The first morning of training was, for Kimberly, the equivalent of hell disguised as a routine.
The sun had barely risen when Roshi banged on her door and yelled:
"Wake up, little vampire! The world isn't gonna wait for you to stretch!"
Kim groaned and buried her face in the pillow.
"…You're worse than a school bell."
Roshi opened the door and tossed a water bottle onto the bed.
"And you're lazier than a vampire sunbathing. Get moving."
Minutes later, she was in the living room — sweatshirt, messy hair, and a face that mixed anger with sleep.
On the table, there was a thick notebook filled with notes, symbols, and creepy illustrations.
"All of this is… homework?" she asked, poking the notebook with her finger.
"Manual." Roshi crossed his arms. "If you want to hunt monsters, you gotta know what they are."
He flipped to the first page: a grotesque-looking vampire unlike anything Kim had imagined.
"Vampires are fast, strong, thirsty… and arrogant," he explained. "Weaknesses: ultraviolet light, silver, and fire."
Kim smirked. "So basically, I'm allergic to anything shiny."
"Some, yes. Others? Not so much."
He turned the page — a werewolf.
"Werewolves. Shapeshifters tied to the moon. Bones and flesh tough as hell. Regular bullets? Useless. Only silver works."
Kim squinted at the drawing. "Have I met one of those?"
"Not yet. And I hope it takes a while."
Another page flip. "Wendigos. Former humans taken over by hunger and cold. Immortal cannibals. Never look them in the eyes."
"Why?"
"Because they show you the voices in your head," he replied dryly.
Kim swallowed hard.
"Mummies," he continued. "Cursed for centuries, resistant to everything except fire and purification magic.
Sirens — not the fairy-tale ones. These slit people's throats and drown them at the docks.
Demons…" He sighed. "That's where the fun begins."
Kim rested her chin on her hands, both scared and fascinated.
"I thought 'monsters' meant like… two or three species."
"Kid…" Roshi chuckled. "The world's a nightmare zoo. And you chose to be the vet."
The days that followed were a mix of pain and learning.
Roshi made her run for kilometers every morning — "to strengthen your legs and your patience," he'd say.
Then came drills: punches, kicks, rolls, dodges.
Kim got knocked down, messed up, tripped — and complained. A lot.
"This is torture, not training!" she yelled one day, hitting the floor again.
"Then learn fast — the torture ends sooner." He laughed.
But little by little, Roshi started showing her what he truly wanted from her.
"You're half human and half vampire," he said. "Use what you've got."
So she did.
Kim became faster. Her reflexes sharpened.
Her senses — sight, hearing, smell — began reacting better.
She could hear Roshi's heartbeat from meters away, smell gunpowder before a shot.
In exchange, she had to control the hunger — not lose focus when blood was near.
"You're not what you drink. You're what you choose," he'd say, firm, whenever she trembled with thirst.
In the third week, Roshi took her to the basement — a weird mix of workshop and armory.
Guns, swords, knives, grenades, stakes, amulets.
"You used all of this to hunt?" she asked, amazed.
"I did. And I lived to store it," he replied, grabbing an old pistol.
"But a weapon without a mind behind it is just metal. Think before you shoot."
He taught her calibers, ammo types, enchanted blades, protective symbols.
Kim learned to assemble and disassemble guns, shoot at targets, and wield a short sword.
At first, she missed every shot.
Roshi didn't give up — and out of pure pride, neither did she.
When she finally hit the center of the target, he only smirked and said:
"Now the real training starts."
Months turned into years.
Kim grew up.
The sarcasm stayed, but her gaze became steadier, colder.
Roshi, in turn, began seeing her as more than a student — almost like a daughter life had returned to him in a twisted way.
Between one session and another, there were pauses.
One afternoon, Roshi showed her an old car covered in a tarp in the garage.
"My wife and I used to ride in this. Before everything went downhill."
Kim looked at the metallic shine reflecting the past.
"It's beautiful."
"It's a memory." He smiled faintly. "Memories are the ammo of the soul, kid."
She stayed silent, honoring the weight in his voice.
Five years passed.
Salt Blake remained cold and dangerous — but Kimberly, or Sasha, as everyone knew her now, was no longer a lost girl.
At eighteen, her hair was longer, her gaze sharp, her body trained.
She knew how to handle guns, blades — and her own blood when needed.
She knew how to fight, hunt, survive.
That morning, Roshi set a box on the table. Inside: a silver pistol and a dagger with a bluish blade.
"Congratulations, Sasha," he said. "Time for your first hunt."
Kim lifted her eyes, a smirk sliding onto her lips.
"Finally."
"It's just a test," he warned. "A Wendigo at the docks. I'll be nearby, but I want to see what you've learned."
Kim grabbed the gun, checked the magazine, twirled the dagger between her fingers.
"Don't worry, old man. I promise not to destroy half the city."
"If you do, you're paying for the repairs," he shot back, laughing.
She answered with a confident look.
The girl who once stole scraps in the streets was now ready to face monsters.
Outside, night fell over Salt Blake — and for a moment, the city fell silent, as if sensing a new hunter had been born.