This F-Rank Bubble Mage Is Too OP!

Voulton City had been quiet.

Too quiet.

Life went on in its usual rhythm—streets filled with merchants peddling wares, Hunters coming and going through the Guild, and citizens living under the looming presence of dungeon gates that had long since become part of the city's skyline.

Dungeons appeared, dungeons closed.

Hunters entered, Hunters died.

It was a cycle that everyone had accepted. And for years, Voulton had been fortunate. No Dungeon Outbreaks. No rogue Hunters using their Skills to terrorize civilians. No sudden tragedies that shattered the fragile balance.

Peace was perhaps too generous a word, but stability—yes, Voulton thrived on that. The city's gears turned smoothly, day after day, year after year.

But then the rhythm faltered.

Something began happening in the city's lowest-ranked dungeons, and the first reports were brushed aside as coincidences. An F-Rank Dungeon closing sooner than expected? Hunters assumed someone had rushed the Boss. An E-Rank vanishing barely an hour after it opened? Perhaps a well-coordinated party.

Yet the pattern persisted. F-Ranks, E-Ranks, even the occasional D-Rank—dungeons that should have lasted hours, sometimes even half a day, were collapsing after scarcely one. The cause was always the same: the Dungeon Boss had been defeated far earlier than expected.

That was the signal, after all. The dungeon shuddered, the sky trembled, and a low hum rolled across the cavern as the pocket dimension prepared to fold back in on itself. Normally, this happened once Hunters had defeated the Dungeon Boss. But now it happened before most could even gather enough experience or loot to make their trip worthwhile.

The Hunters of Voulton were furious.

There was an unspoken agreement, a rule that bound them together no matter their rank: you didn't rush the Boss. Not when others were still grinding inside. Everyone needed EXP. Everyone needed loot. To take the Boss early was selfish, wasteful, and guaranteed to stir resentment.

But for the last week, someone had been breaking that rule.

Guild bulletin boards became crowded with complaints, and arguments broke out between parties accusing one another of sabotage. Yet the more they investigated, the clearer it became—none of the usual troublemakers were responsible. Whoever was clearing the dungeons was elusive, efficient, and disturbingly fast.

Inside the Fallen Sky—a rundown bar so dismal no sane customer set foot inside—answers could be found. The building reeked of stale alcohol and dust, the once-polished wood chipped and stained. To most, it was nothing more than an abandoned husk from Voulton's older days.

But in the back room, through a corridor and reinforced door, a different world awaited.

Freya sat comfortably at her desk, her silver eyes reflecting the holographic screen hovering above the table. She wore a loose white dress that looked almost careless on her frame, its oversized folds hiding her shape yet hinting at it with every subtle movement. She hadn't bothered adjusting it, nor did she care what impression she gave.

Her lips curled into a smirk as she read the investigation's latest reports, the words confirming what she already knew. The chaos outside—the angry Hunters, the disrupted dungeons, the whispered rumors—she knew the person they're looking for.

"He's very interesting," Freya muttered as she pulled up the information regarding River Faelan.

With a tap on the table, another holographic screen unfolded in the air, displaying River's profile picture, his background report, and the summarized results from his Awakening Ceremony.

Her silver eyes narrowed. "Odd… strange… and most of all—mysterious."

Ever since River left her office a week ago, she had been waiting in silence. He had been very clear: two weeks. Two weeks until the city drowned once again, surrounded by the encroaching sea. Two weeks until a monster rose from the depths and tore through Voulton City.

And if his words were false, Freya had already decided—River Faelan would not live to see a third week.

But River wasn't idle.

What she didn't expect was for him to stir the entire city long before his prophecy was due.

Reports came in fast. First whispers, then gossip, then undeniable records: a lone Hunter, wearing a plain toy mask, entering low-rank Dungeons—alone. Not only clearing them, but striking down the Dungeon Boss single-handedly.

Rumors had a way of twisting things, but Freya wasn't one to rely on hearsay. She had dispatched her own investigation team, and their findings had confirmed it.

River Faelan was indeed that masked Hunter.

Freya leaned back in her chair, crossing her long legs, her gaze sharp on the floating screens. "But his Ceremony results… and these feats… don't add up."

Her eyes drifted over the numbers again. Negative F-Rank Skill. Average mana capacity. Zero combat potential.

She tapped her finger against the armrest. "It's impossible to fake the Aptitude Pillar. Unless…" A faint smile played on her lips. "Unless he carries a rare Modern Class. Something concealed, something unregistered."

Her thoughts spilled aloud, her voice low, musing. "Negative F-Rank… and yet he solos E-Rank and even D-Rank Dungeon Bosses? Not just surviving, but winning… That level of growth and power… no, there's something more here. Either he's hiding abilities, or…" She trailed off, her eyes gleaming. "…or he's exactly what he claims to be. Someone who knows the future."

Freya stood, walking toward the artificial wide window of her office. Outside, Voulton City glowed in the night—towers lit like lanterns, streets alive with the chaos of Hunters, traders, and civilians. Beneath all that life, she could already imagine the waterline creeping back, waves surging, screams echoing.

The vision made her smirk.

"If what he says is true," she whispered, her reflection overlapping with the holograms. "Then River Faelan is far more valuable than I imagined. Knowledge of the future, combat potential hidden from every record, and the courage to stake his life on impossible feats…"

Her smile widened, equal parts intrigue and danger. "Yes. Worth the investment."

But beneath that smile lingered caution. A week remained. One week until the deadline he himself had set. If his prophecy failed, her hands would deal the judgment.

Still… a man who could warp logic, statistics, and expectations so easily…

Freya's silver eyes glimmered with excitement. "I do hope you're not lying to me, River. Because if you're telling the truth… then this city won't just drown in the ocean. It will drown in opportunities."

She turned away from the glass, dismissing the screens with a wave of her hand as a plan formed in her mind.

A plan, a game.