This F-Rank Bubble Mage Is Too OP!

"I'm just curious, that's all," Freya's voice drifted through the receiver, calm yet sharp, teasing yet cold. "Quite a spectacle you achieved, you know?"

River frowned faintly, tilting his head. "Spectacle? What kind?"

For a moment, there was only silence. But silence carried weight when it came from Freya. He caught the faint hitch in her breath, as if his ignorance genuinely surprised her.

"You… you don't know what you did?" she asked, her tone shifting.

"What did I do?" River pressed, irritation creeping into his voice. "I didn't commit any crime."

"You seriously don't know?!" Freya's voice rose, tinged with disbelief.

River sighed and pulled the phone away from his ear, thumb hovering over the red button. He had no intention of wasting time on one of her little games.

But then her voice sharpened with frustration. "River, your persona is making a ruckus in the city."

That made him pause.

His brows knitted together as realization struck like a blade of cold steel.

The mask.

The white toy mask he wore during dungeon raids—the very same one he had been careless about leaving behind after each run.

River leaned back against the cool glass of the balcony window, lips tightening. He had been so focused—no, obsessed—with grinding through dungeon after dungeon this past week that he hadn't considered the ripple effect it might cause. He had been killing Dungeon Bosses one after another, barely giving the guilds or independent Hunters the breathing room to farm. And every portal closed prematurely because of him was like a beacon.

The city had rules—unspoken, unwritten, but enforced all the same. A Dungeon was never immediately cleared upon opening. Hunters and parties would first sweep through, farming mobs for experience and loot before the Boss was dealt with. That was the natural cycle. But River? He had broken that cycle. He speedran every dungeon he entered, cutting the runs short, leaving countless Hunters empty-handed and furious.

Now, the rumors of a masked man clearing dungeons alone had spread like wildfire.

River closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. I should have expected this.

But he wasn't surprised. Not really.

"So what about it?" River asked finally, his voice calm, almost bored, as if his actions were of little importance.

"You incurred their wrath," Freya said, and there was a dangerous lilt in her voice, like someone savoring a piece of gossip. "You've made enemies. That's about it."

River could almost hear the smirk curling across her lips.

"You wanted to see some drama between them and me," River said flatly, though a corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk of his own.

"I'm bored waiting for your 'prophecy' to come true," Freya admitted without shame. "Might as well find something entertaining in the meantime."

"They're not going to be able to do anything to me," River replied coolly.

"They don't know your true identity, true," Freya conceded. "But the rumors? They've already confirmed the white toy mask belongs to the one ruining their dungeon runs. Hunters are sharp, River. They've pieced together your height, your frame, even your hair. Some claim they've caught traces of your voice. It won't be long before they put two and two together."

River turned toward the balcony doors, sliding them open to let in the humid night air. Below, Voulton City pulsed with neon and movement. The nightlife throbbed with energy, but above the glittering lights, the rooftops seemed too still. Too quiet.

"You really want some drama, don't you? You're the one who leaked all of this, aren't you?" His voice hardened, eyes narrowing as he stepped outside. The wind tugged at his hair, carrying the sound of distant chatter and the faint rhythm of the city. "Why are you doing this?"

"Like I said, I'm bored." Her reply was light, almost sing-song. "There's still a week before your grand prediction. Until then, why not play a little game? Satisfy my curiosity. That's all."

River didn't believe her for a second.

Freya wasn't someone who acted on boredom alone. Everything she did was calculated, deliberate, precise. To play games with someone like her was to walk willingly into a storm.

But if River had to guess…

"After investigating and finding out I'm that masked man, you wanted to test my capabilities firsthand," he said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Seems like you still lack knowledge in some areas."

"I lack knowledge about you," Freya admitted, her voice dropping an octave, serious now. "Your results from the Awakening Ceremony don't match your achievements. Negative F-Rank Skills, yet you solo D-Rank Dungeon Bosses? Impossible. Unless…" She trailed off, her tone sharpening into intrigue. "Unless you're hiding something bigger. Think of this as our little game."

"Little game?" River's gaze drifted upward, locking onto movement in the distance. Across the rooftops several streets away, silhouettes shifted against the neon glow. Shadows crouched, leaping lightly from one building to another. One. Two. Five. Ten.

