Side Story – Chapter: The Writer Behind the Shadows
Before he was a hunter, before he awakened his shadow power, and long before he faced monsters, Carl Haruki Kureyama wrote stories.
He had been writing since he was a boy.
Before he could read fluently, he drew his stories. Before he could spell, he listened to his mother read bedtime tales. Even after his father died when he was just five years old, Carl kept a notebook under his pillow—filled with heroes, swords, and shadowy beasts.
Even now, as an S-level hunter and future guild master, he never stopped writing.
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That One Delivery
It was a quiet afternoon—before the S-level rift, before Therym Guild, back when Carl still worked part-time at Darius Bakery.
Adrian leaned over the counter, frowning slightly.
"Madam Lee didn't show up today," he said. "She's never missed a Thursday pickup. Would you mind dropping this off?"
Carl nodded. He remembered her. A polite, quiet woman in her seventies. Always ordered the same mix of almond cake and tea biscuits.
He delivered the sweets using his motorcycle. But when he arrived, he found a full house. Laughter echoed from inside. Two cars were parked outside.
Madam Lee opened the door herself, smiling warmly.
"Ah, the boy from the bakery. No—Adrian's friend, right? The one who writes."
"Come in a moment, would you? You've caught us just as my children arrived from out of town."
Carl hesitated but stepped in.
Her house smelled of paper and cinnamon. Books lined every wall, along with framed sketches and awards he hadn't expected to see.
His eyes caught on one small frame near the hallway.
"That's… the National Literary Awards?" he asked, surprised.
Madam Lee smiled knowingly. "Yes. I was a judge for many years."
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"We've Met Before"
She poured him tea and waved for him to sit, ignoring the noise of family in the other room.
"You've grown a lot, Haruki," she said softly.
Carl looked up. She used his real name.
"You knew my name?"
"I was there," she said. "The year you won your first award—'Where the Moon Watches the Sea.' You were so tense, I didn't want to disturb you."
Carl blinked. "That was when I was seventeen…"
"And you've come so far since then. Novelist. Hunter. Shadow wielder." She smiled, then added, "But I knew you even before that."
Carl frowned slightly. "How?"
She stood, walking to a low drawer. From it, she pulled out a very old photo—two adults, a baby, and a garden filled with tea flowers.
"Your parents used to bring you here. Before your father died."
"Your mother loved the garden. And you used to draw on napkins while she had tea with me."
Carl took the photo slowly.
The boy was small, his father's hair and his mother's eyes.
He didn't remember the garden. He didn't remember Madam Lee.
But the quiet in her home felt… familiar.
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Writing Between Worlds
Carl began writing seriously at fifteen, but the seed had been planted long before. Writing gave him a world he could control—a place where loss, like his father's death, didn't reach.
Even as a hunter, he never missed a deadline. Sometimes he wrote in the middle of missions. Sometimes right before a rift opened. His stories weren't just for readers—they were for himself.
A reminder that even in a world of monsters, imagination survived.
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A Notebook for the Future
Before he left, Madam Lee handed him a small, wrapped notebook with a leather cover.
"I saved this. It was a gift meant for your father, before he passed. But your mother said one day… you might want it instead."
On the first page, in soft faded ink:
"To my son—if you choose to write too, let this be your first step."
Carl said nothing for a long while.
Then he thanked her.
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That night, back in his small apartment, he didn't sleep.
He stared at the blank pages, the world outside quiet for once.
And for the first time in a long time…
He wrote without deadline.
Not as a hunter.
Not as a guild master.
Just as a son—and a storyteller.
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END of [Carl's story]