"…"
"…"
"…"
The entire Guild hall stands in silence.
Water drips from rain-soaked clothes, striking the stone floor one drop at a time. Each sound lands heavy, stretching the tension until it presses against every chest in the room.
All eyes are fixed on the man in black at the center of the hall.
Some hunters step back instinctively, boots sliding across wet stone, while others remain still. An empty circle forms around him, wide and deliberate, as if no one dares move closer.
They heard the name, Black Hood.
It is impossible to miss. The black suit, the hood, the fresh stains, everything matches.
The air grows sharp.
Stares harden and calculations begin. Silent planning and quiet plotting hide behind steady eyes, murderous intent held in check. No one speaks. No one dares breathe too loudly.
At the reception counter, the receptionist holds her breath. Even inside the Guild, even where rules still exist, she feels it, the shift, the danger.
Shuku feels it too.
He knows that if they learn the truth, if they realize he is already the new name in the top ten, whatever fragile peace remains will end instantly. The moment he steps outside the Guild's safe area, where the rule of no killing no longer applies, he will be hunted.
Not by one, but by many.
Ambitious hunters. Desperate ones. Men who want his rank more than their honor.
They stare at him, and he stares back.
Hands drift toward weapons, fingers curling around hilts as steel shifts softly in its sheath.
Shuku lowers his hand to his side. Not holding the knife, just close enough. Ready.
The hall holds its breath as anxiety tightens until it feels unbearable. No sound remains except the slow drip of water from his sleeve.
Then—
"Hey there!!"
A firm tap lands on his shoulder. Shuku startles and turns.
"Long time no see, Jack!"
In front of him stands a black man wearing a red mask over his eyes. He is nearly bald, with only a short black ponytail tied at the top of his head. He is shirtless, brown skin slick with rain, lean muscle and a clear six-pack exposed without shame.
"Why the sudden change?" the man says slowly, loud enough for others to hear. "I thought you liked colorful stuff. Bad mood today or something?"
Only after the third sentence does Shuku realize he has not been listening. He freezes.
"…?"
"Are you okay, Jack?!"
The confusion lifts slowly. Shuku listens again, the tone, the volume, the way the voice reaches not just him but the entire room. Then he understands.
"Oh yeah," Shuku says, a beat too late. "Long time no see. How are you?"
The words feel strange in his mouth, forced and unnatural, but the man only grins wider, clearly pleased.
"Never been better!" he laughs. "Come on. Let me buy you a drink."
He throws an arm around Shuku's shoulder and pulls him along without waiting for an answer, guiding him toward one of the tables.
Around them, whispers stumble.
"What the hell?"
"Guess we got it wrong."
"Thought something fun was about to happen."
The tension loosens. Hunters look away. Hands leave weapons. The predatory edge dulls as the crowd disperses, convinced they made a mistake. Just a man in black. Just coincidence.
The hall exhales in relief.
Only two men at its center know the truth. They do not know each other's real names, their ages, or anything beyond this moment. They have never met before.
They should not be sitting together, let alone drinking.
Yet when they reach a table, the black man orders two drinks without hesitation. They sit close. They talk and laugh lightly, voices casual, friendly, unremarkable. They keep it up until the other hunters lose interest.
Suspicion fades. Eyes turn away.
Only then does the black man stop acting.
"Listen here, kid."
"…"
Shuku listens closely now, fully alert. The man who just pulled him out of the jaws of the room finally drops his mask.
"You can't let everyone know who you are," the man says quietly, his voice low. "Especially when you're already in the top ten of the rankings."
"!"
Shuku stiffens.
So it was not a mistake, not coincidence, not confusion. This man knows exactly who he is.
And instead of striking, instead of exploiting the moment, he stepped in and shattered the tension. That alone is unsettling.
More unsettling is the fact that the man knows, with no proof.
Shuku decides to test him.
"Top ten?" he asks, forcing confusion into his voice. "What are you talking about?"
"You're Black Hood, aren't you?" the man replies immediately.
"I don't know who that is," Shuku says. "I just happen to be wearing a black hood."
"Yeah," the man says flatly. "You're definitely him."
"… "
Shuku goes quiet. There is no room left to lie, and yet even now, the man shows no hostility, no hunger, no intent to claim his rank.
Shuku relaxes slightly.
"…How do you know?" he asks.
"I know when someone lies," the man says. "I hear intention. I hear falseness when a voice tries to hide it."
"I meant," Shuku corrects himself, watching him closely, "how did you know I'm Black Hood?"
"Because I sensed something in you."
"…?"
"The clothes don't prove anything," the man continues. "Most hunters carry noise with them. Excitement. Recklessness. Two kills, maybe three. Loud. Careless."
He leans closer.
"But you weren't like that. Your voice was calm, quiet, composed. Out of ten manhunters, nine are noisy and sadistic."
