Chapter 55: Standard of Excellence (or Lack Thereof)

The screen flickered to life, the bold, crimson banner of K-News Network flashing across the bottom of the frame. The background music was urgent, a rhythmic pulse that signaled a breaking news event.

The camera cut to a field reporter standing in the heart of the Mapo District. Behind her, the street was a scene of calculated chaos.

Emergency crews were scrubbing blackened asphalt, paramedics were loading the last of the wounded into ambulances, and the skeletal remains of burned-out cars served as grim reminders of the morning's turmoil.

"Good afternoon. We are reporting live from the Mapo District, where residents woke up to a waking nightmare this morning," the reporter began, her voice steady and clear, carrying the weight of a seasoned journalist. "At approximately 10:00 AM, an E-Rank Gate manifested unexpectedly within a residential zone, unleashing a swarm of goblins upon the unsuspecting populace. While dozens of civilians and several low-rank hunters sustained injuries, we can confirm that there have been zero fatalities."

She paused, glancing toward a group of rescue workers. "This miracle is being attributed to the rapid response of local rankers who identified the threat and notified the Hunter Guild within minutes, allowing for a swift containment operation."

The camera panned to the side, where a small crowd of survivors had gathered. Among them stood Kaela, looking exhausted but composed, though she still wore an expression of slight distaste as she looked at a nearby pile of goblin remains.

The reporter stepped toward her, extending a microphone with a practiced, gentle smile. "We are joined now by one of the hunters who was on the front lines. Miss, could you describe the situation when you first arrived on the scene?"

Kaela looked into the camera, her voice tinged with a mix of fatigue and a lingering sense of disbelief. "Honestly? It was a disaster. Total chaos. We stepped into a war zone—buildings torn apart, people trapped in their cars, and those... things... just everywhere. It was a complete mess."

As she spoke, an elderly woman stepped forward from the crowd, clutching Kaela’s arm with trembling hands. "Thank you! Oh, thank you so much! If you hadn't reached us when you did, we wouldn't have made it out of that alley!"

Kaela paused, her gaze softening for a brief moment as she gave the woman a small, reassuring pat on the shoulder. She looked back at the reporter. "We just did what we had to do. It was a team effort. That's all there is to it."

"A truly courageous effort," the reporter responded, nodding appreciatively. "Thank you for your time and for your service to the community."

The reporter turned back to the camera, her expression becoming grave as she transitioned to the technical details of the incident.

"While the monsters were eventually neutralized, officials say the true challenge of this morning was not the combat, but the location of the rift. The Gate had manifested in a highly unorthodox position—hidden deep within the backyard of a private residence. Because the goblins swarmed outward in such massive numbers, the origin point was effectively masked by the carnage, making it incredibly difficult for the containment teams to locate and seal the breach."

She took a final breath, looking directly into the lens. "Reporting from Mapo District, this is Hana Lee for K-News. Back to the studio."

...

In a dimly lit apartment that smelled of expensive air freshener and indifference, a man lounged across a plush velvet sofa. Dressed simply in dark blue shorts and a crisp white t-shirt, he looked the picture of leisure. He shifted his weight, swirling a glass of chilled juice, the ice clinking rhythmically against the crystal.

As the news report from the Mapo District droned on, he let out a sharp, mocking laugh.

"Hahahaha!"

"What an absolute joke," he murmured, his voice dripping with a refined, almost clinical disdain. "Weaklings. Truly pathetic. 'Sustained injuries'? From a few overgrown garden pests? It’s an insult to the word 'Hunter' that these amateurs are allowed to carry weapons. If I had been bothered to step foot on that street, I would have swept the entire lot of them into the gutter in a single, elegant swoop."

He leaned back, his eyes narrowing at the screen as the reporter mentioned the difficulty of finding the gate.

"And to think they were too dim-witted to locate the source... how utterly pedestrian."

He reached over to the coffee table, grabbing a thick, gourmet burger. He took a confident, oversized bite, chewing for a few seconds with a look of expectation. Then, his expression shifted. His face contorted into a mask of pure horror, as if he had just swallowed a piece of radioactive waste.

Ptoo!

He spat the food out violently onto a napkin, his eyes widening in genuine offense.

"Tsk! What in the name of sanity is this flavor profile?" he hissed, wiping his mouth with a silk handkerchief. "This is an atrocity. I would sooner graze upon a patch of damp mud than subject my palate to this culinary disaster."

He sighed heavily, staring at the ceiling as if seeking strength from the heavens to endure such a tasteless existence.

"I truly overestimated this place," he muttered, his tone sounding like a disappointed aristocrat. "I was under the impression that the standards here were somewhat comparable to Japan. How misguided I was. This is nothing but a half-assed excuse for a country."

