Marsa's gaze... no, she was actually Melissa de Asmont, the first legitimate Queen in the history of the Mana Stone Kingdom.
She looked at the photo of Mark, her neighbor in the adjacent apartment. Since her childhood, Melissa had been a prisoner within palace walls, guarded by elite soldiers. But after the "Great Bloody Incident" caused by her actions, she desired to melt the ice within her heart by experiencing life as an ordinary girl—attending university and living in a rented apartment just to feel alive.
She had been living there for two months, during which she met Mark. He always appeared with a cigarette butt in his hand, a clear mask of depression etched onto his face. Initially, she hadn't been interested, especially after intelligence reports confirmed he was just a newly awakened player with a pathetic rank and a joke of a class called "Slime Warrior."
Melissa had almost entirely forgotten about Mark's profession. She treated him kindly only to maintain her persona as a sweet university student.
She wasn't blind to Mark's feelings for her, but they were the least of her concerns. Occasionally, she felt pity for him, inviting him for a meal or, once, gifting him a blanket she didn't need. She believed that by being kind even to the weak, she might coax her frozen heart to beat with passion again.
But three days ago, he had knocked on her door looking utterly desperate. He seemed like he could collapse at any second. She invited him in and offered him food, but then he opened his tightly clenched fist.
"I have... I have seven stress-relief pills," he stammered. "I know university girls go through a hard time with exams these days. I bought them with everything I own. You can buy them from me... and I'll... I'll use the money to buy the last cigarette I'll ever smoke in my life."
His hand trembled as he offered the pills, his eyes shimmering with a faint light deep within.
"Thank you, but I don't want the pills," she replied. "I can give you the money if you need it."
He flatly refused, insisting on selling them to her. When she refused again, he left in tears. Standing at the threshold, he looked back at her and said:
"University students like you are haunted by depression and dissatisfaction with what they offer the world. There's always ice in their hearts, no matter what they do. I think you're all like that. You're a student... you need some rest."
Mark walked away, and she did the same, occupied by sudden issues until they finally crossed paths again today. In truth, she had realized back then that he had indeed spent his last penny on those pills, so she immediately sent him 190 pounds for them, not wanting him to dwell in sadness.
Seeing him today, he looked slightly better—a bit drenched, but in good spirits. But the real issue burned in Melissa's mind: SSS. Her thoughts raced, her mind catching fire with the possibility. "Has our nation truly gained an SSS-rank?"
Now aboard her private jet, Melissa had shed her disguise, revealing her true, legendary beauty, with hair like shimmering, molten gold. She could barely suppress a triumphant smile. The sin of "Gluttony"—the most powerful sin of all—was right here in their territory.
She forced herself to stay rational, calculating her next move. Her laptop displayed the Guild's security footage from earlier that day, showing Mark's meeting with the Branch President. She analyzed his behavior and noted the President's suspicion, which hadn't been quite decisive enough.
"I mustn't act too quickly... What if it isn't him? Yet every sign points in his direction. Fine, then. How about a test? The sin of Gluttony..."
Melissa devised a plan to test Mark, to see if he was truly worthy. No one could guess what her expression would be if she found out that this SSS-ranker was actually planning to be utterly useless, living like a cockroach under the radar.
"You want my affection, don't you? Let's see if you deserve it."
The thought of such power made her willing to cast aside all reservations to bring him close. She caught herself drifting too far into her fantasies and snapped back to reality.
She was lost in thought—or more accurately, daydreaming—about a future where her kingdom flourished under the might of one possessing such legendary SSS-rank potential. Little did she know that this 'destined powerhouse' was currently fumbling in front of a mirror, prepping himself to break the law tonight.
Directly in front of the mirror, Mark stood trying to stick the fake mustache onto his face. It kept falling off before he could even let go; the glue was absolute garbage.
"I've been scammed..."
He quickly moved on to the sunglasses, which hadn't even come in proper packaging—just a clumsy plastic bag. When he took them out and tried to unfold them, he struggled to pry the arms open. But as he finally managed to put them on and looked at himself, a flicker of hope began to rise.
Suddenly, one of the lenses fell out.
Clash.
It shattered into two pieces.
Mark's face burned with pure, unadulterated rage.
Later that evening, Mark stepped out. He was dressed in decent clothes, with the mustache dangling half-off his face and sunglasses whose lenses were held together by strips of scotch tape.
Mark stepped out of the apartment building and checked his watch as the streetlights illuminated the quiet surroundings. He reached the bus stop and boarded the bus heading north.
He had printed the edited photo and placed it in a holder, hanging it around his neck. He looked incredibly awkward by the time the bus dropped him off at his destination—the site of the operation mentioned in the online post.
Local residents often complained online about the heavy guard presence in this area. As for why Mark chose this specific time? It was shift-change for the patrols. That was it. Nothing more. He didn't even know how he'd use that information, but it felt like the "pro" thing to do.
Mark glanced at his dimensional bag, intended for storing the carcasses of the Ferocious Dogs. The bag was certainly expensive, but it belonged to the Guild, not his own pocket. The mission required at least 10 heads, but Mark's mind was elsewhere: the internal cores, hides, and fangs fetched high prices.
…enough to live like a human being for once.
Mark stared at the forest ahead, swallowing hard.
His legs gave out before he even reached the starting line. The forest was ominous and dark; the massive, half-withered trees leaned at odd angles, creating a perfect habitat for beasts, insects, and snakes to leap out and ambush him. Even the mana in the air was palpably thick.
Mark hesitated. Though the forest was dark, his mind conjured shadowy figures moving between the trunks, making his knees shake.
"No, no... I'm out."
But then he thought of the debts and the installments. Was prison really worse than this forest? Probably not.
Mark trudged into the woods, the grass and branches scraping against him as he passed. After five minutes of walking, he had nearly tripped twice and slammed his head into branches four times. His fake mustache even fell off, but he didn't dare look back to find it; his wallet was practically mourning the wasted money left on the forest floor. It was a total nightmare.
Before he could collide with a fifth branch, the brilliant glow of the dungeon portal illuminated the entire area. Atop the hill stood the radiant gate, guarded by five men sporting the Wild Lion Guild emblem on their chests.
Snap!
His foot accidentally crushed a dry branch, causing one of the guards to snap his head toward Mark's position.
"Damn animals..." the guard muttered.
Finding nothing, the guard assumed it was just a squirrel. He had no idea that Mark was huddled behind a tree, hand clamped over his own mouth, holding his breath to avoid being caught.
How on earth was he supposed to face these giant guards in his current state?