The city lights flickered as if defying the sky, while massive screens in Times Square streamed endless advertisements. Yellow cabs glided across rain-slicked asphalt, their headlights reflecting off the wet streets This city never slept yet in some corners there was silence, and in others, danger lurked in the shadows

One of Manhattan's most exclusive restaurants.

On the 20th floor of a glass-walled building, under white tablecloths and crystal chandeliers, high society dined. The soft melodies of a live piano completed the air of luxury. Waiters moved like silent shadows between the tables.

At the largest table in the corner sat Travis Kane.

A jet-black suit, dark gray silk tie, an expensive watch on his wrist A faint smile played on his lips, yet behind it lurked a predator ready to strike at any moment. Those who knew who he truly was avoided meeting his gaze. Sitting across from him was his young assistant, glancing at notes on her tablet and occasionally leaning in to quietly relay information.

Suddenly, the restaurant's doors opened and three men in black suits stepped inside.

They were drenched from the rain, yet their faces betrayed no expression. Their steps were deliberate, their eyes hard. Waiters and guests began whispering the moment they appeared. The men moved straight toward Kane's table.

The man in front leaned forward and spoke:

 "Sir, the American Hunters Association wishes to speak with you."

Kane slowly set his fork down. He took a sip from the wine glass before him, the corners of his lips curling into a barely perceptible smirk.

 "So… they finally found me," he murmured, then rose to his feet.

Outside the restaurant, a black Vito van waited. Its windows were fully tinted, and the faint outline of armor plating was visible along its doors. The moment Kane stepped inside, the noise of the city vanished with the closing of the door. The deep hum of the engine filled the silence as they sped away through Manhattan's streets.

Location: The secret headquarters of the American Hunters Association.

Far from the center of New York, hidden deep within an abandoned industrial district… From the outside, it looked like nothing more than a decaying warehouse. But an elevator descended beneath the ground to reveal a massive underground complex. Metal doors, biometric scanners, automated weapon systems this was one of the most classified facilities in the country.

Kane was led into a large conference room.

In the center stood an oval table, and at its far end sat President George Charles. Half his hair had turned white, and the deep lines on his face told the story of many hard years. At his sides stood his aides, tablets and files in hand.George Charles rose to his feet, extending his hand.

 "Mr. Travis Kane, we appreciate you accepting our invitation."

Kane shook his hand, his eyes never leaving the President's face.

 "I take it there's a problem."

The President nodded, his voice heavy with gravity:

 "We need your help. A Z-class gate has opened in England. These kinds of gates are extremely rare and have deadly consequences. The British government contacted the White House and requested America's assistance. If the dungeon cannot be closed, a dimensional fracture will occur… and that would expose the truth to the entire world. A global crisis would be inevitable."

Kane leaned back slightly, his tone cold:

 "So why didn't the Spanish or Turkish hunters go? Why is England asking for us?"

The President took a deep breath:

 "The news came in this morning  Spanish Z-class hunter Diego Navarro was found dead torn apart. The body  was unrecognizable. The World Hunters Committee convened urgently, but no leads were found. With less than three days before the dungeon breaks, the Committee has decided to summon every surviving Z-class hunter to the site. That means you must goKane's faint smile returned as he tilted his head upward: "Interesting… You've piqued my curiosity. Very well let's see what's waiting at the scene."A brief silence fell over the room at his words. Because everyone knew If Travis Kane stepped onto the field, blood would be spilled.

London City Airport, early morning.

The sky was shrouded in gray clouds, with a light drizzle falling onto the runway. The air was cold, but the terminal's surroundings were more crowded than usual. Civilians stood at a distance, staring toward the private runway they weren't allowed to approach. Phone cameras were raised, whispers filled the air.Security units had completely sealed off the area. Armored vehicles, special forces soldiers, and black-emblazoned SUVs belonging to the England Hunters Association surrounded the runway.

