In the world of hunters and gates, South Korea proudly holds only ten confirmed S-Rank hunters—each a living legend, a force strong enough to tilt the balance of nations. After Sung Jinwoo’s reawakening shook the hunter community, whispers spread that perhaps fate had one more twist in store.

In the crowded, working-class neighborhoods of lower Seoul, an unassuming family is about to discover it. Their eight-year-old child begins to show strange signs—uncontrollable mana leaks, instinctive use of skills far beyond what even veteran hunters can manage.

But instead of rushing to the Association for testing, the parents hesitate. How can an eight-year-old be thrown into a world where hunters die every day, where politics and power crush anyone unprepared.

The Hunter’s Association building in Seoul buzzed with its usual nervous energy. The faint hum of mana detectors and fluorescent lights filled the air, a sterile reminder that power, here, was measured and recorded with cold precision.

Jamie sat between their parents, legs swinging back and forth off the too-big chair, small sneakers tapping a rhythm on the polished floor. Their dark eyes were half-lidded, bored, yet glowing faintly when the fluorescent lights flickered above. A few people in the waiting area noticed, frowning, but quickly looked away—no one wanted to jump to conclusions in a place like this.

Jamie’s mother smoothed their hair nervously. “It’s just a test,” she whispered, mostly to herself. Her husband sat stiff beside her, clutching the form they had signed to allow an eight-year-old into the awakening chamber. His knuckles were white.

“They’ll think we’re insane,” he muttered. “Everyone here is at least sixteen, twenty… some even older. No one brings a child.”

“We couldn’t hide it forever,” she replied. “You saw what happened when Jamie sneezed—the lights in the whole apartment building exploded.”

Before he could answer, the heavy steel door at the end of the hallway hissed open. A suited Association official stepped out, adjusting his glasses, his expression unreadable.

“Jamie Kim?” he called.

Jamie hopped off the chair without hesitation, ignoring the weight of dozens of stares. They padded across the hall with the careless confidence only children carried, glancing up at the tall man before disappearing inside the testing room. The door sealed shut again.

Silence settled. Even the parents of other candidates kept their voices low. The Hunter’s Association didn’t often test children. Some whispered it was dangerous. Others said the mana overload could harm undeveloped bodies. Everyone knew it was unheard of.

Minutes passed. Then ten. Then fifteen.

Finally, the lights along the testing room door began to flash red. Not yellow, not green—red. A muffled alarm blared inside, immediately silenced by the reinforced walls.

The official who had escorted Jamie in returned, his suit rumpled, his glasses slightly askew, his face pale. He didn’t look at anyone in the room as he picked up a phone at the reception desk and dialed with shaking fingers.

“This is Unit Seven,” he hissed into the receiver. “Code Black. We have… we have an S-Rank reading. Confirmed. Yes—send the Director immediately. No, you don’t understand—it’s a child. Eight years old.”

The room exploded with gasps and frantic whispers. Some people stood, craning to hear more, while others stared at Jamie’s parents in disbelief. The words eleventh S-Rank traveled like wildfire, spreading from one shocked face to another.

The heavy door opened once more.

Jamie strolled out, completely unbothered, as if nothing extraordinary had happened. Their eyes were glowing faintly now, an otherworldly light threading through the irises. They looked around at the silent, staring crowd, then tilted their head curiously.

“…Why’s everyone looking at me?”

Their parents couldn’t answer. They could only stare, realizing the truth as clearly as everyone else: the balance of power in South Korea had just shifted, and it was standing in front of them in the form of their eight-year-old child.