Thanks for the 600 powerstones. Here is your bonus chapter.
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I killed the engine of my Mustang and checked the time—5:45 AM. The sky hung gray and heavy overhead, not quite committed to daylight. Miguel's battered pickup sat in the driveway of a small stucco house with potted succulents lining the walkway and a statue of the Virgin Mary watching over the front yard.
『Interesting home. Very... maternal,』 Arcan observed in my head.
'Not now,' I replied silently, straightening my collar in the rearview mirror.
The house looked exactly like what I'd expect from Miguel's descriptions—modest but immaculate, with touches that spoke of decades of care. Wind chimes tinkled softly from the covered porch. Yellow curtains glowed from within, suggesting someone was already awake and moving around inside.
I grabbed the small bag of pan dulce I'd picked up from an all-night panadería and stepped out of the car. The neighborhood hummed with early morning sounds—sprinklers, distant traffic, someone's dog barking two streets over.
The front door opened before I reached it. Miguel stepped onto the porch, coffee mug in hand, then froze mid-sip. His eyes widened as they tracked up my frame.
"X-ray?" He blinked rapidly. "When the fuck did you get taller?"
I glanced down at myself, suddenly conscious of how my clothes fit differently. The jeans that had been slightly loose yesterday now hugged my thighs properly. The sleeves of my jacket no longer reached past my wrists.
"You look... different." Miguel circled me like a suspicious cat. "No homo, but you got sexy as hell overnight."
I snorted. "Thanks for the clarification."
『He's not wrong, 』Arcan chimed in. 『Your physical attributes have undergone significant enhancement due to your recent upgrades. Your body has reconfigured to accommodate your improved statistics.』
'Is that why everything feels lighter?' I asked her silently.
『Precisely. Your C-Rank strength and endurance have fundamentally altered your musculature and bone density. You're approximately 15% more physically efficient than yesterday.』
I focused inward, calling up my status. The familiar blue-silver glow materialized in my peripheral vision, coalescing into floating text only I could see.
[Player: Xavier Valentine]
[Level: 1]
[Class: None]
[Title: None]
[Core Attributes:]
Strength: C - 400
Endurance: C - 500
Dexterity: C - 400
Agility: D - 300
Magic: C - 400
[Available Skill Points: 46]
[Active Abilities: 0]
[Passive Abilities: 3]
I'd spent most of last night strategically allocating those 550 points, bringing nearly everything up to C-Rank. The difference between my previous attributes and C-Rank felt exponential rather than incremental—like comparing a tricycle to a bicycle.
'Interesting that the jump from D to C feels about as significant as going from 200 to 300 points,' I mused to Arcan.
『The ranking system isn't strictly linear. Each tier represents a qualitative shift, not merely a quantitative one.』
When I refocused on Miguel, something new caught my attention. A faint purple aura surrounded him, pulsing with untapped potential. My Six Eyes revealed what lesser Hunter evaluation equipment might miss: Miguel Gonzalez was no ordinary civilian.
If properly awakened and trained, he'd easily reach high B-Rank, possibly even A-Rank. No wonder he felt the gate call so strongly.
"Xavier," Miguel waved his hand in front of my face. "My mom's waiting inside, and trust me, that's not a woman you want to keep waiting."
I handed him the bag of pastries. "Peace offering."
Miguel peeked inside and grinned. "Smart move. Extra points for the conchas."
He led me inside to a kitchen that smelled of chilies, coffee, and something frying. A small woman with Miguel's same striking eyes stood at the stove, her back straight as a steel rod. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and despite wearing a simple housedress and apron, she radiated more authority than most high rank hunters I'd met.
"Mama, this is Xavier Valentine, my friend. Xavier, this is my mother, Elena Gonzalez."
She turned, wooden spoon in hand, and subjected me to an assessment so thorough I half-expected her to demand a urine sample.
"So you are the one taking my son into danger."
"It's porter work, Mama," Miguel sighed.
She ignored him, keeping her eyes locked on mine. "You have hunter blood. I can see it in your face."
I didn't bother denying it. "My parents were hunters."
"Were?"
"They died. S-Rank gate in Utah, three years ago."
Something softened in her expression, but only for a moment. "And yet you follow the same path."
"I have responsibilities." I met her gaze steadily. "A sister to support."
She nodded once, as if confirming something to herself. "Sit. Both of you."
We obeyed instantly. Some tones of voice transcend cultural barriers, and Elena Gonzalez had mastered the universal frequency of "don't test me."
She placed heaping plates of chilaquiles before us—fried tortilla chips smothered in green salsa, topped with crema, queso fresco, and eggs cooked perfectly over-easy. The aroma alone made my stomach growl embarrassingly loud.
"Eat," she commanded. "Then we talk."
The food tasted even better than it looked. I'd always been a black coffee and protein bar kind of breakfast person, but this... this was worth waking up at 5 AM for.
Miguel's mother watched us eat with the intensity of a scientist observing lab rats. She sipped her coffee, asking occasional pointed questions about my background, my sister, how long I'd known Miguel. I answered honestly but carefully, conscious that this woman had already lost a husband and two sons to gates.
"Your sister," she said after I'd mentioned Noel for the third time. "How old?"
"Twenty. In college."
"She knows about this job today?"
I nodded. "She helped me apply for it."
Elena's eyebrows rose. "She supports you hunting?"
"She's practical. The money's good, and I have... aptitude."
