The lesson was almost over. In class XII-A of Antares High, a female teacher stood at the front, her voice soft yet firm.
"Alright, children, before you go home, I want you to write down one thing you want after you graduate. It can be a university, a dream job, or anything you think is worth fighting for."
A few students immediately got busy. Pencils danced across paper. The sound of rustling pages and soft murmurs filled the room. In the middle row, two boys nudged each other, laughing quietly.
"You gonna write that you wanna be president, Ki?" one of them whispered.
"Nah, I'm gonna be a monster exterminator, like in the games!" the other replied, half-joking.
From the back of the class, Rio Rosswel just stared blankly. His black hair fell over a portion of his brow. The paper on his desk was still clean, his hands as still as stone. But his mind was full—and what flowed through it wasn't hope, but cold, horrifying memories.
Then, in silence, he began to write. Just one sentence:
"AFTER GRADUATION, I WILL EXTERMINATE ALL EATERS."
No additions. No explanations.
He folded the paper and placed it on the stack without a single word.
A few minutes later, Mrs. Melia stood at the front of the class, reading through some of the papers. Her eyes scanned the words with a warm smile. Until, finally, she stopped, her brow furrowed slightly.
She re-read one of the papers, her voice slowing.
"Rio Rosswel…?"
Rio slowly lifted his head. "Yes, Ma'am?"
"You wrote that you want to… exterminate the Eaters?" Mrs. Melia asked, her tone was cautious, as if she wasn't sure if she was reading a failed joke or the words of someone far too serious.
A few students immediately started snickering. Some turned to look back at him.
"You still believe in Eaters? That's just an old story…"
"They've never been in Antares, dude."
"I heard they existed way back when, but it's probably just a myth to scare little kids."
Rio didn't answer. He just looked at them, one by one—cold, silent, as if he were assessing strange creatures in a cage who knew nothing of the world outside.
The previously noisy atmosphere slowly died down.
However, one of the female students leaned back in her chair, playing with the tip of her pen.
"I read on the internet once... It said the Eaters are just soldiers. The one controlling them isn't an ordinary monster."
She paused for a moment, then added in a half-serious, half-teasing tone,
"They say someone leads them. Not a wild beast, but… more like a ruler. Someone who lives behind the scenes. Who controls everything like a game of chess."
A few students turned and giggled.
"What's that? An Eater King? Hahaha."
"Come on, don't bring conspiracy theories into a school assignment."
"Next thing you know, someone will write they want to be a monster king slayer, too!"
The joke drew a few small laughs, but Rio remained impassive. His eyes didn't even blink.
Mrs. Melia stared at Rio for longer than she realized. Behind her maturity as a teacher, a strange feeling pricked at her: the boy's gaze was too empty, too deep. Not like a normal high school student.
"Rio," she said softly, trying to be wise, "if you're truly serious… I hope it comes from a desire to help people, not from a sense of vengeance. But if this is just—"
"Ma'am," Rio cut in calmly. "I only wrote what you instructed."
The sentence was quiet, yet firm. Their eyes met.
And for a moment, Mrs. Melia was at a loss for words. Behind that simple answer was a wound that logic could not reach.
The school bell rang.
"Alright, you may all go home," Mrs. Melia said, her voice sounding a little shaky.
The students got up to leave, the noise returning. But Rio remained seated, the only one who hadn't stood up. His hand reached into his pocket, pulled out the small paper from earlier, and crumpled it slowly.
To you, Eaters might just be a myth.
But I've seen their faces.
Closer than any of you…
Rio Rosswel. Seventeen years old. Straight black hair hung over his brow. A pair of dark eyes that were hard to read—quiet, deep, and as sharp as a sleepless night.
His posture was straight, slightly taller than the average student, but that wasn't what made him stand out. There was something in his demeanor—the way he walked without a sound, the way he sat without a word, the way he stared without fear—that made anyone think twice before approaching him.
He was a figure more often observed in silence from a distance. No one truly knew him. No one knew what spun in his head every time he stared out the classroom window. And no one was brave enough to ask.
Rio lived alone in a subsidized apartment on the outskirts of Antares—an area designated for orphans, victims of a national tragedy that had been a headline for one week, then disappeared with the wind. He attended school on a full scholarship. Intelligent. Disciplined. Perfect attendance. Perfect grades. But he never participated in social activities. Never joined a competition. Never seen smiling for more than two seconds.
