Reality

The ceiling tiles became Fin's best friends during the next few hours. Thirty-two squares in total—he'd counted them twice—with one water stain in the corner that looked vaguely like a turtle. The beeping machines next to his bed provided the soundtrack to his misery, each ping reminding him he was still alive, despite feeling like death warmed over.

When the door finally creaked open, Fin turned his head slightly, wincing at the pain that shot through his neck. A doctor strode in, clipboard in hand, looking tired but professional in her white coat. Her name tag read "Dr. Amara," and she wore thin-rimmed glasses that caught the harsh hospital lights.

"Mr. Carver, yes?" she asked, glancing from her clipboard to his battered face. "How are we feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a truck. Then the truck backed up and hit me again," he croaked, his throat dry and scratchy.

Dr. Amara's lips twitched into what might have been a smile. "Well, that's pretty accurate, considering your injuries." She flipped through her papers. "Three broken ribs, fractured right clavicle, dislocated shoulder, broken nose, multiple lacerations, severe bruising, and a concussion. Frankly, Mr. Carver, you're lucky to be alive."

"Lucky," he repeated, the word tasting bitter in his mouth. "That's me. Walking good luck charm."

"The human body is surprisingly resilient," she continued, checking the monitors. "You should make a full recovery in about six weeks, with proper rest and care."

"Six weeks?" Fin tried to sit up but immediately regretted it as pain lanced through his chest. "I can't—I have to be at the Guild tomorrow. 8 AM sharp."

The doctor raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid that's not happening. You can barely move."

"But I just joined. They'll kick me out if I don't show," he protested, panic rising in his throat.

"They'll have to understand. I'll provide medical documentation." She made a note on her clipboard, then cleared her throat. "Now, about your bill..."

His heart sank even further, if that was possible. "Bill?"

Dr. Amara adjusted her glasses. "Yes. For treatment, medication, the bed, surgical procedures to set your bones—it comes to 47,500 credits."

The number hit him like another punch to the gut. "Forty-seven thousand...?"

He'd never even seen that much money in his life. Back in the slums, he'd been lucky to scrape together fifty credits for a hot meal. And now, in less than a day, he'd lost all his cash, his dignity, and apparently had racked up a debt that would take him centuries to pay off.

"Do you have insurance? Or Guild coverage?" Dr. Amara asked, watching his face pale.

"I... just registered today. I don't think it would be activated yet," he mumbled, staring at his bandaged hands. They looked alien to him, wrapped in white gauze.

The doctor sighed. "I see. Well, we can discuss payment plans. The hospital offers several options for those in... difficult situations." Her eyes softened slightly. "Rest for now. A financial counselor will visit tomorrow."

After she left, Fin lay there, staring back at his beloved ceiling tiles. How had everything gone so wrong so fast? One minute he was celebrating passing the Guild test, the next he was broken and broke in a hospital bed.

"Great job, Fin," he muttered to himself. "Really stellar first day as a Hunter."

His gaze drifted to the small table beside his bed. Among the medical supplies sat his Hunter Guild book—surprisingly unharmed, just a little dirty from the alley. The nurse must have brought it in with his things.

With a grunt of pain, he reached over and grabbed it, settling it on his lap. The cover was worn leather, with "HUNTER BASICS: DON'T DIE EDITION" embossed in faded gold letters. A cheerful skull and crossbones decorated the corner.

"Real encouraging," he snorted, but flipped it open anyway. He wasn't going anywhere, and reading beat counting ceiling tiles for the third time.

The first chapter was titled "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON: A PRIMER FOR CLUELESS NEWBIES." Despite himself, Fin snorted. At least whoever wrote this had a sense of humor.

He began to read, images and words swimming before his eyes as pain medication made his vision blur occasionally. But slowly, he absorbed the information, turning pages with his less-injured hand.

According to the book, there were two main types of monster entry points in their world: Abyss Gates and Dungeons. They weren't the same thing at all, which surprised him—he'd always lumped them together in his mind.

Dungeons, the book explained, were permanent fixtures—holes in reality that spawned monsters regularly but predictably. They could be cleared, maintained, farmed for resources. Some had even been converted into training grounds once they were under control.

Abyss Gates, though? Those were the real problem. They opened randomly every few years, without warning, spewing out hordes of monsters far stronger than anything from the Dungeons. And each time they appeared, the monsters grew stronger, evolving in ways that scientists still couldn't explain.

"Great," he mumbled. "So they get nastier every time. Awesome."

The next chapter detailed how people awakened their powers. Some through near-death experiences—their bodies' last-ditch survival mechanism kicking in. Others used drugs—expensive, dangerous, and often illegal. The wealthy had access to awakening machines, technology that could force powers to manifest with a higher chance of success.

But a small percentage—less than two percent of the population—awakened naturally. Fin paused at this section, reading it twice. He was one of those rare few. His Absorption ability had just... happened. No trauma, no drugs, just one day while moving scrap, he'd touched a dead rat and felt... something. Gross, but apparently special.

The Hunter rankings went from F to Z, with multiple S-ranks in between. F-ranks were the bottom-feeders, barely above civilians. E-ranks took on small jobs, usually cleaning up messes rather than making them. D-ranks handled minor monsters, C-ranks tougher ones, and so on up the chain.

S-ranks were where things got interesting—heroes, basically. The ones on posters and cereal boxes. Above them were the SS-ranks, SSS-ranks, SSSS-ranks, and SSSSS-ranks, each level exponentially more powerful and rare.

And then... X and Z. The book got vague here, just saying they were "beyond conventional understanding" and "approached mythical status." There were apparently only three Z-rank Hunters in the entire world, and no one had actually seen them fight in the past 2 years.

"Holy shit, just how strong are these guys?"

He continued and his eyes widened at a section about city rankings. Arclight, the place he'd thought was the center of everything, was listed as a "Tier 3" city—one of the smaller ones on the planet. There were mega-cities that dwarfed it, places where A-rank Hunters were as common as D-ranks were here.

"You've got to be kidding me," he whispered, turning the page to see a map of the world, dotted with cities far larger than Arclight. Places he'd never even heard of, with populations in the tens of millions, all protected by Hunters stronger than anything he'd seen.

His world, which had seemed so vast just yesterday, suddenly felt tiny.

He read until his eyes burned and the words blurred together, the pain medication making him drowsy. The book slipped from his fingers as sleep claimed him, his dreams filled with Abyss Gates and monster hordes.

Morning came too soon, harsh sunlight streaming through the thin curtains. Fin blinked awake, momentarily confused by the white walls and beeping machines before reality crashed back—the beating, the hospital, the astronomical bill.

"How's the world looking today?" he asked himself, voice rough with sleep. "Still terrible? Yeah, thought so."

He stared at the ceiling, thoughts churning. Was his view of the world wrong? Had he been too complacent, thinking life would somehow get better just because he'd passed some test? The slums had taught him to expect the worst, but somehow, he'd let hope creep in anyway.

The book lay open on his lap, mocking him with its knowledge. All those ranks, all those powerful Hunters, and here he was—an F-rank nobody with broken bones and an impossible debt.

But something else stirred beneath the self-pity—something hot and sharp, like the edge of a blade. Anger. Not just at the kids who'd beaten him, but at himself, at the system, at the whole damn world that seemed determined to keep him down.

"Is that how it's gonna be?" he muttered, closing the book with more force than necessary. "Fine. Let's play."

He might be at the bottom now—broken, broke, and barely hanging on—but he'd been at the bottom his whole life. And if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was survive.

The nurse came in to check his vitals, and he managed a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. "Hey," he croaked, "any chance I could get a message to the Hunter Guild?"