A Possibility Worth Believing In
A rookie who had just climbed to A-rank.
An old veteran who had guarded her S-rank position for decades.
Under normal circumstances, a matchup like this should have been impossible.
But Sora wasn’t foolish enough to ignore that fact.
I can’t win a head-on fight.
Aiming for an opening wasn’t any more realistic. After all, openings only appeared once combat had actually begun—when attacks and defenses were traded, when breaths collided, when something could be forcibly wedged into the gap between them.
The opponent before her was different.
She knew it instinctively. If she rushed in carelessly, she wouldn’t last a minute. No—she wouldn’t even survive the first exchange.
With an ordinary overwhelming enemy, she might have exploited the arrogance that came from looking down on the weak, the pride that said they could never lose. She could have spotted that opening with Veritas Eye and struck first.
“Step aside, Sora. I don’t want to hurt you.”
But this opponent wouldn’t even grant her that kind of carelessness.
“I’m sorry, Guild Leader Yun Mija, but I can’t do that.”
“Haa… You certainly know how to complicate things. Or perhaps… you’ve found some surefire method?”
“No.”
Sora swallowed hard.
“It’s not certain. But… I’ve at least found a method I believe is worth trusting.”
Yun Mija approached with steady steps.
Her stride was perfectly natural, as casual as a stroll through the city streets. No impatience, no ostentation, nothing remarkable about her gait at all. The distance between them simply closed, as if she were out for an evening walk.
To an ordinary observer, it would have looked like nothing more than normal footsteps.
To Sora, it was something else entirely.
There are… no openings!
No matter how she searched, she couldn’t find a single one. Even with Veritas Eye active at all times, the only future she saw the instant she matched that rhythm was herself slammed into the ground.
If this had been a fight she needed to win, she would have already lost.
But this wasn’t a fight to win.
It was a fight to endure.
A battle not to defeat the opponent, but to steal her time.
If charging straight in wasn’t the correct method, then the method itself had to change.
Sora subtly shifted her feet and began to circle slowly, keeping Yun Mija at the center.
How clever.
Yun Mija thought quietly as she watched.
Now that I think about it, I taught you a little combat once before, just like I did with Yura.
Combat against an overwhelmingly superior foe was, unfortunately, not an unfamiliar experience for hunters. From the beginning, their profession kept them dancing on the boundary between life and death inside dungeons that far surpassed human comprehension. So they learned. They learned how not to die before an unbeatable enemy, how to measure distance so they wouldn’t be devoured, and how to endure even one more breath against monsters they could never face head-on.
Because they were born hunters.
And because they were born women.
The instinct to grow stronger lived in every female of this world.
Following those old lessons, Sora refused to charge in recklessly the way one might against a dungeon boss with a full party. Instead she circled slowly around Yun Mija, disrupting her field of vision, measuring distance, and inducing reactions.
Against an overwhelming enemy, it was a judgment worthy of nearly full marks.
But.
“What a shame.”
Yun Mija’s figure blurred.
Or rather, it seemed to blur.
The next instant—
BOOM!
“Ugh…!”
Her bones rang. Her breath exploded from her lungs. Sora’s body was hurled backward, tumbling once, twice, three times across the floor before she finally skidded to a stop.
“It’s over, Sora.”
Against a truly overwhelming foe it might have worked, but against a stronger hunter, seventy points was the best it could manage. A mindless monster might have fallen for it, reacting only with wary, animal instinct. But Yun Mija was no monster. She was a human who thought, judged, and read intentions exactly as Sora did. And since she had been the one who taught her those moves, she could turn them against her.
She had read the rhythm of Sora’s wary circling, waited for the exact moment that tension stretched tightest, then charged in and delivered an unavoidable strike with casual ease.
“Did the camera catch that?!”
“I… I’m not sure. We might have to go to the station later and analyze it frame by frame.”
“Incredible… So that’s S-rank…!”
The reporters who had been watching finally burst into excited chatter. Shutter clicks and voices erupted all at once, as though time had started moving again.
In contrast, the Baekho hunters watching from the sidelines turned their heads away, unable to bear looking.
The newly ascended A-rank successor versus the living S-rank legend. The outcome had been decided from the start.
But then—
“Khh… That really hurt.”
Sora began to rise.
“What…?”
“She’s standing?”
The attack had clearly landed. The tremendous crunch of impact had been audible to everyone. Yet Sora only spat out the blood filling her mouth and rose again, looking far steadier than anyone expected. The entire crowd fell silent.
Amid that silence, only one person reacted.
“Oh ho.”
Seomun Hui alone let out a low, appreciative laugh.
“Not bad at all. She knew a counter was coming and still managed to take it.”
To be precise, it was too ambiguous to even call it a counter. A true counter used the opponent’s force; this had been little more than a glancing deflection. Still, the fact that she had overcome even a fraction of that overwhelming power gap was undeniable.
