"Kill this runt!"
Men in ragged clothes kicked at a young boy curled up on the ground.
"Didn't I tell you, brat? If you don't pay up, I'll peel your skin off piece by piece." A thug with a rough face spat, then drove his boot into the boy's stomach.
"Puah! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'll pay you soon!" The boy cried, clutching his belly.
"Listen to him squeal," another man sneered, smashing his fist against the boy's cheek. "Next time you hand us another excuse, I'll bash that pretty face flat."
"I'll let you live for now," the rough-faced thug said, spitting saliva over him. "But if you don't pay me in three days, you're dead."
The three men laughed as they walked off, leaving the boy bleeding on the dirt.
Leo groaned, curled up, his body screaming in pain. Bruises covered him, blood dripping from his mouth. After what felt like forever, he forced himself to move, pushing against the ground until he slowly stood, his muscles sore from the beating.
"Fuck*rs…" he spat blood to the side. "They were harsher this time, huh." His voice sounded almost casual, like he'd already gotten used to it.
Those three weren't random men. They were grunts from a local gang, self-proclaimed owners of the area where Leo lived. Since he couldn't pay their so-called "rent," the beating was the price.
Dragging his battered body, Leo forced himself to head home, the only place that gave him a shred of comfort.
He walked past cracked dirt roads and broken drainage that stank of rot, flies buzzing over piles of spoiled food that no one bothered to clean. He past drunkards passed out in the middle of the day. Trash piled in every corner, yet people still lived here, too many of them.
This was the slums, the place where the rejects, the broken, the hopeless gathered at the far corner of the city.
"Stinks, but familiar," Leo muttered with a small smile, forcing himself to stay positive. No matter what, he wouldn't end up like those drunkards who had already lost the will to live.
After walking for almost an hour, Leo finally reached the place he could still call his own. A tiny room, barely four square meters wide, just enough space for a single body and nothing more.
"Finally… home sweet home," he muttered with a tired grin.
The moment he stepped inside, Leo let his skinny frame drop to the ground, groaning as the bruises on his ribs flared. He lay there for a while, catching his breath, before weakly reaching into his pocket. His fingers touched something small and round, and he couldn't help but smile.
A single coin. His very last bit of money, hidden away after getting thrown out by his boss at the diner where he washed dishes and scrubbed floors.
"Heh… lucky me," he whispered, holding the coin up in the dim light. "They didn't notice this. At least I can get myself a cup of coffee tomorrow."
The thought gave him a flicker of comfort, though he knew it wouldn't last. Those gangsters had been squeezing him for 'fees' every few months, payment for staying in his own house. Of course, everyone knew it wasn't real rent. It was just extortion, and they targeted him because he was alone.
Resisting them was useless. In the slums, refusing meant ending up in a ditch by morning. And the authorities? They never came here. In this part of the city, there was no law. Only power decided who lived and who didn't.
"What a damn life," Leo muttered, staring at the cracked ceiling. He thought back to his boss, who threw him out with nothing but insults. "Said I stink… said my clothes were too filthy. Like I had a choice."
His stomach growled, reminding him how empty it was. He closed his eyes and sighed.
"I wish I had food… clean clothes… I wish I could eat anything I want. I wish I had money…"
His voice trailed off into the silence of the cramped little room.
That night, like so many before, Leo's mind wandered to the same dream, the same memory that had haunted him ever since he was twelve. The day his parents died in a monster attack.
They had lived in the slums too, clinging to life in the same little house made from scrap wood and tin. That was all they had left him, a fragile shelter that felt more like a reminder of loss than a home.
He could still remember the day it happened. The monsters broke through the outer walls of the city, and the slums, being right at the edge were the first to be torn apart. He had hidden then, a skinny boy crawling under piles of trash, trembling as roars and screams filled the air. From the cracks, he watched shadows of fangs and claws passing by, the ground shaking with every step.
He had stayed there for what felt like forever, curled up and waiting for death, until the awakeners finally arrived and cut the monsters down.
Later, someone told him they had seen his parents eaten alive. He hadn't even been able to say goodbye. From that moment, Leo's world shattered, and survival became his only goal.
He learned quickly that no one cared about an orphan from the slums. To eat, he had to work, no matter how young he was. Years slipped by as he scraped through job after job, washing dishes, hauling trash, running errands, nothing lasted long. To the world, he was just a tool, easily replaced.
And now, once again, he was left with nothing.
Leo clenched his fists, forcing his thoughts away. "No. No negative thinking today," he whispered to himself. "As long as I'm breathing, there's still hope."
Tomorrow would be his sixteenth birthday. The day every youth his age waited for, the day of awakening.
A single chance to rise above this life of dirt and hunger. If awakened, he could become a hunter, one of the heroes of humanity who fought back against the monsters. To awaken was to escape poverty, to finally grasp power, wealth, and freedom.
"Tomorrow… I'll definitely awaken," Leo told himself firmly, though his chest tightened at the thought of failure. "If I don't… then this life is as good as hopeless."
Exhaustion weighed heavy on his battered body. His eyes slowly closed, and before long, he drifted into sleep, clutching that fragile hope as though it was all he had left.