Inside his nightstand drawer, there was an old photo—worn, almost faded. A young woman smiled while holding a little boy's hand. Mother and son. The only family he ever had.
Eva Rosswel.
His mother.
But everything changed… on his seventh birthday.
Two unknown figures broke into their home. Without a sound. Without an explanation. And in just a matter of minutes—it was all over. Rio could never forget how his mother's body was dragged. How she looked at him one last time. How those creatures tore her apart like starving animals.
And how… not a single person believed him afterward.
"The boy is traumatized," said the experts.
"It was just a nightmare," said the police.
"In Antares? Eaters? Don't be ridiculous."
But Rio knew. He still remembered. He had looked into their eyes—glowing red eyes, like embers holding an ancient hatred. A vicious smile. Blood-red fangs. Hands far too strong for a human.
It wasn't a dream.
It was a reality that only he had lived to remember.
And from that night on, his world stopped moving. All that remained was a single purpose, boiling constantly in his chest:
Revenge.
…
The digital clock on his small bedroom table showed 10:30 PM.
Rio lay on the thin mattress of his apartment, his eyes closed, but his mind refused to be still.
His breathing was heavy. Slow, but clearly audible in the silence of the room. Every time he tried to sleep, the images returned—the sound of his mother's screams, her vacant, tear-filled gaze, and the horrifying sound of flesh being ripped apart.
It had been ten years, but it all still felt real. Too real.
Rio slowly opened his eyes. He sat up, then stared at the window, blurry with condensation. A tightness pierced his chest. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep tonight. Again.
Without much thought, he got up and grabbed his black jacket. He needed fresh air—and something to warm him up.
Hot chocolate. Maybe that would be enough to calm his thoughts.
Rio left his small apartment on the outskirts of Antares. Old buildings stood faded among the dim streetlights. The cold air bit at his skin, and the area was always quiet, almost like a ghost town once night fell.
He walked down the stairs slowly, toward his old motorcycle parked below. The engine let out a low roar as he started it, and he began to ride down the empty streets.
The journey to the city center was never short.
He had to pass through a desolate area adorned with ruined buildings, cracked roads, and dense trees that obscured most of the streetlights. Some of the turns even felt too dark to navigate, making the hairs on his neck stand up—even for someone as brave as Rio.
But he was used to it.
Every night, before truly setting off, Rio always waited. He would stand by the side of the road until at least one or two vehicles passed first—whether it was a night patrol car, a courier, or someone just coming home from work. He didn't know them, but the buffer was enough. He would follow from a distance, keeping his motorcycle within range of the other vehicle's taillights.
He wasn't afraid. He was just... careful.
Because Rio knew full well: Eaters don't like crowds, not even pretend ones.
They attack those who are alone. Truly alone.
And Rio never gave them that chance.
….
Sometime later, Rio arrived at a small cafe that was still open 24 hours. The place wasn't too crowded, but it was warm and comfortable enough. He chose to sit near the window, facing the main street. Outside, despite the late hour, the city was still alive—people walked by, vehicle lights decorated the wet asphalt, and the occasional horn broke the silence.
A waiter brought him a hot chocolate. Rio just gave a slight nod as thanks.
As he was sipping the warm drink, the television hanging from the ceiling in the corner of the room lit up with the evening news.
The anchor's voice was clear, making some of the cafe's patrons glance up.
"We warn all city residents not to travel alone, especially to deserted areas.
Recent case data shows that Eater attacks are on the rise, and the majority of victims are found by themselves, without witnesses.
Please remain vigilant and ensure your safety."
A moment of silence. Then murmurs. Reactions.
A middle-aged woman at a corner table quickly grabbed her necklace, clutching a small pendant tightly, then whispered softly as if praying. Her hand trembled slightly.
Two young men in leather jackets sitting near the door exchanged glances and then laughed quietly.
"Ah, so dramatic. The news is like that every week."
"Yeah, the later it gets, the more they chase ratings."
On the other side, an old man leaned back in his chair, his face pale, his eyes glued to the TV screen. He gripped his coffee glass so tightly that a faint cracking sound could be heard. But no one noticed. The fear in his eyes was too deep to be voiced.
