Chapter 50

Every employee of the Bureau had to sit through what they called the promotion review—an exam, held twice a year.

It was a process that took into account one’s personnel evaluations so far, determining raises and promotions.

For those of us in the Special Unit, the review mattered even more—for the simple reason that we were Awakened.

The difference in salary between a Lower Level Awakened and an Upper Level one was measured in whole digits. If your rank rose, you had to prove it during the review.

“In a normal guild, they wouldn’t bother with something this tedious.”

“Didn’t Wings of the Blue Sky make you take exams?”

“Not like the Bureau does. No written tests or personality assessments. When a Lower Level goes up to Middle, it’s obvious to everyone. Why would we waste time on pointless paperwork?”

“That’s true.”

The Bureau café was unusually crowded that day, full of people with books and pens, cramming for the review.

No Yeon-hwa sipped her black coffee, glaring at the café crammers as if they’d personally offended her.

Her annoyance index was around 180, slightly higher than Seoul’s fine dust levels.

Thankfully, none of that hostility was aimed at me.

“They just don’t want to pay, that’s all.”

“You mean the Bureau?”

“Think about it. The review’s every six months. Even if someone rises a rank right after this test, they won’t see the pay raise until next year. That’s months of free labor.”

…When you put it like that, the math did work out.

Sure, the Bureau was a government body, with plenty of non-Awakened employees, so it probably framed the system around fairness and consistency.

Even the posts on the Bamboo Forest weren’t full of complaints. The truth was, rank-ups weren’t that common.

In one intake, only a few dozen even reached Middle Level.

And Upper Level? That happened maybe once every few years.

“In our division too, not many people rise ranks. And exceptions like Moon Ah-rin—they just waive the review entirely and promote her, right? I think it’s the Bureau trying to stay flexible.”

“Shut it, dumbass. I was talking about you.”

The venom shifted directly onto me.

Her irritation index shot past 500, and the sound of pens scribbling around the café went silent.

I felt something pressing down on my foot. Looking down, I realized her bare foot was grinding my instep.

The light-blue sandals she’d worn looked old, and pale marks showed where her skin had tanned and rubbed.

She might have been stepping on me, but at least she’d taken off her shoes first. There was something weirdly considerate about that.

“So. How long are you going to keep playing at being Lower Level?”

“But all I can do is third-rank White Magic…”

“Keep spouting crap and I’ll run straight to Commander Ha Yeri.”

“Please, anything but that.”

From the day we cleared our first mission in Ground Zero, she’d been convinced I was hiding my true strength.

After all, I had resisted her Word-Spirit and taken down a cockatrice in a single blow. She had pegged me as Middle Level at minimum.

No Yeon-hwa wasn’t the type to gossip, which was the only reason word hadn’t spread. If it had been anyone else, the rumor mill would have been unstoppable by now.

I owed her for that—but she clearly wasn’t planning to keep my secret forever.

“Tell me. Have you ever gone on a mission with a Commander?”

“Once, in the Sea of Decay.”

“I don’t mean special cases like that. I mean, has the constellation matching system ever paired you with one?”

“No, not once.”

I always thought Commanders didn’t have quotas.

She sighed, looking at me like I was the densest idiot alive.

“If the gap is more than two ranks, the system won’t match you. It assumes you’d be useless.”

“So that’s why I’ve never been paired with an Upper Level.”

“Exactly. If you want to team with one anyway, you have to file a separate report.”

In that case, you couldn’t even leave a review afterward, and the evaluation score you’d normally earn got cut down heavily.

It was a safeguard—so rookies couldn’t just cling to elites and pad their records with missions they couldn’t possibly handle alone.

“So what does that have to do with me needing to rise to Middle?”

“Still don’t get it? If I make it to Upper, you and I will never be matched together again!”

“Oh! Congratulations then—ow!”

Thud!

This time her other foot, still in its sandal, stomped down hard on my shin.

No Yeon-hwa’s annoyance index had broken past 1,000. Even the Apostle of an Outer God would have had no choice but to tuck their tail in front of her.

Honestly, part of me wanted to crawl under the table right then and lick the top of her foot—the part with the sunburn marks—as an apology. But today, I didn’t need to go that far.

Because, for once, we were thinking the same thing.

“Actually, I already advanced to Middle Level a while back.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I was going to report it officially in this review anyway.”

I’d been feeling it for some time now—pretending to still be Lower Level was getting far too restrictive.

Didn’t that mean I was weaker than even Alexei, or any of my peers?

Division 3 was full of people who knew nothing about magic, so even after seeing Extreme Magic they only shrugged and went, “Oh, that’s neat. Bit slow though.”

But if I showed off any more than that, suspicion was guaranteed.