Seomun Hui had seen it clearly. Even while pretending to fall back in panic at Yun Mija’s sudden charge, Sora had already positioned herself to roll. Right up until the final instant, she had maintained eye contact. The proof was in her right palm—now bruised purple-black where it had overlapped with Yun Mija’s fist.
But it wasn’t a fatal wound.
Besides, for a hunter, a fractured palm is barely more than a scratch.
Instead, Sora clumsily clenched her fist again and took a stance. Her left hand wouldn’t even open properly, her vision was surely swimming, yet she stood once more.
Yun Mija frowned for the briefest moment as she watched the girl.
She hadn’t been able to put her down in one blow.
No—she could have. But the child refused to fall. Despite the pain, she still showed the will to fight. A flicker of emotion crossed the old woman’s face as she looked at her granddaughter-like junior.
Yet Sora didn’t try to exploit even that tiny gap.
The fact that she still made the optimal decision despite her injuries, ragged breathing, and narrowing vision proved just how focused she remained.
If I had gone in then… I would have been hit.
Yun Mija’s flicker had looked like an opening, but it wasn’t. It was the gaze of an elder moved by affection, the expression of someone watching a child in pain. Her body, however, had already finished preparing a counterattack. Sora had read that perfectly.
It was a true David-and-Goliath battle. The fight that should have ended quickly continued in a strangely drawn-out manner.
Right then—
“Uwaaaaaaaaaah!”
“?!”
“She’s charging head-on?”
“While screaming like that?”
The same Sora who had been cautiously measuring distance moments ago now rushed straight at Yun Mija with a roar. It looked like a reckless, suicidal charge to everyone watching—the reporters, the Baekho hunters, even Yun Mija herself, whose eyes narrowed in momentary confusion.
But.
“…She did study abroad, didn’t she?”
Once again, only Seomun Hui smiled quietly within the crowd.
“There was a reason Korea was watching this rookie so closely.”
In her hunter days, Seomun Hui had hunted far more people than monsters. That was why she understood. On the surface the action looked stupid, but when considering the opponent, it was actually the optimal choice. She could see the calculations hidden inside Sora’s seemingly idiotic charge.
“Ugh?!”
“Sora?!”
Sora, charging with mana concentrated in her left hand, suddenly twisted in pain. Perhaps she had pushed too hard. The price of forcing mana into her shattered palm caused her posture to collapse mid-charge.
She staggered. Her body pitched forward.
Yun Mija instinctively stepped forward.
And in that moment, an opening appeared—far larger and clearer than any before.
It was the same reason Yun Mija had countered her earlier. The opponent was human. Unlike monsters, she could think, judge, understand emotion, and communicate. Simple strategies wouldn’t work. But precisely because of that, this kind of ploy could.
“Now!”
“…!”
Pretending to fall. Pretending to gather mana in her right hand. Pretending to collapse from unbearable pain. Within that web of feints, mana had gathered in Sora’s left hand.
Because the opponent was an acquaintance. Because she was the grandmother who had once looked after her. Because she was a family-like figure with a long bond to her mother. Because she was a kind grandmother rather than a ruthless monster, this opening could be created.
With this gap… I’ll bring her down no matter what!
When the opponent believed she was merely buying time. When guilt clouded her judgment. This was the best opportunity that would never come again.
It wasn’t that Sora had only planned to stall from the beginning. If possible, she wanted to win. Even once. Even by a single step. She wanted to force Yun Mija to retreat. That would prove Baekho was not yet dead.
So Sora charged into the opening—straight toward the center of Yun Mija’s ample chest, where heart and mana flow overlapped.
And then.
You’ve grown, Sora.
Having realized her granddaughter’s intent, Yun Mija smiled faintly.
She could dodge even now. She could probably block it too. But she didn’t.
Because she had seen it.
Sora’s eyes, still fixed straight on her even in this instant. The fear and stubbornness within them. And the “possibility” the girl had said she believed in moments ago.
A child who had left for elite overseas training the moment her hunter powers awakened. A child who, unable to settle anywhere for long, had always overcome situations through her own strength rather than trusting others. Yet that same child had said for the first time that she had found a method she believed was worth trusting.
Yun Mija wanted to see that possibility too.
This should be enough.
She began to close her eyes.
But the next moment—
Slash!
“Cough?!”
“S-Sora!”
“Pardon me.”
Seomun Hui, who had predicted the entire plan from the start, was already standing behind Sora.
The instant every eye was fixed on Yun Mija. The instant Sora’s consciousness locked onto the single opening before her. A thin blade sliced silently across her defenseless back.
Blood sprayed between the torn fabric. The mana that had been blooming in her left hand scattered uselessly into the air. Sora’s eyes widened in shock.
The opportunity she thought she had seized—that possibly first and final moment—was torn to pieces by a single blade from behind.