The raid had been exhausting.
Seven hours clearing a C-rank dungeon, fighting through waves of crystalline golems that hit like freight trains and shattered into razor-sharp shrapnel when destroyed. Astrid’s arms ached from maintaining her barrier spells, her mana reserves were scraped to nearly nothing, and she had a splitting headache from the constant ntal strain of coordinating defensive positions for a team that kept making stupid tactical decisions.
But they’d cleared it.
Fifty thousand credits split eight ways. Her share: 6,250 credits.
Not bad for a day’s work, even if her entire body felt like one giant bruise.
Astrid trudged up the stairs to her apartnt in C-District—nice enough area, safe enough neighborhood, the kind of place B-rank awakened could afford if they were smart with money.
Or if they were supporting a deadbeat boyfriend who contributed absolutely nothing to rent.
She pushed that thought away.
’Marcus is trying. He’s been looking for work. It’s not his fault the job market is tough for unawakened people without specialized skills.’
The sa justification she’d been making for eight months.
The sa justification her guild mates had stopped believing after month three.
"Just dump him," Kiera had said last week. "He’s using you. Everyone can see it except you."
"You don’t know him like I do," Astrid had responded.
"We know he hasn’t paid rent once. We know he ’borrows’ your credits for ’job interview clothes’ and ’networking opportunities.’ We know you deserve better."
But Astrid loved him.
That had to count for sothing.
She reached her apartnt door—Unit 342—and fumbled with her keys, exhaustion making her fingers clumsy. Finally got it unlocked. Pushed the door open.
And froze.
The living room was dark, but her Enhanced Vision skill made darkness irrelevant.
She could see everything.
Marcus. In her bed. Their bed.
Not alone.
Tangled together with soone else. A woman. Naked. Asleep.
A woman Astrid recognized imdiately because she’d raided alongside her for the past six months.
Lyra.
From her guild.
From her fucking guild.
The keys slipped from Astrid’s fingers and hit the floor with a tallic clatter.
Both figures in the bed jolted awake.
Marcus sat up, eyes wide with panic that would have been comical if Astrid’s entire world wasn’t imploding. "Astrid! This isn’t—"
"Get out."
Her voice was cold. Flat. The kind of tone that ca from shock so profound that rage hadn’t caught up yet.
"Baby, please, just let explain—"
"GET. OUT."
Power crackled across her skin, barrier magic manifesting involuntarily as her emotions spiked. The air pressure in the room increased, making breathing difficult.
Marcus scrambled out of bed, grabbing clothes with shaking hands. Lyra did the sa, her face pale with guilt and fear.
"Astrid, I’m sorry, I didn’t an..."
"You have thirty seconds before I stop holding back this spell," Astrid said conversationally. "I wonder what happens when a B-rank barrier mage creates a compression field inside soone’s lungs."
She’d never actually do it.
Probably.
But they didn’t need to know that.
Both of them fled, grabbing what clothes they could and running for the door. Marcus tried to stop, tried to say sothing, but one look at Astrid’s face made him reconsider.
The door slamd.
Silence.
Astrid stood in her apartnt, still wearing her raid gear, covered in golem dust and dried sweat, staring at her bed where her boyfriend of two years had just been sleeping with her guild mate.
The rage finally caught up.
-----
Fifteen minutes later, Astrid had stripped the bed, thrown everything into the hallway for Marcus to collect or not, she didn’t care and was sitting on her couch with a bottle of wine.
She wasn’t a big drinker. Alcohol interfered with mana circulation, dulled reaction tis, generally wasn’t compatible with the lifestyle of a professional dungeon raider.
But right now?
Right now she wanted to be drunk.
Tears stread down her face as she took another gulp directly from the bottle.
’How long? How long had it been going on?’
’Everyone told . Everyone warned . And I defended him. I defended him while he was—’
She took another drink, trying to drown the thoughts.
’I loved him. I actually loved him.’
’And he didn’t give a shit.’
Her phone buzzed. ssages from Kiera, probably. The whole guild would know by tomorrow. Lyra would spin so story, make herself the victim sohow.
Astrid hurled her phone across the room. It hit the wall and clattered to the floor, screen cracking.
She didn’t care.
’I need to stop thinking about him. He’s not worth it. He was never worth it.’
Her eyes landed on the VR headset sitting on her entertainnt center, still in its original box, covered in a thin layer of dust.
She’d bought it four months ago on a whim, thinking maybe she’d use it to unwind after raids. But Marcus had complained that she was "ignoring him" whenever she put it on, so she’d stopped using it after the first week.
’Of course he complained. Probably wanted distracted so he could bring Lyra over.’
Fresh anger surged through her.
She grabbed the headset, not bothering to read instructions, and powered it on.
If Marcus had a problem with her gaming?
Well, Marcus could go fuck himself.
Literally. He’d clearly been doing it with other people anyway.
-----
[NeuroLink V8 - User: ASTRID_VALKYRIE]
[Welco back! Last session: 117 days ago]
[Current Rank: Bronze II]
The VR space materialized around her—the familiar white hub she barely rembered from her few previous sessions.
Astrid dismissed the welco ssages and navigated directly to ranked play.
She needed to hit sothing.
Preferably sothing that would hit back, so she could justify the violence.
[Queue for Ranked Match?]
[YES] [NO]
She selected YES without hesitation.
[Searching for opponent...]
[Match found!]
[Opponent: DIRTYGRANDPA]
[Rank: Unranked (Placent Match 1/10)]
[Estimated tier: Bronze-Silver]
Astrid stared at the na.
DirtyGrandpa.
’Of course. Of COURSE. Even here I can’t escape disgusting n who think with their dicks instead of their brains.’
