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Chapter Text

Chapter 1: It Ends and It Begins

The battlefield was chaos .

The once-proud Jeju Island had become an unrecognizable wasteland, its ground torn asunder, its skies choked with dust and blood. The air hummed with malice, thick with the scent of death.

And in the centre of it all—two kings faced each other.

Jin-woo stood tall, his black attire gleaming under the dying fires of battle that flickered in the dim cave, his eyes burning cerulean with an unshakable resolve, pinned to the figure in front of him. He exhaled, his energy swirled around him, pulsing like a living mass, the shadows at his feet writhing in anticipation.

He narrowed his eyes. He could sense Goto Ryuji's mana pouring from the beast, speaking to his fate. 

A shame.

Across from him, the Ant King—a grotesque monstrosity of chitin and muscle—rose from the crumbling remains of his army. His mandibles clicked together in a wicked grin, his eyes gleaming with bloodlust.

“You …” The Ant King’s voice was a guttural rasp, his monstrous frame twitching in excitement. “ You are different from the others.”

Jin-woo’s gaze remained cold, unyielding. He had heard this spiel before, it was getting a little old.

“And you…talk too much for an insect.”

The Ant’s grin twitched. Then, he lunged.

The world blurred.

Jin-woo tilted his head casually as a claw, the size of a car, ripped through the air where he had been standing a second ago. The sheer force of the swing split the ground, sending debris flying in all directions. But before the Ant King could react—

Jin-woo was already behind him.

A single mana-infused punch slammed into the creature’s chest, sending shockwaves rippling through its massive frame. The Ant King’s entire body lurched forward, skidding across the battlefield as its feet carved deep trenches into the earth.

The beast stumbled, turning with a snarl—only for Jin-woo to appear right in front of him again.

BOOM!

Another devastating blow, this time to the Ant King’s side, sending him flying into the remains of jagged debris. The impact shattered the rock into dust.

Jin-woo’s form flickered, stepping out of the void itself, completely unharmed, looking vaguely amused, eyes flashing in the dark.

The Ant King roared, wings flaring, eyes glowing crimson with primal fury, his mind racing with confusion. His body trembled, his muscles bulging grotesquely as he released a pulse of mana so dense it warped the air around him.

“I AM THE KING!! ” The Ant King bellowed, voice shaking the very island. “ I WILL NOT LOSE!”

Jin-woo exhaled. 

A mix of mana and writhing shadows coiled around Jin-woo’s hands, solidifying into two blades that fell perfectly into his grip. The very air shuddered as they came into existence, their edges humming with power. Jin-woo rolled his shoulders, the weight of the weapons fitting like glove, an extension of himself.

His fingers curled. The shadows at his feet exploded outward, swallowing the battlefield whole.

“Let’s get this done.” he murmured.

The Ant King charged.

Jin-woo moved.

The battlefield was eerily silent.

The last echoes of the Ant King’s final, desperate shriek had faded into nothingness, leaving only the whisper of rolling dust and the rustling of the corpses scattered across the ruins of battle. The once-mighty horde of Jeju Island lay in tatters, their monstrous forms dissolving into the blood-soaked ground.

The scent of blood and ash still lingered thick in the air, but most of the war was over. Jeju Island was now nothing more than a graveyard for the fallen. The corpses of ants scattered around, their monstrous bodies destroyed by Jin-woo's shadows, left to rot in the wake of their king's death.

And yet...

From the darkness, one shadow still stirred.

Restless.  

Jin-woo stood atop the lifeless husk of the Ant King, his form casting an imposing silhouette against the smouldering remains of the battlefield. The weight of victory settled over him—but there was little relief. His mind flashed to the headless body of Min Byung-Gyu, whose shadow he had sent back to the abyss.

Many had died. Too much was lost.

But...he had one thing to gain.

He raised a single hand. Shadows coiled around his fingertips, writhing like living entities, reaching towards the corpse beneath him.

