Three Days Later – Korea Hunter Association, Suwon Branch
The sky was overcast when Jung Ha-Joon returned to the hunter branch building. He wore a gray hoodie, black mask, and jeans like any other young applicant. His steps were light, his aura still zero.
Just another quiet kid.
But behind his crimson eyes—carefully hidden under tinted contact lenses—lay power so deep it could collapse stars.
He passed through the front doors unnoticed.
> "Here for support training," he said calmly.
The receptionist glanced at his ID and waved him through.
---
Training Room 2B – Support Orientation
Twenty-three applicants sat in a medium-sized room with whiteboards and a glowing screen that read:
> "Welcome, Support Division Recruits!"
A cheerful young instructor stood at the front, clapping her hands.
> "Good morning! You've made a smart choice. As support staff, you'll work closely with hunters without the risks of combat."
> "You'll analyze crystals, monitor gate activity, manage logistics, and—if assigned to a field unit—provide tactical data on-site."
Ha-Joon sat in the back, silent. Taking it all in.
Next to him, a sleepy guy whispered:
> "This sounds like a glorified office job."
> "Maybe," Ha-Joon said. "But better than dying."
The boy chuckled.
> "Fair point."
---
First Assessment – Basic Aptitude Scan
The applicants were led to a hallway lined with pod-like machines. The goal was simple: measure their ability to process information, recall visuals, and maintain composure under stress.
> "Just routine checks," the instructor assured them. "No awakening scans for support class."
Ha-Joon stepped into a pod. The lights dimmed.
A timer started: 10 minutes.
Questions began flashing. Memory puzzles. Code grids. Tactical gate layouts. Aura spectrum classifications.
Each test was meant to challenge an average person.
For Ha-Joon, it felt like breathing.
He slowed himself down on purpose, missing a few answers to avoid suspicion.
The machine beeped.
> Assessment Complete – Aptitude Score: 76/100
Average. Just like he wanted.
---
Later That Day – Training Grounds
Support staff weren't required to engage in combat, but they were taught basic self-defense and how to operate field equipment.
> "You'll be handling drones, signal beacons, flare tags, and emergency shields."
The instructor handed out basic gear.
Ha-Joon watched others struggle with calibration and weight.
He copied their awkward movements.
He bent his knees a little too much. He held the shield wrong on purpose.
> "Newbie," someone muttered nearby.
Good.
Let them think that.
---
Break Time – Observation
Ha-Joon sat on a bench near the outer courtyard. He sipped from a vending machine can of grape soda and casually scanned the area.
Six awakened applicants were in a different group across the field.
One had faint sparks dancing on his fingers.
Another had skin that shimmered faintly like glass.
They were training under supervision—leaping, blocking, and testing gates conjured in containment pods.
Ha-Joon narrowed his eyes slightly.
> "They're rushing the awakening process," he thought. "Too reckless."
A system like this… was bound to break eventually.
---
Instructor's Notes – That Evening
The young instructor scrolled through a tablet, reviewing the files.
> Applicant #24 – Jung Ha-Joon
Non-awakened. Support class.
Mental Stability: Excellent.
Aptitude: 76.
Combat Sim: Below average.
Behavior: Quiet. Observant. Compliant.
She tapped her pen on the desk.
> "Seems harmless."
She moved on.
Just another shadow in the system.
Exactly as Ha-Joon planned.
---
Back Home – Late Evening
The Jung apartment was warm with the smell of stir-fried anchovies and radish soup.
> "How was it?" his mother asked as Ha-Joon entered.
> "Good," he replied, placing a small packet of instant tea on the table. "They're training us. Nothing serious."
> "You didn't overdo it?" she asked, fussing over his jacket.
> "I barely moved."
His father looked up from the TV.
> "Proud of you, son."
Ha-Joon nodded, then turned to head upstairs.
---
Rooftop – That Night
The city hummed quietly below.
Ha-Joon stood in the wind, the hunter trainee badge clipped loosely to his hoodie pocket.
It wasn't power he sought now.
It was position.
Visibility into gates. Access to early warnings. Insight into the growing dangers of a world slowly forgetting its balance.
> "There's no system anymore," he whispered.
"No cheat sheet. No voice in my head."
> "Just me."
And that was enough.
Because he was no longer just a boy.
He was something the world had never seen.
---