’Another pathetic loser who probably picked that na because he thinks it’s funny or edgy or whatever the fuck goes through these perverts’ minds.’
’Just like Marcus. Just like every man who thinks won are interchangeable objects for their entertainnt.’
The arena materialized around her—a standard dueling ground, flat terrain with minimal obstacles. Fair fighting conditions.
And standing across from her was the opponent.
An old man.
Not just old—elderly. Wild silver-white hair and beard, weathered features, hunched posture. But his eyes were sharp, alert, calculating.
And above his head: DIRTYGRANDPA
"Are you fucking kidding ," Astrid said aloud.
The old man looked confused. "Uh... hello?"
"You disgusting perverts are all the sa," she spat, her rage from Marcus transferring entirely onto this stranger who had the misfortune of matching with her. "DirtyGrandpa? What kind of sick fuck chooses a na like that?"
"I can explain—"
"I don’t want to hear it! People like you only care about yourselves! You think the world revolves around you and your pathetic urges! You use people and throw them away and don’t even care about the damage you cause!"
She was screaming now, barrier magic crackling around her fists as her emotions fueled her power.
"I am going to beat you into the fucking ground."
The countdown tir appeared.
[Match begins in: 5... 4... 3...]
Astrid didn’t wait for zero.
She activated Tempest Step—her A-rank mobility skill that tripled her AGI for eight seconds—and charged.
-----
[ZEPH’S PERSPECTIVE]
Zeph stood in the dueling arena, completely bewildered.
’What the fuck just happened?’
One mont he was loading into his first placent match, curious and excited to test himself against a real opponent.
The next mont, a woman was screaming about perverts and sick fucks and people who use others.
’Is she... is she mad about my userna?’
’Did DirtyGrandpa sohow offend her specifically?’
’How is that even possible? It’s a randomly generated na! I didn’t choose this!’
But she was charging now, faster than anything he’d anticipated, and screaming obscenities that suggested she genuinely wanted to murder him.
’My luck is absolutely cursed. First match. First fucking match and I get paired against soone having a complete ntal breakdown who thinks I’m so kind of sexual predator based on a userna I didn’t even choose.’
The strategic part of his brain kicked in, overriding the confusion.
’Doesn’t matter why she’s angry. Matters that she’s fast and coming right at .’
Zeph shifted into combat stance, his customized animations making the movent fluid and economical. Years of survival instincts took over, assessing the threat.
’Bronze rank opponent. Unranked placent match ans the system thinks we’re similar skill level. She shouldn’t be—’
She crossed thirty ters in under two seconds.
Faster than his baseline AGI 156 could track comfortably.
WAY faster.
’What the FUCK. How is a Bronze rank player moving at that speed?!’
His eyes focused, Enhanced Hearing picking up details. Her footwork. Her breathing. The crackling magic surrounding her fists.
’Authentic build. Real stats. Real skills.’
’Bronze rank in VR doesn’t an Bronze rank awakened. It just ans she hasn’t played much ranked.’
’She’s probably high-level. B-rank at minimum based on that movent speed and the magic density I’m sensing.’
’I’m fighting soone WAY above my actual power level.’
’Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic first match.’
The countdown hit zero.
[FIGHT!]
She was already in striking range, barrier-enhanced fist aid at his face with enough force to crater concrete.
Zeph’s survival instincts scread.
He activated Predator’s Advance.
His AGI doubled instantly—156 to 312—and the world shifted into the hyper-perception state where he could track movents that would otherwise be blurs.
He sidestepped her punch by centiters, feeling the displaced air rush past his face.
’She’s STILL faster than even with Predator’s Advance active. Not by much, but definitely faster.’
’AGI in the 300-400 range with whatever skill she activated. That’s B-rank territory. Maybe A-rank.’
’I’m Level 35 fighting soone probably Level 50 .’
’And she thinks I’m a sexual predator.’
’This is the worst first impression possible.’
He backsteppered rapidly, creating distance, mind racing through options.
’Can’t trade hits. Her stats are higher. She’ll win attrition.’
’Can’t explain the userna situation because she’s too angry to listen.’
’Can’t surrender because this is a placent match and I need wins for good tier placent.’
’So I have to actually beat soone twenty levels higher than who’s running on pure rage and thinks I’m human garbage.’
Astrid spun mid-charge, her movent technique allowing impossible directional changes, and lunged again.
Faster.
Even faster than before.
Her fist collided with the ground where Zeph had been standing a fraction of a second earlier, and the arena floor exploded into fragnts.
’She’s getting faster. Either her skill has ramping chanics or she’s getting angrier.’
’Probably both.’
’I need to end this fast before she accelerates beyond what I can dodge.’
Zeph drew his axe—the VR-rendered version of his goblin chieftain weapon—and activated Cleaving Montum.
Stack one. Normal damage.
He had to build stacks. Had to outpace her acceleration with his own damage scaling.
But to stack Cleaving Montum, he needed to land hits.
And to land hits on soone this fast and this angry?
He was going to need every skill, every technique, and every ounce of tactical thinking he possessed.
Astrid charged again, barrier magic forming a battering ram around her entire body.
Zeph smiled grimly behind his elderly character’s wild beard.
’Alright then. Let’s see if DirtyGrandpa can beat a B-rank awakened having the worst day of her life.’
’This is either going to be the most embarrassing loss ever, or the greatest coback story in Bronze tier history.’
’Really hoping for the second one.’
[Cleaving Montum - Stack 1]
[Predator’s Advance - 2:54 remaining]
[Opponent Status: FURIOUS]
The arena shook as Astrid’s next attack connected with where Zeph had been standing.
He was already moving, calculating angles, planning his counter.
First placent match.
Against an opponent who wanted him dead.
’Welco to ranked, I guess.’
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