Fourteen years had passed since that night.
The world had changed beyond recognition since then — Gates opening like storms, Hunters becoming soldiers of survival, and danger becoming something people learned to live with. Mateo had grown up in that new world, trained by the system, shaped by loss he barely understood, carrying memories that refused to fade.
Mateo had just steadied his breathing when his phone vibrated sharply against the table.
Not gently.
Urgently.
The screen lit up in harsh white light, flooding the dark room with notifications stacked on top of each other. New Gate detected. Emergency response requested. Support unit needed immediately. The map pulsed with a red mark not far from his location.
Mateo sighed.
He moved.
This was the rhythm of his life now.
Boots on while reading details. Jacket pulled over his shoulders as coordinates loaded. He grabbed his healer kit without thinking, fingers tightening around the worn strap the same way they always did.
Mateo's gaze lowered to his wrist.
The black bracelet beads rested there as they always had — simple, matte, almost ordinary in appearance. To anyone else, it was just an accessory. Something worn out of habit. Something easily forgotten.
But he had worn it for as long as he could remember.
Since he was a child.
Through scraped knees and schoolyard fights. Through sleepless nights and his awakening. Through every Gate he had stepped into.
He had never taken it off.
Not because he was sentimental.
Not because it held visible meaning.
He simply couldn't.
The bracelet was never tight. It didn't irritate his skin. It didn't weigh him down. It just… remained. As though it had settled into place
By the time he stepped outside, transport sirens were already echoing through the streets.
Minutes later, he was rushing through blocked roads, past barricades glowing with warning runes, past soldiers and low-rank Hunters forming defensive lines while higher-ranked squads prepared to enter the Gate.
The air near it buzzed with unnatural pressure, a swirling wall of distorted space hanging between broken buildings like a wound in reality.
No matter how many times Mateo saw one, it never felt normal.
Inside was never normal.
The moment they crossed the boundary, heat and mana slammed into them like a storm. The terrain shifted into twisted stone corridors filled with echoing growls and the wet sound of claws scraping rock. Monsters surged from the darkness almost immediately.
Steel clashed. Abilities flared. Shouts rang out.
Mateo stayed behind the front line, heart pounding while chaos exploded only meters away.
A Hunter went down with a deep slash across his chest.
Mateo was already there.
Green light spilled from his hands as flesh knit back together, pain fading into shock.
Another screamed as a broken leg twisted wrong.
Another collapsed from mana exhaustion.
Mateo moved nonstop.
Heal. Stabilize. Heal again. Seal wounds. Restart hearts that threatened to stop.
Blood soaked his gloves. Sweat blurred his vision.
Every Gate was the same.
Every raid was a blur of violence and survival.
Sometimes they cleared it in minutes.
Sometimes it took hours.
Sometimes they lost people.
By the time the final monster fell and the Gate began to collapse inward, Mateo's mana was nearly empty and his arms trembled from overuse.
But there was never time to rest.
Because another alert always came.
Another location.
Another fight.
Another batch of wounded Hunters waiting for him.
Some days he entered two Gates.
Some days three.
Once, he had been dragged into five before collapsing unconscious in a transport truck.
This was the cycle of a Hunter.
Wake up.
Fight death.
Patch the broken.
Repeat.
Over and over again.
Until exhaustion became normal.
Until danger felt like background noise.
Until the world stopped feeling peaceful.
Days blurred together like this — one Gate bleeding into the next — until another morning came.
Bzzzz. Bzzzz.
Mateo reached for his phone just as it vibrated against the small wooden table beside his bed.
Once.
Then again.
Hunter Association alerts.
They never stopped anymore.
The screen lit up, flooding with notifications layered over each other — emergency warnings, Gate activity, cleared zones, casualty updates. Mateo rubbed the sleep from his eyes and scrolled slowly, already familiar with the rhythm of bad news.
Threat Level II Gate — civilian area secured.
Threat Level III — heavy resistance encountered.