"Aptitude." She practically spat the word. "My husband had aptitude. My sons had aptitude. Now they have headstones."
Miguel winced. "Mama, please."
She set her coffee cup down with a sharp click. "No, Miguel. Your friend should know what he's walking into. What he's leading you into."
She stood and left the room, returning moments later with a framed photograph. She placed it before me—a younger Elena surrounded by four smiling males. I recognized Miguel immediately, though he couldn't have been more than fourteen. The family resemblance among all of them was striking.
"My husband, Francisco. C-Rank. My oldest son, Marco. D-Rank. My middle son, Javier. D-Rank." She pointed to each face. "All gone within two years of each other."
I studied the photograph. The father stood proud, one hand on Miguel's shoulder. The older brothers flanked them, their stances unconsciously protective of their youngest sibling.
"They were good men," I said quietly.
"The best men." Her voice remained steady, but grief radiated from her like heat from asphalt. "And they all felt what Miguel feels—this pull, this call. They could not resist it."
She turned to her son. "And now you cannot either."
Miguel stared at his plate. "It's just one job, Mama."
"That's what Marco said. Then Javier. One job. Good money." She shook her head. "The gates, they are like drugs. One taste, and you want more."
I set my fork down. "Mrs. Gonzalez, I understand your concern. Better than most."
"Do you? Then why take my only remaining son with you?"
I met her gaze directly. "Because sometimes fighting what's inside you does more damage than facing it."
Something shifted in her expression—not approval, but perhaps recognition.
"You speak like someone who has fought himself."
I nodded. "Every day since my parents died."
The interrogation continued for nearly two hours. Elena Gonzalez extracted details about the job, the hunter we'd be supporting, our exact responsibilities, and contingency plans with the precision of a military interrogator. By the time she seemed satisfied, the sun had fully risen, and we were running behind schedule.
"We need to go," I said, checking my watch. "We still have to stop at the Association."
Miguel looked up sharply. "What? Why?"
"You need at least a preliminary porter license. Can't legally enter the staging area without one."
"Shit." He ran a hand through his hair. "Will that take long?"
"Shouldn't." I stood and carried my plate to the sink, rinsing it before placing it in the dishwasher. "Thank you for breakfast, Mrs. Gonzalez. It was excellent."
She studied me for a long moment, then reached into a drawer and pulled out a small cloth bag. She pressed it into my hand.
"Protection," she said simply. "For both of you."
Inside was a small medallion of Saint Michael the Archangel.
"Thank you," I said, genuinely touched by the gesture.
She turned to Miguel and spoke rapidly in Spanish. I caught only fragments—something about calling her, being careful, and coming home. He nodded, embracing her tightly.
"Te quiero, Mama," he said.
"Te quiero más," she replied, her voice finally cracking slightly.
The drive to the California Hunters Association's Los Angeles branch was mostly silent. Miguel stared out the window, lost in thought.
"Your mom's intense," I finally said.
He chuckled softly. "You got the abbreviated version. Be thankful."
"She loves you."
"Yeah." He sighed. "Sometimes I wish she didn't quite so much. Might make things easier."
I thought of Noel, of the weight of being someone's entire world. "I get that."
The CHA-LA headquarters came into view—a sprawling complex of gleaming modern buildings in downtown's Arts District. Even from blocks away, I could tell something was different. The usual morning crowd of hunters and staff had been supplemented by something else entirely.
News vans. At least a dozen of them, their satellite dishes extended like strange metallic flowers. Reporters with microphones stood doing live shots near the entrance.
"What the hell?" Miguel leaned forward in his seat. "Is this normal?"
I sighed, pulling into the visitor parking structure. "No. Something's happened."
'Arcan, any idea what's going on?'
『Insufficient data. However, media presence at this scale typically indicates either a catastrophic gate incident or the appearance of an exceptionally high-ranked hunter.』
"Maybe we should come back later?" Miguel suggested, eyeing the media circus nervously.
I shook my head. "Job's today. License has to happen now."
As we approached the main entrance, the crowd's energy became palpable. Excitement, not panic or grief. Not a disaster, then.
A harried-looking security guard checked our IDs at the perimeter.
"What's happening?" I asked him.
The security guard adjusted his cap, looking tired but amused. "Demara's daughter is getting her hunter evaluation today. All these vultures want footage of daddy's little princess."
Miguel straightened beside me. "Nicole Demara? That Nicole?"
"You know her?"
"Dude, she's got like nine million Instagram followers." He pulled out his phone, tapping rapidly. "Look."
The screen showed a professionally shot photo of a strikingly beautiful young woman with pink hair lounging by an infinity pool. Her designer swimsuit probably cost more I made in two weeks.
I handed the phone back. "Social media influencer getting tested? No wonder the circus showed up."
"Not just any influencer." Miguel's eyes lit up as he scrolled. "Her dad's Damian Demara. Tech billionaire, owns Phoenix Imperium. And her bodyguard is Evelyn Chevalier."
The name caught my attention. Evelyn Chevalier was an S-Rank fire specialist whose combat footage occasionally went viral. The kind of hunter who made even other high ranks nervous. She was also one of the hunters who survived the Utah Gate.
"Interesting timing," I mused. Most hunter evaluations happened without fanfare. A billionaire's daughter choosing to do hers publicly, with media present? That suggested calculation rather than coincidence.
The guard checked his tablet. "You here for porter licensing?"
I nodded.
"Testing center's still open, but it's a zoo in there. Good luck." He waved us through.