“What am I supposed to do… really?”
After a full day of training, during the evening’s personal maintenance period, Lee Seunghui finally broke down. She’d been maintaining her gear when the tears came rushing out. After making mistake after mistake in the previous session, she’d done the same again in the afternoon training.
Sitting beside her, Choi Jisu patted her back, clearly used to this. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s nothing to cry over. Everyone’s like this during basic training. Once you’re in real operations, you’ll manage.”
“I really think I can’t do this…” Seunghui sobbed. “I keep failing even the tutorial. Did you see the look on Jeong Daon’s face earlier?”
"Huh?"
“She looked at me like I was completely hopeless. It was awful…”
"Seunghui." Lee Pyeonghwa spoke up, addressing her directly. “If it’s really too much, then take early discharge. You can leave now and come back later—”
"No." Sniffling, Lee Seunghui brushed dirt off her military knife. “If I leave here, my dad will kill me.”
The military is a place where you encounter all kinds of people you’d never normally meet, and even special units were no exception. In a closed environment where you live and train together, camaraderie naturally forms. In just two weeks, Lee Pyeonghwa and the others had already learned about one another’s family situations.
Seunghui’s father, it turned out, was a fairly well-known B-rank Hunter and mage. When Seunghui received a B-rank on the Supernatural Test, her father had been pleased, but immediately pressured her to complete the magic tutorial. Seunghui had tried her best, but whether because of stress or fear, she hadn’t finished it before basic military training began. Her father had continued to scold her relentlessly right up until enlistment.
Choi Jisu shook her head. “Seunghui, you don’t need to worry so much. Once you’re assigned to a unit, you just do what the seniors tell you. That’s what everyone says.”
“But my dad’s coming to the graduation ceremony,” Seunghui said weakly. “He’s going to ask if I finished the tutorial, how my training scores were…”
“Then just lie.”
“Jisu, didn’t you say you’re a devout Christian?”
At that, Choi Jisu scrunched her nose and laughed. “Sure, but isn’t saving a person more important right now?”
“I can’t lie… My dad sees through lies immediately. He’s like a ghost. That’s why, Jisu, today too, could you maybe—”
“Seunghui.” Lee Pyeonghwa cut her off again. She’d been listening, but unlike Choi Jisu, she had no intention of indulging an endless spiral of lamenting. “That’s domestic abuse.”
“Huh?” Seunghui’s eyes widened.
“Why are you letting your father control you like that? You’re an adult now. If you don’t want to listen, become independent.”
It wasn’t impossible. During the thirty-nine months of mandatory service, food and housing were covered, and even the modest pay would steadily accumulate. After completing her service, she could work as a Hunter. Financially, she’d manage.
“And if you really have to go back home, then protest. Tell him, ‘This is who I am—what do you expect me to do?’”
“That’s…not wrong,” Choi Jisu said, shaking her head. “But you’re being awfully cold. Things don’t work that cleanly in real life, especially with parents.”
“Exactly!” Seunghui agreed, tears welling up again. “You’re amazing at everything, Pyeonghwa, so you wouldn’t understand…”
“When I got A-rank, my family went crazy too.”
Both Choi Jisu and Lee Seunghui fell silent.
After all, Lee Pyeonghwa receiving an A-rank on the Supernatural Test had been national news.
“And I told them flat out: this wasn’t my fault.”
Cases like this were common in performance-based fields. Parents who pressured their children when their talent didn’t shine as expected, and children who suffered under expectations they couldn’t meet.
Parents might want a return on what they’d invested, but in these fields, investment rarely guaranteed results. And children weren’t investments to begin with. A parent’s disappointment wasn’t something a child was obligated to carry.
“Pyeonghwa…”
“What can you do about innate talent?”
“Pyeonghwa, you were born talented.”
It was something she’d heard endlessly since childhood. From birth, Lee Pyeonghwa had been blessed with exceptional physical traits. Humans are born unfairly. Race, gender, environment, talent, none of it is something you get to choose, no matter how unfair it feels.
That Lee Pyeonghwa had been born with outstanding talent was simply luck. And that seemingly endless, lucky talent had ultimately been judged by the system as A-rank.
That was all.
Nothing had changed.
All she could do was give her best with what she’d been given.
“...”
Lee Pyeonghwa was relieved by the silence and continued maintaining her gear.
“This afternoon, we will be clearing the D-rank dungeon assigned to this unit. Be sure to avoid accidents and follow the commander’s orders at all times. Understood?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Can’t you answer louder than that?!”