Rio only glanced at the screen for a moment before turning his gaze back outside the window.
He wasn't surprised. Not scared. Nor did he care.
All those warnings… they were too late for him.
People could keep running, laughing, praying, or pretending to understand—but the reality was, they knew nothing.
Rio glanced at their faces. Praying because they're afraid to die. Laughing because they've never lost anything. Panicking because they hear numbers, not because they know what it feels like to lose someone.
You're afraid of being hunted... But I've witnessed them kill.
I know what the sound of tearing flesh is like. I know their faces.
And I know—what you see on TV... isn't the most frightening part.
He took a long breath. The hot chocolate in his hands was starting to cool, but his chest remained tight. Something was stuck in his mind—not fear, not trauma, but obsession. An obsession to retaliate.
"Keep praying. Laugh now.
Because when that night comes for you…
No warning on TV will be able to save you."
After the anchor's voice faded, the cafe filled with murmurs again. Some people went back to their phones, others began to discuss the news with disbelieving laughter. Rio just sat silently, his eyes still fixed on the window outside.
Then, a deep voice broke the silence. Deep. Firm. But calm.
"How many have you killed?"
Rio turned his head quickly.
A man was standing next to his table—tall, powerfully built, almost like a wall blocking the light. He looked to be in his sixties, but his shoulders were still broad, his chest was firm, and his posture was that of someone who had spent a lifetime in training. His shoulder-length black hair was messy but dignified, partially covered by a dark, thick-furred cloak, reminiscent of a warrior's mantle from an ancient time.
The cloak covered most of his body, but from the gap at his left shoulder, the tip of a hidden sword hilt was visible. It was jet black, and at the base of the hilt… was a small engraved symbol of a rose.
Rio's eyes narrowed. The man's voice was unfamiliar, but his gaze…
For some reason, it felt too deep. Too knowing.
"Huh?" Rio frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Your goal to exterminate the Eaters," the man replied calmly, as if discussing the weather. "How far have you gone to achieve it?"
Rio tensed.
The question wasn't a random guess. The tone was too certain. Too accurate.
"How did you know about that?" Rio's voice rose slightly. His eyes sharpened, his jaw hardened.
The old man pulled up a chair without permission and sat across from him, perfectly calm, as if the table had been set for the two of them. He stared intently at Rio's face, then gave a faint smile—not a mocking smile, but more like… a silent observation.
"Because you wrote something very foolish today."
He took out a folded piece of paper from his cloak pocket—Rio's school assignment, on which was written "I WILL EXTERMINATE ALL EATERS."
"You took this from the teacher's desk?" Rio cut in, his eyes narrowing. He was starting to feel uncomfortable.
The man didn't answer right away. He just looked at the paper, then at Rio—deeper, as if trying to excavate something hidden.
"I was merely taking back something… that was left too exposed," he answered flatly. "Writing like this isn't just a typical teenage complaint, Rio. This sentence—" he pointed to Rio's writing with his fingertip, "—is an oath. And every oath has its price."
Rio gritted his teeth. His hands clenched into fists under the table.
"Who are you?" his voice was low but cold.
"Someone who has been watching you… for a long time. And who has felt loss more than once."
There was a pause.
"You harbor a grudge. But vengeance without direction will only get you killed faster."
Rio stared at the man intently. There was something in his eyes. Not just curiosity—but a kind of fear mixed with a reluctance to appear weak.
But, behind it all… there was something that made his chest tighten even more. It wasn't the old man's words. Not his presence. But something he couldn't explain. As if his body recognized the man, but his mind rejected it.
And for some reason… Rio felt uneasy. Not because he was afraid, but because there was too much that couldn't be explained.
This man isn't ordinary. But he's not an enemy either.
And for that very reason… Rio chose to stand up.
"Sorry. I have to go," he said curtly.
Rio walked quickly out of the cafe. But before the door closed completely, the man's voice followed—soft, almost a whisper meant for only one person.
"You've grown into a strong boy, Rio…"
Rio didn't hear it.
Or maybe… he heard, but chose not to process it.
But for a moment, as he breathed in the night air again, his chest felt heavier.
Not from fear. But from a strange feeling he couldn't name.