His eyes never leave Shuku.
"And when they mentioned the new guy hitting the top ten, your tone didn't change. It didn't crack. It settled, like you were already prepared to fight, even though the claim was supposed to be false."
He pauses, letting the weight sink in.
"That tells me the claim wasn't false."
Silence stretches between them.
"You're the new number ten in the rankings," the man finishes. "Aren't you?"
"…"
A chill crawls up Shuku's spine, not from fear of death, but from how precise the man is and how calmly he dissects him.
After a moment, Shuku speaks again.
"…Then why did you help me?"
The question comes out low.
"Everyone else wanted to kill me. Take my rank or something. But you didn't." He looks directly at the man now. "Why?"
"… "
The black man goes quiet. He exhales once, slow, then speaks again.
"There isn't a clear reason," he says. "I just don't want them to tear this place apart out of overconfidence, especially when they'd only get themselves killed."
He glances around the hall. "Picking a fight with someone in the top ten and thinking it's a shortcut up the ranks? They never stand a chance."
"…I still don't get it," Shuku says. "And can I even trust you? Who are you?"
"…My name is John," the man replies. "My hunter name is The Purger."
"…Wait, what?!"
The words slip out before Shuku can stop himself. Several heads turn, and he clamps a hand over his mouth before lowering his voice. "You're The Purger? The top seven?!"
John raises an eyebrow. "Wow. So you did notice. I thought you were arrogant. Turns out you're more attentive than I expected."
"Are you serious?" Shuku whispers. "Top seven?"
"Yes," John says calmly. "That's right."
The confirmation only deepens Shuku's confusion.
"Then why?" he presses. "Why would someone ranked higher than me bother helping? I'm nothing to you. I could even become your competitor."
"Pffft."
John almost laughs. "Competitor?" he repeats. "Are you serious?"
"…?" Shuku frowns. "What do you mean? I reached the top ten in a month. I replaced the previous number ten. People are already talking. Isn't that enough?"
"Enough for what?"
"…Enough to prove I'm capable," Shuku says. "I killed ten targets in five weeks. That has to mean something."
"Yeah," John says, leaning back in his chair. "Talent. I'll give you that."
He looks at Shuku again, eyes steady. "But talent isn't enough. If you stay careless, greedy, or naïve, you'll be dead in days. Weeks, if you're lucky."
Shuku stiffens.
"Number ten is the most replaceable rank there is," John continues. "In one year, I've seen five different names sit there. Most of them died to the next one. Others climbed through pure grinding, too loud and too reckless, and were dead not long after."
He pauses. "So take this as advice. Stay low. Be careful."
"…"
A weight settles in Shuku's chest. The word naïve lingers longer than the rest.
Still, one thing bothers him.
"Then why did they even try to kill me?" he asks. "I get that I have a high rank, but why would they hunt me for it?"
"…You don't know?"
"…No." Shuku shrugs.
John sighs. "And you said you were capable," he mutters. "Yet you're missing the most basic information."
He straightens slightly.
"The all-time top ten manhunters are elites. The strongest. The kind that almost never fail. The higher the rank, the more people believe they're immortal. Attacking one is like digging your own grave."
Shuku nods, urging him to continue.
"That's why the rich love them," John says. "Aristocrats. Nobles. Even the royal family. The top ten get hired privately, part-time, one-time contracts."
He lets the words sink in.
"The pay is usually in the millions."
"…Oh." Understanding finally clicks.
"So that's why," Shuku murmurs. "They wanted to take my future jobs."
"Partly," John replies. "But the truth is, number ten rarely gets hired. The position changes too fast. If you can't survive six months, no one important even learns your name."
He taps the table once.
"Most people hit the top ten, then rush to reach nine or eight. That's when real business starts."
"…Then what should I do?" Shuku asks quietly.
John studies him for a moment.
"With your identity almost exposed and your enthusiasm," he says, "you only have two choices. Keep moving. Either kill someone ranked above you, or hunt more WANTED targets and climb."
"Cool—"
"But," John cuts in, "that's nearly impossible. First of all, look at the rankings."
He gestures toward the board.
Shuku turns and looks again, really looks this time. It's the first time he's seen the list up close.
1. Hellfire, 105 hunted
2. Greyhound, 98 hunted
3. Nobody, 70 hunted
4. Green Arrow, 63 hunted
5. Chord Eye, 57 hunted
6. Chi Master, 44 hunted
7. The Purger, 31 hunted
8. Kunaive, 25 hunted
9. Bell, 10 hunted
10. Black Hood, 10 hunted
"You see who's on there?" John asks.
"Yeah," Shuku says. "Me. You. And a bunch of other guys I don't know."
"Seriously?"
John exhales sharply and rubs his forehead with his palm, more tired than angry.
"This is why you should have educated yourself before taking this job," he mutters, then straightens. "Fine. Let's start from the bottom."
