The knock at the door echoed through the quiet house. Arold opened it—only to find his father collapsing forward, blood staining his hunter's uniform.
"Dad!" Arold caught him instinctively, eyes widening. His father's body was heavy, trembling, his breath shallow.
"What happened? Did… did something happen in the dungeon?"
His mother's voice carried from the dining room, but the moment she saw the blood, her face went pale. She rushed to them, fumbling for her phone.
"Stay with him, Arold! I'm calling an ambulance!"
His father was no ordinary man. He was an SS-rank hunter, one of the strongest in the country. Arold had never understood the ranking system well, but even he knew what SS-rank meant: someone untouchable, someone far above ordinary people.
And yet, here he was. Fainted. Bleeding. Vulnerable.
Arold's chest tightened, but he didn't know why.
Hours later, the sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air. Arold and his mother sat outside the emergency ward, waiting. His mother's hands were trembling as she wrung them together, her lips moving silently in prayer.
Arold sat with his elbows resting on his thighs, fingers interlocked, head lowered. On the outside, his face was calm, unreadable. But inside… his thoughts churned.
Why… why does it feel heavy?
Is this… worry?
The doors finally opened. A doctor stepped out, exhaustion on his face.
"The operation was successful, but…" He hesitated. "…he's fallen into a coma. We can't say when—or if—he will wake up."
His mother broke. She rushed into the room, tears streaming down her face as she clung to her husband's hand. Her sobs echoed painfully in the room.
Arold followed quietly, standing at the foot of the bed. His father's body lay still, covered in wires and machines. He stared at the motionless figure, his own chest tightening again.
This is… pain?
This… is what it feels like?
But his face stayed the same. Blank. Straight. Cold. The nurses whispered among themselves.
"That boy… no tears?"
"Doesn't he care?"
They didn't know. He simply didn't know how to cry. Not yet.
Weeks passed.
His father remained in a coma, the bills piling higher and higher. His mother tried everything—running from job to job, each rejection breaking her down a little more. Yet she never stopped.
Arold watched her. The woman who had smiled at him since birth, who now carried the weight of everything on her own. His chest ached again whenever he saw her stumble home exhausted, but still forcing a smile for his sake.
He couldn't stand it anymore.
One night, he quietly made a decision.
The next morning, while his mother was out searching again, he slipped away. At the Hunter Association, he filled out the registration papers.
He started at the bottom. G-rank. The weakest of the weak. No one trusted a solo G-rank, so he needed a party.
For the first time in his new life, Arold wasn't moving for himself. Not for testing strength. Not for the thrill of battle.
He was moving… to protect someone.
His mother.
To be continued…