River's smirk widened as he counted. "This is too sudden. And I'm still naked."

Freya's laugh rang through the receiver, low and amused. "Then you'd better hurry up. Don't worry, they don't know your real identity. Only that the masked man who ruined their runs is staying somewhere in that hotel."

River could practically see her smirk through the phone. Devilish, sly, amused by the chaos she had sown.

"Take care of my bike," River muttered dryly before hanging up.

He tossed the phone onto the bed, his body moving swiftly as he pulled on his clothes. The cool fabric brushed against his still-aching skin, but adrenaline sharpened his senses.

The pressure outside was undeniable now. With his Mana Control, River stretched his perception like a web across the block. Ripples of presence—strong, practiced, dangerous—pressed in on the hotel. At least a dozen signatures. All of them D-Rank.

Annoyance prickled through him. He had wanted to rest. Instead, Freya's "game" had dragged him into another storm.

Straightening his shirt, River walked calmly out of his room. He ignored the elevator and pushed open the emergency exit door, his footsteps echoing in the narrow stairwell. His descent wasn't rushed. He was calm, calculated. At the very bottom, he didn't bother with the final steps. Instead, he leapt over the railing.

The distance to the lobby floor was easily several stories, but River's lips barely curved as he summoned his Skill. A translucent bubble burst into existence beneath him, soft and springy, absorbing the impact with a muted ripple before popping into a cascade of smaller spheres.

River landed lightly, as if he had only stepped down a single stair.

Outside, he could already feel the hunters converging.

River's plan after purging the poison was simple: take a shower, collapse into bed, and let his body recover. Tomorrow was supposed to be the start of something bigger—his attempt to make his prediction come true by pushing the future event forward. He only had a week left, and the clock was mercilessly ticking down.

But of course, Freya had other plans.

"She's annoying," River muttered under his breath, irritation flickering in his tired eyes. She had practically shoved him into this situation without giving him a chance to breathe.

Instead of rest, he now had to deal with a dozen D-Rank Hunters snooping around, looking for him.

His mind worked quickly, sifting through possibilities. Fighting them head-on was suicide. Their Stats were too evenly matched, and even with his exceptional Mana Control tipping the scales, it wasn't a guaranteed victory. A single mistake, and he'd be overwhelmed. He couldn't afford to risk everything here.

I need to slip past them… unnoticed.

River's breathing slowed, his thoughts sharpening as he began weaving a plan. He mapped out the hotel's layout in his head, recalling every hallway, every exit point he had seen earlier. There was no room for error.

He straightened, then deliberately shifted his posture. His spine curved forward, shoulders drooping as if exhaustion weighed them down. His usually sharp eyes dimmed with a practiced dullness, and with a quick ruffle of his smooth hair, he transformed into an entirely different person—a weary, unremarkable guest who looked like he had just stumbled out of bed, even his Mana pattern had disappeared.

In seconds, River's sharp presence dissolved.

The click of his shoes echoed through the corridor as he descended to the lobby, each step measured, casual. The faint smell of cigarette smoke and cheap alcohol clung to the air, mixing with the muted hum of conversations. His heart remained steady, but every nerve was alert, listening, waiting.

The moment he stepped into the lobby, the entrance doors swung open. A group of D-Rank Hunters walked in, their boots clattering against the floor. Their eyes swept the room like hawks, searching for prey.

River felt their gazes brush over him—brief, dismissive. To them, he wasn't a threat. Just another forgettable face. He forced himself not to tense, not to quicken his pace. Instead, he slouched forward, muttering something incoherent under his breath like a man half-asleep.

They didn't bite.

He reached the exit, pushing the glass door open with an almost lazy shove.

For a heartbeat, everything seemed smooth.

Then one of the Hunters frowned. Something about him must have snagged their attention because River heard it—the faint scrape of boots turning on the lobby floor.

They were looking at him now.

But by the time realization flashed in their eyes, it was already too late.

River's posture snapped back upright, his body exploding into motion. In a blur, he bolted down the street, weaving past late-night pedestrians and disappearing into the shadows.

Shouts erupted behind him as the Hunters scrambled, but River was already three steps ahead, his figure melting into the veins of the city night.