Half a month had passed since the first day I wandered aimlessly around the village, trying to understand a world that was no longer my own. Tonight, I lay quietly on my bed, my hands folded behind my head as I stared at the vast night sky beyond the wooden window frame. The stars here were sharper, brighter—almost oppressive in their clarity, as if the heavens themselves were watching.
Tomorrow would mark a new beginning.
From dawn onward, I would officially become part of the Hunters' Apprentice Program—an initiative proposed by Elder Garb and unanimously approved by the council of elders. It was designed to strengthen the tribe's younger generation, to prepare them for dangers that could descend upon the world without warning.
I exhaled slowly.
So this is how it begins.
The program itself was no small matter.
Children selected for it would undergo systematic training in combat, survival, discipline, and coordination in the wild. For the initial phase, only youths between the ages of fifteen and eighteen were chosen—the first generation to test the effectiveness of the program. The tribe had poured an enormous amount of resources into it: manpower, equipment, territory, and most importantly, time.
If the program proved successful, it would be expanded on an unprecedented scale, encompassing children as young as five and as old as twenty. In essence, this was not merely a training camp—it was a gamble for the tribe's future.
As I stared into the sky, I felt a strange mix of emotions stirring within me. Anticipation. Unease. Excitement. And beneath it all, a quiet hunger.
Strength.
Ever since arriving in this world, I had understood one undeniable truth: strength was the only language that truly mattered here. Without it, survival was a privilege granted by others. With it, survival became a choice.
I closed my eyes.
Tomorrow… everything changes.
Morning arrived sooner than I expected.
The faint light of dawn crept through the window, stirring me from shallow sleep. My body felt heavy, but my mind was unusually clear. I rose, dressed quickly, and stepped outside where the tribe was already alive with movement. Today was different—there was an unspoken tension in the air, a quiet excitement shared by every household with a child participating in the program.
Sister Jean was waiting for me.
She stood near the entrance, dressed in her standard uniform, her posture straight and composed. To anyone else, she was Captain Jean—a disciplined warrior and a figure of authority within the tribe. But the moment she turned toward me, that stern expression softened.
We began walking toward the back of the tribe, where the training grounds located. The path was familiar, yet today it felt longer, heavier with meaning.
"James," she asked casually, glancing sideways at me, "are you excited?"
"Nope," I replied immediately. "Just a normal day."
I raised my arm and scratched near my ear, deliberately avoiding her gaze.
She stopped walking.
I froze.
Then laughter rang out, bright and unrestrained.
"Hahaha—look at you," she said. "If this is what you call a normal day, I'd hate to see what excitement looks like."
She stepped closer, bending slightly to inspect my face. "Did you even sleep?"
I turned my head away. "That's irrelevant."
"Dark circles under your eyes," she said cheerfully. "You look like you spent the entire night fighting monsters in your dreams."
I sighed.
Who was I kidding?
Even back on Earth, I had never known what it meant to have friends. After the accident, my world had shrunk to the walls of my home.
Lessons were conducted privately, interactions limited to family members.
Loneliness became routine—so routine that I no longer recognized it as loneliness.
But here… this was different.
For the first time since arriving in this world, I would stand among people my own age. Train with them. Struggle alongside them. Perhaps even laugh with them.
The idea alone had been enough to keep me awake all night.
"Alright," I muttered, walking ahead with a slight pout. "I'm excited. Happy now?"
Jean grinned triumphantly. "Very."
She caught up to me easily, her steps light.
"You know, for someone who insists he's calm, you're terrible at hiding your emotions."
"That's because you're unfairly perceptive," I shot back.
She laughed again.
To others, she was strict, composed, and intimidating. To me, she was something else entirely—teasing, expressive, and sometimes unbearably childish. It was a side of her few ever saw, and I suspected she only allowed it because I was family.
After a few moments, her expression shifted.
"James," she said, her tone lowering, "there's something you need to understand before entering this program."
I slowed my pace, sensing the change.
"The camp will not be easy," she continued.
"Not physically. Not mentally. And especially not socially."
I nodded, waiting.
"There are people you must avoid offending—no matter how tempting it may be."
My brows furrowed slightly. "Who?"
"First," she said, "Elder Garb's son."
I grimaced inwardly. I had heard rumors.
"He's arrogant, spoiled, and painfully aware of his status. He travels with a group and enjoys asserting dominance. Do not provoke him unless you are prepared for consequences."
"And second?" I asked.
Jean hesitated for half a second—then burst into laughter.
"The chieftain's daughter."
I nearly stumbled.
"What?"
"Hahaha! Don't look so shocked," she said, wiping a tear from her eye. "She's beautiful, powerful, and absolutely not someone you should think about courting."
"Sister," I groaned, "stop it already."
She waved dismissively. "Relax. I'm joking—mostly."
Then she grew serious again. "But remember this: attention, whether positive or negative, attracts danger. In the camp, standing out without strength is the fastest way to get crushed."
Her words settled heavily in my chest.
"I understand," I said quietly.
She studied me for a moment, then nodded.
"Good."
We continued walking, the towering wooden structures of the training ground now visible beyond the extended wall. The area had been significantly expanded—cleared land, reinforced barriers, and newly constructed platforms hinted at the scale of what was about to begin.
As we approached, voices filled the air—parents giving last-minute advice, children gathering in nervous clusters, elders overseeing preparations.
This was no longer a simple village.
It was a crucible.
I clenched my fist unconsciously.
I don't know what awaits me in that camp, I thought. But one thing is certain—I will not remain weak.
Today was not just the start of a program.
It was the first step toward becoming someone this world could not ignore.