The receptionist smiles at you gently. “Please touch the orb to determine your rank within the guild, sir.” The orb she is referring to is a milky-white glass ball that is about three times larger than any human palm that would be placed on it. The ball sits in an indent within the receptionists desk at chest level.

Despite the fact that the attractive brunette receptionist behind the counter called you sir, the crowd gathered around the desk snickers. You are younger and more slight than most of the other men in the hall, so you understand why they think it is amusing. This is undoubtedly a common sight. Someone that does not know their own strength coming in, only to be rejected. Many of the people who have assembled from the class of individuals who are not being tested are very likely here just to gawk at those deluded individuals that think they have what it takes to become an adventurer, but actually do not. You know you are not among them. You confidently press your palm against the pale-white orb. During the brief pause of the milky-white interior swirling and coalescing, it briefly occurs to you that you are deluded. That your effort was play and that the people around you were lying about your ability. These thoughts cause the five or so seconds of calibration to drag until finally the color begins to change.

“Great! Blue is at least C grade.” The receptionist marvels, flooding you with relief. “At your age that is pretty impressive.” You almost pull away, thinking the ceremony is done; you accomplished your goal, so it was mission accomplished. Goodbye farmer, hello adventurer. The orb has other ideas. As you try to pull away the orb holds your palm in place is if it and your palm were both powerful magnets. The ball's interior turns purple, a color you have no reference for. The receptionist gasps and leans over the testing station, swirling purple reflects in her pale-blue eyes. They are flicking back and forth, searching for any error. She seems to decide it is not and announces excitedly.

“Purple means you're at least B-Grade!” The crowd you is now in stunned silence. You yourself can barely make a sound. Just as you think it may be done the orb changes again, causing the receptionist to cover her mouth and bounce up and down in place.

“I can't believe this!” The color finishes it's shift from purple to a dark red.

“At least A-rank, no... S-Rank!” You are finally able to pull your hand away. It tingles, giving you the feeling of having sat on it for a few minutes.

“What does this actually mean? Am I an S-Ranked adventurer?” You ask pointedly. It seems unlikely.

“It means that there is something about you that is causing our system to believe you should be valued at A-rank or greater.” She offers.

“Because you said A or S.”

“There wasn't a mistake. I need more information to understand why this happened. Let's take a look.” The receptionist is a sweet woman. Very sweet. It is not a common thing to share your status with anyone, as this can impart very personal, disadvantaging information. Such a right is usually reserved for doctors, parents and officials that are able to demand such a thing. The woman, again, seems nice and very helpful, so you nod and offer her permission. All it takes is for one to be making acknowledged contact with another while they open their status screen for both parties to be able to see it.

“Can I touch you?” She asks in such a tone that you are not sure you could refuse. The woman is about your age and definitely your type. Female.

You nod, giving her the go-ahead to lean on you. You are fairly sure that she needs to lean closer to see it easier, but having her breasts pressed around your arm is a bit much. You open the screen while mildly aroused and immediately regret it as the status below your name reveals to her, the only other observe, that you are in fact minorly aroused and on the way to being fully in that state.

“I'm sorry!”

“No need to apologize.” She shrugs. Her nonchalance feels a bit slighting and digs into your arousal, which thankfully makes it easier, if not a bit sour. With a bit more effort, you steady your emotions so that frustration does not show up.

The screen is an aspect of common life and is valuable in at least some way to most individuals. Being a farmer and having a verifiable grade for your ability to tend the land makes it a simple matter to get a job. So for most people it is novel and useful. For adventurers it is completely necessary.

“The orb takes all skills into account when making its assessment. It carries a magical algorithm that does all the work of identifying talent, basically.” She informs you proudly while looking over your screen.

“All the numbers seem mundane for a kid of your age...” She mumbles more or less to herself. “Promising Talent!?” She raises her voice excitedly, underlining that text with her finger to make sure she is reading it correctly.

“Hold on, I need to look this up.” The receptionist retreats and circles back around to behind the desk. She pulls out a heavy tome filled with enough page markers to double the already impressive thickness of it. The crowd is on edge as she searches. You stand by awkwardly, glancing around at the resentful faces of veteran adventurers. The majority of them are C, with a few stuck at the infamous bottleneck that is B. To see someone with guaranteed potential would make anyone like that frustrated.

“I found it! Yes, yes. It's good. Definitely S-Grade.” She announces. You hear the crowd groan collectively.

“What's that?” You decide to spare yourself the dirty looks and instead fix your attention on the woman.

