Returning after the three days, I, the beacon of excellence, rap on the building door with a touch of impatience. Unsurprisingly, a burly man swings the door open, and I graciously bestow upon him my ticket upon his mere request. After subjecting it to his inadequate scrutiny, he reluctantly grants me access.

Within the confines of mediocrity, I am escorted to a room where an assemblage of lesser beings awaits their examination. Casually, I lower myself into a seat, not out of necessity but to humor those who must share space with my sublime essence. As I sit in quiet contemplation, an insipid fool, sensing the rare privilege of my proximity, dares to approach.

With an aggressive tone that barely conceals his awe, he inquires, "What’s your name?" A smirk dances upon my lips as I deign to reply with a falsified "Dave," a mere trifle of misinformation for the feeble minds surrounding me. Unimpressed by the banality of his subsequent query—"So Dave, why did you come to this place?"—I respond with a dismissive "Money." The frustration etched across his inferior countenance amuses me, and he declares, "You don't seem like the gang type." He all but shouts, "You should probably leave before I make you.".

The raucous laughter that erupts from some of the commoners signifies their inability to comprehend my extraordinary nature. Seizing this opportune moment, I decide it's high time to showcase my superiority. Rising from my seat, the pitiful creature attempts to mock me with, "What did the little squirrel get mad, wha—" I swiftly quash his inane rambling with a punch straight to his Adam's apple. As he chokes on the inadequacy of his own existence, another punch to his center of mass propels him into the realm of ignominy. A stomp on his face, a mere flourish to accentuate my dominance, and I leave him to wallow in his own inferiority.

Finding another seat, I relish in the certainty that no savage would dare disturb my regal repose.

After a while of different people coming inside the room. A slightly better-dressed man than you would expect of this cretins came into the room.

He commenced the tests. He started out with endurance testing. I end up doing alright, about the average here of 70 pushups. Then pull-ups and squats, I also do alright there.

Having effortlessly vanquished the fiscal tests, the subsequent trial, a purported test of courage, involves beating a captive to death with a bat. I scoff at the supposed challenge, for fear is a concept that eludes my superior understanding.

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Approaching the groveling captive, I commence the task without a trace of hesitation. After a few minutes of what I can only describe as half-hearted exertion, the captive predictably ceases all movement.

Exiting the cell, I stand where directed, confused to witness that about half the potential members have fled, leaving only the paled remnants behind. A collective of fragile snowflakes, unable to endure the radiance of my greatness.

After that, the examiner said that the last task is to swear an oath of non betrayal on the god you worship. I randomly pick a god that one of the examiners swears by. she’s this worlds, god of harvest, who may actually be real, her name is Gephine.

Apparently, people here take religion very seriously, but why would I worship anyone besides myself?

Upon my return, I am tasked with patrolling the streets alongside two other lamentable fools.

As we traverse the Gray Cobras' territory, the two chuckleheads with me barely manage to fulfill their duties, incessantly prattling on about inconsequential matters like brothels. Naturally, I, being far above such unintellectual topics, pay them no mind.

Scanning the streets with an air of superiority, I identify a suspicious-looking figure infiltrating the crowd. Waving imperiously at the two idiots, I command their subservience as I stalk the figure.

Observing her pilfering pouches here and there, I am presented with the opportunity I need. I command one of my fellow gang members to tail the pickpocket for about two hours. When she concludes her activities for the day, he is to forcefully extract a portion of her earnings, and should she resist, he is to make an example of her. Naturally, I dictate the precise location where we shall meet after he completes this trivial task.

The goon I tasked with this dares to challenge my authority, muttering, “You aren't my leader.” Swiftly, I brandish my dagger, placing it near his neck before he can muster a response. I declare, “Now you better do what I say, or the ground you're standing on will gain a new red decorative splendor.”.

Witnessing his pale countenance, I sigh at the burdensome nature of managing such inferiors.

Continuing with my day, I peruse the streets for other criminals, for purely good reasons, of course.

Encountering another miscreant, I delegate the responsibility of extracting money from them to my other minion, for even the most mundane tasks are beneath my exalted stature.

Identifying yet another pickpocket, I dedicate an hour and a half to indulging in the mundane task of stalking him, a task unbefitting of one of my extraordinary talents.

After this exhaustive endeavor, I seize him by the shoulder and drag him to a conveniently dark alley, a realm more suited to my clandestine dealings.

I assert, “This is Gray Cobra territory; you must relinquish 40% of your earnings,” a demand that reflects the generosity of my rule.

Feebly attempting to escape, he fails pathetically, for even the most feeble resistance against my grandeur is futile. I grab him by his arm, forcibly restraining him. “Attempting to run elevates the penalty to 75%. Should you make another futile attempt to flee, your lifeless body will serve as a testament to the consequences of disobeying the Gray Cobra gang.”.