Forty years. That's how long it's been since the sky cracked like glass and the Gates tore open, ushering in an era where monsters turned our skyscrapers into hunting grounds. The world didn't end, but it restructured into a brutal hierarchy based on a single "Skill" granted to everyone born after that day. It's a cosmic lottery that decides if you're a god or a floor mat. Most people get their Skill at Level 0—basic, weak things that barely qualify as power. But to actually enter a Gate and earn a living as a Hunter, you have to hit Level 3. That's the legal threshold for a license.
For most, reaching Level 3 takes about a year of casual practice. For me, it was a four-year nightmare of filth and ridicule.
I was born into a family that obsessed over the lottery. My father has a Physical Augmentation skill, and my mother can manipulate minor kinetic energy. They aren't high-rankers, but they are "respectable" enough to look down on others. Then there's me. I was born with a Skill that made the neighbors laugh and my parents go cold: Rat-Master.
"Look at him," my father would growl over dinner, his eyes refusing to meet mine as he gripped his fork with enough augmented strength to dent the metal. "Other kids are out there lifting cars or lighting fires. Our son is in the garden whispering to vermin."
"It's a disgrace, Oliver," my mother would add, her voice sharp with embarrassment. "What are you going to do? Squeak us to death? You're a pathetic weakling."
They didn't see the nights I spent in the reeking dampness of the crawlspaces, grinding and pushing my control until my brain felt like it was melting. They didn't care about the evolution of a power they deemed "trash". While they were satisfied with their basic-ass Skills, I was learning that mastery breeds branches—new abilities that stem from a single core power. By the time I turned nineteen, I had finally forced my "Rat-Master" skill to evolve into "Rat-King," hitting that Level 3 requirement through sheer, agonizing willpower.
The day I turned nineteen was the day I left home. I didn't say goodbye. I just packed my few belongings and walked toward the city center.
Standing in front of the Hunter Association building gave me actual chills. It was a massive monolith of glass and reinforced steel, looming over the surrounding district like a titan. The scale of it was intimidating—a clear reminder of where the real power in this world resided. High-rankers moved through the lobby with an air of untouchable grace, their gear shimmering with enchantments.
The air inside was thick with the scent of ozone and the heavy, metallic tang of high-tier egos. I walked toward the registration desk, feeling like a speck of dust in a palace. The proctors looked at me like I was a waste of their time; I didn't look like a hero, I looked like a scrawny kid who lived in a basement.
"Name and Skill," the proctor barked, not even looking up from his terminal.
"Oliver Ratinios. Skill: Rat-King," I replied, my voice steady despite the noise around me.
A few people in line behind me snickered. "Rat-King? Is he going to summon a plague?"
I ignored them. In this world, the test for a K-Rank license isn't a flashy combat trial—it's a verification of the system. You just have to show them that you've reached the Level 3 threshold. I reached out and opened my system menu, swiping the translucent blue interface toward the proctor's terminal for verification.
[Skill: Rat-King] [Level: 3] [Status: Hunter Threshold Met]
The proctor's eyes scanned the data. He didn't look impressed—Level 3 was just the bare minimum, after all—but he didn't look bored anymore either. He stamped my file with a heavy, mechanical thud.
"Verified," he muttered, sliding a cold, plastic ID card across the desk. "You're officially a K-Rank Hunter. Try not to get eaten on your first day."
I grabbed the card, the edges digging into my palm. I was a Hunter now. I could finally legally enter the real Gates, get paid by the government, and push this Skill to Level 4. As I walked out of the towering building, I felt the connection—the mental threads tied to a thousand tiny, sharp-toothed shadows waiting in the walls.
Just watch, I thought, looking at the city skyline. I'll show you why your skills are garbage compared to mine.