“'Promising Talent' is one of the heroic traits. It is suspected that only a few of those pop up in humanity every couple decades, and even then some slip through the cracks. Not everyone will come and get tested. They live a normal life and become REALLY good at basket weaving, or something. So it is a BIG deal that you were discovered here, by me.” You note the insistence with which she makes sure to specify that it was her that discovered you.

“Okay... What does it actually do? When I looked at it, I always thought it seemed like a bland trait.”

“Have you always felt pretty capable at whatever you decided to do?” You answer her question with a nod.

“You're usually better than the people around you in your age group, or close to being better?” Another nod.

“That's 'Promising Talent.' It means you are going to pick up any skill intuitively, you are going to achieve more of an affect from any type of training and you are definitely going to be able to develop an affinity for magic, or other similar methods for harnessing mana.” She takes in a gasp of air after saying all of that with one breath.

“So I'm literally just good at everything?” You immediately decide to empathize with the looks of hatred from your soon-to-be peers. For people that had worked hard for most of their lives, someone with a trait like yours will naturally come off as being extremely privileged.

“So what rank am I going to start at? A-Grade?”

“D grade.” She says frankly.

“Sorry?”

She shrugs. “Potential is potential, but you are about average right now. Heroes are born AND made. It's what makes it possible that some go on to save the world while others end up getting really good at playing card games.” You show her you understand by nodding. It is not a difficult concept to grasp. No one would be able to immediately start out at the highest grade and flourish. She confirms this thought-process by adding.

“You are definitely going to grow into an A or S-grade talent, but we don't cultivate that brand of talent by killing them early on with impossible jobs.”

“I've been given a chance to do a lot of good for the world. I'll work hard and make it happen. That's all I've ever wanted to do.” You announce. You hear subtle 'Pshh' sounds from the various adventurers who are now in the process of leaving the guild hall.

“That's so cute. Spoken like a true hero.” The Receptionist pulls you behind the desk and shows you a few nice cards.

“So, I'm actually going to give you a plate, since I think you're going place. Most adventurers starting out have to settle for parchment.”

“Okay? Thanks.”

She pulls out a flat, inch-thick bronze plate and stamps it hard. The end result is a very nice-looking rectangular plate with his name and rank.

“Here you are, sir. This plate will serve as your identification, so make sure you keep it on you while you are on a job or picking up a job. Those are the main two.”

You spend a minute at the desk admiring it. It is just a plate, but it has some weight and shine to it, like a trophy. Feeling around, there is a catch at the back where it can be attached to your clothes. You start making plans for where to place it when it occurs to you that you have no idea what you are doing. “Where do I start?”

“Small jobs here and there.” She says evenly, guiding you back around to the front of the desk.

“As a rule of thumb, stick to your grade and group up for anything above that.” After the receptionist finishes talking she looks past you and inclines her head politely before retreating back behind the desk.

“Welcome!” She calls out.

When you turn around and look up from your newly gained treasure, there are only a few people left in the entire building. A few are in the process of leaving, fewer still are sitting at scattered tables spread out in the hall and four of the people among that group seem intent on speaking to you. These are the ones that the woman behind the desk felt the need to politely greet. They are lined up, jostling each other to be at the forefront of your attention.

“Hello?”

“Hiya!” One says forwardly. She takes one big step to stand in front of the other three.

“Hi.” You wave awkwardly as she sizes you up with two sharp, golden eyes. The person that stepped forward is a beast-woman. That alone is enough to catch your attention, but this one in particular is stunning. Her hair is a striking shade of red. It is slightly curly and falls just a few inches below her shoulder. Poking quite obviously up from between the gorgeous, full strands of hair are two soft-looking fox ears. She does not appear to be wearing makeup and her clothing is simple. A thick, green cloth vest with black straps and fastenings wrapping around it like a harness. The piece is conservative, covering her entire torso, but the straps beneath and around her chest effectively push up and out her otherwise small breasts and have the effect of making them look bigger, whether that is the intention or not. The sleeves of a white blouse are poking out from the vest and just barely cover her shoulders. There are also hints of it shown through some small holes in the vest where the fastenings hold it together. Around the woman's waist is a tight belt holding up some of the shortest shorts you have ever seen. So short that they may as well just count as underwear. So short that he pouches attached to the belt around her waist mostly sit below where the shorts cut off. For footwear she wears a simple pair of cloth boots that ride halfway up her calves.

It is quite obvious to anyone present that you are staring, but the woman does not seem to mind. Rather than mind, she winks at you and motions you closer.

