This F-Rank Bubble Mage Is Too OP!-Chapter 89: River and Freya (Part-1)

"Eleven D-Rank Hunters were found dead at around three o'clock this morning. Their faces… unrecognizable. Authorities suspect the massacre was carried out by a single individual. Witnesses reported hearing a series of muffled explosions, followed by fleeting silhouettes clashing above the alley. Moments later, silence—nothing but corpses left behind."

The anchor's voice from the morning news echoed faintly across the room, overlapping with the steady hiss of water hitting the tiled floor.

The shower ran for a few more seconds, steam curling lazily in the air, before the metallic squeak of the faucet signaled it being shut off. Silence followed—broken only by the soft drip of water against porcelain.

A moment later, a woman stepped out of the bathroom.

Her movements were unhurried, deliberate, as if she owned every second of the world around her. Water clung stubbornly to her pale skin, glistening under the faint light like scattered gemstones. Her silver hair, short and tangled, hung in damp strands, the silvery locks darkened by moisture. Droplets slid along her curves before falling to the polished floor, leaving faint, glistening trails in their wake. She didn't bother to take a towel. She didn't need to.

Her cold silver eyes flicked toward the massive window screen occupying the wall behind her desk. On display was the morning broadcast. The screen was filled with a grim image: a narrow alleyway cordoned off by authorities, human-shaped figures lying still on the ground beneath coarse white blankets.

It was early morning—the time when sunlight was supposed to paint the world with a fresh glow, when the dew kissed leaves and rooftops alike, and when people embraced the day with light hearts. Yet, for those who had already seen this report, the morning had become a heavy burden. Eleven lives lost, their stories erased in the span of a single night.

Well, not for Freya.

Her lips curved into an amused smile. A knowing smile.

The air around her stirred—subtle at first, then suddenly sharp. The mana in the room shifted, vibrating at an intense speed, unseen yet undeniable. Heat rippled across the chamber, bending the atmosphere, as though reality itself bristled beneath her presence.

For a brief second, her body became engulfed in pure white light. It clung to her like a second skin, radiant and untouchable. When it faded, all traces of water were gone. Her hair was dry, flowing neatly down her shoulders. Her skin gleamed with a fresh luster, as though she had just been sculpted anew.

Effortless. Perfect. Divine.

Freya did not move to clothe herself. She simply walked forward, her bare feet leaving faint marks of condensation as she approached the towering screen. The images reflected in her silver eyes, flickering with fascination.

A low chuckle escaped her throat.

"Haha… interesting," she whispered, her voice like velvet layered over steel. "He killed them all. Not one left standing."

Her smile widened, sharp as a blade. "Good. He's not afraid."

The broadcast continued to repeat the same scene from different angles—bodies covered, police and Hunters working tirelessly, journalists crowding at the edge of the yellow tape. The death of eleven D-Rank Hunters was no ordinary event. Hunters died, yes, but not like this. Not so many at once. Not without leaving a trace of their attacker.

Even the anchor's voice betrayed the weight of the tragedy, each word measured and heavy, as though saying too much or too little might upset the balance of the fragile truth they were presenting. For the public, this was shocking. For the guilds, it was terrifying. For the government, it was dangerous.

But for Freya?

It was entertainment.

Her fingers brushed lightly across the edge of the screen, tracing the frozen image of a bloodstained alley as though it were a painting meant only for her. Her heart quickened—not out of fear, but out of delight.

Because unlike the others watching from the safety of their homes, Freya understood what this meant.

This was not chaos. This was not random.

This was a declaration.

And the one who made it had just become far more interesting to her than anyone else in this city.

As she stood in front of her 'window' with the news playing, the atmosphere in the room suddenly changed.

It was subtle—so subtle that no ordinary human, nor even a Hunter, could detect it.

But Freya's Skill, Sword Snow, reacted instantly. Like a predator jolted awake, it surged on its own, sharpening the air around her. The Skill's instinct told her one undeniable truth: another soul was inside the room.

