As soon as my finger touches the body, it felt hot. A jolt of pain, like a strike of hot lightning, courses through my finger. I persist. The pain isn't enough to stop me from seeing what will happen next. I cycle healing, health, and mana with my [Broken Blood] combo to create enough mana to attempt this feat. I wonder how much my title [Life Bringer] will help me bring someone back from the dead. This is more like a medic trying to defibrillate someone than a necromancer affronting the gods, so I wonder if that changes the interaction.

His wounds heal enough to where he won't immediately go back into shock, his heart is restarted, and his brain has functionality. There's a slight tug, so I yank back. The guard's eyes shoot open in panic. He breathes in a gulp of air and tries to sit up.

"Hey-"

He immediately turns over and starts coughing his lungs out. He hits his chest once, but the pain stops him from doing it again. He steadies his breathing before squeezing a few words from a damaged throat.

"Fuck. I thought I saw my dead dog. What happened?"

"The fanatic guy exploded. I healed you. Get up, don't get up. It's up to you."

"Shit. Why are you practically naked?"

"Same reason you are. Fire ate my clothes."

"Fucking hell. We need to help anyone else that might have survived."

The guy stands up despite his shaking limbs and slight char. He looks around and gets disheartened at the remnants of carnage. Small fires litter the area, and heaps of burned carbon are the only things left of the people who didn't evacuate and decided to keep watching. I took this time to look at the guy. He's taller than me, even with my growth spurt. Naked and completely hairless, both thanks to the fire. I couldn't tell from the fire damage, but this guy has a healthy tan. I hope he had that before the explosion because the thought of the other option makes me feel weird. He puts his hand on my shoulder for support after stumbling after taking a single step. He gets the hang of walking as I look around the area.

The podium survived, and most of the backstage did too. I make my way over there, and some people are injured and need medical attention. As long as I'm in the neighborhood. I found seven people that would require serious reconstructing before I could even attempt to resurrect them. I don't bother. A dozen or so are still alive, so I stabilize them before moving them away from the crumbling building. Their wounds look like it was from heated debris than taking the full brunt of the flames.

At this point, four different squads of people arrive in separate vehicles. Paramedics, the fire department, the enforcers, and some reporters. The reporters were here first. This was a press conference, and some of the casualties included a few reporters and some equipment, so I'm not surprised.

They haven't barged onto the premises but instead are interviewing bystanders. One of the interviewees noticed my head poked out and pointed me out to the reporters. A team of three people rushes toward me as the enforcers start cordoning this area off. Paramedics and firefighters rush past me. One of the people coming towards me is a beautiful lady with flowing red hair and red business attire. A man with a camera is also there, behind the woman but pointing at me. The other guy has a boom mic.

The woman sticks a microphone in my face and says something, framing her body where she could address the camera and me with one fluid motion.

"Hello, sir! My name is Jillina Jones, and you are on Pegasis News, the number one news site with the quickest onsite reporters. Can you tell us what happened?"

"Why do you have a boom mic guy if you are going to shove a microphone in my face?"

"Don't worry about that. Can you tell us what happened?"

"Press conference blew up. Not going to make baseless claims but right before that was a man who tried to hold all the reporters there hostage with a scroll. Coincidentally the source of the explosion was the man in question."

"Wow! Can I get your name and why you are currently half-naked?"

"Ellis Vincere. My clothes weren't as durable as I was."

"Can you tell me what you were doing at this 'press conference' you said it was?"

She looks over at the camera guy while she is out of frame, and he shrugs. They didn't seem to know what was happening or who I was. They must've not been invited, or they declined their invitation. Pity. I don't seem covered in enough soot to conceal my identity if that was the problem.

"I was being mass interviewed since I am the captain of the Bluefields team, the one that tied for first place in the recent tournament. The man had some 'accusatory' statements towards me. It was all streamed if you want to check it out."

The awkward silence that followed was cut short by three enforcers coming over and forcing the reporters away and behind yellow tape. This is my first seeing the capital's enforcer uniform up close. They look like a swat team. Black ballistic uniforms and gas masks.

"Sir, you should see the paramedics."

"I'm alright. I got to make a phone call. Ah shit. I left it with that assistant. Can I borrow somebody's phone?"

"Sir, it's imperative that you get the all-clear before leaving. We can use force if need be."

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"..."

"You can make a phone call while the paramedics are examining you."

"Why can you force me? I'm just curious?"

"If we release you without the proper procedures, the city will be liable if hidden injured flair up or you die. It won't take long if you are in perfect health like you believe."

I relent. I won't cause unnecessary conflict because of something stupid like not wanting a medical checkup. The paramedics were quick, but I needed to sit in a thermal blanket for a few minutes as one of them cast a spell that required a lot of cast time. One of them had an ability that cleaned me up. I wrapped the aluminumy blanket around my waist like a towel and sat down on the back bumper of an ambulance. I see the guard talking to the reporters covered in bandages from head to toe. Since this isn't a warzone, the paramedics can take liberties to ensure their healing is as effective as possible using as many resources insurance and taxpayers can pay.

His body language is positive and full of life. He gestures over to me with a smile peeking through his bandages. I give a thumbs up and lean back against the ambulance. The paramedic next to me speaks up.

"You seem to be in good health, better than most."

"Great, I'll be going now."