“You should probably just come with me. Don't gotta think too much about it. You wanna be stronger, right? I'll help you out.” After she says that you begin to step forward, but are snapped out of an apparent trance by another loud voice. The beast-woman lets out a low growl and turns to glare in the direction of the shrill sound.

“Stop! Stop! I have your attention? Good. Do not waste your potential, my dear boy.” That elegant please is made by the third member from the group of four you witnessed. As she steps up to stand beside the first woman, you begin to feel a little crowded, but can not say you mind. Your head is turned by the appearance of the new woman, to the annoyance of the beast-woman that had your attention first.

“You need to focus your attention on magic. Any fool can throw their fists around, but it takes a unique individual to learn a true art like magic.”

“I know m-” The beastwoman argues loudly, only to be interrupted incredibly quickly by the Mage.

“Real magic!” She waits to make sure she will no longer be interrupted, then turns her nose up with satisfaction and returns her pleasant gaze to you.

“What do you say?” The woman is undoubtedly an elf. You spot her long ears immediately and do not see any fur. That is how one can be sure. Her hair and eyes are both dark, but her skin is pale as porcelain, creating a stark contrast. She is more dressed in general than any of the others, especially the woman you just saw. Considering stark contrasts, looking at the two of them is like staring at night and day. The elf wears a long-sleeved dress that covers most of her lithe form down to her thighs, where the hem of the dress falls well above her knees. Even with the short skirt, the woman finds a way to hide her pale skin. She wears White stalkings that cover what is visible of her legs completely. The entire piece is frilly and girly in shape, but the base of the dress is black, with highlights in white. As opposed to the sensible footwear of the beast-woman, the elf is wearing a pair of heeled shoes. It strikes you that the complex outfit must take a little while to put on.

“Stop crowding him.” Comes the exasperated voice of the woman on the far right. She steps forward and tries to shoo the other two back. She is far easier to take in, as you recognize her garb quite easily. The woman has blonde hair, tied up in a pony-tail. She is not wearing clothing, but a uniform. Blue and white with gold buttons. It is a coat over a thin blouse. She wears pants instead of a skirt and black military boots. She gives you a very relaxed look. “They can be a bit much. Don't let them pressure you into anything.” You gulp and offer a short nod, triggering a slight smile in the dignified woman. Your gaze is not pulled to her by the state of her dress, but by what is so obviously beneath it. Though the coat is conservative, you can see where her heavy chest is being constrained by it. Her shapely body is perfectly complimented by the military clothes. Even the pants, which you have never seen on a girl, hug her wide hips in an attractive way.

“Huh...” Curiously, you look past the three women to the last figure. She had been looking down, but the moment you stare at her she tilts her head up to meet your gaze with her striking green eyes. Her hair is an unusual silver color, and incredibly long, falling half-way down her back. She wears casual-looking thick robes that cover her body to the point that it is not incredibly obvious how she looks. Out of the four, she is the only one to carry a weapon. Her long, slightly curved sword is sheathed at her side.

She exhales lightly. “Whether you decide to go with me or not is up to fate.”

“Let's slow down.” the soldier-looking woman says, raising her hands. She motions to herself.

“My name is Teuta. I am a Royal Knight sent by the Imperial Academy.” She looks over at the other women.

“I suspect you all received similar prophecies? You should probably introduce yourselves before you skip right to trying to kidnap this young adventurer.” She says it jokingly, but there is a definite annoyance in her tone.

The elf nods, her pale cheeks flushing with what you assume to be embarrassment. “I am Jeane. I was told to be in this place by the School of Sciences and Magic.”

The beast-woman shrugs. “Kara. Nice to meet ya. I'm a bit of a fortune-teller.”

The three of them, joined by you, look back expectantly at the fourth individual. She taps the hilt of her sword impatiently. From the start of the meeting to where you are now, her hand has been on it continuously. “Sword-saint Jhiana.”

Teuta scratches the side of her head awkwardly, looking away from Jhiana to regard you. “Alright then! All of these ladies look rather skilled, I think. I don't mean to shape your decision of who to go with too drastically, but in terms you're familiar with, I am A-Grade.”

“Same! But an A-grade mage is an S-Grade anything else! Keep that in mind.” Jeane says quickly.

“Whatever, bitch...” Kara shakes her head at the elf. “I'm like, A-grade, or whatever, too.”

“The hell did you call-” Jeane's argumentation is shushed by the group. Each of them is interested to hear what the apparent 'sword-saint' has to say about her grade.

Jhiana tilts her head to one side. “No comment.”

“Alright then.” Teuta chuckles lightly.

“There you have it. Would you be interested in coming with any of us?”