"That's her son. I heard she was on the brink of death—now look at her, chatting and walking!"
Leon paused outside his mother's hospital room, a steaming bowl of soup balanced in his hands. Two nurses stood near the medication cart, their voices hushed but audible in the quiet corridor.
"Remarkable recovery," the older nurse said. "Dr. Harrison claims he has never witnessed anything like it in thirty years of practice."
Leon entered the room carefully, placing the soup on the bedside table. His mother sat propped against pillows, color restored to her cheeks, her eyes bright and focused.
"Homemade chicken broth," he said, though his attention was divided between her smile and the doorway behind him.
She accepted the spoon with steady hands. "You're spoiling me."
"Someone has to."
This routine continued throughout the week. Leon maintained a vigilant watch while appearing to be nothing more than a devoted son. He brought meals, assisted with walks, and politely deflected the endless stream of curious questions.
"How did she recover so quickly?" asked Mrs. Chen from the next bed.
Leon shrugged, arranging fresh flowers in a water glass. "Sometimes people just get better."
"But the doctors said—"
"Doctors aren't always right."
He moved through the hospital corridors with practiced awareness, cataloging every face and noting any unusual presence. His fingers remained close to the concealed knife in his jacket, though he projected nothing but calm devotion.
Evenings brought a different routine. After his mother fell asleep, Leon would slip into the small visitor bathroom to access his system interface. The blue glow was carefully muted, invisible to anyone who might glance through the frosted glass.
[Leon Graves - Level 7][Available Stat Points: 12][Vitality: 24 → 30][Magic: 18 → 24]
Each point allocation brought a subtle warmth to his healing wounds. It was not dramatic enough to attract attention, but steady improvement would serve him in whatever came next.
Late at night, Leon walked the hospital grounds. Security guards recognized him as the devoted son who never left his mother's side. They nodded respectfully as he passed, unaware that his rounds around the building were tactical reconnaissance.
"Planning to move back home soon?" his mother asked on the fourth day.
"When you're ready."
"I've been ready since yesterday. These walls make me feel claustrophobic."
Leon studied her face. The gaunt hollows had filled out completely, and her hair now had a natural shine instead of brittle fragility. The elixir's effects were thorough and permanent.
"Dr. Harrison wants to run more tests."
"Dr. Harrison wants to solve a puzzle that doesn't concern him." She reached for his hand. "I'm ready to go home, Leon. Really home."
The seventh day brought discharge. Dr. Harrison reluctantly handed over the paperwork, shaking his head as he reviewed her final readings.
"Cellular regeneration levels I've never documented. Complete respiratory recovery. Even old surgical scars have faded significantly." He looked up at Leon with professional curiosity. "Your mother's free to go, but I would like to schedule follow-up appointments for research."
"We'll consider it," Leon replied, helping his mother gather her belongings.
When they returned, their apartment building felt different. Neighbors gathered in the hallway, their faces bright with genuine relief. Mrs. Rodriguez, from across the hall,, pressed a container of fresh empanadas into his mother's hands.
"We prayed for you every night," she said.
"Thank you. The prayers worked."
Others offered gifts—flowers, homemade bread, small tokens of community support. Leon graciously accepted them while scanning faces for anything beyond neighborly concern.
"How did you afford the treatment?" asked Mr. Park from the third floor.
"We managed," Leon's mother answered smoothly.
"But the medical bills—"
"Sometimes help comes from unexpected places."
Leon prepared dinner in their tiny kitchen that evening while his mother rested on the couch. The apartment felt warmer, less like a shelter and more like a true home. Sunlight streamed through clean windows, highlighting dust motes that danced like tiny celebrations.
"You're fussing," his mother observed, watching him adjust her tea setting for the third time.
"I'm being thorough."
"You're being overprotective." She patted the cushion beside her. "Sit with me. Tell me about your week."
Leon settled next to her, careful not to jostle her still-recovering frame. "Nothing interesting happened. Hospital food, uncomfortable chairs, and worrying about you."
"And the new scars?"
His hand instinctively moved to the healing cut on his jaw. "Training accident."
"Training for what?"
"Hunter certification renewals. Standard combat assessments."
She nodded, accepting the explanation without question. Some inquiries did not require deeper answers.
Over the following days, they developed comfortable routines. Leon cooked meals with ingredients they could suddenly afford while his mother practiced gentle exercises to rebuild the strength lost during months of illness. Neighbors continued to visit, bringing food and gossip in equal measure.
Evenings became their favorite time. They would sit on the small balcony, watching the city lights flicker to life across the district. His mother shared stories from her childhood, while Leon described imaginary adventures from his supposed Hunter training.
"I missed this," she said one night, stars visible despite the urban glow.
"Missed what?"
"Hope. For weeks, I couldn't imagine next month. Now I'm planning for next year."
Leon squeezed her hand gently. "What kind of plans?"
"Travel, maybe. See the ocean again. Visit your father's grave with flowers instead of tears." She smiled. "Simple things that felt impossible before."
They sat in comfortable silence, sharing warmth and possibility. Leon envisioned a future beyond immediate survival for the first time since his Awakening.
But peace could not last indefinitely. Leon understood this with crystalline clarity. The underground tournament had linked his name to dangerous people. The Association would eventually investigate the missing elixir. His activities would attract attention from forces that preferred shadows to sunlight.
Leon ensured his mother was settled with afternoon tea and her favorite book three days later. "I'm meeting an old friend," he said, adjusting his jacket.
"Anyone I know?"
"Someone from before the Awakening."
"Be careful. And be home before dark."
"I always am."
Leon navigated the city through winding paths that avoided main thoroughfares. He moved through quieter districts where surveillance was limited, taking three times longer than necessary to ensure he wasn't followed.
The rooftop training area sat atop an abandoned warehouse in the manufacturing district. Leon had discovered it months ago during his early attempts at zombie practice. Now, he climbed the rusted fire escape with a different purpose.
Damian stood at the roof's edge, practicing sword forms against the setting sun. His movements flowed like water, each strike precise and controlled. Sweat gleamed on his forehead despite the cool evening air.
Leon approached quietly, his boots crunching on gravel. Damian's exercises continued without interruption, though his posture suggested he was aware of Leon's presence.
"You could have kept the elixir, you know."