Jihoon's boots crunched on the cracked pavement as he stepped into the slums, the city's gleaming towers fading behind him. The air was thick with the familiar tang of oil and smoke, a stark shift from the Blade's Edge Training facility's clean metal scent. His training gear, still slightly damp from sweat, clung to his skin under Seoyoon's gifted jacket. The exam form and training card weighed heavy in his pocket, reminders of the hunter path he was chasing. But right now, all he wanted was to see his mother. It had been days since the dungeon break, since Seoyoon got her medicine, and the ache of being away gnawed at him.
The slums were quieter than usual, the streets littered with debris—shattered glass, a burned-out cart, remnants of the chaos. A few kids kicked a deflated ball in an alley, their laughter sharp against the distant wail of a siren. Jihoon's heart tightened, but he pushed the slums' broader struggles aside. Tonight was about his mom, her smile, her voice. He hurried past rusted apartment blocks, their neon signs flickering, until he reached their building, a crumbling three-story relic with peeling paint. The stairs creaked under his weight, each step a memory of running home as a kid, his mother waiting with a warm bowl of soup.
He knocked on the door, the wood chipped and familiar. "Mom? It's me," he called, his voice soft but eager.
The door swung open, and there she was—Park Eunhee, frail but standing tall, her dark hair streaked with gray, her eyes bright with relief. "Jihoon!" she gasped, pulling him into a hug before he could step inside. Her arms were thin, trembling slightly, but strong with love. "You're okay! Oh, thank goodness."
Jihoon hugged her back, his throat tight as he breathed in the faint scent of her lavender soap, a luxury she saved for special days. "I'm fine, Mom," he said, his voice muffled against her shoulder. "Told you I'd come back."
She pulled back, her hands cupping his face, her eyes scanning him like she was checking for new scars. "You look different," she said, a smile tugging at her lips. "That jacket's new. And you're standing taller, like you're ready to take on the world." She ushered him inside, her steps light but uneven, no cane in sight. The apartment was small, the walls stained, the single bulb casting a warm glow over a worn table and a patched couch. A bottle of medicine sat on the counter, Seoyoon's doing, and Jihoon's chest warmed at the sight.
He closed the door, grinning. "Seoyoon got me the jacket. Said I couldn't keep wearing rags if I'm gonna be a hunter."
Eunhee's eyes lit up, and she clapped her hands, her smile mischievous. "That girl's a keeper. You're lucky your girlfriend was around during that dungeon break, Jihoon. I was scared out of my wits, hiding here, hearing those beasts outside. She came bursting in, all business, with medicine and a plan. You hold onto her."
Jihoon's face flushed, and he waved his hands, nearly knocking over a chair. "She's not my girlfriend, Mom! Seoyoon's just… Seoyoon. She doesn't like me like that. We're friends." His voice cracked, embarrassment burning his ears.
Eunhee laughed, a soft, knowing sound, and patted his arm as she shuffled to the kitchen counter. "Oh, Jihoon, you're dense as a brick. That girl's got a heart of gold, and she's out here saving your sorry butt. Friends or not, she's special. Don't be an idiot."
Jihoon groaned, dropping onto the couch, the springs squeaking under him. "Can we not talk about this?" he said, but a smile tugged at his lips. His mom's teasing was familiar, grounding, like the creak of the stairs or the hum of the slums outside. He watched her move, noticing the way she glided slightly, her feet barely touching the floor. His smile faded. "Mom, are you using your ability again? You know it wears you out."
Eunhee turned, a pot of water in her hands, her expression sheepish. "It's just a little trick, Jihoon. Light Step, they called it when I awakened years ago. Makes moving easier, keeps me off that awful cane. I'm fine."
Jihoon stood, crossing the room in two strides, his brow furrowed. "You're not fine. You're coughing less, sure, but that ability drains you. I saw you last month, barely able to stand after using it too long." He took the pot from her, setting it on the stove. "You gotta take it easy, Mom. I'm not losing you because you're too stubborn to use a cane."
She swatted his arm, her touch light but firm. "Don't scold me, young man. I'm still your mother. Besides, I only use it for short bursts. I'm not running marathons." Her voice softened, and she squeezed his hand. "I'm proud of you, Jihoon. Seoyoon told me you're trying for the hunter exams. That's big."
He sat back down, the couch creaking, his face warm under her gaze. "Yeah," he said, pulling the exam form from his pocket, its stamp catching the light. "Got two weeks to get ready. Physical test, skill test, and some kind of dungeon or duel. I've been training today, with this guy Taeyang. He's helping me with my hitbox thing."
Eunhee joined him on the couch, her eyes bright with curiosity. "Hitbox Control, right? Seoyoon mentioned it. Sounds fancy, like something from those old games you used to play." She smiled, nudging him. "Tell me about it. What's it like?"
Jihoon leaned back, the words coming easier now. "It's weird. I focus, like really hard, and I can make myself… untouchable. Attacks go right through me. Saved me from a beast, but I gotta keep my focus, or it falls apart. Taeyang's got me dodging metal balls, holo-dummies, all kinds of stuff. Says I could be good if I practice."
Her smile widened, pride shining in her eyes. "You'll be a wonderful hunter, Jihoon. I know it. Your father…" Her voice caught, and she looked away, her fingers tightening on his. "He'd be proud too. Always wanted to protect people, just like you."
Jihoon's throat tightened, memories of his father—gone years ago to a dungeon break—stirring. He squeezed her hand back. "I'm trying, Mom. But it's scary. The exams, the beasts… I don't want to mess up."
She turned to him, her gaze fierce despite her frailty. "You won't mess up. You're strong, Jihoon, stronger than you know. But you stay safe, hear me? No heroics, no risks you don't need to take. Promise me that."
He nodded, his voice soft. "I promise. I'll be careful." The words felt heavy, but her faith in him was like a lifeline, steadying the nerves that had crept in during training.
Eunhee stood, moving to the stove with that slight glide, ignoring his frown. "Good. Now, let's eat. I've got some rice and kimchi, nothing fancy, but it's home." She busied herself, humming softly, and Jihoon watched, his heart full. Her ability worried him, but her stubbornness, her warmth—it was everything he was fighting for.
They ate at the small table, the rice warm, the kimchi sharp and spicy. Jihoon told her about the training facility, Taeyang's booming laugh, the metal ball that kept catching him off-guard. She laughed, her eyes crinkling, and teased him about needing to dodge better if he wanted to be "Ghost," the nickname Seoyoon had given him. "She's got a point," Eunhee said, sipping water. "You sound like a spirit, slipping through danger. Keep that focus, and you'll surprise them all."
The meal stretched on, their voices filling the small apartment, the slums' hum a distant backdrop. Jihoon helped clean up, insisting she rest, though she swatted him away with a dish towel. As night settled, the single bulb casting long shadows, he felt the weight of the day—training, the exams, his mother's pride. He hugged her again before leaving, her arms tight around him. "Come back soon," she said, her voice soft. "And don't let that girl slip away."
"Mom," he groaned, but he was smiling as he stepped out, the door creaking shut. The slums' air hit him, cool and sharp, the neon flickering above. The training facility waited, Taeyang's lessons echoing in his mind. Two weeks to become untouchable, to prove he could be more. He slipped the exam form back into his pocket, his mother's words a quiet fire in his chest.