Suddenly, the first private jet appeared in the sky.Its matte black body, streaked with golden lines, glided gracefully through the air. As its nose aligned with the runway, the deep roar of the engines made the terminal windows tremble. When the door opened, the man descending the steps radiated a confidence that only heightened the tension in the air Travis Kane. In his black suit, he stood as if clad in armor, his face expressionless but his eyes carrying a deadly focus.

A civilian whispered:

 "That's… one of the top 5 on the Forbes list. Not just rich—he's an empire."

Before Travis had even left the runway, a second jet landed.White-bodied, decorated with red and black Japanese motifs. The door opened, and Hiroto Kurogane stepped down. Wearing a dark navy haori-style jacket, with a katana at his side, his face was cold, his steps a silent challenge. Known as the "descendant of the samurai" in Japan, he was renowned for both his martial skill and strategic genius.

The third jet bore the Turkish flag on its white fuselage.When the door opened, Yiğit Ertürk emerged. A black leather jacket, turtleneck sweater, and a gold-embroidered belt. In his stern gaze were traces of both the cold mountains and the burning squares of Anatolia. On his right hand, under a leather glove, a magical seal shimmered faintly.

Daniel James, President of the England Hunters Association, approached holding a black umbrella. Behind him were his aide and members of the British special forces.

 "My deepest respects to you, esteemed hunters. The fate of all England now rests in your hands."

Travis, speaking under the rain without squinting, replied:

 "Keep it short. I didn't come here to play games. Take me to the dungeon."

The President personally escorted the three hunters to the gate's location. Upon arrival, Travis grabbed the shoulders of the English A-rank hunters standing in front of him and flung them aside.

"Out of my way, insects."

Hiroto frowned: 

"How rude… I suppose that's the American way."

Travis tilted his head slightly, fixing his gaze on Hiroto:

 "Listen to me, Japanese punk. And you, Turk… I'll bury you both right here. You're not interfering in this."

Ertürk smirked, his tone dripping with mockery:

 "I'll shove those words right where they belong, Kane. Get ready… because I'll be your death."

President James raised his hands, panic in his voice:

 "Gentlemen! This is not the time! The dungeon is what matters—first we must—"

Travis suddenly stepped forward.

A red light flared in his eyes, his teeth sharpening, claws like those of a wolf extending from his fingers. A deep crimson aura slid down from his shoulders, making the air itself tremble.

In an instant, a roar thundered through the air.

The shockwave it created hurled the nearby English support hunters meters away. The windows of nearby armored vehicles shattered, raindrops seemed to freeze midair before slamming into the ground.

Hiroto's hand moved to his katana:

"Ertürk, get ready. Let's bury this American pig."

Travis replied with a faint smirk:

 "I'll put you both in the same grave."

The tension was so thick that even President James took a step back. The sky darkened further, the wind picked up. Even before reaching the dungeon, the spark of battle between these three hunters had already been ignited.

Tokyo, midnight.

Neon lights painted the sky like gilded streaks, while the streets had largely emptied. The usual noise of Shibuya had given way to the distant rumble of trains and the faint whisper of the wind. Puddles on the streets reflected the flashing advertisements in wavering, colorful patterns.In a narrow side street, four youths rode their bicycles. Their laughter was the only sound breaking the quiet of the night.

Riku: The group's leader, short-haired, a bit reckless.

Akira: Wears glasses, cautious, usually the "voice of reason."

Kenta: Jokester, carefree attitude.

Souta: Quiet, deep thinker, a camera hanging around his neck.

Riku suddenly slammed on the brakes.

 "Guys, let's stop by the store. Grab something cold, then we continue."

The fluorescent lights of the convenience store glowed brightly against the night. Inside, they grabbed four energy drinks from the metal shelves. The young cashier gave them a tired nod as a greeting. When they stepped outside, the air had grown even colder.Just as they were about to get back on their bikes, a gray cat approached them. Its fur was damp from the rain, but its eyes were sharp and striking. The cat meowed, as if beckoning them. It turned and padded down a dark alleyway.

Kenta chuckled:

 "Looks like it's inviting us. What do you say, should we follow?"

Akira frowned:

 "I don't know… this feels a little weird."

