A man stepped into an area.
He could instantly smell cigarettes. And saw people playing decks at one corner, some frail ones breathing like a dying animal on the other.
But none bothered him. Because he had already grown familiar with how things work in the fringe.
Here, nobody cares who you used to be. Even if you'd once taught science to a large group of students before expulsion.
Even if you'd set your own students on fire.
Nobody cares.
Moments later, he reached the front of a two-storey building. As he looked up at the topmost storey, the headlamp nearby finally revealed his face.
A series of scars stretched across it, half-hidden beneath a hood. And his eyes… enough to make a person choke on their breaths immediately.
They were entirely black. Like a void.
"Looks boring," the man mumbled, then proceeded inside.
It didn't take him long to climb the stairs. And reach the upper floor.
Then, he strode down to a rusted metallic door. It had almost lost its ash paint.
For even a door to look this "poor", the whole building must have a story to tell.
Low, yet sharp sounds beat from behind the door.
The man turned the handle and cautiously stepped inside.
The casino's neon light could have blurred his vision if this were his first time here. But no.
In an instance, he found the face of the person he was here for. That jackass was at the bar, as usual.
The man's gaze occasionally flickered from side to side at the engrossed gamblers. Not that any of this interests him, though.
At least, not anymore.
Boring.
"Fancy seeing you here, ye?" The bartender, known to most here as 'Ginger', joked.
Literally because he had ginger hair.
He turned around to pour whisky into the iced cup. And offered the dark-eyed man a drink.
"Here. It doesn't bite."
The man glared at the cup for a few seconds. He swiftly seized it and gulped it down just like that.
"Hooooo… that was quick, Mr. New Rookie," Ginger remarked. And he received the cup.
"It's Beau."
"Whatever. It's not like you care."
Yeah, he doesn't.
"Do you have the package ready?" Beau didn't blink.
Ginger simply planted his arm on the table. And rested his chin on his palm. Now, he was staring back at Beau with a gentle, smiley face.
"What if not? Are you going to eat my soul? Or make me burn as well for fun? It's not like you're that wicked, though. Right, Mr. Beau?"
The man gave no response.
He just waited.
This annoying bastard always drags things out before getting his shit together. And it ended up being the same today.
Beau eventually received a small jar of purple liquid.
Then, he turned to leave.
But the guy stopped him, as expected,
"Not even a thanks-for-being-helpful?"
Beau glared back.
And fortunately, that single thing helped to rid his madness.
Ginger scratched the back of his neck and apologised,
"My bad, my bad. Forgot you're a very busy man."
That was the moment the man even recalled what he had to say.
He informed Ginger,
"Always have your phone with you. The hunt could start at anytime."
Without speaking, the guy walked over. And at mere metres away, he stopped. Now, he looked much taller, with his body draped in a long trench coat.
"I expect nothing more from you. Just keep your promise to let me have them. Oh, excluding the boy. That one is for you." He almost didn't breathe.
How serious.
Then he rested his right elbow in his palm. And he gave a passive threat,
"If you can't, then you must find something else to account for those liquors. We don't make them with our piss, you know."
Beau answered dismissively,
"Understood."
And then, he left.
The guy sighed. And mumbled,
"What a stubborn Spirit. But he sure looks promising. Should repay me abundantly for helping hide his scent from those fools... Right? Hm, that's an excellent line, Ginger."
***
And so, today, Quinn reached a conclusion.
That he would do his best at building this new life of his.
As a new face.
As a Spirit Hunter.
If working himself to wreck was all it would take to do this, he would.
But most importantly…
'I should do something about those folks,' was his thought as he fitted the last button on his new uniform.
It had already been left on his table before he woke up. Together with a short letter,
'That's your uniform. Come downstairs soon, kiddo.'
Damn, but why does the old man have such bad handwriting? He just had to write seven words and be done with it.
Now, everything was an important message in nonsense.
Quinn sighed as he recalled that.
Putting that aside, he thought he really should be careful. Around the hunters. And also, the Curse.
They were hiding something on purpose. Everything.
No one bothered to give him a clear evaluation about how he died and got reborn. Just a flipping "the fire chose you" response everytime.
But Quinn chose not to ask any further.
Play dumb. And be the last one laughing.
His teacher once asked him to do this when in a risky situation.
'Fine.'
Quinn descended the stairs. And Silas was already waiting.
Immediately, he led Quinn somewhere. A basement.
All thoughts forgotten, Quinn stood there, mouth open. How did they manage to fit such a place in this tiny house?
Yet, that question wasn't as important anymore when Silas proceeded through the next door. And Quinn followed.
Damn it, did this man really bring him down to train?
Seriously?
At the centre of the room, there was a well-tidied boxing ring. Hanging from the ceiling on the other side was a punching bag. And not so far from this were some other equipment.
Like dumbbells, a rack of wooden swords, and a sticky material holding knives…
Silas suddenly gripped Quinn's shoulder. And that just snapped the hell out of him - he shivered out of fright.
"Relax, boy. You're safe. Get in line and let's see what you've got."
And the man went straight into the ring.
Quinn was agape yet again.
"What?"
Silas teased him, asking aloud,
"Are you scared?" he was smiling.
Quinn swallowed, then got a grip of himself.
"N-not at all!"
But curse this, his legs were trembling when he walked. Got him a little embarrassed when Silas caught on that.
The man simply chuckled, tucking his hand into a boxing glove.
But he reassured,
"Don't worry, I'm not a monster. You can come at me with all your strength and I'll only block. Know this is just to teach you the basics. When the time's right, you'll have to go learn under a dedicated tutor. Most probably at an academy… Depends on your choice. Every one of us had one before starting to train on our own… Oh, boy, you're still not in? Come on, you're a man!"
Quinn struggled not to yell,
"That's what I am trying to do!"
He muttered under his breath as he reluctantly headed into the ring,
"Heating to break me already, eh? Knew you weren't a nice old man. I fucking knew it!"
Silas threw him two gloves, which he caught.
"Put those on. And follow my instructions. We'll also go into some super-fast briefing here."
Quinn blinked.
"What briefing?"
Silas seemed to have snickered.
Well, he was just clueless. That doesn't make him a fool.
"Aren't you curious to know things? The Spirits, ranks, hunting… You ought to be fast in this line of work, boy! Seek help from people who know better."
Quinn felt rushed. But he replied nonetheless,
"Fine, old man."
… because he really wanted to know these things. And he wishes this man doesn't go into combat first.
Silas's voice rang out,
"Ready when you are."
Oh, crap, he is.
'Well… screw this.'