A week later, Shane finally opened his eyes.

  He experienced that familiar disorienting sensation of blinking and realizing a chunk of your life had just disappeared. According to the System interface, he’d been asleep for a week.

  His body, apparently, had been having a rough time in the interim. His throat felt like he’d been gargling ground glass, a small side effect of continuing to cough up blood while sleeping.

  A price worth paying for the spike in his mana stat from the Daily Quest Skip Pass. Finally, a month had passed, and the Skip Pass had expired.

  But during that whole week, the doctors and researchers had no idea what was going on with him.

  They only knew he was the guy who’d heroically tanked a curse meant for their idol, Dr. Spencer, and was now spitting up his insides.

  Consequently, they had treated him with every ounce of knowledge, technology, and high-grade medicine they could get legally—sometimes illegally—get their hands on.

  But Shane, just now cracking his eyes open to the white ceiling and the familiar smell of rubbing alcohol, naturally knew none of this.

  Jast as he sat up, the door clicked open, and a woman in a white lab coat shuffled in, her eyes fixed on her tablet. When she looked up and saw he was awake, she stopped in her tracks.

  The researcher, or the doctor, or whoever this woman was opened and closed her mouth like she wanted to ask him something.

  Shane’s internal alarms immediately went off.

  Here we go again, he thought, bracing himself.

  He knew exactly how this was going to play out. This was the part where these science geeks got flustered, adjusted their glasses, and asked if they could “just take a few samples.”

  “We’ve discovered a fascinating anomaly in your cellular structure.”

  “Your regeneration is off the charts, could we just run a few tests?”

  What would this woman want? A bone marrow biopsy?

  Shane was ready to tell the researcher to scram.

  But the researcher didn’t ask for a pound of flesh or a pint of blood.

  Instead, she stammered, “Um, excuse me. You’re... you’re the hunter who stopped that A-rank dungeon breach, right?”

  Shane blinked.

  The video that was uploaded had blurred his face. But he guessed his body and hair color gave him away.

  Ash-gray hair wasn’t exactly common, even in a world where Awakened sometimes got new eye and hair colors when they got their powers.

  His first instinct was to deny it.

  But then he remembered he was in a position where he needed to maintain a good working relationship with Dr. Spencer and his people.

  He was going to need a steady, off-the-books supply of custom drugs to manage his Quirks, and the researchers were the ones who would be synthesizing them, not the globally famous Dr. Spencer.

  So he just nodded.

  The researcher’s face lit up.

  “Oh, wow! My youngest is your biggest fan. He watches that clip of yours every single day. He even tries to copy your moves with a broom handle in the backyard,” she chuckled nervously. “Could I... I know this is unprofessional, but could I possibly get your autograph for him?”

  An autograph?

  Shane’s brain just froze. What?

  Was this a scam? One of his former military colleagues had once signed a “fan poster” for a pretty girl, only to find out later it was a cleverly disguised payment authorization form that drained his hazard pay.

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  Was she trying to forge Shane’s signature?

  Not that he had much in his accounts anyway, compared to the uber-rich. That was the sad truth he learned during the auction season.

  Well, screw that. He could play this game.

  He’d just invent a new signature. Something flashy.

  “Sure, why not.”

  The important thing was keeping the staff happy.

  When he asked where he should sign, the researcher eagerly pulled out a small, worn-out notebook from her lab coat pocket. It looked like a personal research journal, filled with chemical formulas and messy notes.

  She wanted him to scribble in this? This seemed to important to ruin with a fake signature.

  Shane took the offered pen. He scrawled something that vaguely resembled his name but looked more like a seismograph reading during an earthquake in a blank paper. He added a bunch of loops and a dramatic slash at the end for good measure.

  "My son is going to lose his mind," the researcher beamed. "Thank you, thank you so much. We'll all be cheering for you, Fox."

  Shane winced internally. Fox?

  His stupid internet moniker was Wolf. Not that he wanted to be called that, either, but “Fox” didn’t really fit him, did they?

  “It’s… Shane Ashwell,” he corrected her flatly.

  It’s not like he hid his name or anything, why was he getting even more weird nicknames?