Threat Level IV — raid ongoing. Support units deployed.
Beside each alert were names of strike teams, medics, collectors, and response squads. Some Hunters were already marked in gray — injured. A few names carried the red symbol.
Fatal.
Mateo swallowed and kept scrolling.
Another Gate had opened near the coast overnight. Evacuation orders were still active. Transportation lines rerouted. Markets closed in the danger zone.
Life adjusting itself around monsters — just another morning.
His thumb paused when he reached the support unit lists.
Healers were always sent in waves, rotated depending on stamina and mana levels. The stronger healers went deep inside the Gates. The lower ranks like Mateo usually stayed on perimeter duty or post-raid recovery.
He scanned carefully.
Once.
Twice.
His name wasn't there.
He scrolled again just to be sure.
Still nothing.
A quiet breath escaped him.
Not assigned today.
Part of him relaxed. Another part of him always felt strange when he wasn't needed — like a firefighter watching smoke rise from a distance.
Ever since the Gate system was created, every Hunter's life revolved around these alerts. Days weren't measured by hours anymore — they were measured by raids survived.
Mateo locked the screen and leaned back for a moment, listening to distant sirens far across the city.
Another Gate.
Another fight.
Another day the world barely held together.
"Well," he murmured, grabbing his healer kit, "guess I'm on street duty."
If he wasn't healing Hunters inside Gates…
Then he'd be healing people where the fighting never really stopped.
The Boulevard.
Mateo slung his healer kit across his shoulder and stepped out into the early light of the city. The sky was still soft with morning haze, the kind that made everything feel calm — a lie the world told itself before chaos woke up properly.
The Boulevard was already alive.
It stretched across several blocks like a permanent battleground stitched into the heart of the city. Broken pavement had been patched so many times it looked like a scarred warrior. Food stalls lined the sides beside weapon shops, potion vendors, armor repair booths, and cheap mana drink stands that promised miracles and delivered headaches.
Hunters gathered here every day.
Some fresh from Gates. Some looking for work. Some looking for trouble.
And trouble always found them.
A crash echoed down the street as someone was slammed into a parked truck. Metal bent with a shriek. Shouts erupted. Mana flared like colored flames as two Hunters squared off, weapons half-drawn.
"Round three! Round three!" someone yelled like it was entertainment.
Mateo sighed.
"Too early for this nonsense."
He walked straight toward the forming fight.
Before anyone could throw the next blow, Mateo raised his voice.
"Oi! If you're gonna kill each other, at least move away from the noodle stand. I'm not healing burns and broken bones for free again."
A few people turned.
Then more.
Recognition spread fast.
"Dr. Kwak!"
"Healer's here!"
"Ah damn… party's over."
The two Hunters froze mid-stance.
One of them — bleeding from the eyebrow — groaned. "Bro, not him…"
Mateo pushed between them, already glowing faintly as soft green light wrapped around his hands.
"You," he pointed at the taller one, "dislocated shoulder."
Then at the other, "fractured knuckle, minor skull crack, and you're dehydrated. Again."
The second Hunter blinked. "How do you even—"
Mateo pressed glowing fingers against his head. "Drink water sometime."
Warm energy surged.
Bone slid back into place with a dull pop. Cuts closed like they were being erased. Bruises faded.
The taller Hunter flexed his arm in disbelief. "Man… every time. You're a miracle worker."
Mateo smirked. "No. I'm a walking hospital with anxiety."
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
The taller Hunter flexed his arm again, testing the joint.
"Seriously," he muttered, flexing his arm. "How are you still D-rank? With healing like that… you could rival some A-ranks."
A murmur passed through.
Mateo rolled his eyes. "Because glowing hands don't impress the System."
"That's not just glowing hands," the scarred Hunter said, narrowing his eyes. "You're not like the other healers."
Mateo adjusted the strap of his kit. "I'm a regenerative support. Biological restoration type. That's it." That's what the System labeled him.