He taps the board near the lower edge.
"First of all, I don't know how you even made it to number ten," John says. "But you need to get out of that spot fast, either climb higher or disappear."
Shuku listens without interrupting.
"Otherwise, forget any peaceful life you think you have," John continues. "Unless you land a private contract that pays enough to buy a safe house, hire guards, or migrate, it's only a matter of time."
He lowers his voice. "Someone figures out who you are, follows you home, waits, and kills you in your sleep."
Shuku's expression does not change.
"The Guild doesn't pay enough," John adds. "Two thousand per job on average. That barely covers rent for a year, forget buying property."
He leans back.
"So now that you know all that, are you still planning to climb, or are you backing down?"
"Climb."
The answer comes instantly.
John blinks. The speed of it surprises him more than the word itself. To him, Shuku is either incredibly stupid, dangerously arrogant, or far stronger than he looks.
What John does not know is that Shuku did not come here chasing money alone.
He is tired of weakness, tired of hiding, tired of bending to fear.
If the choice is dying on his feet or living quietly on his knees, he already knows which one he prefers.
This goes against the life he once wanted, quiet, hidden, untouched by enemies from another land. But the rankings show him the truth.
He is still weak, and sooner or later, someone stronger comes for him anyway.
This is not recklessness. It is caution taken to its extreme.
"Are you sure?" John asks.
"Yeah," Shuku replies. "A hundred percent."
"Very well."
John turns back to the board and nods once.
"I'll start with number nine." He points.
"Bell. Ten hunted. Who is he?"
"She."
"What?"
"Bell is a woman," John says. "I don't know what weapon she uses or how she managed to kill ten targets, but it took her seven months to do it, so I doubt she's that strong."
He shrugs slightly. "I've never met her. Still, no matter what you do, don't attack her."
"Why?"
"I'll explain later. Let's move on."
He tilts his head toward the board. "Number eight. Kunaive."
"Who are they?" Shuku asks.
"Kunaive uses kunai," John replies. "Ten kills in three months. He's probably similar to you. Still, don't go after him unprepared."
He pauses, then adds, "Actually, at best, don't go after any of them. A manhunter who only hunts other manhunters instead of WANTED targets doesn't build a good reputation. That's all I'll say."
"Okay. Next is number seven. That's—"
"Me."
John shifts in his chair, the movement making the metal at his waist clink softly. "Blind," he adds calmly. "Martial arts. Hammers."
He shakes his leg slightly, revealing the pair of metal hammers strapped to his belt.
"Oh, I see—wait," Shuku says, stopping himself. "What did you say?"
"...?"
"You're blind?" Shuku blurts out.
"Oh. I didn't tell you?" John points at the red bandana covering his eyes. "I'm blind. Both eyes."
"How…?"
"Long story," John says. "Someone sliced my eyes during a fight. That's it."
He shrugs. "Don't worry. It's not a big deal. I'm not sad about it."
"But how do you fight?" Shuku asks. "Or read. Or see anything?"
"My magic," John replies. "I can hear better, smell better, and I can see my surroundings through my skin and mind."
He taps the table lightly. "It forces me to pay attention, more than eyes ever did. I can sense power, intention, movement. You could call me a psychic."
"I see. Sorry," Shuku says quietly.
John's tone shifts. "So," he asks, voice sharper now, "are you planning to kill me?"
"Oh, no," Shuku answers quickly. "Of course not. I'm not the type to attack someone who saved me. Especially someone who's bl—"
He stops himself. John tilts his head slightly.
"Never mind," Shuku says. "Let's continue."
"Fine. Next."
"Yeah. Who are they?"
"I don't know," John replies dryly. "Can't you read?"
Shuku freezes.
"I'm blind," John adds. "I can't read."
"Oh, right," Shuku says quickly. "Sorry."
Only now does he realize he has been reading the names aloud the entire time without noticing.
"Number six. Chi Master. Number five. Chord Eye. Number four. Green Arrow."
"Yeah," John says. "I don't know much about any of them. They stay low, kill, take the money, and leave. That's how you should do your job as a professional manhunter."
He pauses.
"But I do know about Green Arrow."
"You do?"
"Yeah," John says flatly. "That bitch almost killed me."
Shuku stiffens.
"She only uses a bow and arrows," John continues, "but she didn't fight alone. She and her partner blinded me. I would've died if her target hadn't been someone else. So don't go after her either."
"Okay."
John leans back.
"And finally, the top three."
"Yeah. They're—"
"Nobody. Greyhound. Hellfire. Right?"
"Yeah. How do you know?"
"Those names," John says, his voice dropping, "haven't changed in the last two years."
The sudden, terrifying words settle heavy in Shuku's chest.
"And I'm going to tell you," John continues, his tone turning cold, almost reverent, "about the strongest, most dangerous, and most insane hunters on the entire continent."