Without hesitation, her senses spread outward in a cold, invisible tide. Each wave of perception carried a cutting edge, blades of air sharp enough to strip the essence from anything alive. Anything caught within her radius—whether a wandering insect or a potted plant—would be reduced to an empty husk, a shell without its soul.

The air hummed faintly as her power brushed across every corner of her room. Curtains trembled. A faint frost crept along the edges of the glass.

And then she felt it.

Turning her head sharply, her gaze locked on her bed.

There, sitting with an almost lazy grace, was a figure cloaked in something she could only describe as a translucent film. It clung to the stranger's form like a fragile bubble, refracting faint hues of light that shimmered whenever her Sword Snow tried to pierce it.

No… not just something like a bubble.

It was exactly a bubble.

Freya's Skill, a technique that could reduce even a monster's essence to dust, failed to breach its fragile-looking barrier.

"Is that how you say good morning to someone?" River's voice broke the tense silence, smooth and calm, as if the pressure in the air meant nothing to him.

"…When did you…?" Freya's eyes narrowed, confusion evident as she slowly pulled back her Skill.

"Since the moment you entered the bathroom and started showering," River replied, raising an eyebrow. "Honestly, I almost fell asleep waiting." A light chuckle followed as he stood, stretching as though he had been resting in her room all night. Then his expression hardened, voice losing its casual tone. "I'm not here for a simple chat."

For a heartbeat, Freya's guard lingered. Then, like a mask slipping back into place, her usual playful demeanor returned. A mischievous smile tugged at her lips.

"Seems like my defenses are still too weak if you managed to slip in unnoticed. But I don't need you to tell me why you're here."

"Good," River said, but his voice carried an edge, like steel beneath velvet. "Still, I don't understand one thing." His eyes fixed on hers, sharp and accusing. "One-Eyed Ogre Stone? Is that really what you think I'm worth? Such a piece of crap?"

Freya blinked at him, momentarily thrown off. Then, to her own surprise, she felt a spark of irritation flare up.

"You think that's trash?" she shot back, her tone cutting. For the first time, her playful mask cracked, replaced by something colder.

A faint frown appeared on her face. "That stone alone could buy influence with an entire guild. People would kill for it without hesitation. Don't call it worthless."

River tilted his head, studying her reaction with faint amusement. His voice lowered, almost taunting. "To me it's trash, why would you even use that worthless item as a reward? I don't appreciate it."

Freya's lips curved into a small, irritated smile. "You think too highly of yourself."

River snorted, though there was no real mockery in it. "You think so? Maybe I am, but you don't? Why bother leaking my hotel then." He leaned closer, the faint shimmer of his bubble brushing against the air between them.

The tension in the room shifted again—no longer hostile, but not entirely warm either. Like two predators circling, testing the other's boundaries.

The news anchor's voice still droned faintly from the holographic screen behind them, repeating grim details of the massacre at 3 a.m. Eleven D-Rank Hunters, butchered. Headless. Suspected single assailant.

Neither of them turned to look at it, but the weight of the report lingered, seeping into the silence that followed.

Freya's gaze softened slightly, though her smirk remained. "Then tell me, River… what would be enough?"

River met her eyes without flinching. "That," he said evenly, "depends on whether you see me as an ally… or a threat."

The bubble shimmered faintly, holding back the lingering frost of her Sword Snow. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

Neither side moved to strike.

After staring at each other for a moment, River broke into a smile and let his bubble vanish.

"You got tense—that's a win for me," he smirked, returning to sit on the bed. "You annoyed me by sending them and treating me like a toy. This is just a little payback. But let me make one thing clear—I'm not done yet."

"Oh?" Freya drew in a deep breath to steady herself, though her eyes glinted mischievously as she stepped toward the bed, her naked body swaying deliberately in front of him. "I'm not someone who backs down so easily."

River's eyes widened in surprise, and before he could react, Freya leapt onto him.