"That's not it," the woman he'd just healed said. "My cousin's a healer too. She needs time to chant. And cooldown time. You just… touch people."
Mateo hesitated.
It was always awkward explaining it.
"My ability channels mana directly into damaged cells," he said casually. "Accelerates natural regeneration. Bone, muscle, skin, internal bleeding. As long as you're not already dead, I can usually fix it."
"Usually?" someone echoed.
He smirked faintly. "Lost limbs are expensive. Crushed organs are annoying. And if your heart fully stops for more than a minute…" He tapped his own chest. "That's beyond my pay grade."
Silence followed that.
Then the scarred Hunter crossed his arms. "So why are you still D-rank?"
Mateo's smile didn't change.
"Because I can't blow up a mountain," he said simply. "And I can't fight."
It was true.
His mana pool was above average. His control was precise. His healing output was unusually fast.
But the System didn't reward support types the same way it rewarded destruction.
No flashy combat ability.
No boss kills.
No damage contribution.
Just survival.
He picked up the empty mana drink bottle and tossed it into a nearby bin.
"I keep idiots alive," he said lightly. "That's my superpower."
The tension broke. Laughter returned.
The laughter faded, but the question lingered in the air longer than anyone noticed.
Why are you still D-rank?
Mateo turned slightly away from them, pretending to reorganize the vials in his kit.
He had asked himself that before.
Not out loud.
Just in the quiet moments between Gates.
'My ability channels mana directly into damaged cells.'
That was what the System labeled it when he first awakened.
Regenerative Support — Biological Restoration Type.
Normal.
Common.
Replaceable.
At least… that's what he had always assumed.
But over the years, he had noticed small things.
Other healers needed chants. Or circles. Or potions to amplify output.
Some had strict cooldowns.
Some couldn't heal internal damage without preparation.
Mateo didn't.
He just… did it.
No incantation.
No visible strain unless he drained his mana completely.
Even the way wounds closed under his hands sometimes felt too clean. Too precise.
He flexed his fingers slightly, watching the faint green shimmer flicker and disappear.
Huh.
'Why does my healing work like this?'
For years, he never questioned it.
He was young when he awakened. He had no one to compare himself to closely. He just assumed this was how healing worked.
People were injured.
He healed them.
That was it.
Normal.
Right?
He shrugged the thought away almost immediately.
Overthinking never saved anyone inside a Gate.
If it works, it works.
And if the System says he's D-rank…
Then he's D-rank.
Mateo snapped his healer kit shut.
"Alright," he said, clapping once. "Who else broke something stupid?"
The Boulevard noise swallowed the moment whole.
And whatever question had tried to surface sank quietly back down.
For now.
But a few of the older Hunters exchanged glances.
Because they knew.
High-speed cellular regeneration without incantations or ritual delay wasn't common.
And Mateo did it without even trying.
Fights always ended when Mateo arrived. Not because he was scary — but because nobody wanted to hurt the one person who kept them alive after Gates went wrong.
Even enemies respected him.
Sometimes especially enemies.
A rough-looking Hunter with scars down his neck tossed Mateo a mana drink. "For your trouble, Doc."
Mateo caught it easily. "You're still banned from fighting near food stalls."
The man laughed. "Worth a try."
Around them, the Boulevard buzzed — collectors bragging about loot, injured Hunters lining up for quick healing, vendors yelling prices, distant sirens marking another Gate opening somewhere in the city.
This place was chaos.
But it was Mateo's chaos.
Here, he wasn't a low-rank healer.
He was Dr. Kwak — the one person everyone trusted when blood started spilling.
As Mateo finished sealing a deep gash on a woman's arm, he glanced up at the massive screens mounted on a nearby building. Live Gate updates flashed across them in glowing text.
Another Threat Level IV confirmed.
Another raid underway.
Somewhere, people were fighting monsters again.
And here he was, keeping the world stitched together one wound at a time.
Mateo exhaled slowly.
"Just another normal day," he murmured.
Bzzzz. Bzzz.