"Before you go, I'd like to thank you on behalf of our patients. Your quick actions have probably saved most of their lives."

I wave his words away. My actions weren't that quick. A gust of wind hits my torse harmlessly, causing my blanket to ripple. I look over and see dean Palmer standing next to a short limousine. A thin string of wind tickles my ear, and I hear his voice.

"Get over here."

My dead expression stares back at dean Palmer as he stands there. He gets in the back of the car after a brief moment. I wonder if I can beat him in a fight yet. I'm pretty sure he's stuck and can't level anymore, but I'm not sure at what exact level. Plus, he still has question marks, so at minimum, he's not stuck at level 200.

I get in the car and sit down in one of the seats. Dean Palmer is seated next to his assistant, who seems no worse for wear. I looked around for a minifridge or something, but it looked like this wasn't a fun limousine. The assistant wordlessly hands me back my phone in a little baggy before dean Palmer begins a conversation with me.

"You did well. Our objectives were completed even if there was a little hiccup."

"Did you plan this to happen? Seems coincidental with the timing and all. You not being there, the government wants a new story as a smokescreen, and... nope, that's about it."

"I would not orchestrate a bombing for the sake of attention. Taking random lives to set up a scenario so someone can be seen as a hero by the masses or as a job from any government agency is sloppy."

"Then, please tell me how this is all a coincidence."

"It's not. Your not-so-subtle implication that I would bend a knee to hide the government's fuckups is insulting. I used their tendency to scramble for different eye-catching stories to better myself and, in turn, you. Since they fucked up and needed something, I just happened to slide in a convenient piece about youth and the future that would be distracting enough for their tastes. They will hype it up better than I ever could."

"The man who blew up had a rank-A scroll and an orb that answered questions. He was a level 50ish blogger. He knew me, wrote pieces about me, and was manipulated magically. Any ideas about that? The government wants to double down and ensure the smokescreen was literal or something?"

"I wouldn't put it past them to do something like that. If that man had a history with you, no matter how parasocial, he would be a perfect candidate to groom and use. But that is the case for any group. If you have enemies that utilize such tactics, I advise you to look at them first. I can't be sure that the people I contacted would set up a 'terrorist attack' since many agencies make up the government. But I can say that if they were going to try and take your life, they would've packed better explosives."

"Yippie. So what's up with you not being there and leaving me to dry then."

"I was held up by a 'business' partner. I flew over once I was contacted about the lunatic. I saw the last bits regarding the explosion. Since you were relatively unharmed, I decided to wait until your business was concluded. I'm going to tell you what happens next. There will be overhyped stories about you and your exploits based on information that was 'leaked.' It will circulate for a few weeks, a month if lucky, and most likely drown out dissent from the incident. This, in turn, will ensure your name is out there, and from that point, you should capitalize on this to expand your fame/influence."

"I'm already busy. I can't be getting a pop star career."

"We would start small anyways, maybe starting a following on the internet via Rankable. Livestreams of training or recordings from fracture diving are popular unless you want to bank off your looks and humor to captivate an audience. You have tamed beasts. Maybe people will grow to like them more than you. Then the burden will lessen or at least be shared. Scrapping the internet plan can work if you find a brand or a guild to sponsor you."

"I hope you mean commercials or using my picture on a billboard and not treating me like a racecar. Does having a presence matter?"

"In the grand scheme of things, no. My plan of cementing myself in your 'backstory' is already completed. What comes after that is the hard part. Like I told you in my office months back, the people who have wronged me revere their order, and cosigning someone who can uproot them is what I want. I can't force you like a pawn, nor do I have to finances to support you. They know you have some relation to me, and that is enough. Whatever you do in the future, good, bad, praiseworthy, or controversial, will bring them pain since even a fraction of that was because of me."

"So...?"

"I have contacts in many places because I always pay back my dues. A few other things as well, but that is not pertinent right now. Since I can't pay you back with power or money, I want to pay you back with fame and my many contacts. Unfortunately, most would be insulted if I asked them to help a nobody. That's where the fame comes in. You don't need to galavant around like a hedonistic rockstar, but you need to be someone. You aren't even an 'unknown' figure, just a nobody. No offense was meant."

"Winning a spot to represent the human race isn't enough?"

"To them, no."

~

I need a manager or something if I decide to become a "Ranker," no matter how small. Not only is the work not appealing to me, but I'd prefer the other options if I had to do every minor thing myself. I'd willingly challenge myself than do tedious, annoying things. Dean Palmer's assistant will be helping me in the beginning, but that won't be the case forever. Unless I poach her, that is. I'll learn her name eventually.

I decided to test it for a little bit as a hobby since master Wang said I needed a production hobby, and technically, by bastardizing his words and interpreting as I wish, this counts. It seems egotistical to call myself a producer since I'm basically becoming an internet celebrity as a pitstop between becoming a mainstream celebrity, but what can I do? I bought a digital camera and had Rob record a typical training session with master Wang. Master Wang doesn't oversee every training session and sometimes relegates a routine for me to follow that day, but he wanted to be on camera. He saw my conference and praised me for shouting out his martial arts. As a reward, he'll up the training from eleven to twelve.

I emailed the unedited recording to the assistant to see what she thought, and I got a phone call back after thirty minutes.

"Yeah. We can't use any of this. Ever."