Yukon stood outside the Hunters Department hall, eyes tracing the towering structure. The building dwarfed everything else on campus, a reminder that the college itself existed for this department, and nothing else.
Before it, a massive statue rose skyward, a hunter frozen in steel and stone, sword raised like it was stabbing the heavens. The man was a legend, the college's namesake, humanity's early shield against dungeon break hellscapes.
Around him, fifty or so students milled about, waiting for the trials to begin. Nervous whispers buzzed in the air like flies.
Beside him, a fat boy fidgeted, sweat beading at his forehead. His heart thumped so loud Yukon didn't need the system to know he was panicking, but the overlay confirmed it anyway.
[BPM: 144 - Elevated Stress Detected.]
"His heartbeat's at one-forty-four. Poor bastard," Yukon muttered under his breath, then turned to face him.
"Bro, calm the fuck down. It's not like you're gonna die if you fail the trial."
The boy's wide eyes flicked up. "You have no idea how much this means to me....to my old man. How can I face him if I fail?"
Yukon's grin was sharp, predatory. "So you're doing this for your old man, huh?"
The boy nodded stiffly.
"Well, fuck him then," Yukon said flatly.
The boy blinked, outrage flaring. "What did you just say…?"
"I said fuck him." Yukon's voice didn't rise, didn't waver. Just plain fact.
The boy's fists clenched, like he wanted to throw a punch, but the thought died in his eyes as he caught the weight of Yukon's stare. Something about him screamed danger, and it pressed down harder than his anger.
"I'm sorry if I offended you," Yukon continued, voice almost casual, "but your father's a worthless prick if he's making you chase his dreams."
The boy's breath hitched. His anger thinned, melted into silence.
"You'll suffer forever if you keep living for somebody else. Live for yourself. Chase what you want. Do what you love. Otherwise, you'll never stop being someone's dog."
A small smile tugged at Yukon's lips. He was living proof, fucking women, stacking points, carving his own road to strength. He was exactly where he wanted to be.
The boy hesitated, then slowly extended a hand. "Name's Micah."
"Yukon." Their hands clasped firmly.
[BPM: 88...Stabilized.]
Micah's shoulders relaxed, and he even smiled. "So… Yukon. Is becoming a hunter your dream?"
"Becoming the strongest hunter."
"You talk like you've already won."
"That's because I've got a big cock."
Micah snorted, laughing it off as a joke.
Yukon didn't laugh.
Micah's grin lingered, then softened. "You're right about my dad. He's an asshole. But I'll still take the test...just to see how I measure up."
"That's your call." Yukon shrugged. "I don't give a shit either way."
Micah's gaze flicked across the crowd, then he leaned closer. "Since you were straight with me, I'll return the favor. I'll show you who the real competition is."
He tilted his head toward a cluster of girls. At their center stood one who radiated presence like a flame in the dark.
"That's Hannah Donovan."
She looked untouchable, snow-white hair cascading down her back, every strand so perfectly kept it gleamed in the sunlight. Her body was a sculpted hourglass, curves wrapped tight in a combat-suit uniform that clung like a second skin. Rich-girl elegance met raw, dangerous allure in the way she stood, chin tilted just high enough to make the others orbit her like satellites.
"She's the governor's daughter," Micah whispered. "And she doesn't play fair."
Yukon's eyes narrowed, a grin spreading slow across his face.
Now that looks fun… Yukon's grin widened as his eyes roamed over Hannah. Perfect body for doggystyle. Pretty face too. I'd hit it raw.
"They say she's the real deal," Micah whispered, his tone caught somewhere between awe and fear. "It runs in the family. Her sister's with the Red Beast Guild…"
Yukon's eyebrow ticked. Red Beast Guild, huh?
That was where Helena Veyra was signed, the goddess he'd seen on his very first day in the parking lot.
"And that's Vince…" Micah's voice dipped lower. He nodded at a tall, broad-shouldered guy standing in the middle of a circle. Muscles on muscles, fake smile plastered on his square jaw, his posse laughing too loud at jokes that weren't funny.
"Principal's son. Already climbing...he's close to E-rank. High F right now."
Yukon almost laughed. High F? Still bottom tier. If that's the bar, these kids are weaker than I thought.
He clenched his fist slightly, feeling the system's hum under his skin. After two days of grinding, his stats had exploded. He was easily sitting at E, maybe even brushing D. The system itself had him locked at Level 2, only eight more before he hit the semester's target of 10. And at this pace, he'd smash it.
His musings cut off as a new voice snapped through the crowd.
"What are you looking at, Fatso?"
It was Vince.
The principal's golden boy was striding right toward them, eyes locked on Micah like a predator scenting weak meat. His entourage peeled off with him, snickering, already hungry for drama.
Micah froze, shoulders stiffening.
Yukon's grin didn't fade. He slid his hands into his pockets, relaxed, and thought, Finally… entertainment.
Poor bastard's heart spiking to 144 again, Yukon thought, scanning Micah for the telltale tremor.
"S-sorry, I wasn't looking at you, man…" Micah stammered, voice small.
The crowd's chatter died down; eyes slid toward them like a tide.
"Are you calling me blind, fat boy?" Vince snapped, stepping forward, jaw clenched.
Micah flinched.
"He said he wasn't looking at you..so why don't you leave him alone?"
Vince turned, eyes narrowing, and fixed Yukon with a predatory stare. "You buying this beef, or you looking for trouble, kid?"
"If you pick on a friend of mine, I'll step in," Yukon said, voice low and steady enough to be more terrifying than a shout.
Vince laughed, cruel and clipped. "Do you know who I am?"
"Don't care who you are," Yukon replied coolly. "Walk away. Leave Micah alone."
The laugh died on Vince's lips, replaced by a dangerous smile. "Are you threatening me?"
"No." Yukon's grin was slow and cold. He tilted his head just slightly, and the words came soft but lethal: "I'm warning you. You don't want to find out how big my dick is."
A beat of stunned silence. Then a ripple of nervous laughter, some masking discomfort, some genuine amusement, rolled through the crowd.