Chapter 6: Next stage
Fin leaned against the wall by the east door, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. The Hunter Guild lobby still hummed around him—people coming and going, their voices a low buzz that made his head spin.
He could still feel the weight of everyone's stares, the whispers about the "slum freak" who'd knocked out Scarface with a single touch. His patched jeans and faded shirt felt like a neon sign screaming "I don't belong her." But he was in. Barely, sure, but in.
He shifted his weight, wincing as his boots squeaked on the shiny floor. His legs ached from the ten-mile walk, and his arm still stung under the bandages from that monster fight. 'Man, I need a nap,' he thought, rubbing his eyes. '"Or a sandwich. Or both.' His stomach growled, loud enough that a guy nearby—a slick-looking dude with a sword slung over his back—shot him a weird look.
"Uh, sorry," Fin muttered, turning red. Sword Guy just smirked and walked off, leaving Fin to slump back against the wall. 'Great. Even my stomach's embarrassing me now.'
He glanced around, trying to distract himself. The lobby was huge—way bigger than it looked from outside. Fancy lights hung from the ceiling, glowing soft and warm, not like the flickering bulb back home.
The walls had posters of Hunters—big, bold pictures of them posing with weapons or standing over dead monsters. One showed a lady with a giant hammer, grinning like she'd just smashed a whole dungeon to bits. 'She's cool,' he thought. 'Bet she doesn't trip over her own feet.'
The east door was plain, just a slab of metal with a little sign that said "Orientation – New Recruits." No one else was waiting there yet, which made him antsy. 'Am I early? Late? Do they even want me here?' That interviewer lady had passed him, yeah, but her sigh and that "walking disaster" comment stuck with him. What if this was all a mistake?
He kicked at the floor, scuffing his boot. 'Meg'd tell me to chill. 'You're in, dummy! Stop whining!' He could almost hear her voice, loud and sharp, cutting through his nerves. It made him smile a little. 'Yeah, okay. I'm here. That's what counts.'
A clatter of footsteps snapped him out of it. A group of people—five or six, all around his age—headed his way, laughing and talking loud. They looked... well, not like him.
Clean clothes, shiny gear, hair that didn't look like it'd been hacked with a dull knife. One girl had a bow strapped to her back, and a guy flexed his arms like he was showing off invisible muscles. 'Applicants,' Fin guessed. 'Great. More people to laugh at me.'
They stopped a few feet away, clustering by the door. The bow girl glanced at him, her eyes flicking over his patched-up outfit, but she didn't say anything. Muscle Guy, though, nudged his buddy—a short dude with spiky red hair—and grinned.