"Sit down on the inspection chair," the evaluator instructed, pointing to a cold metal seat in the center of the room. "I already reviewed your labyrinth footage while you waited. The combat technique is solid, but the Association requires a comprehensive physical baseline before authorizing a rank skip."

Solomon took a seat. The moment he sat down, the floating instruments swarmed around him. A silver caliper gently pinched his shoulder muscles to measure muscle density, while a glowing crystal hovered near his chest to scan his internal mana pathways.

"Let us begin the required questionnaire," the evaluator said, pulling up a digital clipboard. "On a scale from one to complete dismemberment, what is your current pain tolerance?"

"I recently lost an arm and kept fighting," Solomon answered smoothly. "You can mark it down as a ten."

The evaluator typed rapidly. "Noted. If you fall into a pit of highly acidic venom slimes, do you prioritize saving your dropped weapon, or immediately casting a neutralizing ward?"

"Neither," Solomon replied. "I would simply absorb the impact and climb out. I can’t use spells anyway, but I would save everything that belongs to me."

The prosthetic eye clicked loudly as the evaluator paused his typing. "Absorb the impact? That is not a standard protocol." He shook his head and moved to the next item. "Have you ever experienced severe aura sickness from overdrawing your core, and if so, how many days did you spend hallucinating?"

"Never happened," Solomon said, watching a floating crystal record his heartbeat. "As in, never reached that stage."

"Fascinating," the evaluator mumbled, leaning over his desk. "The scanners indicate your internal mana core is entirely unawakened, yet your bone density and muscle tension mirror those of a seasoned vanguard. How exactly are you generating that level of kinetic force without active mana circulation?"

"Let’s just say ’power of friendship,’" Solomon replied with a completely straight face.

The evaluator blinked his remaining organic eye and slowly typed the answer into his terminal. "Right. The power of friendship. Moving on. If a rogue mage casts a high-tier fireball directly at your party, and you only have enough time to shield yourself or the guild’s designated healer, what is your immediate response?"

"I dodge," Solomon answered. "The healer can cast their own shield. If they cannot block a basic fireball, they deserve to perish for being completely useless to the team."

[User12]: lmao he would absolutely let the healer burn.

[SupportMain]: this is why nobody likes playing healer for solo vanguards!

[BloodKnight]: A brutally efficient tactical assessment. Weak links jeopardize the entire formation.

"Noted," the evaluator sighed, dragging his stylus across the digital pad. "Next scenario. You discover a hidden treasure chest completely rigged with archaic detonation runes. Standard Association protocol dictates securing the perimeter and calling a certified rune-breaker. What do you do?"

"I open it," Solomon said.

"You just trigger the explosion?"

"The runes usually blow outward," Solomon reasoned. "If I stand directly to the side and pry the lid fast enough, I secure the loot while the trap harmlessly detonates. Waiting for a rune-breaker just means sharing the profits."

The mechanical eye zoomed in rapidly. "That logic is entirely flawed and incredibly dangerous."

"It has worked flawlessly so far," Solomon pointed out.

"Very well," the evaluator muttered, looking thoroughly exhausted by the responses. "Let us move to the background check."

He tapped a glowing rune on his desk, and the large holographic monitor mounted on the wall flickered to life. A recorded clip from one of Solomon’s previous live broadcasts began to play.

It was the exact moment when viewers had warned him about his illegal mercenary work, and Solomon had openly dared the Dungeon Regulatory Bureau to come down and arrest him, famously insulting them by telling them to go suck his "ballsac."

The evaluator paused the video just as Solomon delivered the crude punchline. The man folded his hands over his digital clipboard and stared directly at the student.

"The Dungeon Regulatory Bureau and the Adventurer Association maintain a very close administrative relationship," the evaluator stated in a dangerously calm tone. "Would you like to retract that statement or offer any clarifying remarks regarding your complete disdain for governing authorities?"

"No," Solomon replied casually. "I spoke the absolute truth. Unregistered civilians need to survive somehow. The Bureau was completely useless to me when I was penniless, so I stand by my exact words."

The evaluator pinched the bridge of his nose. "Your combat footage easily qualifies you for a significant promotion. I can authorize an immediate upgrade to D-rank right now. I can even push it to C-rank if you formally apologize for insulting the Bureau on a live broadcast."

The evaluator pressed a button on his desk. A small, floating broadcast drone materialized from a hidden compartment and hovered directly in front of Solomon’s face. Its red recording light blinked steadily.

"Just look directly into the lens, state your name, and issue a formal apology to the Bureau," the evaluator instructed. "It will be logged in your permanent Association file, and I will hand you a C-rank tag right now."

Solomon stared at the recording lens.

"I am not apologizing to shit," Solomon declared flatly. "Why should I apologize for stating an absolute fact? The Bureau exists to monopolize dungeon resources under the guise of public safety while leaving unawakened civilians to rot. If any of those desk jockeys are genuinely offended by what I said, they can leave their comfortable offices and come talk to me in person."

The evaluator sighed and rubbed his temple. "These regulations exist strictly for your own safety. Unregistered civilians accepting illegal commissions is a complete disaster. If inexperienced kids do not know how to handle their newly awakened powers or navigate anomalous environments, they die horribly. The Bureau’s protocols are designed entirely for their well-being."

"I took illegal commissions for a year, and I did not die," Solomon pointed out.

"Not everyone is like you!" the evaluator snapped, his mechanical eye whirring loudly. "You got lucky. Most unawakened teenagers get completely slaughtered on their first undocumented raid!"

Solomon crossed his arms and leaned back in the inspection chair. "That sounds like a personal skill issue for them. I am still not apologizing. I am entirely right. If the Bureau directors have a problem with my survival methods, my previous invitation still stands."

The evaluator let out a dry, humorless laugh. "You really think the regional directors of the Dungeon Regulatory Bureau are going to personally visit an academy student over a crude comment? If they actually mobilized their enforcement division for something this petty, they would completely lose their public value and political standing. They do not have the time to trouble themselves with your teenage rebellion."

Solomon offered a cold, dismissive smirk. "If they cannot even be bothered to show up in person to defend their fragile pride, then they can completely fuck off. They should not expect a single apology or ounce of respect from me."

When the grandmaster let Solomon off from his office over a warning of not doing anything reckless, he had not expected Solomon to pick up a fight with the very thing deciding the fate of the adventurers.