Late at night, as Han Jaeyeong took the elevator down from the top floor of the HP Guild to the underground training hall, a steady thudding sound reached their ears.
Thud!
Thud!
Han Jaeyeong shook their head to themself. Around lunchtime, Shin Jieum had come up to the office to complain, asking them to try stopping
her
, saying she’d been like that for days. But to think she was still at it this late into the night.
“Are you really planning to switch careers and become a swordsman or something?”
At the question, Jeong Daon, who had been striking the punching bag, turned to look at Han Jaeyeong. Her expression was as impassive as ever, but her hair, gathered high and tightly tied, and her forehead were damp with sweat. Only two weeks ago, they had criticized her for not even knowing how to use her body properly, yet now, anyone seeing her might genuinely mistake her for a swordsman. Her build, which had looked like that of a typical non-athlete, had grown slightly more toned in the meantime. And really, even setting appearances aside, the increasing number of times Jeong Daon had been clearing the training VR programs said enough.
“I just thought there was no reason to let the stamina stats I raised go to waste.”
That was what she said, but that alone didn’t explain why she’d been practically living in the guild’s training facility for an entire week since the last dungeon clear. Honestly, it looked less like training and more like venting her anger.
“Well, that’s exactly what a swordsman is supposed to look like. A spellblade wouldn’t be a bad career path either.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. So?”
With a sigh, Han Jaeyeong perched on top of the bench press. “Actually, I came because the results are in.”
A week ago, they discovered a Hunter in the dungeon that had effectively been used as a dumping ground, dead and mummified. The fingerprints were damaged, but since Jeong Daon had taken photos, identifying them hadn’t been difficult.
“Her name was Lee Taeyeon, a 27-year-old woman. A C-rank Hunter. She used to be affiliated with a guild, but apparently quit after getting addicted to gambling. The landlord of her last one-room apartment said she’d been three months behind on rent.”
“Family?”
“They were apparently considering filing a missing person report. They knew because the landlord contacted them, but they said they’d cut ties long ago because of her gambling debts.”
A Hunter falling into gambling. Considering that being a Hunter was both a highly admired profession and one with good income, it sounded unexpected, but in truth, it was more common than one might think. Perhaps constantly risking one’s life against monsters made people grow accustomed to intense stimulation. Among lower-ranked Hunters in particular, gambling addiction was even more prevalent. When it paid off, it could earn more than what they made by risking their lives, which made it all too easy to spiral downward. To Han Jaeyeong, who had worked as an S-rank Hunter in South Korea for many years, it wasn’t especially surprising.
“Then what about the CEO of Shining?”
This part, at least, was somewhat surprising, or perhaps it was the kind of story that was irritatingly familiar.
“This is the funniest part. Turns out the so-called CEO…was a homeless man.”
Jeong Daon’s eyebrow twitched. “What do you mean by that?”
“Identity theft. Apparently, organized crime groups buy homeless people’s IDs for cash and use them to establish corporations under those names.”
The “CEO” Lee Yunho and Won Deokcheol believed they knew was nothing more than a fabrication. They’d obtained the ID by paying a homeless man a few hundred thousand won. The person actually going around posing as the CEO was a mid-level executive from an organized crime group that ran loan-sharking operations and online gambling sites. A textbook case of organized crime carried out through identity theft. “Shining” had been a company set up not only to siphon off government subsidies, but also to distribute the illegal potions Lee Yunho had created. By establishing a company under a stolen identity like this, even if the police caught on, the real culprits would only be charged with the relatively minor offense of identity theft. Even if the fraud were proven after a long legal battle, crimes like this often resulted in sentences of only a few years at most.
“But that still doesn’t—”
“Right. It doesn’t explain everything.”
