He walked.

  No destination. Just away—from the vendor, from the river, from the version of himself that had tasted wrong and called it fine not to get caught.

  I'm not that person anymore.

  The thought should have been freeing. Instead, it felt like falling.

  Under the shade of the Seoul Saenggaengmaru (J-Bug or the beetle building, cultural center) a couple sat on the grass. The girl fed a bite to her boyfriend.

  Could Jiyoon and I ever be like that?

  He sighed. Was he really wishing that?

  He sniffed the air, his stomach growled again. The smell of hamburgers from a food truck made him hungry. Seungho ordered a dozen cheeseburgers and sat on a bench facing the fountain.

  Water shot up in rhythm to music he couldn't hear. Families watched. Couples took photos.

  He just ate.

  Just chewed and swallowed and let the grease fill the spaces where the sadness used to live.

  This is better. This is easier.

  He wasn't sure if that was true. But it felt true right now.

  His body relaxed. Finally.

  the sunlight caressed his face gently with his warm rays. The close connection with nature made him feel alive.

  It was strange to think it all came from faulty blood.

  Surrounded by the wraps of the cheeseburgers he realized he was still full of energy. Eating helped and didn't make him tired like it used to. A passerby, an old lady, complained to him about the trash he was making.

  He got up from the bench to apologize and clean up. As soon as he stood up, the lady stepped backward, unsteady on her feet. He tried to grab her arm so that she wouldn't fall.

  She slapped his hand as hard as she managed. He promptly retracted his hand in shock.

  He decided to stay still, the least threatening pose he could take for her to have the time to leave.

  Was that because he looked like a hunter? Or because he grew up physically too much, more than he was aware? What was going on? Before something like that would have never happened to him....

  It was weird for Seungho to imagine himself as a potential threat, not even sure of what kind. And it was even weirder that hunters, people who are hailed as the future saviors of humanity, would be treated like this.

  After all, he looked normal. He was still human.

  Seungho thought he was going to get upset, maybe he was a little, but also realized he didn't care. He was in a too good mood to let an old lady spoil it. So he finished collecting his trash and threw it in the trash.

  He slapped his palms, "done!" And was on his way.

  He walked on the banks near the water. The river whispered behind him—soft, constant, like it had something to say.

  Ahead, the city gleamed with towers full of people on the other side of the water who'd never know what he'd become.

  Should he disappear? No, that thought didn't make sense. It was just a whim of the mind. It didn't shake him.

  His phone buzzed. Jiyoon again. He didn't look.

  For the first time in years, his mind was quiet. No static. No fog. Just the sound of his own feet on the path, the breeze through the trees.

  Is this what 'normal' feels like?

  He didn't know. He'd never had normal. Not really. There had always been the static, the weight, the sense that something was wrong with him.

  Now that it was gone, he felt... light. Hollow, almost. Like something had been scooped out and replaced with air.

  He passed a family sharing snacks. A father tossing a ball to a child. A mother unpacking Kimbap (Korean sushi rolls). They didn't look at him. Didn't flinch. Didn't know.

  Not everyone noticed the changes in him like the old lady did. He was still Seungho.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  He inhaled deeply to seal that moment of realization.

  There was something more urgent he needed to deal with. His situation at work. What was going to do? Could he continue working at the company...like this?

  He looked at his hands inspecting for any sign of hunter. A detail that would betray his nature.

  The screen flickered at the edge of his vision.

  He stopped walking. Blinked. It was still there—a faint glow, like a phone screen in a dark room, but sharper. Cleaner. Wrong.

  [JOB CHANGE REQUEST: AVAILABLE]

  [CURRENT: FLAVOR DESIGNER (ENTRY-LEVEL)]

  [STATUS: ON PROBATION]

  [SATISFACTION: 23%]

  He blinked. The text didn't vanish.

  [OPTION 1: QUEST "Confront Kang Yoo at the office"]

  [REWARD: CLOSURE | DIFFICULTY: HIGH | EMOTIONAL DAMAGE: PROBABLE]

  Emotional damage? What kind of system is this?

  [OPTION 2: GRIND "Leave silently. Do not return."]

  [REWARD: FREEDOM | DIFFICULTY: LOW | REGRET: POSSIBLE]

  Those are my choices? Fight or run?

  And what kind of quest is a grind if it about choosing to leave??

  He waited for more. For a third option. For something that felt right.

  Is this some sort of joke?!

  He scuffed.

  What happened to cool powers?

  A bird screeched overhead.

  I mean, like, really?!

  A whoosh behind him. He turned instinctively, unnaturally fast. Nothing. But something was there. Pressure.

  He turned back, the screen was gone.

  Did I imagine that?

  He didn't think so. But he couldn't explain it either.

  I better start walking.

  ***

  He walked for a while.

  I used to come here when I was a child. Before everything.

