Sienna's voice lingered in my mind as she abruptly leaped off the couch as if propelled by a cannon. She rushed through the apartment with the same fierce energy she had displayed at the construction site while searching for lost tools or scolding sluggish colleagues.
"I'll return shortly!" she shouted behind her, her voice filled with enthusiasm as she snatched her phone from the countertop.
Before I had a chance to ask about her actions, she was already in the next room with the door closed.
I remained seated, gazing at the somewhat wrinkled blanket we had shared, my mind racing in the stillness she left.
The pressure on my chest seemed diminished—as if I had been breath-holding for weeks and had just breathed out.
She didn't run, didn't recoil. She stayed.
But now that the emotional dust was settling, reality crept back in with its sharp edges.
With Sienna in the loop, I could finally start tackling my Firefighter job without the constant fear of being caught juggling two roles. She could cover for me if an evaluator showed up at the construction site, claiming I was sick or injured—hell, even taking a mental health day. The perfect alibi.
The only hurdle was the paperwork.
I'd need an ID card linked to my Firefighter status. Something official to get me into training sessions, drills, and actual fieldwork. But that was a problem.
If I registered formally, the system would flag me. Someone would notice that Reynard Vale—a guy with high-level construction skills—suddenly had low-level firefighting abilities. That didn't happen. Not naturally. People climbed ranks gradually. They didn't start as experts in one field and novices in another overnight. In fact, people rarely ever
It'd raise questions. Questions I couldn't afford.
My fingers tapped on the armrest while I considered possible solutions, none of which were satisfying.
Approximately an hour later, just when I began to delve into overthinking, I heard a knock on the door.
I stood, stretching slightly before making my way toward it. Sienna was faster, practically sprinting from her room, her excitement radiating like a beacon.
She threw open the door with a grin so wide it looked like it hurt.
Standing there was a woman I'd never seen before.
She was around Sienna's age, medium height but made taller by sharp, black stiletto heels that clicked softly against the hallway floor. Her outfit was... extravagant, to say the least—a tailored, asymmetrical jacket with bold crimson patterns stitched into the fabric, paired with sleek black pants that shimmered faintly under the hallway light. Accessories dripped from her like she'd just walked off a runway: layered necklaces, statement rings, and a single earring shaped like a tiny dagger.
She didn't look like she belonged in this apartment complex. She looked like she belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine.
[SYSTEM SCAN ACTIVATED]
Job : Fashion Designer (Rank A)
Aesthetic Precision (Lv. 7): Enhances the ability to create visually striking and balanced designs with impeccable detail.
Material Manipulation (Lv. 6): Allows the user to alter the texture, durability, and flexibility of fabrics without traditional tools.
Adaptive Tailoring (Lv. 5): Enables rapid adjustments to clothing to fit any body type perfectly, even without prior measurements.
Camouflage Weave (Lv. 4): Infuses clothing with subtle design techniques that allow wearers to blend into crowds or environments more effectively.
Identity Concealment (Lv. 5): Crafts masks and attire that obscure biometric signatures, making it difficult for systems to detect or recognize the wearer.
Durable Stitching (Lv. 6): Enhances the resilience of fabrics, making them resistant to wear, tear, and even light physical damage.
Psychological Flair (Lv. 6): Designs evoke emotional responses, influencing how others perceive the wearer (confidence boost, intimidation, allure, etc.).
The scan faded, leaving a faint digital echo in the back of my mind.
An A-Rank. That explained the presence she carried—like gravity bent just slightly around her. But it wasn't just her skills that caught my attention. It was that one in particular: Identity Concealment.
Her sharp eyes flicked to me almost immediately—assessing, curious.
Sienna beamed. "Reynard, this is Camille. My childhood best friend."
Camille gave a slight nod, her gaze intense but not unkind. "Nice to meet you."
Before I could respond, she reached into the sleek bag slung over her shoulder and pulled something out.
Sleek design with pointed ears, the texture mimicking red-orange fur with subtle black accents along the edges. The expression was playful but sharp—mischievous, like it knew something you didn't.
The moment I saw it, everything clicked.
I didn't need to redo my evaluation.
I didn't need to worry about ID cards tied to Reynard Vale.
I just needed to be someone else.
A slow grin crept onto my face as I stepped forward, taking the mask from Camille's hand.
The material was smooth, lightweight, yet sturdy.
I held it up, staring into the hollow eye slits.
"Looks like we're in business," I murmured.
Sienna crossed her arms, grinning proudly had been her master plan all along.
Camille simply smirked, clearly satisfied with her work.
I turned the mask over once more before slipping it on, the world shifting slightly through the tinted lenses embedded within.
"From this day forward," I said quietly, my voice slightly muffled by the mask, "Reynard Vale works construction."
I glanced at Sienna, her eyes shining with anticipation.
"But Mr. Fox? He fights fires."
And just like that, a new identity was born.