The air was heavy with the smell of rot and blood.
Yulli crouched in the filth of the slums, trembling arms clasped around Charlotte's dead body. His fists were bunched into the ripped material of her gown, clinging as if he could prevent her from being torn from him. But she was gone.
The chill penetrated to his bones. The quiet overwhelmed him.
And then—
Her body moved.
Yulli's body tensed. His breath caught.
A shuddering, drawn-out breath from her lips.
And her lifeless, empty eyes opened.
"Did you achieve your dream by killing me, Yulli?"
A voice like dead embers.
His heart stopped.
"Killing your mother just to achieve your goal?"
The words crept around his neck like a hangman's noose. He wished to step back, to flee, to negate all—but his body would not respond. He was helpless.
Charlotte's mouth curled into a bitter, broken smile.
"You killer. Chasing your selfish dream and abandoning me."
Her voice became more strident, distorting, a clash of anger and sorrow.
"You oughta just died!"
A hand with claws extended, holding—
Yulli screamed.
And then—
He woke up.
His body sat up with a jerk, gasping, covered in sweat. His heart was pounding in his ears, his chest rising and falling in short, spasmodic gasps. His hands trembled violently, as though he still held something—someone—in them.
The dormitory room was dark, just the early light of dawn seeping through the window. It took a moment or two for reality to kick in.
It was just a nightmare.
From the other side of the room, a tired voice spoke up.
"Are you okay, Yulli?"
He turned, still catching his breath. His roommate, half-asleep, had propped himself up on his bed, eyeing him with mild concern.
"I'm fine—it was just a nightmare," Yulli muttered, running a shaky hand through his damp hair.
The roommate squinted at him for a moment, then sighed.
"Hmm—" he paused. "You know, you've been screaming a lot in your sleep ever since you got here. But… it's been happening less lately."
Yulli hesitated. He hadn't noticed.
"Sorry for causing trouble," he murmured.
"It's fine," the roommate yawned, flopping back onto his pillow. "You woke us up at the right time anyway. Today's the day for the trials."
Yulli stiffened.
The trials.
Right.
"Today is the day."
"Today is the day, cadets."
The voice of the instructor rang through the cold morning air, sharp as steel. A hundred breaths caught in a hundred throats.
"Today is the day where your skill—everything you have learned so far—will be put to the test."
The field was silent. The weight of his words pressed down on every soul standing there.
"This is not like your academic practicals. This is not a training drill. When you walk into the field, there is no safety net. No second chances. Out there, you will fight, and you might die."
His tone was unreadable—neither cruel nor kind. Just a statement of fact.
Everyone already knew. Their professors had drilled it into them. They had read the statistics. The life expectancy of a hunter is short. Most of them don't even make it past their fifth year.
Yet hearing it like this—so blunt, so final—made it real.
The instructor exhaled.
"But if you value your life, if you have even a shred of doubt—"
He raised a hand toward the massive gates behind them. The doors leading out.
"Then leave."
Murmurs broke out. Some flinched, shifting on their feet. No one had expected this.
"Walk away now, and you can return to the life of a commoner. A safe life. But if you choose to stay—if you choose to fight—then you do so knowing the risk. You will stand and fight. You will bleed. And if necessary, you will die for humanity."
A pause.
"Your choice."
Silence.
A heavy, suffocating silence.
Yulli could feel the hesitation in the air, thick with unspoken fear.
A few students lowered their gazes.
Then—one stepped back.
Then another.
And another.
The first few left quickly, heads down, shame lingering in their footsteps. But soon, the trickle turned into a steady stream. Some whispered apologies to their friends. Others didn't even look back.
Yulli didn't blame them.
He watched, his hands tightening into fists. He had read the casualty reports. He knew how many died every year—knew how often hunters were sent into missions they never returned from.
A hunter's life was cruel.
Fleeting.
Most of them would die without achieving anything.
So why was he still standing here?
His fingers twitched at his side.
He already knew the answer.
Because if he left now—if he turned his back and walked away—
What was Charlotte's death for?
Yulli inhaled sharply, pushing the thought down.
He looked around.
There had been two hundred of them this morning. By the time the gates creaked shut, only seventy-four remained.
A quiet, heavy exhale came from Roaches, who stood by the side, arms crossed. He watched the remaining cadets with unreadable eyes.
A weary voice called out from the opposite side of the room.
"Seventy-four.[1]" He muttered the number like a grim joke. "From two hundred. Hah… I expected worse."
The instructor turned back to the cadets who remained, his face unreadable.
"Very well. You have made your choice."
He nodded, stepping forward.
"Now let us see if you can live with it."
[1] There's a specific reason why it's 74! the number 4 is associated with death for Cantonese-speaking Chinese people. While I'm not Chinese but I do have Chinese friends to consult