SSS-Class Profession: The Path to Mastery
Chapter 305: The Price of Information

Chapter 305: The Price of Information

The wind tugged at the frayed edges of the man’s blanket as he sat up, cap low over his eyes, grime layered on grime across hands that clutched the fabric around him like armor.

"I might be able to help you," he repeated, his smirk lazy, teeth yellow and cracked.

Grant glanced at me, one brow raised. I returned the look before stepping forward, the band on my wrist snapping softly, a reminder to keep myself in check.

"Help us how?" I asked, voice low, even.

The man shifted, scratching at his scruffy beard, eyes flicking between us with an amusement that felt too sharp for someone who had been asleep in the dirt moments earlier.

"You two look like you’re looking for someone who doesn’t want to be found," he said, leaning back against the rotting porch post, "and you look like you ain’t here for nothing."

Grant folded his arms, sighing. "You got a name?"

The man snorted. "Names are for people who need to be found."

I studied him, the way his fingers twitched against the blanket, the slight tension in his jaw. He was weighing us, calculating.

"You know these sectors well?" I pressed.

"Better than anyone who sleeps in a tower," he shot back, a quick grin flashing before it fell back into a neutral line. "You see, people like me, we got eyes everywhere. We know when someone different starts poking around. We know when someone ain’t like the others."

I nodded slowly, the gears in my head turning. "And if someone like that was hiding in abandoned places—someone moving around a lot, using spots like this to stay off the grid—"

"I’d know," he interrupted, voice confident.

A spark of hope flickered in Grant’s eyes. "So, you’ll help us?"

The man’s eyes crinkled as he laughed, low and hollow. "Help you? For free?"

I should have seen it coming.

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, the cap shadowing his eyes. "Ten grand. Cash. Then I’ll tell you what you want to know."

Grant coughed. "Ten thousand dollars?! Are you insane?"

The man’s grin returned, wide and sharp. "You wouldn’t be here if this fella wasn’t important. And I wanna go gambling. Can’t do that without some chips."

The absurdity of it nearly made me laugh. I could afford it—easily—but there was a principle, a line between throwing money to solve a problem and being taken for a fool. And I didn’t like being played.

I stepped closer, letting my shadow fall over him, the streetlight buzzing overhead as the sun dipped further, painting the street in bruised blue and orange.

"Ten thousand is a lot for a tip that might be worthless," I said quietly, letting the weight of the words sit.

His grin faltered for a moment before he forced it back. "Information costs, pretty boy."

I let out a slow breath, rolling my shoulders, letting my Persuasive Argumentation skill take over, the world sharpening as I focused on the minute shifts in his posture, the flicker of his eyes, the tension in his fingers.

"One thousand," I countered, my tone as neutral as the city’s hum.

He barked a laugh. "Nine thousand."

"Fifteen hundred."

"Eight thousand."

"You’re asking for a gamble when you haven’t even shown your cards," I replied, voice low. "Two thousand."

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Seven."

"Twenty-five hundred."

"Six," he snapped back, the first crack in his amused mask appearing.

I folded my arms, tilting my head. "Five thousand."

His eyes narrowed, the blanket falling from his shoulders as he leaned forward. "Five thousand now, five thousand after."

"Twenty-five hundred now," I corrected, "twenty-five hundred after we catch him—if your tip leads us to him."

He leaned back, scratching his chin, his eyes flicking to Grant, then back to me. The street felt silent, the sounds of the city far away, as if the world was holding its breath.

Finally, he snorted, shaking his head. "Alright, pretty boy. You got yourself a deal."

I reached into my coat, pulling out a black wallet, the crisp bills folded neatly inside. I counted out twenty-five hundred, the paper whispering against my gloves, before holding it out.

He took it carefully, his dirty fingers trembling slightly as they closed around the cash, pulling it into his coat like it was his last breath of air.

"Don’t spend it all in one place," Grant muttered.

The man ignored him, slipping the money away before adjusting his cap and clearing his throat. "People around here call me the Owl," he said.

I raised an eyebrow. "The Owl?"

He grinned, showing cracked teeth. "Because I see everything. Night or day."

I nodded, filing it away. It was likely what the others on the streets called him, a label rather than a name, a way to give shape to the man in the shadows.

"Alright, Owl," I said, stepping back slightly. "We’re looking for a man. He’s pale and thin. He also has long unkempt hair that falls over one side of his face and his most noticeable feature is his creepy smile. The type who’d give you the chills if you saw him in an alley."

The Owl’s eyes sharpened, his grin fading as he seemed to search the air, pulling at memories like loose threads. Then he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

"I know who you’re talking about," he said quietly. "We call him the Hyena."

Grant stiffened. "The Hyena?"

The Owl nodded, his grin small, humorless. "Because of that laugh. That smile. You hear it once, you don’t forget it. He’s been around a few years, drifting in and out of abandoned places, living off scraps and staying low. But lately," he glanced down the street, "he’s been moving around more. Not staying in one place long."

My pulse quickened, but I kept my face calm. "Where does he usually stay?"

The Owl scratched the back of his neck. "There’s a block down in Sector 45 in an F-Rank neighborhood. The type of place where most people overlook, where the lights malfunction frequently and the gangs don’t even come around since there’s nothing to steal. He has been spotted in that area. The structure was formerly a hardware shop, with several apartments above. But by now, The location is mostly crumbled, yet people claim he comes and goes when he’s nearby."

He rattled off the address, and I memorized it, locking it in place.

"You sure about this?" I asked.

The Owl shrugged. "As sure as I can be. You want the Hyena? That’s where you start looking."

I nodded, pulling out a smaller slip of paper and writing down a number, handing it to him. "If this pans out, I’ll find you, and you’ll get the rest."

His eyes gleamed as he took the slip, folding it carefully. "Don’t you worry, pretty boy. I’ll be around."

"And Owl," I added, pausing before turning away, "don’t gamble it all away."

He looked up at me in such a way that the streetlight caught his eyes, making them look older and more tired. "No promises," he said, before pulling the blanket back around himself and leaning against the post, letting out a low, dry laugh that wasn’t as sharp as before.

Grant let out a breath as we walked back to the car, the sky now a deeper blue, stars barely visible beyond the city lights.

"Think he’s telling the truth?" Grant asked.

I flexed my hand, the band on my wrist snapping softly. "Doesn’t matter. It’s our only lead."

Grant grunted, pulling out his keys as we reached the vehicle, the doors unlocking with a quiet beep. "Sector 45, huh? F-Rank. It’s going to be a mess down there."

I slipped into the passenger seat, pulling the door shut as the engine hummed to life. "Then let’s not waste time."

As we pulled away from the curb, I glanced back, seeing the Owl sitting on the porch, the glow of the streetlight casting his shadow long across the broken concrete. He didn’t move, didn’t wave, just watched us go with those tired, sharp eyes.

The city stretched out before us, alive and buzzing, hiding monsters in the cracks and shadows.

We were going to find him.

The man with no name.

The Hyena.

And this time, he wouldn’t slip away.