable.
"Kim Yeon."
A woman in her thirties straightened her jacket before entering.
When she returned, her face remained neutral, but the slight twitch of her lips showed her disappointment. Another low ranking.
The pattern continued throughout the entire time. Most came out dejected, a few wore bitter smiles, and only a handful celebrated openly.
"Alden Ray"
A muscular guy with bleached hair swaggered into the testing room.
Ten minutes later, he reappeared, flashing a triumphant grin and raising his fist like he just won a boxing match.
"B rank, baby!" he yelled, slapping hands with his friends. "Watch out, top guilds—I’m coming for you!"
I understood his excitement. B rank and above meant opportunities.
Joining a top guild and becoming a high ranker was literally one step away from stardom in this world.
F to D ranks, on the other hand, had to apply like common job seekers, often settling for whatever guild would take them.
Many ended up doing the most dangerous grunt work for minimal pay, serving as cannon fodder for higher-ranked hunters.
The room gradually emptied as more names were called.
A girl about my age emerged from the testing room, tears streaming down her face despite her wide smile. She clutched her results paper like a winning lottery ticket.
"A rank!" she squealed to someone on her phone. "Dad, they said A rank!"
Everyone rushed to congratulate her, and then a group of people in expensive suits stepped forward, handing her their calling cards and introducing the top guilds they represented.
The difference in treatment was very obvious.
If she was smart, she wouldn’t sign with any of them without hearing all the offers first. Guild contracts usually last three years, and getting a high lump sum upfront wasn’t always the right move.
She needed to take into consideration which raids she would be assigned to, what items she receive, and what her renewal contract would look like—or how much she would have to pay if she broke it.
Of course, none of this concerned me. I just had too much time to spare.
"Ace," they finally called. I had intentionally told the employees not to call out my last name to avoid drawing attention.
I stepped into the examination room, where everything—from the floor to the walls was grey .
Three people in lab coats stood around a cluster of computers while a fourth—a woman with almond-shaped eyes and her hair pulled back in a tight bun, approached me.
"Mr. Mercer, please follow me," she gestured toward a glass enclosure.
The transparent chamber stood nearly ten feet tall, its thick walls reinforced with various sensors and cameras mounted at different angles.
"Please stand in the center circle," she instructed through the intercom.