I climbed again, not into a new letter, but deeper into S. The system did not show numbers publicly, but I could feel the difference. My shadow step reached farther. My chain blade hit harder. My aura became something I could shape.
That gave me my next stupid idea.
If people chased F-ranks, avoided A-ranks, and worshipped S-ranks, what would happen if all three appeared in the same place?
Riley told me the answer was property damage. He was correct.
At the old convention center, a black market fight ring had formed. They were not just player killers. They were entertainers for player killers. They captured low ranks, forced them to fight monsters, and took bets with cores. The safe zone crystal was too far away, and the ring was hidden inside a dungeon lobby that only opened for players carrying a specific monster tooth.
Grace found the entrance. Serena wanted to smash it from the front.
I asked for one hour.
I entered as an F-rank contestant. No name, no reputation, just another weak player dragged into the lights.
The ring was packed with masked players shouting for blood. They did not get names, because they did not deserve them. The arena floor was painted with old monster stains. Above it hung cages full of frightened players.
At the far end, a handler announced that the next match would be an F-rank against a dungeon bear. The crowd laughed. I waved.
The bear came out wearing broken chains and an attitude problem. It was at least B-rank. Against a real F-rank, it would have been murder. Against me, it was a prop.
I kept my fake F visible.
The bear charged. I activated delayed reveal and released S-rank strength while still looking weak.
To the crowd, it looked like an F-rank caught a dungeon bear by the forehead with one hand.
The entire convention center went silent. I lifted the bear, spun once, and threw it into the arena wall so gently by my standards that it only fainted.
My fake F remained for one more second. I bowed.
Then my S-rank appeared.
Panic started in layers. First the gamblers tried to leave. Then the handlers tried to hide. Then the masked guards remembered they were armed and made the tragic decision to use those arms.
Red sparks everywhere.
Serena crashed through the ceiling at that exact moment like a silver comet. Grace opened the cage locks from the side corridors. Riley's portable beacon rolled into the middle of the arena disguised as a snack cooler. It rang.
The convention center became a crystal harvest.
I fought through the ring using every rank trick I had. I lowered to C to make mid-rank guards think they could match me, then smashed them with S pressure under delayed reveal. I flickered to F in front of gamblers trying to escape with stolen cores, baited them into shoving me, then chained them to the arena posts for pickup. I used my rank reflection on the giant screens so every masked villain saw a different weak version of me coming from a different direction.
One tried to surrender before attacking. I let him. The system did not punish fear.
Another pretended to surrender, then threw a dagger at Grace's back. I shadow stepped through the dagger's shadow, appeared between them, caught it in my teeth because I had lost control of the performance, then spat it into the floor. Red sparks, crystal chains.
Grace stared at me like she was deciding whether that was impressive or disgusting. Both, probably.
When the ring fell, the rescued players carried the story farther than any rumor could. The fake F-rank had walked into an underground arena, suplexed a dungeon bear, and turned the audience into jail decorations. Riley started selling little gray F charms the next day. I got no share of the profits, which was betrayal, but not illegal.
Serena asked me why I never just displayed S and scared enemies away.
I looked at the rescued players eating their first safe meal in days.
Because scared enemies hide. Confident enemies confess with their fists.
That was the heart of my power. Not the rank. The choice it forced. A good person seeing an F-rank might help, ignore, or warn them away. A bad person seeing an F-rank reached for a weapon. My ability did not create evil. It put a spotlight under its chin and let it make a scary face.
But the bigger I got, the harder it became to use F-rank without everyone recognizing me. Even with my hood up, even with rank concealment, rumors gave me away. People started testing F-ranks by offering them pickles. Riley had done permanent damage to the culture.
So I changed the game I was playing.
I stopped pretending to be a helpless F-rank all the time. Sometimes I became a suspicious D-rank with too many cores. Sometimes a nervous C-rank carrying a rare weapon badly. Sometimes an arrogant B-rank walking alone, just weak enough for A-rank predators to consider.
Since I could display any lower rank, every new level of my strength expanded the menu of lies.
Player killers adapted. I adapted worse.
At a high-rise dungeon, a crew targeted B-ranks, believing they had good loot but not enough power. I displayed B and wore Riley's worst fake luxury cloak, which sparkled in a way that made me want to apologize to darkness. They invited me to join their raid, then tried to sacrifice me to a window demon on the top floor. I let the demon grab me. The crew laughed and looted my dropped bag. Then I activated delayed reveal while still showing B, ripped the demon's arms off, and used the arms as twin clubs until every attacker had a red mark and a new fear of windows.
At a crystal mine, corrupt A-ranks were forcing C-ranks to dig mana stones under monster threat. I displayed C, acted grateful for the chance to work, and let one shove me toward a collapsing tunnel. Red sparks. I revealed S and punched the cave wall, not the attacker. The shockwave created a new exit, buried the monsters under stone, and left the corrupt A-ranks standing in a neat line for Grace to judge with her most disappointed face.
At a rooftop garden dungeon, player killers used charm skills to make victims hand over supplies willingly. Attacking them directly would look messy, so I displayed F and acted charmed so badly that even the monsters looked embarrassed. When the leader ordered me to jump off the roof, the system flagged it as forced harm. Red sparks. I lowered my rank to F even harder, if that was possible spiritually. Then I released S-rank aura under delayed reveal, walked across the air using shadow step between bird shadows, and kicked him back onto the roof before he understood gravity had chosen my side.
Every victory made me stronger. Every trick made my enemies more careful. And every careful enemy became more satisfying to break.