My Infinite Investment System

The furnace core cooled between his boots while he kept both hands visible and six city officials argued over who had authority to touch it.

Burned metal hung in the trial chamber, mixed with bile, stone dust, and the citrus cleaner somebody had used before expecting a normal afternoon.

Above him, every spectator screen held the same frozen image: Bartek’s stained glove beneath the manual release.

The officials above traded jurisdiction forms while the four people below remained inside a damaged room with nobody willing to declare the floor safe.

Mika sat on a fallen armor plate with one shaking hand trapped beneath her opposite thigh.

Nia stood beside the recovered wrench with her bent shield braced against one knee, while Jun duplicated every original file onto three separate encrypted drives.

"Send one to the city review desk," Ryan said as he watched the office doors, "one to our counsel, then keep the third offline."

The scout touched each destination in order and replied, "Our counsel is the woman who charges while breathing near us."

"Qualified."

Nia inspected his left wrist, where Guard had left a gold line beneath the skin, then pressed her thumb against his uneven pulse.

"Move it?" she asked.

"Enough to sign something expensive," he replied while flexing his stubborn hand.

"Again."

He opened his hand until the numb fingers trembled, which earned one brief shift of her jaw.

On the screen, Priya stepped between Bartek and the office exit while two security officers removed his badge.

The suspended administrator kept talking after the audio returned, his palms opening toward the officials like innocence required a complete physical demonstration.

"The mechanism failed," Bartek said as he pointed at the empty cradle, "I reached beneath it when the alarm sounded."

Jun rotated his tablet toward the chamber camera and enlarged the release log.

"The alarm began zero point eight seconds after his hand opened it," he said, keeping his voice level, "the machine has timestamps."

Bartek searched the screens for the speaker hidden under three floors of stone.

The scout’s thumb hovered near the raw footage folder, then moved away.

’Do not shake now,’ Jun thought, ’my socks are wet, why are my socks wet?’

Director Imani Kovač entered the office wearing a navy coat over gym clothes, with copper curls crushed flat along one side after being summoned from sleep.

Her face was narrow, her shoulders built like a retired climber’s, and an old burn crossed the brown skin above her left collarbone.

She took Priya’s control terminal without greeting anyone, then watched the release from four angles at half speed.

"Mr. Bartek," she said while capping a red pen, "you have described a mechanical failure contradicted by the mechanism."

"Director, Northstar brought illegal recording equipment into a closed trial."

Mika’s public smile switched on before she stood.

"Our scout wore his registered mapping tablet," she said toward the camera, "unless Apex now considers evidence an illegal accessory."

Kovač turned one page in the trial rules and replied, "A registered route device is permitted, Ms. Santos."

Bartek’s mouth tightened before he pointed at Ryan.

"He baited the entire incident."

Ryan looked at the bright core, his numb arm, then the vomit drying near the corridor threshold.

"The bait appears to have suffered," he said.

One side of Mika’s smile escaped its polished shape while the director replayed the altered route mark.

The right-handed stroke sat beside Jun’s original violet line, convincing from the spectator seats yet visibly wrong wherever the close recording caught its pressure.

Next came the right-gloved attendant entering the service route, followed by Bartek’s access code opening that same corridor.

Priya placed her own security log beside the footage while Bartek turned on her with one finger already raised.

"I preserved the administrator history after the bracket changed," she said as both hands flattened on the desk, "his account made all three edits."

"You approved the bracket," he said as the raised finger stopped short of her face.

Her eyes dropped for one second, then returned as she said, "I processed the assignment after you overrode the draw, I should have reported it before they entered."

The room above went quiet enough for the chamber ventilation to become audible.

Ryan had spent years watching people hide behind passive verbs, yet her sentence owned its subject all the way through.

Kovač took Bartek’s access card from security and snapped it across the magnetic strip.

"Your post is suspended pending criminal review," she said as the broken halves landed apart, "leave every city device here."

He looked from Priya to the screens carrying his face across the public lobby.

"Apex will bury this."

"Apex can submit its preference in writing."

Security walked him out past a wall of raised phones.

The chamber screens switched to the city seal while Kovač studied every recorded measure, refusing to let the scandal replace the work Northstar had actually completed.

"Northstar collected three seals, cleared the boss, protected its full roster, then survived interference," she said.

The bulwark set the wrench down with unusual care and asked, "Does the result stand?"

"Passed."

Mika pressed one palm to her chest, performing surprise for the cameras.

"Sorry, could you repeat that while I locate every person who called us a nightclub with weapons?"

Kovač’s pen stopped above the page while one camera tightened its frame around her hand.

"Northstar Guild is granted Bronze status effective today," she said, "I will repeat it once for the plaque office."

The screen populated with a bronze crest beneath the hot-pink Northstar star, filling the chamber walls with the first official version of their ridiculous colors.

Three years of checking this page for other guilds had taught him each box, each fee, and the quiet ways a clerk could stop a dream without writing denied.

It was official.

