Chapter 4: The Light That Burns and the Shadow That Follows

It wasn’t surprising.
If anything, school was the least of it — out in the real world, he’d face far worse discrimination.
The Hunter industry was a brutal meritocracy, where power was everything.
Even a C-rank was treated like a pebble on the ground, barely allowed into a Gate raid party.
So what chance did powerless Yu Hee-ro have?

When people first discovered he had an S-rank ability, they’d probably tripped over themselves trying to get close to him.
But once they realized he couldn’t actually use that power, their interest must’ve faded fast.
Eventually, that curiosity would’ve turned into envy and resentment — Why would someone like him get an S-rank ability? — and the bullying would’ve followed naturally.

It was such a predictable situation that Ji-woo couldn’t even bring himself to scoff.
Maybe this very upbringing was what twisted Hee-ro into a villain in the first place.
At the age when he should’ve been growing and learning alongside others, he’d only been shunned and blamed.
Anyone’s heart would rot from that.

Especially the wounds of adolescence — they were the hardest to heal.
He must’ve been in pain for a long time.
The Hunter world was suffocating, built on connections — academic, regional, or blood ties — and outsiders didn’t stand a chance.

Ji-woo deliberately threw an arm around Hee-ro’s shoulder and walked toward the cafeteria line.
Hee-ro kept his eyes fixed on the floor the entire way.

“Did you do something wrong?”

While Ji-woo exchanged cheerful greetings with the cafeteria ladies, Hee-ro looked like he was attending his own funeral.
When they finally sat down, Ji-woo couldn’t help but ask, setting his tray on the table.

Hee-ro mumbled, barely audible.
“…I don’t know.”

“If you don’t know, then who does?”

“…”

“If you’ve got nothing to feel guilty about, sit up straight.”

At Ji-woo’s firm tone, Hee-ro slowly sat down.
He darted a glance at Ji-woo, then buried his head over his tray again.
Ji-woo assumed the students’ whispering was because Hee-ro had dared show up in the cafeteria.

But in truth, it was the opposite.
Hee-ro wasn’t even someone they cared enough to bully anymore — he’d been reduced to indifference.
The real center of attention was Ji-woo.
And since that Ji-woo had walked in with powerless Yu Hee-ro at his side, all eyes were glued to them.

Especially because Ji-woo was known for never showing interest in anyone else.
So people couldn’t help wondering — why him, of all people?

“You’re going to give yourself indigestion eating with that much tension.”
Ji-woo spoke casually, unaware that he was the true reason everyone was staring.
Watching Hee-ro push food around, he frowned and speared a piece of tonkatsu with his chopsticks.

Despite arriving late, the cutlet was still warm and crispy, just like it had been freshly fried.
There was a reason the cafeteria meals were so expensive.

‘Ahh, that’s the taste.’

As the familiar flavor filled his mouth, nostalgia hit him hard — a taste he’d even missed after entering the real world.
Ji-woo closed his eyes and chewed slowly, savoring the crisp texture before swallowing.

When he opened them, he noticed his plate was suddenly piled high with extra tonkatsu.

“…What’s this supposed to be?”

He glanced at Hee-ro’s tray — completely stripped clean of meat, just plain rice and kimchi left.

“I thought… you liked it, Senior.”

Apparently, it was Hee-ro’s awkward way of showing affection.
But Ji-woo wasn’t the least bit pleased.

“Hey.”

“…Yes?”

“You’re the one who needs to grow. Why are you giving me all your nutrition?”

At being treated like a kid, Hee-ro blinked in confusion.
They were about the same height and build — if anything, Ji-woo looked thinner.
Hee-ro’s expression screamed I don’t get it, but Ji-woo gave him a look sharp enough to bite.

“Take it back. Now.”

Hee-ro quickly grabbed his chopsticks and moved the cutlets back to his tray.

At least he listened well.

Ji-woo’s stern face softened.
“Feed yourself first, kid.”

Then he turned around and, after finishing his tray, smiled at the nutritionist and managed to score a second helping.
Watching that, Hee-ro finally understood what Ji-woo had meant by ‘feed yourself.’

Ji-woo finished both plates cleanly and didn’t move until Hee-ro finished his meal too.
Even after the cafeteria emptied out, Hee-ro sat there chewing his tonkatsu, bite after bite.

“Power comes from rice,” Ji-woo said with mock solemnity, quoting a Korean saying about how food fuels strength (lit. ‘밥심’ – ‘rice power’).
He praised Hee-ro for clearing his tray.
Hee-ro’s stomach was uncomfortably full, but for some reason, he didn’t feel bad.
A faint smile spread across his face.

The next day, they met again in the training room for mentoring.
Hee-ro seemed more motivated than before — but it didn’t change the results.

He just kept straining harder, until Ji-woo had to step in.
When Hee-ro unclenched his fist, deep nail marks remained in his skin.
It was a miracle he hadn’t drawn blood.

“Haah… who told you to use your strength like that?”

Ji-woo flicked him lightly on the forehead — not hard enough to hurt, just a warning.
“And stop doing dumb things.”

“I just… felt like I had to do something.”

Unable to use his ability, he’d tried to force it with physical effort.
Ji-woo couldn’t help feeling sorry for him.

“Well, unless you plan on punching monsters with your bare hands, stop.”

But sympathy couldn’t change the facts.

“Yes, sir.”

At least Hee-ro had learned to respond promptly.
He apologized less now, too — whether it was quick understanding or simple submission, Ji-woo couldn’t tell.
But he found that obedient attitude oddly likable.

