The leather gloves were too small for Hang Young's hands.
He flexed his fingers, feeling the material strain across his knuckles. Second-hand gear was always like this—meant for someone else, someone who had probably died wearing them. The thought should have disturbed him, but after two years as an F-rank hunter, superstition was a luxury he couldn't afford.
"Fifty thousand won is my final offer," Hang Young said, his voice quiet but firm. "That's all I have."
The shopkeeper—a heavyset man with forearms thick as tree trunks—snorted. Even retired D-rankers like him looked at F-ranks like something stuck to the bottom of their shoes.
"These are enchanted with minor protection spells. It cost me seventy to get them. I'm already doing you a favor at sixty."
Hang Young stared at the counter. The gloves weren't enchanted. He could tell by the lack of mana signature. It's just a treated leather with faded Hunter Association stamps. But arguing would get him nowhere.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled handful of won. All he had left after Jia's medications this month. "Please. I need something. Anything."
Something in his voice must have reached the man. The shopkeeper sighed heavily. "Fine. Fifty. But only because you're going into Gates. Most F-ranks sell their licenses to the black market."
Hang Young nodded, not meeting the man's eyes as he slid the money across the counter. Pride was also a luxury.
Outside Hunter's Equipment Emporium, Seoul's evening air carried the acrid scent of smoke and mana from a Gate that had opened downtown last week. The skyline had changed over the past decade—reinforced buildings, evacuation shelters at every subway station, and the gleaming headquarters of S-rank guilds towering over everything else. A world built for the strong.
Hang Young pulled his thin jacket tighter and started the long walk home. He couldn't afford the bus fare, not when every win mattered.
---
The apartment was on the fourth floor of a crumbling building in a neighborhood that had seen three Gate breaches in five years. The rent was cheap for a reason. Hang Young paused outside the door, taking a deep breath before entering with a forced smile.
"I'm home, Jia."
The one-room apartment was clean but sparse. Most of their furniture had been sold months ago. All that remained was a small table, two chairs, and the hospital bed where his sister lay.
Jia's face lit up when she saw him. At just ten years old, she was too thin, too pale, with dark circles under her eyes like bruises. But her smile—that was still whole.
"Oppa! Did you find work today?"
Hang Young nodded, setting his bag down and moving to check her IV drip. The Seoul Hunter's Medical Center doctors had taught him how to administer her medication. They'd also told him, in hushed tones outside her room, that without the Starpetal Bloom, she would be gone within six months.
"I bought some gear," he said, showing her the gloves. "I'm joining a raid tomorrow."
Concern flashed across her face. "A Gate? But you said—"
"It's only C-rank," he interrupted gently. "Very safe. The crystal payout will be good."
He didn't tell her about the rejection letters from every guild in Seoul. He didn't mention how his stats—the lowest ever recorded for an awakened hunter—made him unemployable except as a crystal carrier.
He didn't say C-rank Gates had a forty percent casualty rate for F-ranks like him.
"I saw it on TV," Jia said, pushing herself up slightly. "The Starpetal Bloom. The news said Sun-Wu Guild found one in an S-rank Gate last week. They're auctioning it."
Hang Young busied himself with preparing her evening medication. "Is that so?"
"They said it sold for five trillion won."
His hands stilled for just a moment. Five trillion. He'd been saving for three years and had barely managed seven million—enough for one more month of her current treatments. Nothing close to what they needed.
"I'll find a way," he said, the lie bitter on his tongue. "Now, let's get you something to eat."
As he warmed the thin soup on their hot plate, Jia dozed off again—the medication made her sleepy. Hang Young sat beside her, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest, memorizing the face that had kept him going since their parents died in the Gangnam Gate Incident.
His phone vibrated—an unknown number.
"Hello?"
"Is this Hang Young? F-rank hunter number 12994?" The voice was gruff, impatient.
"Yes."
"Name's Park Min-ho. C-rank leader. We need a carrier for a raid tomorrow. Standard contract—two percent crystal share, extraction priority last. You in or out?"
Hang Young closed his eyes. Two percent was insulting. Extraction priority last meant he'd be abandoned first if things went bad. But crystal carriers were disposable, and everyone knew it.
"I'm in," he said.
"Smart man. We meet at Gate 37, Yongsan District, at 6 am. Bring your basic gear." The caller hung up without waiting for a response.
Hang Young looked at his sleeping sister and the pathetic gloves he'd purchased. If he was lucky, two percent of a C-rank haul might be 500,000 won. At that rate, he'd need 10,000 raids to save her.
Outside, distant sirens wail, announcing another Gate opening somewhere in the city—another opportunity for the strong to get stronger, another reminder of what it costs to be weak.
"I'll find a way," he whispered to Jia, though she couldn't hear him. This time, it wasn't a lie. It was a promise.
Even if it killed him.