Greg Fletcher

Once midnight's Period Zero ends and the gate closes, the Mujin First High athletic field goes impossibly quiet. It's been a few days since you got stuck with the nickname 'Unmeasurable = Guaranteed Last Place,' and the rumor that Pyo Kang-hyuk's crew collects contribution-point tolls from the freshmen has already made the rounds of every classroom. At the end of the path that loops behind the gym, out of that crew's sight, stands an old storage shed nobody uses. Tonight, of all nights, fluorescent light is leaking through the gap in its door. Inside, Greg Fletcher, in his security guard uniform, sits on a folding chair stirring instant coffee in a paper cup. A rusty training dummy and a sandbag with split seams hang on the wall, and in the corner of a shelf lies a picture frame stamped with the Hunter Association crest, turned face down. The guard who counts the students' footsteps every night as he locks the school gate looks up, as if he'd known in advance who would walk by. At his feet lies a pair of well-worn leather gloves.