The fluorescent lights of the Hunter's Association evaluation hall hummed with a monotonous drone, a sound that had become the soundtrack to your failures. You stood in line, the worn fabric of your regulation jacket feeling rough against your skin, a constant reminder of your place in this new world. Around you, other hunters joked and swaggered, their auras crackling with nascent power. You could feel the faint energy from the man in front, a C-Rank who looked barely out of his teens, and it was like standing next to a bonfire while you were merely a dying ember. Your own mana reserves were laughable, barely registering on the evaluation crystals.
"Next! Vareth, Kael." The administrator's voice was flat, bored. You stepped forward, placing your hand on the cold, smooth surface of the Assessment Orb. A familiar wave of humiliation washed over you as the results flickered to life above it, projecting in stark crimson for all to see. The numbers were pathetic: Strength: 12, Agility: 14, Endurance: 11, Mana: 9. A collective sigh rippled through the few hunters waiting behind you, followed by a snicker. You didn't need to turn to know who it was; Gregor, a D-Rank who never missed a chance to remind you of your F-Rank status.
Another failed monthly evaluation. Another month of scraping by on the most dangerous, lowest-paying raids—cleaning up residual mana pockets in gate-adjacent zones or escorting supply convoys to rural outposts. Real dungeon raids were a luxury you couldn't afford, not when your life was worth less than the repair cost for a decent piece of gear. As you collected your dismal stipend, the weight of your family's medical bills pressed down on you, heavier than any mythical beast. Your younger sister's illness was a rare condition, one that modern medicine couldn't touch, but the whispers said artifacts from the Myth Gates could. A fool's hope for a man who couldn't even kill a rank G goblin on his own. You walked out of the hall, the afternoon sun feeling weak against your chilled skin, your reflection in the glass doors showing a face worn thin by worry and a resolve that was beginning to fracture.
The cityscape blurred as you boarded the mag-lev train, a grim necessity that connected the fortified urban centers. You stared out at the sprawling concrete jungle, now dotted with shimmering, invisible walls of energy—the Myth Gates. Humanity had adapted, building its society around these portals to other worlds, these battlefields where the strong thrived and the weak were consumed. Your stop was the outer sector, a place where the buildings leaned against each other like tired old men and the air tasted of industrial fumes and the faint, metallic tang of residual mana. Each day you returned to this tiny apartment was a retreat from a world where your only value was measured in failed stats.
You pushed open the door to your apartment, the familiar scent of antiseptic and your mother's worry hitting you immediately. "Kael," she said, her voice soft but strained, looking up from the sterile kit she was organizing by your sister's bed. Inside, Lena lay propped up against pillows, her breathing shallow, her skin pale and clammy. She offered you a weak smile, her fingers trembling as she tried to wave. You forced a smile in return, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe. You placed the meager stipend on the small kitchen table, the sound of the few coins hitting the wood echoing the hollowness in your chest.
"The doctor said there's a new treatment," your mother began, not meeting your eyes. "An S-Rank guild is auctioning a 'Luminous Bloom' relic next week. They say it can restore fading life essence..." Her voice trailed off. She didn't need to finish. The price would be astronomical, a sum that would require a lifetime of F-Rank quests, or a single miracle raid. You looked at your sister, at the faint, bluish veins visible under her translucent skin, and a cold, hard resolve began to crystallize within the pit of your stomach. Rules were for people who could afford to follow them. You needed power, and you needed it now. A plan, desperate and insane, began to form in your mind as you watched the sun set, casting long shadows that looked like grasping claws across your small, desperate world.
That night, sleep offered no refuge. The world of your dreams was a chaotic storm of your sister's fading face, the snickering faces of stronger hunters, and the cold, hard numbers of your Evaluation Orb. The plan you'd concocted was pure madness: to enter a low-level gate solo, a place even F-Rank parties avoided without a healer. But the reward for clearing the abandoned sewers beneath the old industrial district was rumored to include a small cache of mana crystals. Not enough to save your sister, not by a long shot, but it was a start. A foothold. You were no hero, but in the suffocating silence of your room, staring at your trembling hands, you understood that survival itself had become an act of defiance.