𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 ᵏᵘʳᵃᵖⁱᵏᵃ ᵏᵘʳᵗᵃ

𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏

━ ⭒─⭑━

You were like a shadow among shadows in the 247th Hunter Exam, just another face in the crowd, but with a secret that set you apart.

Behind the dark glasses you wore lay a secret—your eyes, usually a simple shade of brown, transformed into a deep, vivid crimson when your emotions surged.

This striking change was a remnant of your Kurta heritage, a beautiful yet haunting reminder of a past steeped in tragedy.

You were a lone survivor, the massacre by the Phantom Troupe a scar that never faded.

You had learned to hide your eyes not only to blend in but to shield yourself from unwanted attention.

The fluctuation in color from brown to red was a giveaway of your emotional state, a vulnerability you couldn't afford in situations that demanded composure.

These glasses were your armor, concealing the turmoil within and helping you maintain an air of normalcy amidst the chaos of the exam.

You watched them from a distance.

There was the boy with the innocent face and spiky black hair—he exuded an unmistakable aura of purity.

Beside him was a silver-haired kid; his demeanor screamed 'trouble,' but there was a hint of loyalty in his eyes.

A tall guy in a suit, barking louder than his bite, was impossible to miss.

And then, there was him—the one who unknowingly mirrored a part of your hidden past.

You didn't know his name yet, but he was different.

He had hair like sunlit gold and eyes of a striking gray, eyes that didn't miss much. He moved with a certain calculated precision, every step, every gesture steeped in purpose.

You felt an inexcusable urge to go over and make friends with the group, but you didn't. Sadly, you had learned the hard way—trust was a luxury, and solitude was your best friend.

So, you watched and listened from a distance, absorbing fragments of their conversations as much as you could—their dreams, their fears, their determination to win.

Despite the bustling environment of the exam, you were like a ghost—always there, unseen, unheard, yet moving through the exam with a silent vow to keep your identity and your pain securely locked away.

In the suffocating confines of Trick Tower, you were caught in a psychological battle, the air thick with tension.

Your adversary was no ordinary opponent; he was a prisoner, his smile not just cruel but dripping with wicked intent.

The game's rules had been simple, yet twisted in their own way: he had five minutes to provoke you into attacking him.

The rule had been clear—the quicker you lost your cool, the more hours you'd owe. If you somehow managed to withstand the full five minutes without lashing out, you'd escape any penalty.

But this guy knew exactly how to push your buttons.

At the start, his insults were mere jabs, testing your defenses...

"Look at you, trying to act all tough," he sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Why so quiet? Afraid you'll break a nail, sweetheart?"

...however, as the clock ticked, his words turned increasingly vile and misogynistic...