shadow

In the bustling city of Antreas, there stood a restaurant known as Urban Spatula. The establishment was popular among locals, thanks to its delicious food and excellent service.

Mounted on one of the walls inside was a medium-sized television, broadcasting a breaking news segment that immediately drew the attention of everyone present. The usual hum of conversation faded into silence.

"Viewers, a shocking update just in—from the world's top-ranked guild, Shadow. Known for their unbelievable feat of conquering Floors 71 through 80 in just two years, the guild has announced that they will be recruiting a new member… from the country of Anters."

"Even more surprising, they've opened the recruitment to all Hunters regardless of rank. This has caused a massive wave of applicants flocking to register."

"Isn't this suspicious?" muttered a customer to the two friends at his table. "Why would the strongest guild in the world need a new recruit?"

"Maybe they're looking for a scapegoat or a monster sacrifice, right?" one friend immediately replied.

"Could they be in cahoots with some dark force? That would explain why they need a sacrifice now of all times," said the other, shuddering.

"Seriously… four people cleared ten tower floors in just two years. The global community couldn't even pass Floor 70 in five years!" added another, sending chills down their spines.

Across the restaurant, a man sitting behind the cashier's desk quietly overheard the conversation. His crimson eyes fixed coldly on the chatting customers, silencing them with just a glance. He had messy white hair, cut short in jagged layers, with uneven bangs that fell over his forehead. His gaze alone was enough to unsettle anyone.

That man's name was Sean.

He shifted his gaze slightly toward the television screen, which displayed the image of the four members of Guild Shadow. His expression soured as his eyes lingered on one man in particular—Kael Zeaven.

Faint memories crept back from his high school days—of being bullied by the rich kids, with Kael standing behind them as their loyal lackey.

Sean quickly looked away, his attention returning to a customer paying their bill. He did his best to push those memories aside.

---

As night fell, Sean was tidying up, preparing to head home.

"Sean, can I see you for a moment?" called a middle-aged man from the back.

It was Rian, the owner of Urban Spatula—and Sean's boss.

A sense of dread twisted in Sean's gut as he approached.

"What is it, sir?"

"This is for you. Starting tomorrow… you don't need to come in anymore." Rian placed a brown envelope on the counter. Sean stared at it in silence before glancing at the man who had just fired him.

Rian walked away without another word, leaving only a parting remark: "This is for everyone's good. Go find a better job, Sean."

Sean stood frozen. His eyes glowed faintly red in the dim light, casting a sinister aura. He bowed slightly toward his boss, then picked up the envelope and walked out of the restaurant.

As Rian retreated into the back, he quickly pulled out his phone and made a call.

Beep.

"Hello? I've done what you asked."

"Don't worry, sir. We keep our promises. It was a pleasure working with you."

Beep.

Rian sighed heavily. He still had no idea why the Shadow Guild had requested Sean's dismissal. Even if they hadn't asked, he might've done it anyway. There was something… unsettling about Sean that made him uneasy.

---

The night deepened, cloaking the city in a biting cold. The streetlights glowed a pale yellow, unable to fully pierce the quiet darkness of the streets.

At one corner of a deserted sidewalk, a man sat alone. His back rested against a rusted metal bench.

Sean tilted his head back to stare at the star-filled sky. His crimson eyes had darkened further, reflecting the pain in his heart. His mind was in turmoil. Slowly, a single tear slid down his cheek, dripping from his chin into the cold night air.

He finally stood up with effort, dragging his tired body step by step toward home.

---

The door to a small house creaked open—Sean had returned.

The home measured only 10 by 10 meters, with a tiny bathroom extension. Still, Sean rushed to wash up. He was a clean and orderly man, no matter the circumstances.

Despite its size, the house was impeccably tidy—every item in its place.

The bathroom door opened again to reveal Sean freshly cleaned and dressed. He threw himself onto the bed, his thoughts spinning as he tried to figure out how to earn money and pay off his debts.

Above his bed, trophies from his school days lined the wall, but even their shine couldn't lift his spirits.

He gazed up at the dim ceiling light, eyes slowly shutting as though surrendering to the crushing weight in his chest.

---

Three months earlier…

A man opened his eyes for the first time in what felt like ages.

He blinked, confused, trying to remember what had happened. The last thing he recalled was walking into a convenience store—then chaos. A crack had split reality, and monsters had poured out from the Tower Catastrophe. Then… darkness.

"You're awake, Patient Sean," said a gentle voice. A doctor stood beside his hospital bed.

"W…wa…ter…" Sean's voice was hoarse. His throat burned with thirst.

The doctor immediately handed him a glass of water and helped him drink.

Once Sean had calmed down, the doctor's voice became more serious. "Are you in pain, Sean? Do you feel anything wrong with your body?"

Sean didn't answer. His eyes roamed the room until they landed on an electronic clock on the wall—its display included the full date and year.

His eyes widened. The date was XXXX, but the Tower accident had happened in XXXX—two years ago.

He had been in a coma.

"Sean, is anything hurting?" the doctor repeated.

Sean merely shook his head.

Understanding, the doctor let the question go and asked another. "Do you have any relatives? Family?"

Sean shook his head again, this time more firmly. He was an orphan, raised in an institution until middle school. After that, he had lived alone on the city's edge.

"I'm an orphan, Doc."

The doctor didn't look surprised—no one had visited Sean during his coma.

"I see. Let me explain. After the Tower incident, you've been in a coma for… two months."

Sean stayed quiet. He knew it had been two years. Maybe the doctor had misspoken—but Sean let it slide.

"When can I go home?" he asked softly.

"Two more weeks. Once your body stabilizes, you'll be discharged."

"Alright, then. I'll take my leave. I have other rounds." The doctor turned to go, unaware of the burning gaze behind him. Sean wasn't angry—his intense, hawk-like eyes had always been like that. A look that had caused people to avoid him his entire life.