[Guild Status Updated]

[Northstar Guild: Bronze]

[Paid mission board access granted]

[Workshop authorization granted]

Ryan kept his face neutral while the private lines appeared below the public notice.

The system offered no reward, since the status belonged to the team rather than an investment return.

That restraint pleased him more than another light show would have.

Jun stared at the crest until his route tablet dimmed, then took a screenshot before the city could change its mind.

She picked up the wrench and said, "Workshop."

"Same," Ryan replied.

"Paid."

Mika walked to Ryan, caught the front of his jacket, then turned him toward the nearest camera.

"Look alive," she murmured through a fixed public smile, "we just became employable."

"My arm is numb."

"Then use the face attached to the other side."

The smile he failed to stop looked tired enough to be honest.

{shieldwife88: Northstar Bronze, everybody stay calm!!!}

Kovač ordered the extraction team inside, then kept the public feed running while technicians secured the fallen core.

One clinician approached Ryan’s wrist with a scanner that smelled of alcohol wipes and warm plastic.

"No fracture," she said while the display crawled over his palm, "nerve shock, likely temporary."

"Likely is a beautiful word."

The clinician gave him a flat look while tightening the support wrap around his wrist.

"It becomes less beautiful if you cast another barrier today."

He thanked her, then watched the team lift the core into a locked transport frame.

His first instinct was to calculate its resale value, followed by the embarrassing urge to search whether Bronze founders received meal vouchers.

’I caught a furnace core and still want free noodles,’ he thought, ’personal growth remains selective.’

Kovač met them upstairs after the trial staff cleared the lift.

The guild office smelled of printer toner, sweat, and the sweet coffee cooling beside Priya’s untouched keyboard.

Apex representatives had arrived in matching gray coats, each carrying the tense expression of somebody assigned to apologize without admitting liability.

Their spokesperson was Zofia Rutkowska, a compact Polish woman with ash-blond hair cut level with her jaw.

Her gray eyes stayed on the cameras while an old sword scar pulled one corner of her upper lip.

"Apex Guild condemns unauthorized interference with a city trial," she read from a tablet, "we apologize to Northstar Guild and the public."

Mika angled her good side toward the press line, although her private hand found Ryan’s good wrist behind their bodies.

"Does Apex condemn the person who ordered it?" she asked.

Zofia’s scar tightened.

"Our internal investigation remains active."

"That sounded expensive without purchasing an answer."

The press microphones shifted toward Apex as the apology began collapsing under follow-up questions.

Ryan let Mika hold the public pressure while he checked the mission board newly unlocked on his phone.

Medical escorts, gate surveys, warehouse clears, and ranked retrievals filled the screen with actual fees.

Each listing carried insurance deposits, cancellation penalties, and enough small print to make Bronze status feel real instead of ceremonial.

His thumb paused over a two-day escort paying twelve thousand dollars, enough to repair the west wall without waiting for donations.

The system fund could not build their workshop for comfort, while guild income could.

Money had created the first pleasant problem of his week: which necessary thing to fix first.

Priya approached after the press moved toward Zofia, her Apex badge gone and its folded lanyard hidden between both palms.

Up close, exhaustion had settled purple beneath her eyes while route ink stained two fingers.

"I helped process the bracket," she said as her thumb rubbed the folded strap, "I knew it was wrong before the first gate opened."

Ryan looked at the lanyard rather than rescuing her from the admission and said, "You preserved the logs."

"Afterward," she replied while the route ink vanished beneath her curled fingers.

"Yes," he said without softening the word.

She accepted the word without flinching, which made it kinder than forgiveness would have been.

Mika joined them with her public smile gone, then stood close enough for Priya to feel the team at Ryan’s shoulder.

Priya unfolded one corner of the strap and asked, "Where do I submit an application?"

Nia looked at her for several seconds before lifting the bent shield.

"Workshop tomorrow, seven," she said, "wear clothes you can ruin."

Priya’s mouth opened, then closed around a nervous laugh as she asked, "Is that an interview?"

"It is seven in the morning," Nia replied while settling the shield against her shoulder.

Ryan sent her the standard application link with no promise beyond review.

Her phone received it while his screen displayed three dots from an unknown national number.

The message resolved into a silver envelope stamped with the Bronze Cup crest.

Its border replayed sixteen famous wins before reaching Northstar, where the falling core froze above four people expecting only a difficult trial.

Jun leaned across his shoulder, saw the sender, then forgot to breathe.

Mika read the invitation aloud with one eyebrow climbing higher at every line.

"National broadcast, sixteen guilds, winner gets an unrestricted Silver trial," she said, "they want an answer by midnight."

Ryan checked the entry fee.

His personal balance could cover less than one tenth of the registration cost, while their first Bronze mission income would arrive several days too late.

The next line loaded without a system payment behind the message or a personal charge attached.

**Host invitation covers registration**

Admission was free.

Somebody with a national audience wanted Northstar inside the arena badly enough to open the door for free.

Ryan looked at the frozen footage of Bartek’s glove still playing across the lobby wall.

The invitation timer began counting down from six hours as he pressed accept.