In the end, no matter how you put it, organized crime members were still just ordinary people. From what they’d uncovered, there did seem to be a few low-ranking Hunters among them, but there was no way those thugs possessed the technical skill to create something as bizarre as what had been inside that dungeon: Hunters who had withered away and died like mummies inside the dungeon, and the lifeless idol, classified by the system as an S-rank monster.
It wasn’t enough to formally report to the academic community, but Han Jaeyeong was convinced the monster had been created by humans.
“Still, the problem is… it doesn’t look like digging any deeper into Shining will turn up anything.”
The company called Shining really was just what Won Deokcheol had described, a business that did anything as long as it made money. According to the investigation, they frequently sold illegal potions and dungeon entry tickets through online messengers that left no trace. No, in fact, aside from specific days when people went in to dump trash, they barely managed dungeon access at all.
“It’d be nice if we could try clearing it one more time, but that’s not an option either.”
Perhaps because they had succeeded in defeating an S-rank monster, after Han Jaeyeong and the other members of the HP Guild returned to reality, the dungeon vanished along with a notification announcing that it had been completely cleared. It wasn’t unheard of. After all, the whole point of dungeon raids was to close dungeons permanently. Even so, this was the first time the system’s announcement that a dimensional rift had been sealed left such an unpleasant aftertaste. It felt as though the evidence had been erased before it could even be verified.
“So they tried to stop us from going in another direction because…?”
“They figured we’d find out the dungeon hadn’t been properly managed.”
Once a dungeon is put up for auction, the company that acquires it is legally obligated to ensure its safety. But if management was so negligent that they had effectively abandoned it, it meant that even a curious child could have wandered in without anyone noticing. In fact, given how closely the monsters inside had approached people, it suggested that Shining didn’t even have a grasp on how many individuals had been coming and going in that dungeon. That was why, no matter how much they were interrogated about why such a monster existed inside or why people were dying there, the only answer they gave was that they didn’t know.
“At this point, they’ll probably just be fined for neglecting their safety obligations. And if they can’t pay, maybe about two years in prison.”
Realistically, that was all the punishment there would be. There was no evidence that the people dying inside the dungeon had been forcibly abducted, and as long as they insisted it was mere negligence, there was no way around it. At best, there would be criminal charges for identity theft and even that carried no especially heavy sentence.
“The so-called CEO has been released after voluntary questioning, but no matter how much they press him, he’s keeping his mouth shut about who’s behind it all. Says he was just a subcontractor, and that serving time is no big deal.”
He was someone who had run a company under a stolen identity to begin with. He wasn’t afraid of the law, which made it impossible to push things any further.
“Then what about digging into that high-ranking Central Management Office official who tipped off Yu Hanul?”
“We already looked into that too.”
The one who had sounded Yu Hanul out after hearing that Han Jaeyeong was entering the dungeon.
“There was misconduct during the bidding process for that dungeon. Looks like they casually leaked the bid price to Shining.”
If anything, that was a painfully familiar story. Leaking internal information to someone you had personal ties with during a dungeon auction was far from rare. And for a high-ranking official in the Central Management Office, sharing the bid details of a dungeon that seemed practically worthless probably felt like nothing at all.
Taking bribes and leaking information so that Shining could win the auction had been fine, but when rumors reached them that an S-rank Hunter was entering that long-forgotten dungeon, they’d grown anxious. So, in a panic, they’d tried to feel Yu Hanul out.
“Then that person knew what was going on inside the dungeon…?”
“They claim they didn’t. Says it was just a slip of the tongue at a nice dinner. We won’t know for sure until the prosecutors investigate.”
No matter how closely they examined it, the whole affair was nothing but infuriating stories. People who’d thrown their lives away on gambling, disappearing without anyone looking for them. High-ranking officials who took bribes to push a dungeon through auction, then couldn’t be bothered to care about how it was actually managed. And criminals who set up companies using stolen identities and committed every kind of illegal act without restraint.
“Everyone claims they knew nothing.”
There was a faint trace of anger in Jeong Daon’s voice as she said that. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to call it contempt.
