Hunt/Dreams

The night was cruel.

The cold was a bit deeper than usual, a damp chill settling into Yulli's bones as he limped down the empty streets. Streetlamps flickered weakly, barely keeping the darkness at bay. The world around him blurred, his body moving on instinct more than awareness. Every step sent jolts of pain up his legs, his ribs aching with every shallow breath.

He wasn't sure how he was still standing.

Behind him, Muetaki had stopped walking, watching in silence. Yulli could feel his gaze like a heavy stone pressing against his back.

"Muetaki, I think I'm alright now." His voice barely carried in the night air.

Muetaki didn't reply at first, his sharp eyes scanning him, analyzing.

"...You're still tired," he finally said, his tone unreadable. "Come on, let me send you back home."

Yulli forced a small chuckle, shifting his weight onto his less-injured side. "It's fine. I can walk on my own. Besides, I don't want you going through the slums."

Muetaki's frown deepened. "But—"

"It's fine." Yulli cut him off, voice quieter this time. "Thanks for saving my life just now. I'll make sure to repay you another time."

He didn't wait for a response.

He didn't want to.

Turning his back to Muetaki, Yulli walked away, forcing his legs to move, forcing himself to keep going despite every muscle in his body screaming at him to collapse.

Muetaki didn't follow.

But Yulli knew he was still watching.

Even now, he could feel the weight of his gaze, the silent judgment, the unspoken questions.

But Yulli couldn't deal with that right now.

Not when every part of him was breaking.

By the time he reached home, the sky had turned even darker, the moon a ghostly sliver behind the heavy clouds.

His house looked just as it always did—small, old, barely holding together. A few of the wooden panels were warped from the rain, and the door creaked painfully when he pushed it open.

It didn't matter.

Nothing mattered.

As he stepped inside, a weak voice called out from the other room.

"Yulli, is that you?"

His heart clenched.

He forced himself to straighten up, fixing his posture even as his body begged for rest.

He walked toward the voice, his steps slow, deliberate.

Pushing the door open, he was greeted by the sight of his mother, her thin frame propped up against a pillow, golden hair tied to one side. Her crimson eyes brightened for a moment when she saw him, but her expression quickly fell when she took in his bruises.

"Yulli, you're back!" she coughed, her voice fragile.

He swallowed, walking to her bedside and gently taking her frail hand in his own.

"Mother," he murmured. "How's the infection rate?"

She smiled weakly. "The doctor said it was stabilized for now."

"But the symptoms haven't reverted," he said quietly, his eyes flickering to the dark flame-like markings consuming the left side of her face. "The marks haven't changed for weeks."

"It's fine, dear," she reassured him, her tone light, but Yulli could hear the exhaustion beneath it. "As long as I take my medication, I should be okay. Your mother is strong!"

Lies.

He glanced to the side, where a table was cluttered with herbs, ointments, and half-empty medicine bottles.

"Mother," he started, voice low, "have you paid the doctor?"

"Of course I did!" she said quickly.

Yulli exhaled, relieved.

"Thank God. I'm glad I'm still in the program and the Cathedral is covering your meds."

His mother hesitated for a moment before her eyes softened. "Speaking of that… what happened to you?" Her gaze traced over his bruised skin, the swelling on his jaw, the dried blood at his temple. "Why do you look hurt?"

Yulli froze.

Then—he laughed.

A weak, hollow laugh.

"Oh, this?" He waved a hand dismissively. "Training's just been pretty chaotic lately, haha!"

His mother frowned, unconvinced.

"Hmm, kids these days are too rough!" she huffed, though there was a hint of amusement in her tone. "But that's expected. If you want to become a Hunter, you need to be prepared for worse."

Yulli stiffened.

His mother's voice faded into the background as memories of the fight crashed over him.

The crowd screaming for blood.

The way they had believed in him.

The way he had believed in himself.

Only for it all to come crashing down.

He could still feel the moment his weapon shattered against Bruce's skull.

The moment reality set in.

The moment he lost.

"How was school?" his mother asked.

Yulli forced a smile.

"School was fun," he said, his voice light, casual. "I had fun with my friends today."

Lies.

"I'm doing well so far."

More lies.

His mother studied him for a long moment.

"...Are you sure, dear?"

No.

"Of course, Mother."

He let go of her hand and stepped back.

"I'm exhausted, and next week is the practical test," he said, his tone shifting slightly, his exhaustion slipping into his voice. "I need some rest."

He forced a grin. "So I'll be going now, okay?"

His mother hesitated.

"...Alright, dear."

She didn't believe him.

But she let him go.

Yulli walked out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

And then—

He stopped.

His hands trembled. His legs refused to move any further.

Slowly, he slid down, his back pressed against the door.

The weight of everything crashed over him all at once.

The pain. The exhaustion. The shame.

He pressed his face into his hands, fingers digging into his scalp.

This was his last chance.

And he was failing.

His body shook.

But no tears fell. 

A week before the test