But Owen was still moving.
Every time I cleaned up one trap, he made another. He spread rumors that I stole from victims. He placed fake red marks on people using cursed paint so crowds would panic. He arranged monster lures near safe zones. Not enough to destroy them, just enough to make players blame each other.
He never changed the rules. He used the rules exactly as they existed, just like I did. That made him more annoying. I could beat a strong idiot in seconds. A clever villain took setup.
So I gave him what clever villains love most. A mystery.
I stopped revealing S in public. For three days, I only displayed F. I let weaker enemies escape after one hit. I fumbled with my chain blade. I pretended to limp. I even let Riley sell a rumor that my power had a limit, that after too many reveals my real rank weakened.
Riley enjoyed that part too much. He added details I never approved, including one rumor that I needed to eat pickles to recharge. By nightfall, people were leaving jars of pickles outside my sleeping spot like offerings to the dumbest god.
The city believed what it wanted. Owen believed what helped him feel smarter than me.
On the fourth day, his invitation arrived. Not on paper. A player with a cursed crow skill dropped a black feather at my feet. When I picked it up, Owen's voice whispered from it, inviting me to the glass arcade at midnight.
He promised captured F-ranks would be released if I came alone. He promised Serena would not arrive in time. He promised he would not attack first.
That last promise was the joke.
I crushed the feather and went to Riley. He asked if the plan was to walk into the obvious trap. I said yes. He asked if I wanted backup. I said no.
He handed me a second bracelet, smaller than the chain blade, made from mirror shards taken from the theater dungeon. It could reflect my visible rank for a few seconds onto nearby surfaces.
He said, "Make it stupid."
That was the best blessing anyone had ever given me.
The glass arcade had once been a luxury shopping street with a curved roof of transparent panels. Now moonlight poured through cracks and monster vines curled around designer stores. Every window reflected my fake F-rank back at me a hundred times.
Owen had chosen the stage well.
I walked down the center path alone. No crowds, no Serena, no Grace, no Riley. Just me, my fake F, and the feeling of a hundred eyes behind broken glass.
Owen stepped out from a jewelry store with a calm smile. He was handsome in that polished villain way, like the apocalypse had only improved his lighting. His visible rank showed B, which was obviously fake or item suppressed. He wore no heavy armor, just a dark coat and gloves thin enough for knives.
He thanked me for coming. I thanked him for picking a place with so many shadows.
He smiled wider.
Then the captured F-ranks appeared behind the windows, bound by glowing rope and surrounded by hidden players. Owen said that if I attacked, his people would hurt them. If I ran, his people would hurt them. If I revealed my real rank, he would know my weakness was pride.
I had to admit it was dramatic. But his first mistake was thinking the hostages were bait for me. They were bait for his people.
I kept my hands raised and walked forward. Owen told me to kneel. I did. The hidden players laughed. Owen told me to drop my weapons. I dropped the chain blade bracelet.
A hidden player darted from behind a pillar to grab it. The moment he touched it, Riley's mirror bracelet activated.
Every glass wall in the arcade flashed with my F-rank. Not just above me. Everywhere. Hundreds of gray F letters glowed in the reflections, sliding across the windows, splitting and multiplying. For one second, the entire arcade looked full of weak targets.
Owen's people panicked. The hostage guards saw movement in the reflections and attacked what they thought were rescue players. Their blades hit the bound F-ranks' barrier ropes.
The system did not care about intent. Aggressor confirmed. Red marks bloomed behind the glass.
Owen's smile twitched. I stayed kneeling, because it made him even angrier.
He snapped his fingers. More players attacked from the balconies, but they aimed at me this time. Red marks appeared midair. I rolled sideways, caught the chain blade with my foot, kicked it into my hand, and revealed S.
The arcade went from moonlit to golden. Every mirror reflected my true rank now. It looked like an army of S-ranks had arrived. The hidden players froze.
That was enough.
I shadow stepped through the reflection under my own feet. Theater boss material had given my blade afterimages. Riley's mirror bracelet gave those afterimages surfaces. For ten seconds, I could step between reflected shadows as if every window was a doorway.
I became a rumor with a blade.
One hostage guard raised a knife. I appeared behind him and cut the glowing rope without touching the hostage. Another tried to use a fire skill. I stepped through the window reflection beside him, slapped the fireball upward, and watched it burst against the glass roof like a cheap firework. A third ran for Owen. I hooked his ankle and dragged him across the marble floor into a crystal trap Riley had hidden inside a fake perfume display.
The safe zone crystal was not nearby, but Riley had built a portable beacon that could call one if red marks stacked high enough. It was not paperwork. It was a magical tattletale.
Owen noticed too late.
As red marks filled the arcade, the beacon rang like a church bell. Light chains erupted from the ground, weaker than a full crystal but strong enough to bind anyone already down. His people were pulled into temporary glass cages formed from the shattered windows.
The hostages ran.