“Yes, sir!” Lee Pyeonghwa tightened her core and shouted back.
In ordinary basic training, the day usually ended with a march. But basic training for people with supernatural abilities was different. Once assigned to a unit, their primary duty would be maintaining public safety through dungeon raids, so even during training they had to experience dungeon clearance firsthand.
Of course, since they were still trainees, the dungeon chosen was among the safest of the low-grade ones. Even so, the trainees spent the entire morning memorizing the manual for the upcoming operation. No matter how low-level the dungeon, it could still be dangerous for inexperienced soldiers, and precautions were necessary to prevent accidents.
The drill instructor spoke sternly. “Today, in addition to your commander, an active-duty Hunter will accompany you on site for safety reasons. This person has come at great inconvenience for your protection, so you will obey their instructions without exception. Understood?”
“A Hunter is coming with us?”
“Who could it be?”
Amid everyone’s curiosity, a familiar face, one often seen in various media, appeared.
“Hello. I’m Han Jaeyeong, your special instructor.”
Han Jaeyeong, an S-rank Hunter, second in fame only to Yu Hanul in Korea.
Several recruits visibly sucked in a breath at their introduction.
“Haha, I’m pretty good-looking, aren’t I?” Han Jaeyeong greeted them with a playful smile and an easy wave.
Lee Pyeonghwa was genuinely startled as well.
…Good grief. Why is someone like them here?
But the surprise lasted only a moment. She glanced sideways at Jeong Daon standing beside her.
Did they come here because of Jeong Daon?
It seemed others had reached the same conclusion. Being trainees, they couldn’t openly ask, but their gazes kept flicking back and forth between Jeong Daon and Han Jaeyeong.
Han Jaeyeong, however, didn’t look toward Jeong Daon at all. Instead, they smiled broadly at the trainees. “Nice to meet you, juniors. Since I’m here, don’t be too nervous, but don’t relax too much either. You know what I mean, right?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Good. I’ll be counting on you today.”
With an S-rank senior Hunter appearing like a figure from the heavens, the trainees were visibly excited. They felt less like a senior and more like a celebrity, someone impossibly distant.
After the introductions, lunchtime arrived.
“I think I’m going to throw up.”
Lee Seunghui tried to pick up some braised beans with trembling chopsticks, dropping them several times. Her hands were shaking badly.
“With you this nervous, are you going to be okay? This is basically a real operation. If it’s too much, you could always sit it out—”
“N-no, I can’t!”
Lee Seunghui slammed her chopsticks onto the table with a clatter. The entire cafeteria turned to look, and she immediately hunched her shoulders.
Watching her, Lee Pyeonghwa frowned slightly.
This doesn’t seem like something to just brush off.
A bit of tension could help, but this was clearly excessive. Her hands were shaking, and now she was even starting to stutter.
“Pyeonghwa, it’s fine,” Choi Jisu said quietly. “Once we’re actually inside, Seunghui will do fine. If you pressure her now, she’ll only get more nervous.”
“…You think so?”
“Of course. I’m her squadmate. I’m keeping an eye on her.” Choi Jisu patted Lee Seunghui’s back and slid a cup of water toward her. “Don’t eat too much. You might upset your stomach.”
“R-right…”
At least those two got along well. That much was a relief.
“I’m done eating. I’ll head out first.”
Lee Pyeonghwa stood after finishing her meal. She was nervous too, with her first dungeon raid approaching, and thought some light stretching before the operation would help.
There’s an open area behind the cafeteria…
Just as she was about to leave, a voice reached her ears, making her stop in her tracks, “Come on now. Thinking I came here just because of you, that’s a bit of an overactive imagination, isn’t it, Jeong Daon?”
Behind the cafeteria, she spotted Han Jaeyeong, the special instructor, standing with Jeong Daon.
“I actually come to training camps as a special instructor from time to time.”
“An S-rank Hunter? You’re that free?”
…They’re speaking casually?
Honestly, it would have been a lie to say Lee Pyeonghwa wasn’t shocked. She didn’t know Han Jaeyeong’s exact age, but they were a veteran Hunter, while Jeong Daon was the same age as her. And yet Jeong Daon was speaking to them casually, without hesitation.
“I’m not free at all,” Han Jaeyeong said. “Honestly, I’m so busy it makes me want to throw up. Especially lately.”
“That doesn’t match your words or your behavior.”
What made it even stranger was that Han Jaeyeong was using polite speech.
Do they already know each other?