  Well, she'd probably just sell the thing on some collector's site for a quick buck anyway.

  Suddenly, even with his F-rank senses, he picked up the sound of numerous footsteps echoing from down the hall.

  Shane figured it had to be Dr. Spencer and the senior medical staff. Probably got a telemetry alert the second his heart rate changed when he woke up.

  It would be incredibly awkward to be caught in the middle of this little “fan” meet-and-greet. For both of them.

  Shane shot the researcher a look, then flicked his eyes toward the door.

  The researcher got the message instantly. She snapped the notebook shut and stuffed it back in her pocket. She was an employee, after all. Probably didn't want her boss catching her slacking off to get an autograph during work hours.

  Without missing a beat, she leaned over and started fussing with Shane's IV drip, checking the flow rate and looking like the perfect picture of a dedicated medical professional.

  Shane, for his part, slumped back against the pillows, doing his best impression of a man who'd just barely clawed his way back to consciousness.

  Perfect teamwork.

  As he was faking grogginess, he idly checked his System interface.

  Sure enough, just like the researcher's son indicated, an achievement had popped up while he was out.

  [Achievement Unlocked – 10,000 Fans]

  A fandom of ten thousand wasn't built in a day.

  Reward: Free Stat points +10

  A small stat boost came with it. Huh. A permanent stat boost just for having people like him?

  So, he literally got stronger the more fans he got. Since the System was going to keep recording and uploading his dungeon clears without his permission, his power could theoretically inflate to ridiculous levels by the time the First Cataclysm hit.

  Perhaps this was the System’s intended substitute for guild buffs in [Honor Mode].

  But it was going to get more and more annoying as people started recognizing him on the street. He sighed and wondered if he'd have to start dyeing his hair again.

  As he spent 5 points on stamina and 5 points on constitution, the door swung open, and just as he'd guessed, Dr. Spencer walked in, flanked by a whole squad of people in white coats.

  It was impossible to tell if they were doctors or researchers. Probably both. It didn't matter to Shane. The sight of all those white coats was making the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

  This was why he hated hospitals. It brought back bad memories.

  But it was the last person to trail into the room that made Shane's eyes narrow in confusion.

  Sky-blue hair, a smug grin, and a ridiculously expensive-looking suit.

  Troy Winter.

  What the hell was this guy doing here?

  It looked like the stalker had just been waiting for Shane to wake up.

  Before Dr. Spencer could even get a word out, Troy pushed past the crowd of lab coats, his fancy leather shoes squeaking on the clean floor.

  He stopped at the foot of Shane's bed and announced, "You're moving. You'll stay in one of my family's private facilities."

  Shane just stared at him.

  Was Troy… telling him to transfer hospitals?

  Dr. Spencer scowled instantly.

  "Get out, Hunter Winter. We need to examine our patient."

  Troy, however, just waved a dismissive hand.

  “Got permission. Your institute director told me to do this.”

  Dr. Spencer, who looked like he'd been bottling up a week's worth of frustration, finally exploded.

  "The only reason Director Hinton told you that,” Spencer said, his face turning red, “is because you've been freeloading on the spare bed in Hunter Ahswell’s room for a week! Running up a massive snack bill, and leaving chip crumbs all over my equipment! He told you that if you were so determined to stick to Hunter Ashwell like a goddamn leech, you could just pay for his accommodations yourself!”

  “That’s what I just said.”

  “He didn’t actually mean that!”

  So that was it.

  Troy had been chewed out for being a useless mooch in a high-security medical ward, and the billionaire’s solution was to just… buy the patient and move him.

  The logic was so detached from reality it was almost impressive.

  Shane still had absolutely no clue why this guy had suddenly dropped his obsession with the number one rookie hunter and latched onto him instead.

  And frankly, he didn't have the energy to deal with it.

  The argument between Troy and Dr. Spencer escalated, quickly becoming nothing more than background noise.

  The important thing for Shane right now was what the System was going to do with the footage from that last dungeon.

  How would it be edited? How much would the public get to see?

  The final product would decide the fate of his fan achievements. And perhaps the fate of the world.