To enter Haneul Comprehensive Repeaters’ Academy, you had to step into the academy building that had already burned down completely. Like Dowon High School, it was located somewhere in Gyeonggi Province.
Even though it was smaller than Dowon High School, the fact that Koreans—people obsessed with real estate—were just leaving a plot this large untouched was suspicious in itself. This was a country where, Anomaly or not, people would build something as long as there was land. And yet this burned-out academy building had been abandoned for years. That felt more like a horror story.
“Isn’t there any redevelopment here? Baekju Apartment eventually got replaced with a new complex. What was it called again… Tricent Itilazium or something.”
“Even if Seoul has no choice, it’s better not to touch places where Anomalies have occurred unless absolutely necessary.”
“Why?”
“If you meddle carelessly, the affected area can expand. Tricent Itilazium has many points connected to Baekju Apartment, so most of it is vacant. Even if you develop it, it’s not somewhere people can actually live.”
So it wasn’t being developed because it wasn’t viable property.
The burned structure had been left as it was, with only a fence installed. That might block most things, but it didn’t seem like it would stop YouTube ghost-hunting channels from flocking in.
Because the fire had completely destroyed the building, its condition was worse than Dowon High School. That was unfortunate for me, since I had to go inside—but at least it meant this place would probably see fewer intrusions from YouTubers. No matter how desperate someone was for views, walking into a collapsed academy with its skeletal frame fully exposed wouldn’t be easy.
Jeon Jiho and Lee Manji entered the building as if it were nothing, even though it looked like it would crumble the moment the wind picked up. I followed behind them, wondering whether dying from a building collapse would count as an industrial accident.
Unaware of my concerns, Jeon Jiho busied himself explaining things before we entered the Anomaly.
“I’ll explain it again before we go in. Haneul Comprehensive Repeaters’ Academy is one of the Anomalies even experienced Controllers hesitate to enter. You can be discharged if you perform well on the ‘monthly exam,’ but ironically, that same ‘monthly exam’ is what keeps the survival rate low.”
He handed me a body cam and a small flashlight, calling them Controller-issued supplies. Lee Manji, who would be entering with me, was already wearing a backpack filled with additional equipment.
“When it’s time to take the monthly exam, dispose of the body cam. During lectures or exams, if you enter while wearing it, all entities turn hostile.”
The body cam developed by the Anomaly Control Department looked completely different from the one Kim Jihoon had gotten for YouTube filming. There was nothing the wearer could control; even inside an Anomaly, it only provided recording. It was meant for tracking Controllers if they went missing.
As a Department member, I was supposed to receive a mark to prevent mental contamination, but that wasn’t possible for me. Just like mental manipulation didn’t work on me, every time Jeon Jiho tried to engrave the mark, my body rejected it. I felt fine, but Jeon Jiho ended up with another nosebleed.
Even though the marking failed, he didn’t seem concerned about me at all. According to him, there was a higher chance that I would contaminate the Anomaly than the other way around.
“Basically, everyone deployed into Haneul Comprehensive Repeaters’ Academy is highly educated.”
Only highly educated people entering a repeaters’ academy meant to become highly educated.
A perfect miniature of Korean education.
Contradictory as it was, there was no other choice. The structure of Haneul Comprehensive Repeaters’ Academy meant you couldn’t survive if you couldn’t study. Dowon High School had already locked third-year students on the fourth floor and done its best to violate student rights—but a repeaters’ academy had even fewer rights than an ordinary school.
Just how few?
To safely solve the “monthly exam,” you had to give a bribe to the “examiner.” Even after showing that level of “sincerity,” if you still didn’t get good results, escaping the Anomaly was out of the question.
18-1. The monthly exam consists of five subjects (Korean, mathematics, English, and two elective subjects).
18-2. The time per subject is as follows: Korean 80 minutes, mathematics 100 minutes, English 70 minutes, electives 30 minutes. Time may flow differently depending on the classroom administering the exam. Always pay attention to time. Solving problems outside the allotted time will be considered cheating. Cheaters will permanently be unable to be “discharged.”
19. The monthly exam is graded by relative evaluation. Grade standards are as follows:
19-1. To be “discharged,” you must receive Grade 1 in all five subjects. If even one subject is Grade 2 or lower, discharge will be impossible until the next monthly exam.
