C Rank Cae Cless

Amy continued to stare. “You… Where were you at, at the bank?”

I bit my bottom lip and chewed at it for a moment, debating how to put it. It always sounded weird, to me, that Aífe’s Aite Láechrad put it in terms of letter ranks, but it wasn’t like I had a better or more accurate system. Replacing it with numbers wouldn’t really make it make any more sense, either.

“If I had to measure it from A to E,” I told her at length, “then C-Rank. I’m still at the upper edges of B, right now. I’d be A-Rank, but I spent all of last week studying and taking placement tests, so…”

“You…” Amy started. “You fought an Alexandria-type Brute and Mover, a girl who can bench-press a cement truck and fly faster than a speeding car, and you were only C-Rank in those martial arts of yours?”

“…Yes?”