“What a ridiculous country. From the moment you’re born, they assign you a number, and once you’re an adult, they even take your fingerprints. Yet they can’t protect a single thing they’re supposed to.”
“Well, I doubt other countries are any different.”
“Probably not. Anywhere humans exist, it’s all the same.”
At that response, Han Jaeyeong stared straight at Jeong Daon. “Hm. By any chance, are you also of mixed blood with another race, Jeong Daon?”
That, too, was one of the possibilities Han Jaeyeong had been considering regarding Jeong Daon’s true nature. The more they talked, the more Jeong Daon seemed to harbor a deep disillusionment with humanity as a species itself. And above all else—
“Why, are
you
a fairy hybrid?”
That attitude. What fascinated Han Jaeyeong most was how unbothered Jeong Daon was, even knowing their true identity.
Even in a world where monsters appeared, fairies were still little more than urban legends. Especially in Korea, they were thought of as creatures that only appeared in children’s fairy tales. Yet Jeong Daon hadn’t been particularly surprised, neither by the existence of fairies themselves, nor by the fact that Han Jaeyeong was a shapeshifting mage, even after seeing Han Jaeyeong transform.
If that was the case, wasn’t it most natural to assume that Jeong Daon herself was also of mixed blood with another race, and therefore treated it all as no big deal?
That line of thinking made the most sense.
“There’s no way hybrids with other races are that common. I’m human. You’ve seen my family.”
“A twenty-year-old Hunter who can use true incantations isn’t exactly common either. Are you really human?”
“You sound like you’re hoping I’m not. Do you need a comrade or something?” Saying that, Jeong Daon picked up the bag she’d left off to the side and slipped on her coat, then turned back to Han Jaeyeong. “I’m just a provisional guild member. I don’t have to show up at the guild every day, right?”
“Of course not. You’re still provisional.”
“Then don’t contact me tomorrow. I’ve got something personal to take care of.”
“Now you’ve made me curious. I’ll definitely contact you.”
“I’d rather talk to a cat.”
“Does Leo not talk back to you?”
“That’s exactly the problem.”
With that, Jeong Daon really did leave the training hall.
Left behind, Han Jaeyeong took a moment longer to process what Jeong Daon had meant, then clicked their tongue.
The nurse, who had been watching the IV drip, spoke kindly. “Patient Choi Miyeon, the medication is finished.”
“Yes.”
“If your skin starts itching or you feel a fever coming on, press the call button right away. I’ll check on you again later.”
With those words, the nurse hurried off.
Choi Miyeon was left alone in the private hospital room, staring up at the white ceiling. A Hunter in a “water balloon” state needed medication injections three or four times a day just to maintain a normal physical condition, and on top of that, she’d overexerted herself in a dungeon not long ago. As a result, she remained hospitalized. When she’d been questioned by the prosecution, she’d gone back and forth to the prosecutor’s office, but over the past week her condition had steadily worsened, and investigators had started coming directly to her hospital room instead.
Honestly, she was almost grateful for the questioning. There was no one who would contact her, and no one to talk to. When she was left alone with nothing to do, useless thoughts inevitably took over her mind.
Why did I do that back then? Why didn’t I do it differently? If I’d done better. If I’d realized sooner. Just a little more.
Night after night, waves of self-loathing came crashing down, gnawing away at Choi Miyeon’s condition faster than the medication ever could.
It’s suffocating.
Choi Miyeon pushed herself up and opened the hospital window. It was a tiny window, barely large enough to stretch an arm through, but it was better than nothing. A rush of cold night air swept into the room. The curtain attached to the hospital bed fluttered softly in the breeze.
And with it came a voice, light as the wind itself, “Hello.”
Choi Miyeon turned her head.
A girl with long hair like a curtain of night parted the fabric and leaned in.
“I’ve come to ask for help, accomplice.”
A welcome nightmare had arrived.