  Then he felt it again. A pressure. A weight behind his skull. Not pain, just presence. Like someone was standing behind him, breathing down his neck.

  He spun around. He scrutinized the area around him, with sharp eyes, scanning bit by bit.

  Now, the couple on the bench was staring. The man's jaw was tight. His hand had moved to his girlfriend's shoulder—protective. She looked at the ground, away from him, like eye contact might be dangerous.

  What did I do?

  He felt a little helpless.

  He kept walking. Faster now. Past more people. A mother with a stroller, she pulled it closer. An old man on a bench, he muttered something Seungho couldn't hear, an expression of disgust.

  Seungho felt it. The weight of it. Their fear.

  They know. They can smell it. They can tell what I am.

  He wanted to run away now.

  He was almost to the street when a hand landed on his shoulder.

  He spun, fists raised, heart hammering—ready for a fight he didn't know how to win without causing serious damage.

  The man stepped back, palms up.

  "Easy. We're hunters."

  Two of them. Clean suits. Calm eyes. The kind of calm that came from seeing worse things than him and walking away anyway.

  "You're fresh," the taller one said. "Days old. Maybe less. The blood's still settling."

  Seungho's throat tightened. "How do you know?"

  "We can smell it." The shorter one smiled. Not warm, not cold. Just... sure. Like he'd done this a hundred times. "Also, you're walking through a park full of families with that look on your face."

  "You sure scary old people for sure, those who never imagined to live in an age with hunters."

  "Who are you?" asked Seungho slightly growling. He simply couldn't help it. But immediately regretted it. He didn't want to be like that.

  "Scouts." The tall one reached into his jacket. Seungho tensed. The man raised an eyebrow.

  "Relax. It's just a card."

  He held it out. Simple. White. A name and a number.

  "You need training. At least evaluation and soon."

  "Why?"

  Seungho attitude changed. He was now calm, in control. He chose to come down and he simply did.

  The shorter one's smile faded. "Because hunters who don't train go berserk. The rage. The sadness. That's not just failure—that's biology. The blood builds up. Changes you. If you don't learn to control it, it controls you."

  Seungho thought of the hunters in the pit. Their eyes. Their fury. Their grief.

  That could be me. In a month. In a week.

  Seungho looked at the card again. 'Entre' must be the name of the agency. The name sounded familiar, but it could have been because of the origin of the word, 'Entrepreneur'.

  "We're not the only agency," the tall one said. "There are others. Better ones, maybe. But we found you first. That counts for something."

  "Think about it." The short one again. "But don't think too long. The blood doesn't wait."

  They turned and walked away. Didn't look back.

  Seungho stood there, card in hand, watching them disappear into the crowd.

  What just happened?

  Seungho looked again up in the air. The screen had reappeared.

  [JOB CHANGE REQUEST: AVAILABLE]

  [OPTION 3: AWAKEN "Become a Combat Hunter"]

  [REWARD: -- | DIFFICULTY: -- | REGRET: --]

  Is that what you are here for?

  ***

  He didn't remember the walk home. One moment he was at the park; the next, he was leaning against his front door, breathless.

  He locked the door. Leaned against it. Breathed.

  There was something out in the river. Something that made his blood hum. Something still silent that scared him.

  The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. He heard his heartbeat loudly knocking against his ribcage.

  He took the card out of his pocket. He flipped it between his fingers.

  It moved easily—too easily. His hands were faster now. More precise. The card danced across his knuckles without him even thinking about it.

  When did I learn to do that?

  Did he? That was the scariest part.

  He stripped off his shirt in front of the mirror. His body looked the same.

  Same arms. Same chest. Same face.

  But something was off. The way the light hit his skin. The way his muscles moved underneath. Like he was wearing himself wrong.

  He reached up. Scratched his arm. Just an itch.

  He pinched a small area on his forearm. A piece of skin came off.

  Not a flake. A strip. Pink. Wet. Underneath, muscle. Alive.

  He froze. Watched. Waited for blood that didn't come.

  The wound sealed. The edges pulled together like a zipper closing. New skin grew, slow as a sunrise, pink fading to match the rest of him.

  He slid down the wall. Sat on the bathroom floor. Stared at his arm.

  I'm not human anymore. Not completely.

  An hour passed. Maybe more. He didn't check.

  Then he took out the card. Dialed.

  One ring. Two.

  "This is Entre. How may I help you?" A woman's voice.

  "I met two scouts today and they gave me their card, and they said I should call…"

  what the hell, I sound like in kindergarden.

  He face flushed from embarrassment.

  "Tomorrow. Eight a.m. Don't be late."

  The polite tone dropped. Replaced by a commanding one.

  The line went dead.

  He looked at his phone.

  A message from Jiyoon, sent hours ago. He hadn't even noticed the notification.

  He didn't open it.

  Tomorrow. I'll be someone else tomorrow.