Come to think of it, Lee Pyeonghwa vaguely remembered seeing an article about both Han Jaeyeong and Jeong Daon getting caught up in the Gwanghwamun Dungeon Break. Maybe that was where they’d crossed paths. Even so, it felt odd that only one side—Jeong Daon, no less—was speaking informally.
No, wait. Why am I even eavesdropping?
A short laugh came from Han Jaeyeong. “So that didn’t work at all… All right, fine. I’ll tell you, just this once.”
“Hurry up. It’s my lunch break.”
“I’m here to arrange a special assignment. We need to pull certain people out before unit placements begin.”
Han Jaeyeong smiled broadly at Jeong Daon, almost spinning in place. In the news and interviews, they always carried an imposing presence, but watching them tease Jeong Daon made them seem more like an immature older relative.
“Hunter Jeong Daon—no, Recruit 44—once you finish basic training, you’ll be assigned to our guild as a public service worker. Surprised? You’re surprised, right?”
At that, Lee Pyeonghwa tilted her head.
A public service worker?
So instead of being assigned to a regular unit after basic training, Jeong Daon would be transferred to Han Jaeyeong’s HP Guild?
“An S-rank mage is just too specialized,” Han Jaeyeong continued enthusiastically. “From the military’s perspective, assigning someone like that to a unit is inefficient and costly in a lot of ways…” They suddenly stopped. “Huh? You don’t look surprised at all. Don’t tell me you already knew? That you might get pulled out as a public service worker like this?”
“I didn’t.”
“That explains it! You signed the contract way too fast. So you
did
know, huh? Wow, you really got me.”
“Did you just not hear what I said?”
“Oh wow. I really shouldn’t underestimate you.”
“If you’re going to be like this, why don’t you just talk to a mirror by yourself?”
“Hey, where are you going, my future guild members?”
Han Jaeyeong reached out and grabbed Jeong Daon’s shoulder as she turned away. Jeong Daon knocked their hand aside with an irritated expression, like brushing off a fly. “Just go.”
“Come on. If you go back now, it’ll just be awkward with your classmates anyway.”
“And how would you know that?”
“It’s obvious. Just hang out and chat with me. Skipping out with me is technically legal.”
“Since when?”
“Hear me out, and you might change your mind. Ah, but before that…” Han Jaeyeong turned their head.
Lee Pyeonghwa, who had been peeking out from around the corner, flinched and stepped back instinctively.
Scrape.
The faint sound of sand brushing against her combat boots echoed. Realizing she’d made noise, Lee Pyeonghwa stiffened.
Han Jaeyeong’s voice followed. “This area gets a lot of foot traffic, so I’ll put up a soundproofing spell.”
“Isn’t using magic freely inside a military base a violation of military law?”
“Is now really the time to be saying that to me…?”
Along with an uncomfortable, slippery sensation, both Han Jaeyeong’s and Jeong Daon’s voices vanished completely. Just as they’d said, it seemed they had activated a soundproofing spell.
Lee Pyeonghwa bit her lip and turned away.
I must be out of my mind. Why did I listen to that?
If she’d just walked away immediately, she wouldn’t have embarrassed herself like this.
She had assumed Jeong Daon would be placed in the same unit as her. Although unit assignments were officially random, she had heard that ability users were often assigned based on their Supernatural Test rankings, since dungeon difficulty depended heavily on potential. But if Jeong Daon was being assigned as a public service worker, then she would never be assigned to the same unit as her, and they wouldn’t have to see each other for the next thirty-nine months.
Maybe that’s for the best.
It felt like having an aching tooth finally pulled.
The last time Lee Pyeonghwa had snapped at Jeong Daon, it was because she disrupted the atmosphere among the trainees. Despite having overwhelming ability, she neither helped others nor made any real effort to cooperate. What would the others think, seeing that?
They would resent her for looking down on them, while at the same time growing increasingly conscious of their own shortcomings.
Lee Seunghui is already like that.
Jeong Daon never deliberately drew attention to herself, but every time a spell failed, Lee Pyeonghwa noticed Lee Seunghui glancing at her. Showing that level of inadequacy in front of Jeong Daon clearly hurt her pride.
If she crushed everyone overwhelmingly, it might be different.
But Jeong Daon didn’t seem to have any intention of fitting in with the group at all.
If she had no desire to resolve this subtle tension, then special treatment or not, it was better for her to leave as soon as possible.
At least I only have to endure a little longer.
And Lee Pyeonghwa told herself that the sense of relief she felt contained no personal spite whatsoever.