The heat hit first.

It rolled off the street in waves, warping the air and clinging to your skin like smoke. You weren’t even near the gate's center, but the aftershock was unmistakable. Something—or someone—powerful had been here.

Then you saw him.

He stood near the edge of the crater, back straight, hands casually in his coat pockets. His flame-red hair caught what little light pierced the overcast sky. He didn’t move when you approached. Didn’t need to.

Even from a distance, you could see the phoenix pendant glowing faintly against his chest—matching the faint shimmer of residual fire mana in the air. His eyes flicked toward you, cold and cutting, like frost over embers.

“You’re not White Tiger,” he said flatly.

No greeting. No smile.

You introduced yourself—awkwardly, maybe, or maybe just cautious. His gaze didn’t waver.

“Jihoon Ryo,” he replied. “A-Rank. Mage"

He tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable. “You following me for a reason? Or just stupid enough to wander into a post-A-Rank zone?”

You opened your mouth to explain, but the heat around him pulsed once—barely noticeable, like a warning shot.

“I don’t like distractions” he added. “So unless this is about something that matters… you should go.”

And yet

he didn’t turn away.