The morning light crept through the blinds, slicing the dimness of my apartment into fragile shards. I hadn't slept. Not really. My body had shut down for a few hours, but my mind... it never stopped burning.
I stared at the cracked ceiling above my bed, feeling the phantom weight of the mask on my face even though it rested quietly on the table nearby. The Fox of Flames. That's what they were calling me now. A symbol, a hero, a beacon of hope.
But beneath the mask, there was nothing heroic about me. Just Reynard Vale. A man drowning in the weight of someone else's expectations—someone who was no longer here to carry them himself.
Sienna shifted beside me, her hand instinctively reaching for me in her sleep. I gently slid out of bed, careful not to wake her. She'd done enough—her presence the only thing anchoring me when my mind wanted to drift into the fire.
Before I left, I checked my phone.
[1 New Message from Camille]
"I'll need some time, but the second mask will be a masterpiece. Trust me."
A small, bitter smile tugged at the corner of my lips. I assume that Sienna had given her my number last night.
I slipped the Fox mask on.
And just like that, Reynard Vale disappeared.
The streets were quieter than usual as I made my way to Station 47. Ash still lingered in the air, faint reminders of what had happened—what I had let happen. People glanced at me as I passed, some with awe, others with gratitude.
They weren't looking at me, though. They were looking at the mask.
But I understood it. The hope it represented wasn't for me—it was for them. And if Chief Ryan had taught me anything, it was that sometimes you carry the weight, even if it crushes you.
As I neared the station, my mind drifted back to the system notification from last night:
[New Reward: Choose Your Next Job]
Logically, an investigation-related job made the most sense. Something that could help me track down the mastermind, uncover the truth behind the fires, and... maybe get revenge. But without the second mask, I couldn't start. Not to mention that the mastermind could've been found by then.
So I shelved the idea for now.
But the itch remained, buried deep beneath the layers of grief and exhaustion.
Station 47 came into view, and I froze mid-step.
Standing there, clipboard in hand, was her.
She didn't recognize me, of course. There was no reason she would. The mask had that effect—hiding the cracks beneath the surface. But seeing her stirred something inside me, a mix of anxiety and... familiarity.
She turned, her sharp eyes scanning the area before landing on me. A faint, professional smile tugged at her lips as she approached.
"Mr. Fox," she greeted, extending a hand. "I'm Evelyn. I'm here to conduct your reevaluation."
Her grip was firm, business-like. Cold, even. The kind of handshake meant to remind you who's in control.
I mirrored her professionalism, nodding slightly. "Pleasure to meet you."
The words felt foreign in my mouth.
The firefighters behind her cheered as they spotted me, some shouting my name like it was a badge of honor. Logan gave me a knowing look from the steps, his expression somewhere between pride and exhaustion.
Evelyn didn't seem fazed by the noise. She gestured toward the station. "We'll need to update your records following your recent... achievements."
I wanted to refuse. God, I wanted to disappear. But with her standing right in front of me, there was no way out.
So I nodded again, the mask hiding the tension in my jaw.
She walked ahead, her strides confident, unbothered. I followed, each step heavier than the last.
The evaluation center was exactly as I remembered it. Sterile. Quiet. A place where identities were reduced to numbers, ranks, and skill sheets.
Rebecca Kline sat at the front desk, her fingers tapping away at a keyboard. She glanced up, her eyes lighting up slightly when she recognized me—or rather, recognized Mr. Fox.
"Ah, Mr. Fox! It's an honor to see you again," she said warmly, not realizing we'd technically met twice before. Just not .
"Likewise," I replied, my voice steady.
The process was familiar. Stand here. Place your blank ID card there and put your hand on the evaluation orb. Let the system do its work.
When the scan was complete, my updated information flashed across the screen:
[MR. FOX | A-RANK FIREFIGHTER]
Advanced Rescue Mastery (Lv. 8)
Command Presence (Lv. 8)
Advanced Hazard Assessment (Lv. 7)
Thermal Perception (Lv. 6)
Endurance Mastery (Lv. 7)
Fire Suppression (Lv. 3)
Heat Resistance (Lv. 3)
Rebecca, who was glancing into the room, had eyes that widened slightly, but she didn't say anything beyond the polite professionalism her job required.
I was about to leave when Evelyn's voice cut through the room.
"Mr. Fox," she called, her tone neutral but laced with curiosity. "One question before you go."
I turned, meeting her gaze through the mask.
"How did you gain so many skills in such a short time?"
I froze. Just for a second.
Last time, I could explain it away with years of construction work. But now? With firefighter skills rivaling—and surpassing—A-Rank veterans?
The silence stretched for half a heartbeat longer than it should have.
"The fires this past week," I began, my voice low, steady, rehearsed even though it wasn't, "the District Inferno, Chief Ryan's death... they pushed me past my limits. Sometimes, when you're forced into situations where failure isn't an option, your body—and your skills—adapt."
Evelyn studied me, her sharp eyes searching for cracks in the mask. But there were none to find. Not on the surface, at least.
She nodded slowly. "That's... plausible," she admitted.
I turned to leave, but her next question stopped me cold.
"In the interview," she said quietly, "you mentioned this was a planned attack. What are you going to do about it?"
I didn't respond immediately.
Because the truth was ugly.
What I wanted to do about it didn't align with what a firefighter was supposed to be.
But the mask... the mask had an answer.
"I'll do my job," I replied, my voice firm. "I'll save lives. That's my role." I paused at the doorway, glancing back. "The rest? That's on people like you."
Her expression didn't change, but something flickered in her eyes. Something unspoken.
I left without another word.
Outside, the sun felt too bright. The air too thin.
I really wanted to tug the mask off as soon as I was far enough from the center, letting the cool breeze hit my face, but I couldn't. My heart was racing, not from exertion, but from the weight of the conversation.
What are you going to do about it?
The words echoed in my head, refusing to fade.
My Strategist skill kicked in, mental threads weaving together faster than I could control. Connections, possibilities, risks—spinning like wildfire.
The conclusion was simple.
It was time to confront the mastermind.
No more running. No more waiting.
The flame inside me wasn't just flickering anymore.