Investing In My Four Crippled Yandere Wives Get 1000x Returns
Chapter 6|The Association Doesn’t Forget

Chapter 6: 6|The Association Doesn’t Forget

The New York Hunter Association headquarters rose out of the city skyline like a blade driven into the earth — glass and steel curving upward in a shape clearly designed to be seen from every livestream drone in a five-mile radius. It was, Allen thought, the kind of building that existed less to house bureaucracy and more to remind everyone walking past it exactly where power lived in this world.

He hadn’t set foot inside since he was twelve years old, dragged along to watch his older siblings receive their rank certifications while he sat quietly in the back, already aware he wouldn’t be getting one of his own worth celebrating.

"You look like you’re about to walk into a funeral," Irene said, far too loud for the marble-floored lobby, drawing more than a few curious glances their way. "Relax. Nobody in there actually cares who you used to be. Rank’s rank."

"Easy for you to say," Allen murmured. "You used to have one worth bragging about."

Myria, wheeling herself alongside him with the same quiet composure she carried everywhere, tilted her head slightly. "Rank tests are conducted by a certified evaluator using a standardized aura-reading crystal. There’s no room for personal bias in the actual measurement." A pause. "The bias comes in everywhere else."

Allen didn’t need her to elaborate. He could already feel it — the stares, the whispers rippling through the lobby the moment someone recognized the four women beside him. ’The Veton reject. And his broken trophies.’ He kept his expression flat, refusing to give any of it the satisfaction of a reaction.

The registration line moved slowly, full of hopeful F-rank teenagers and their nervous families, but the moment Allen stepped up to the counter, the clerk’s polite, practiced smile faltered.

"...Allen Veton," the clerk said, scanning his old file with visibly poor-hidden surprise. "You’re re-registering. It’s been years since your last evaluation."

"That’s correct."

The clerk glanced past him, taking in Myria’s wheelchair, Everlyn’s notepad already in hand, Vivian’s cane, and Irene’s restless energy, and something in her expression shifted — not quite pity, not quite scorn, but close enough to both that Allen felt his jaw tighten.

"I’ll need you to step through for a new evaluation," the clerk said finally. "Standard procedure for reactivation after this long a gap."

---

The evaluation chamber was smaller than Allen expected — a sterile, circular room with a single crystal pedestal at its center, humming faintly with restrained energy. An evaluator in Association robes gestured for him to place his hand against the crystal’s smooth surface.

"This will read your current aura output and ability classification," the evaluator explained, tone clipped and professional, clearly having recited the same line a thousand times before. "Try to remain relaxed."

Allen placed his hand against the crystal.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the crystal flared to life, light pulsing outward in slow, rhythmic waves — and the evaluator’s brows knitted in visible confusion as she studied the readout scrolling across her tablet.

"...That’s odd," she murmured.

"What’s odd?" Allen asked, keeping his voice level despite the small knot of tension forming in his chest.

"Your aura output is registering as F-rank baseline," she said slowly, "but there’s a secondary energy signature layered underneath it. Something I haven’t seen before. It’s not interfering with the reading, but it’s... present. Dormant, almost." She glanced up at him. "Have you undergone any unusual awakenings recently? Bloodline exposure, artifact contact, anything like that?"

’If I told you the truth, you’d have me committed.’ "Not that I’m aware of," Allen said instead.

The evaluator studied him a moment longer before shrugging it off, clearly deciding it wasn’t worth the paperwork to investigate further. "Your official classification remains F-rank, ability: Unique, Precision Throw. I’ll log the secondary signature as an anomaly for now. Congratulations on your reactivation, Hunter Veton."

’Congratulations,’ Allen thought dryly, stepping out of the chamber. ’Lowest possible rank, one step above nothing at all. Should I frame the certificate?’

---

He rejoined his wives in the waiting area, where a different kind of tension had clearly settled over the room in his absence. Irene sat rigid in her chair, arms crossed, glaring daggers at something — or someone — across the lobby. Myria’s expression had gone carefully, deliberately blank, the kind of blank that Allen was quickly learning meant she was furious. Everlyn had her notepad pressed tightly to her chest, and even Vivian, usually the most composed of the four, had her jaw set tight enough to show the faint outline of muscle beneath her skin.

"What happened?" Allen asked immediately.

"Nothing," Myria said flatly, in a tone that made it very clear something absolutely had happened.

Irene, predictably, was less restrained. "Some A-rank prick decided it’d be funny to ask us if we were ’still worth looking at, disabilities and all,’" she said, voice tight with barely contained anger. "Called us the Association’s biggest cautionary tale. Real charming guy."

Allen felt something cold settle in his stomach. "Where is he now?"

"Gone," Vivian said quietly. "Left before you got back. Didn’t give a name. Didn’t need to, though — the armor gave it away. Gold trim, way too flashy to be anyone but a Veton."

Allen’s hands curled slowly into fists at his sides. ’Edward.’

He’d known, logically, that running into his older brother eventually was inevitable in a city this small when it came to Hunter circles. He just hadn’t expected it to happen before he’d even left the building on his first day back.

"I’m sorry," he said quietly, meaning it. "I should’ve been here."

"You were getting evaluated," Myria said, some of the sharpness fading from her voice as she looked at him. "This isn’t your fault. We can handle petty insults, Allen. We’ve handled worse."

"That doesn’t mean you should have to."

Something flickered across Myria’s expression at that — brief, unreadable, gone before Allen could fully parse it. She wheeled herself forward slightly, closing some of the careful distance she’d maintained since the moment they’d arrived in Hegeville.

"You’re still standing here trying to protect us," she said, quiet enough that only he could hear. "Even with a rank that says you can barely protect yourself."

"Rank’s just a number on a piece of paper," Allen said. "Doesn’t mean much once I actually start getting stronger."

Myria studied him for a long moment, sharp blue eyes searching his face for something he couldn’t quite name. Then, finally, she nodded once, sharp and decisive.

"Then get stronger quickly," she said. "Because if that man thinks he can insult us and walk away without consequence, I intend to make sure the next conversation goes very differently."

Behind her, Irene grinned, sharp and fierce. "Now that’s the Myria I remember."

Allen felt the faint chime of a system notification at the edge of his awareness, easily ignored for now, filed away for later — because for the first time since arriving in this city, all four of his wives were looking at him not with distance, but with something that looked dangerously close to shared purpose.

’Edward,’ Allen thought grimly, filing the name away alongside the memory of gold trim and cruel words. ’We’ll be seeing each other again soon, I take it.’