If Hee-ro had shown even a hint of rebellion, Ji-woo might’ve smacked him around some more.
Instead, the kid just answered every word with a polite “Yes, sir,” until Ji-woo’s irritation melted away.
Feeling strangely satisfied, Ji-woo taught him with more enthusiasm than before.

“Let’s try thinking it through.”

“…”

Hee-ro’s ability was dark-elemental — the complete opposite of Ji-woo’s.

‘How do you awaken something like that?’

Ji-woo closed his eyes, thinking.
Hee-ro, watching him, awkwardly copied the gesture and shut his own eyes.
When Ji-woo finally opened his again, he found Hee-ro half-asleep, standing in place.

“What are you doing?”

“Uh, what? Oh — I was thinking too, like you said, Senior.”

“What were you thinking about? You looked deep in thought.”

Ji-woo crossed his arms, amused.
Hee-ro scratched his cheek and murmured quietly.

“Just… why I can’t do it, I guess.”

So, nothing but self-blame and self-pity again.
It was painfully clear how long he’d been drowning in that sense of uselessness.

“Waste of thought.”

“Sorry…”

“I said don’t apologize.”

“Yes.”

At Ji-woo’s sharp tone, Hee-ro pressed his lips together and went silent.
Ji-woo sighed and softened his eyes.

“Anyway, I was thinking something actually useful.”

“Yes…”

“You know what my ability is?”

He suddenly realized he’d been so focused on Hee-ro’s problem that he hadn’t even properly introduced himself.
He frowned.
For someone who’d decided to help the kid, that was a pretty big oversight.
Still, Hee-ro straightened up immediately, answering like a soldier.

“Light-type Support!”

Not a quiz, but Hee-ro looked so eager for praise that Ji-woo almost laughed.
“How’d you know?”

“…There’s probably no one in school who doesn’t.”

“Figures. Anyway, yeah — I’m your exact opposite.”

At Ji-woo’s lukewarm response, Hee-ro’s shoulders drooped.
It was probably the only thing he’d gotten right so far, so he’d been excited for approval.
Ji-woo sighed at the transparent expression.

“Alright, you did well.”

A little praise, and Hee-ro’s face lit up like a kid given cotton candy.

“Yes! I actually studied a lot about you, Senior!”

“Did you? That’s nice, but now you should study yourself instead.”

Knowing about Ji-woo wasn’t going to help him.
Hee-ro nodded shyly.

“I’m light-type, so when I use my power…”

Ji-woo raised his hand, and a soft sphere of light floated above his palm.
It wasn’t offensive or defensive — just pure, condensed energy.
Hunters called it an ability sphere.

“I can feel warmth from here.”
He tapped near his lower abdomen.

That was the same spot where he’d told Hee-ro to focus his energy before.

“When that warmth spreads through your body, there’s this ‘hwaah~’ feeling.”
He mimed the sensation, gathering invisible air in his hands.
“If you focus that feeling into your palm like this, the power comes out.”

To a normal person, it would’ve sounded like nonsense.
But there was no other way to explain it.

Just as moving your limbs or breathing came naturally, awakened Hunters simply knew how to use their powers.
No one had ever needed to teach them — not like Ji-woo was doing now.

Because of Hee-ro, Ji-woo was experiencing something strange — as if thinking too hard about how breathing works and suddenly breaking the rhythm of it.

The important thing was understanding that power didn’t come from outside — it came from within.
External factors only amplified it.
For Ji-woo, light made his abilities easier and stronger, but even in darkness, he never lost them — only weakened a little.

“It’s… beautiful,” Hee-ro whispered.

Instead of trying his own ability, he was mesmerized by Ji-woo’s.
The soft yellow light shimmered, casting a gentle glow across Ji-woo’s face.

It wasn’t like a fluorescent lamp — it was divine, radiant, alive.
Hee-ro, entranced, reached out to touch it.
Startled, Ji-woo instantly absorbed the light back into his body.

“Are you crazy? Don’t touch that!”

Direct contact with another person’s ability sphere — especially if they weren’t awakened — could trigger rejection.
At best, you fainted.
At worst, you never woke up again… or suffered an uncontrolled ability surge.

It was dangerous for both parties.
The backlash from the contactor’s inability to handle the energy would rebound straight to the ability’s owner.
How could he not know that?

Ji-woo stared, dumbfounded.
Hee-ro’s wide eyes trembled, startled by the outburst — like a puppy caught chewing on something it shouldn’t.
Ji-woo felt like the owner trying to pry the object out of its mouth.

Hee-ro lowered his head, glancing up at Ji-woo from beneath his lashes.

“Haah… you really scared me. Keep your head straight. Don’t ever touch it again unless you’ve got a death wish.”

“…Yes, sir.”

His voice was even smaller than before.

“I mean it. You could actually die. Not from me killing you — literally die.”

Realizing his tone might’ve sounded like a threat, Ji-woo quickly corrected himself.
Hee-ro blinked, then suddenly laughed.

“Senior, you’re really kind.”

And then he said something Ji-woo could never, ever understand.

TL NOTE:

1. 밥심 (bapsim) — A Korean idiom meaning “strength or energy that comes from eating rice,” symbolizing how food fuels resilience.

2. Gate / Hunter Rankings (S-rank, C-rank) — In this universe, Hunters are ranked by power from S (top-tier) to E (lowest). Gates are interdimensional rifts spawning monsters.