With a flick of his wrist, he pressed the remote. The news report vanished, replaced by a high-definition combat recording.

The screen erupted into a blur of silver and black. On a desolate, sandy island, a warrior armed with twin daggers moved with a speed that defied human perception. He was a ghost in the wind, weaving through the strikes of a massive, black-armored humanoid ant. In a fraction of a second, the daggers flashed—a cross-cut of blinding precision—and the armored behemoth was sliced open before it could even register the attack.

The man on the sofa watched with a cold, appreciative glint in his eyes, finally finding something worth his attention.

From the kitchen, a woman’s voice drifted through the apartment, cutting through the silence and the hum of the television. It was a voice that sounded like a calm sea—composed, steady, and possessing an underlying authority that commanded attention.

"Hifumi, dear," she called out. "Would you be so kind as to turn on the lights and clear the table? I’ve prepared some tonkatsu and gyoza."

In the doorway of the living room, a young woman peeked in. Her hair was swept up into a messy, practical bun, and a simple apron was tied neatly around her waist. Her crimson eyes, sharp and observant, flickered from the television screen back to her brother, who was still immersed in the footage of the twin-dagger assassin.

She didn't speak at first. She simply stood there, her presence filling the room with a quiet, suffocating pressure. Then, she let out a slow breath, her voice dropping to a dangerous, measured low.

"Hi... fu... mi..."

The sound of his name was less of a call and more of a warning. A sudden, icy chill raced down Hifumi’s spine, a primal instinct screaming at him that he was currently in the presence of a predator. The noble arrogance he had displayed while mocking the news vanished in an instant.

"Okay, okay! I'm going! Sheesh!" Hifumi grumbled, pushing himself off the velvet sofa with an exaggerated sigh. As he walked toward the kitchen, he muttered under his breath, "I suppose I don't have a choice. I’d rather be scolded for eternity than eat the trash they dare to call 'cuisine' in this city. At least our hometown knows how to season a dish."

At the table, his sister, Kiyoko, was waiting. She turned to him, a small, delicate smile playing on her lips. To a stranger, it would have looked like the gentle expression of a loving sibling. To Hifumi, it looked like a death sentence. It was a murderous smile, the kind that suggested she was imagining exactly where to strike if he continued to be insolent.

"Hifumi," she murmured, her tone melodic but firm. "Your language. It is unbecoming."

Hifumi winced, his posture straightening instinctively. "Fine. I'll... adjust my vocabulary."

"That is good," Kiyoko replied, her smile widening just a fraction, though the warmth never reached her crimson eyes. "Try to avoid making enemies in this country. It would be far more advantageous for you to cultivate friends, don't you think?"

Hifumi scoffed, his natural arrogance returning now that he was within the perceived safety of the dining area. He looked at her with a gaze of profound indifference.

"Friends? As if I have any need for such trivialities," he replied, his voice regaining its haughty, aristocratic edge. "Those of us who possess overwhelming strength have no use for equals or companions. I don't need 'friends'—I need subjects. People who look up to me. People who recognize and respect the sheer magnitude of my power."

He looked toward the window, staring out at the skyline of the city he so thoroughly despised.

"This country is merely delusional if they think they are the center of the world. Soon, they will all learn the truth: that Japan stands towering above this place in every conceivable way."

Kiyoko picked up a piece of gyoza with her chopsticks, the steam curling around her face in soft, white ribbons. She chewed slowly, savoring the flavor with a poised, rhythmic grace before setting the chopsticks down with a delicate click.

"Mother always used to remind us of something," she began, her voice like a still lake, undisturbed and deep. "She believed that strength forged in isolation is merely a brittle blade. She used to say, 'The summit is a lonely place, Hifumi, and one who climbs it alone often forgets how to breathe. It is not the one who watches your back that makes you strong, but the rival who breathes down your neck—the friend who dares to challenge your every flaw—that pushes you beyond the limits you once thought were absolute.'"

Hifumi paused, his expression tightening. He didn't look at her, instead focusing on the golden-brown crust of his tonkatsu as if it were a puzzle he was trying to solve. He let out a short, sharp exhale, a sound of mild irritation.

"A sentiment for those who fear the silence of the top," Hifumi countered, his voice laced with a refined, cutting edge. "Father’s philosophy was far more... pragmatic. He saw the world for what it truly is: a hierarchy of power."

---

Hey everyone! I really wanted to flood you guys with chapters this week, but my body had other plans. I've been fighting this sickness since Monday, and just when I thought I was finally winning, the medicine wore off and the fever decided to make a grand comeback. 😭 Bruh, the timing is just brutal. I'm doing my best to recover so I can get back to the grind. Thanks for sticking with me!