SSS Rank: Spellcraft Sovereign-Chapter 111: Interviews (1)

"Was to me," Karin said. "And him."

The screen flashed a moment, slow motion of Rikta’s fist swinging wild, missing, then Lucen rotating his wrist slightly, redirecting the motion just enough to walk it out.

"Feels like something’s forming," Karin said. "You want him in the fifth?"

"I want him to survive the fifth."

Karin raised a brow, still chewing. "He’s not the type to die in a drift."

Varik didn’t look over. "No. He’s the type to break it on the way out."

Karin snorted. "Still the same, huh?"

He pulled a small device from his coat, flat, metallic, covered in glyph-lock lines, and flicked it toward Varik.

"Pulled this from a private forum. Supposedly an SS-rank on the inside says Ghostweave doesn’t match any registry. No team. No official training license."

"He doesn’t," Varik said.

"You hiding him?"

"Does it look like I am?"

Karin squinted. "A little."

Varik drank.

The room stayed quiet for a beat. Just the low city noise outside the balcony, the hum of trains, faint mana engines, neon casting movement across the glass.

Karin said, "So. What’s the move?"

Varik tapped the edge of the datapad with one knuckle.

"Give him three days. Then Tier Five. No guilds. No scouts. Quiet run. I want to see how he handles environment stress without public eyes on him."

"You think he’s leveling too fast?"

"I think he’s not even trying yet."

Karin nodded once.

Then, after a second, added, "Think we should tell him that?"

Varik stood slowly.

"No."

—

The sidewalk glowed faint blue under the mana-strip streetlights. Mid-tier district. Not fancy, not rough. Just steady hums of traffic overhead and the occasional hiss of a food stall vent dumping grilled oil and sugar crust into the air.

Lucen walked like he always did.

Head down. Hood half-on. Hands in jacket pockets.

But tonight?

He could feel it.

Not mana.

Attention.

Three blocks from the arena and people were still pointing. Not everyone. Just enough.

A guy across the street nudged his friend, nodded in their direction.

Two girls leaning against a charm stand glanced once, then whispered to each other. One raised her phone, tried not to be obvious. Failed.

Lucen sighed through his nose.

Gen was eating it up.

"You hear that?" Gen said, grinning like an idiot. "They’re whispering. You’ve got whispers, my guy."

Lucen didn’t look up. "No, I’m ignoring it."

"Well, you’re doing a bad job. That girl back there tried to cast a scan glyph on you through a trash bin."

"I should’ve melted it."

Gen laughed. "That’s the spirit. Little pyro menace."

They crossed a slow intersection. A delivery van slowed a little when passing by. The driver leaned out the window and shouted:

"GHOSTWEAVE!"

Lucen didn’t react.

Gen gave the driver a thumbs-up.

Lucen muttered, "I’m never going outside again."

"Oh, stop," Gen said. "You’re a hero now. You know how rare it is for people to cheer a guy with no team and no sponsors?"

"I liked it better when they didn’t know I existed."

"You say that, but I watched you elbow a man to sleep and walk off like it was a late lunch."

Lucen didn’t answer.

He walked past a food stall. Smelled fried soyroot and spice powder. His stomach made a faint noise. Gen looked over.

"You want something?"

"No."

"You sure? I’m buying. That was a headliner performance."

Lucen stopped for half a beat, then turned back and grabbed a wrapped roll from the counter like he’d decided a year ago.

"Just don’t call it a reward."

Gen handed the vendor a cred stick. "It’s a logistical necessity."

As they walked, Lucen took a bite. It was hot. Crispy on the edges. Some kind of pickled crunch in the center. Decent.

Gen checked his pad.

"The clip’s already at 34k views. And that’s just one channel."

Lucen didn’t look up. "’Support guy’ trending yet?"

Gen smirked. "No. ’Ghostweave’ is."

"Fantastic."

They passed another alley, turned toward the residential slope.

Another teen with a portable speaker sat half-on a bench. Lucen caught the sound of his own fight being replayed, just the impact. The elbow. The explosion. The part where Rikta hit the wall.

The teen pointed. "Yo, that’s him!"

Lucen kept walking.

Gen leaned in.

"You know what this means, right?"

"No."

"You can’t be ’just some guy’ anymore."

Lucen took another bite.

’Good. That means I can charge more.’

—

They didn’t make it two blocks past the food stall.

Lucen had just taken his last bite, still chewing, when the first mic glyph hovered into view.

It floated past Gen’s shoulder like a bug with bad timing, red light blinking as it rotated in Lucen’s direction.

"Ghostweave!"

The voice behind it belonged to a girl with a long coat, half-undone boots, and a portable recorder strapped to her chest. She jogged up, breath not quite caught yet.

"Can we ask you a few questions?"

Lucen didn’t stop chewing. He stared at the mic like it had personally offended him.

Gen stepped in, all smiles.

"Wow, you guys don’t sleep."

She ignored him. "Is it true you’re not officially affiliated with any guild?"

Gen replied first. "That’s correct."

Lucen finally swallowed. "Technically true."

Another guy joined her, taller, holding a wrist-scroll with the fight paused on it.

"Were you trained under a known caster family, or are you private talent?"

Lucen raised an eyebrow. "Did you just say ’private talent’ like it’s a subscription service?"

The guy blinked. "I—uh—sorry. What I meant was, uh, are you self-taught?"

"No comment."

The mic glyph tilted toward Gen. He leaned in, smug.

"Mostly instinct. Little luck. Dash of trauma."

Lucen sighed. "Why do I let you speak?"

Another interviewer pushed through. This one had better shoes and worse manners.

"You’ve been tagged in three different arena watchlists. Does this mean you’re aiming for a formal circuit?"

Lucen tilted his head. "Does it look like I own a calendar?"

One of the first girls in the group held up a pad.

"Ghostweave—what class type are you?"

Lucen blinked.

Gen laughed.

"Support."

Lucen nodded. "Definitely."

"Seriously?"

Gen smiled wider. "Deadly support."

Lucen added, "The deadliest."

The mic blinked again.

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