The healer's words echoed in my head the entire walk home.
"A slime might take your head off this time."
They said it as a joke, but it wasn't far from the truth. My hand was still bandaged, blistered where the acid had eaten into my skin. Every step was heavy, not just from the pain, but from the eyes. The vendors in the marketplace glanced at me, then away, like I was diseased. Other hunters strutted past in shining armor, swords on their backs, talking about rare drops and bounties.
Me? I was just the failure who couldn't kill a slime.
By the time I reached the small apartment, the stench of medicine hit me first. The air was stale, damp with sickness. My mother lay in bed, face pale, lips dry. She tried to smile when she saw me, but it came out weak.
"You're home early," she said, voice rasping.
I forced a grin. "Yeah. Job got cut short. Nothing serious."
Her eyes lingered on my bandaged hand, but she didn't press. She never did.
From the other room, the sound of pencils scratching paper and the shuffle of schoolbooks. Yuriel peeked out, hair tied in a messy bun, blue eyes too bright for this dim place.
"Brother!" she beamed. "You're back!"
I tried to smile for her, too. For both of them. Tried to pretend that my chest wasn't caving in.
That night, I sat on the roof, staring at the lights of the city. Towers glowed in the distance where the rich Awakened lived. Neon signs promised new gear, new potions, new enchantments — things I'd never be able to afford.
In the streets below, kids younger than me trained with wooden swords, their eyes already burning with the glow of divine blessings. Some people are chosen. Others… aren't.
I clenched my fist, nails digging into my palm. My whole body trembled with frustration, with the taste of failure that wouldn't leave my tongue.
Why me? Why couldn't I awaken?
The thought came again, unbidden. Darker this time. Heavier.
If I disappeared tomorrow, would anyone even care?
The next day, I went back to the guild. Not for a mission — just to sit, wait, and hope someone would hire me as a tagalong. Cheap labor. A disposable body.
That's all I was worth.
As the day dragged on, laughter erupted at another table. A party of young hunters were boasting about their success. They'd cleared a mid-tier dungeon, brought back rare loot. One of them slammed down a glowing sword, the others showering him with praise.
And then, I heard it again.
"Bellet," one of them sneered, loud enough for the whole hall to hear. "Why don't you just quit already? Hunters like you are just dead weight. You're not even awakened. You're a liability."
The guild roared with laughter.
My chest tightened. My vision blurred. I wanted to scream, to fight, to tell them they were wrong. But all I could do was sit there, staring at my bandaged hand, while shame ate me alive.
That night, lying awake in the dark, I realized the truth.
I wasn't a hunter.
I wasn't a warrior.
I wasn't anything.
I was just a man with nothing left to give.
And yet…
Deep down, something inside me whispered. A spark. A quiet, cruel voice that refused to let me break.
If the world won't give you power… then steal it.