Riku shrugged:

 "I don't want to go home anyway. Come on, what's the worst that could happen?"

The four of them followed the cat.

The streets narrowed, buildings old and decaying. Electric poles leaned, street lamps flickered. Turning a corner, the air suddenly shifted… the wind stopped, and the street fell silent.And there it was.A black, oval-shaped portal hovered a few inches above the ground. Soft vibrations rippled around it, while purple and red specks of light flickered along its edges. Its depths were pitch black, as if the void itself were staring back at anyone who dared to look.

Souta spoke in a muffled voice:

 "Uh… is it just me, or do you guys… see it too?"

Kenta bit his lip:

 "No… I see it too. But… it looks like the portals from the game. Why is it black, though?"

Riku slowly stepped forward:

 "Maybe… it's a different level? Let's try."

Akira panicked:

 "Are you crazy? This could be dangerous!"

Riku didn't turn his head:

 "Danger is still better than my boring life."

Riku reached out and touched the portal. Its surface rippled as if he had touched water. A cold wind blew from the portal, tossing their hair. The youths looked at each other… and, without a word, stepped in one after the other.

Suddenly, the world around them vanished.

The ground beneath their feet disappeared, and they were drawn into the darkness. Eerie hums and muffled whispers clawed at their ears.The last thing they saw was the cat sitting in front of the portal, its yellow eyes fixed on them.And then everything went dark.

Moscow; the city sparkled despite the late hour. The tall towers of the Kremlin loomed in the distance like vigilant sentinels against the night sky. The winter chill still lingered on the stone pavements. Yet tonight, the opulent mansion on this side of the city was enveloped in a cold, stifling silence.

Late night The atmosphere was quiet, but an underlying tension simmered.A long black Mercedes approached the mansion walls with a soft screech of brakes. Dmitry Romanov, President of the Russian Hunters Association, stepped out. He addressed the security with a calm, commanding presence:

Dmitry, in a low but clear voice:

 "I need to see Alexei Dragunov. Nikolai our S-Rank Hunter will escort me to him."

His authoritative tone was carefully registered by the hidden guards scattered across the mansion's vast grounds.The door creaked open. Armored guards lined the entryway. As Dmitry stepped inside, the electric charge in the air shifted the atmosphere.Alexei Dragunov descended the mansion's stairs with measured steps; every movement radiated authority. From the grand hall, his presence commanded respect: an elegant outfit, a cold and unusual expression, his body language signaling power, not showiness. Beside him, the model Natalia radiated grace and allure but her eyes remained fixed on Alexei, awaiting his reaction.

Dmitry bowed respectfully:

"The President of Russia sends his regards. National-Level Hunter Alexei Dragunov, there is a danger in Japan your mission is urgent. If you do not go, no one else can bear this burden."Alexei approached Dmitry with a half-smile, the tension in the room thickening for a brief moment.

Alexei (cold, mocking):

 "Who are you to give me orders?"

His words seemed to echo against the mansion's glass walls.Without further warning, Alexei acted drawing energy from Dmitry's body with magical force. In an instant, Dmitry was flung through the air, crashing into a wall with the full impact of the strike. Everyone held their breath; Dmitry, a SSS Rank Hunter and head of the Russian Hunters Association, had just been incapacitated by a single blow from a National-Level Hunter. Such power was akin to a strike no even president could counter.

As Dmitry lay motionless on the ground, silence filled the room. National-Level Hunters were regarded as superior even to state leaders. Their resources, wealth, and authority everything made state politics seem insignificant. Their bodyguards and staff were all S, SS, or SSS-Rank Hunters. A truly terrifying force.

This moment reflected his mastery and cold composure:Access to classified intelligence

Command over the full might of the state

And as a National-Level Hunter the potential to engage in fate-altering global events

The hall remained silent. Alexei strode toward Dmitry with deliberate steps. A glance at Natalia conveyed to the room that he alone carried the weight of human significance grandeur and threat intertwined.

Alexei (with a firm, chilling whisper):

 "Japan… awaits."