He started his motorcycle and sped down the silent road, leaving the glitter of downtown Antares behind. The farther he drove, the thicker the darkness that greeted him. The lights became sparse, and the shadows of the large trees on the roadside felt like the silhouettes of silent, watching monsters.
Rio briefly rode alongside an old box truck, keeping a safe distance behind it to stay within the range of its lights. He always did that at night—it was safer, calmer.
But after a few minutes, the truck turned onto another branch of the road. Rio continued on alone, accompanied by the whistling of the night wind and the sound of rustling branches.
It was then that he remembered something.
"Ah, dammit… I forgot to buy snacks."
His mind had been too preoccupied. Too heavy to remember something so trivial.
He pulled over, then turned his motorcycle toward a small stall that stood alone on the side of the desolate road. The old stall was illuminated by a single, dim, yellowish light, like a lantern in the middle of a graveyard.
He got off his motorcycle and walked toward the front rack.
"Sir, I'll take three of these," Rio said casually, placing a few snack packages on the stall's wooden counter.
"Here you go, kid," replied the vendor, a middle-aged man in a thin jacket with a friendly smile that was a little too wide. His hands deftly wrapped the items in a clear plastic bag.
The stall was silent. It was just the two of them. A yellow lightbulb hanging from a tangled wire dangled lazily overhead, swaying gently in the night wind. Its dim glow cast strange shadows on the weathered wooden walls.
"Out so late, all alone?" the vendor asked, still smiling, his eyes briefly glancing at Rio's solitary motorcycle.
"Yeah," Rio replied flatly, his hands in his jacket pockets. "Just came from the city center. Getting some fresh air, grabbing a bite."
The man nodded slowly. His hands were busy, but his eyes began to watch Rio for longer than usual.
"Hmm…" he mumbled. "Not afraid of Eaters?"
Rio turned slowly, not answering right away. He shrugged. "You're selling stuff out here alone, and you seem fine, right?"
The vendor gave a short laugh. But it wasn't a free laugh. It felt… empty. Too flat.
"Hehe… that's only because it hasn't been my turn yet, kid."
Rio frowned. A flicker. But it was enough to show a hint of tension on his face.
The wind blew gently. It touched the leaves, making them rustle like whispers.
"Have you been running this stall for long?" Rio asked, trying to stay calm, his voice low.
"A long time. Long enough to know this road has been deserted for a while. And those who pass through, sometimes… they aren't just human."
Rio stared at the man more sharply now. His instincts were starting to scream. Something was wrong.
"But… what about you?" the vendor continued, holding the plastic bag out to Rio. "Ever met an Eater face-to-face?"
Rio took the bag slowly. His eyes never left the face of the man in front of him.
"Once," he answered quietly. "A long time ago."
The vendor's smile widened. His teeth were clearly visible under the lamplight.
"In that case…" he said slowly. "Don't you worry…"
He tilted his head, and for a moment… time seemed to slow down.
"Maybe tonight… you'll be lucky enough to meet one again."
Rio froze instantly.
The man's lips were still smiling. But it wasn't a human smile.
"Dammit…" Rio hissed, taking a step back.
The vendor's eyes suddenly changed—turning red in an instant, his pupils shrinking to a pinprick of blood dancing in the center of the white sclera. The skin on his face seemed to tighten, as if being pulled from within, and his teeth… they protruded. Sharp. Elongated.
His smile grew wider. Too wide. It made no sense.
"Oh God…" Rio mumbled. His hand slowly dropped to the handle of the folding knife inside his jacket.
"Human?" the vendor asked, laughing lowly, his voice changing to a deep, vibrating rumble as if it came from deep within the earth. "Oh, kid… humans are so boring. They're slow… fragile… and always full of ridiculous hope."
A small clink was heard from under the counter—the sound of hard nails touching wood.
The skin around his jaw began to crack. Black. Veined. His eyes blazed.
Rio let out a low growl.
"You're… not human…"
The creature let out a laugh… heavy, cold, echoing off the walls of the narrow stall.
"You just left someone… who very much wants to protect you."
He pointed at Rio—but not at Rio physically. As if pointing at a wound… at a memory.
"Too bad you came to the wrong place instead."
Rio gripped the knife inside his jacket more tightly.
The night sky began to change. The wind stopped.
And the stall was no longer a place of commerce. It was a trap.