Advancing in just half a year might draw attention, but if I wanted to expand my range of activity, it was about time.

At my answer, Yeon-hwa finally lifted her foot.

“Good. Then do it.”

“Are you satisfied now?”

“Shut up. You were dragging your feet, and it was pissing me off. So, how’s your prep going?”

“I borrowed some practice tests from Alexei yesterday. Looked them over. Doesn’t seem too hard.”

The review wasn’t just about practical skills.

In fact, proving Middle Level was the easiest part—just show one fourth-rank White Magic spell and you were done.

But if you wanted the promotion, you also had to pass a physical test and a written exam on monsters.

And, on top of that, the aptitude assessment.

“You’re not lying, right?”

“Why would I lie to you, Yeon-hwa?”

“Hey, give me that workbook.”

“Y-yes, ma’am!”

Her Word-Spirit compelled the couple at the next table to hand theirs over.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world—like borrowing gym clothes in high school—she flipped it open and shoved it at me.

“Answer a few. Now.”

Her face made it clear—she would never forgive me if I flunked.

But when I breezed through problem after problem, she blinked in surprise.

“What the hell, you actually study?”

“I told you, I know a lot about monsters.”

“Huh. Well, then you’ll be fine. The physical’s mage-standard, so just run a few laps and you’re good. The only thing left is…”

The aptitude test.

Despite the name, it was basically a common-sense quiz—about as tough as a driver’s license test. No one had ever failed since the exam was introduced. The expected answers were practically scribbled in the margins.

But when I handed it back after a few questions, her expression had turned grim.

“Hey.”

“Yes?”

“Did you get brain damage or something?”

Twelve points.

Out of a test where sixty was the minimum to pass.

The only way to get that score was to show up unconscious and drooling.

Worse, even when I looked at the answer key, I couldn’t for the life of me understand why the “right” answers were actually right.

Choose the citizen most in need of help. [2.6 pts]

1. Graduate student A, who hasn’t been home in three months.
2. Person B, handing out Choco Pies to the dead.
3. Person C, on a normal date with their girlfriend.
4. Person D, taking commemorative photos in front of a monster’s corpse.
5. Person E, being kidnapped by vagrants in Ground Zero.

“Obviously the answer’s number three, right?”

“Are you insane? Open your eyes and look again.”

“Oh—I got it! I’ve solved it!”

“What is it?”

“It’s multiple answers, isn’t it? Two and three.”

“…Haah.”

Grinding her straw between her teeth to keep from exploding, No Yeon-hwa looked like she was holding back a forest fire.

She kindly told me the answer, but I still couldn’t understand why it was five.

Why would E, getting kidnapped in Ground Zero, need help?

Kidnapping meant they weren’t trying to kill him. That made him one of the safer people on this list.

Meanwhile, C, who was out on a date, had their life hanging by a thread. And B, depending on their fishing skills, might get all their Choco Pies stolen by the dead.

“At least why did you rule out number one?”

“Grad students’ rights are already under the jurisdiction of the Magic Tower, so they don’t count as citizens.”

“…You actually got that one right.”

“I told you, I’m a man of common sense.”

“Then how did you get this one correct?”

“Let’s see, that’s because…”

To figure out where my brain went wrong, she tried a different problem.

One of the five I’d somehow gotten right.

Choose a situation from everyday life that requires reporting to the Special Unit. [3.2 pts]

1. When the cafeteria food tastes bad.
2. When you feel like you’re being watched all day.
3. When you’re bullied for no reason by a senior in your unit.
4. When your boss chases you with a knife after you teased them for being short.
5. When you see a suspicious tentacle growing out of an alley.

“This has to be number five.”

“Right? Even an idiot can tell it’s a monster-related scene. No way you could miss—”

“It’s just a lost tentacle. You should escort it home. If they call me, I’ll neuter it first, then put it down humanely.”

“…You just guessed, didn’t you?!”

Strange. I hadn’t guessed at all.

The other four options were all things I’d personally experienced—and I’d never once reported them.

So by process of elimination, five had to be correct. But that reasoning wasn’t going to convince Yeon-hwa.

She snapped the workbook shut and left the café with me trailing behind.

“I get it now. I know exactly what’s wrong with you.”

“What is it?”

“You’re not stupid. You’re just missing a screw somewhere.”

“That’s rude. Even if you are the one who’s given me the most peer reviews, if you keep that attitude I’ll have no choice but to knock a star off yours.”

Cornered like a cat gnawing a giant rat, I tried my fiercest threat. But Yeon-hwa, who couldn’t care less about her rating, only snorted.

Then, like lifting a kitten by the scruff, she pinched the collar of my robe and dragged me toward the elevator.

“Enough. Come with me.”

“…Huh?”

“I’m going to fix you from the ground up.”