19-2. Except in special cases (see Clause 12), exam papers are provided randomly. Therefore, this institution cannot provide answer sheets in advance. If the exam paper is written in an unrecognizable language, finish the exam as quickly as possible and attempt another escape method.
19-3. Leaving the classroom without submitting the exam paper may be considered cheating or may trigger pursuit by a “proctor.” Even if the exam paper is incomprehensible, write answers for all questions and submit it.
***
You had to get Grade 1 in all five subjects to escape—but the chances of even receiving a paper in a language you could understand were extremely low. Saying they’d let you go if you did well, only to hand you an exam in an unknown language—that was deception on a completely different level.
***
12. If escaping through the monthly exam, you must find the “examiner” in the faculty office on the first floor of the main building. The “examiner” is a special entity capable of communication and wears a polo shirt, jeans, and a luxury wristwatch.
12-1. Before asking the “examiner” about the monthly exam, you must show a minimum level of sincerity. The “examiner” may demand anything from your belongings to parts of your body. If you provide sufficient sincerity, the examiner will prepare the test in a language you can understand.
12-2. In rare cases, the examiner may accept no sincerity at all. In such cases, it is recommended that you give up on the monthly exam and attempt another escape method.
***
If you couldn’t meet the “examiner” first, you wouldn’t even be able to read the exam paper—and yet this was listed as an official escape method.
What was even more absurd was that taking the monthly exam was considered the easiest and most survivable escape route.
If not that, the only other options were the “special class” or the “director’s office”—and even to me, escaping through those looked like it would require about three lives.
If you couldn’t meet the examiner—or if he refused your sincerity—then escaping through the monthly exam became impossible. Still, since getting all Grade 1s was considered the easiest method, the Anomaly Control Department only selected highly educated individuals for entry.
And the person entering with me today—Lee Manji—was a specialist in this field.
“You took the College Scholastic Ability Test seven times?”
“I took it seven times, but only seriously about five of those.”
“……”
“If I’d known I’d become a civil servant, I wouldn’t have taken it seven times.”
She was the kind of person who made repeaters and even third-year repeaters look tame.
Unlike me, who had forgotten everything about the exam after entering university as if it had been bleached out of my brain, Lee Manji—despite being in her late twenties—was an expert on it. Before getting caught up in an Anomaly and being selected as a Controller assistant two years ago, she had taken the exam seven times.
“The College Scholastic Ability Test was my life. My entire life.”
Listening to her say she had taken it seven times because she dreamed of making the news as a perfect scorer, I couldn’t help but feel she was more terrifying than the ordinary entities inside an Anomaly.
In the end, she missed that dream by getting two questions wrong on her final attempt—but there probably wasn’t anyone better suited to a repeaters’ academy than her.
In fact, she was the one in charge of this Anomaly.
“Compared to the brutal exam I took last time, Haneul’s monthly exam is easy. The difficulty isn’t that high. As long as you handle the examiner well, you’ll usually get Grade 1.”
“I’m not confident about getting Grade 1. Maybe in other subjects, but math… I might end up with a Grade 5.”
“Come on, you’re a student at Hankook University. You’re being dramatic.”
She tried to reassure me that getting Grade 1 was easy, but it didn’t really land.
You’re not supposed to trust it when a veteran player tells a newbie a game is easy.
Still, having her with me made it less nerve-wracking than Dowon High School or Baekju Apartment. Even a village dog can recite poetry after three years—after entering Anomalies three times, I had gotten somewhat used to it.
Escorted by Jeon Jiho, who looked noticeably gaunt from all the nosebleeds, I stepped into the director’s office.
The half-collapsed room looked like it would cave in with a single strong gust of wind.
As I followed Lee Manji toward the center, something began whispering in my ear. Judging by the way her expression twisted, she was hearing it too.
{Closer to the sky!}
{At Haneul Comprehensive Repeaters’ Academy, we take responsibility for your future.}
{Higher, further! Your present effort will shape your future—}
The whispering voice abruptly cut off, replaced by laughter that sounded like a scream.
“Here to enroll in the academy?”