Then, his voice rang through the air - deep, commanding and absolute. 

“Arise.”

A tremor shook the air. A pulse of unearthly energy rippled outward, consuming the corpse of the Ant King in a sea of shadows. The monstrous body convulsed violently, its exoskeleton cracking as an eerie dark mist rose from its form as if the abyss itself had claimed it.

And then—it rose.

The once-dead chitin began to shift and reform, twitching as if breathing for the first time. Its mandibles clicking in sharp succession, its body shuddering as if gasping for breath it no longer needed. From the darkness, two glowing, pale blue eyes snapped open.

The reborn beast slowly lifted its head, mandibles clicking, its monstrous form now clad in the same hue as Jin-woo’s other shadows. The remnants of its former self had been stripped away, replaced by something else—a being forged in the depths of Jin-woo’s dominion. Gone was the mindless hunger of the beast it once was. 

It knelt.

A sharp chittering sound escaped the reanimated, not of defiance, but devotion. 

Jin-woo watched, his expression unreadable.

Loyalty.

That was the first thing he sensed. The way the ant lowered its head so willingly, submitting without question.

Jin-woo exhaled softly. 'Looks like the unconditional loyalty my other shadows show me applies to this guy as well.'.

He looked down at the creature that had once threatened to devour everything. Now, it was merely another soldier under his rule.

But this one… this one was different.

The aura emanating from the reborn Ant King was powerful—far greater than any shadow before it. Jin-woo could feel the depth of his potential, its raw hunger to serve.

Jin-woo hummed, turning away with thoughts of extracting more shadows.

“My King...”

Jin-woo paused.

The creature hesitated for only a second before bowing its massive frame even lower, one large claw resting across its chest, the resonance of its voice filled with something akin to reverence.

“This humble servant… has no name, Master. Please… grant me one.”

Jin-woo tilted his head slightly, "How can you speak?"

He watched as Beru's mandible clicked together in a precise, almost thoughtful rhythm. 

"...I always...could."

Jin-woo's mind raced.

'Always?'

He had created countless shadows before up to this point- human hunters, powerful beasts and high-ranking monsters- yet none of them had spoken after their rebirth. Even those who had once been people, like Iron or Min Byung-Gyu, had been reduced to silence the moment they had joined with his shadow. So why...?

'His rank...?'

A realisation settled over him. Maybe his other soldiers would gain the ability to speak once they reach a higher rank. It made sense. Even in death, he had been one of the strongest monsters Jin-woo had ever faced. His power, his intelligence- they were almost unmatched. So now, as a shadow, he had retained something others had not.

Jin-woo studied him carefully. "I was the one who killed you," he stated bluntly, his gaze piercing. "Do you still wish to follow my lead?"

The shadow lifted its head slightly, glowing eyes unwavering.

"I...was not killed by you."

Jin-woo raised a brow.

Its mandibles clicked in something that almost resembled amusement.

"Rather...it was through your powers...that I was reborn, Master."

Jin-woo blinked. He- hadn't expected that answer. He watched as the shadow's massive frame trembled - and to his surprise, its voice softened.

"Happiness...overflows within me."

Jin-woo was a little...lost for words. He had taken everything from this creature. Stripped it of its former existence. Reduced it to nothing more than a soldier in his army. And yet it looked upon him with...gratitude.

So this is the devotion of a shadow.

"My King...Please bestow upon me...a name."

Jin-woo stared for a moment. He tapped his fingers against his arm in thought. Then something flickered in his eyes—a moment of recognition.

“… Beru .” 

Yeah. That worked.

"Your name is Beru."

The name fell from his lips, and power surged through the newly named general. The moment the word was spoken, Beru shuddered, his massive form trembling as the name solidified his existence. His mandibles clicked furiously, his entire being exuding elation.

“Beru… Beru… this humble servant is now Beru. ” he chittered, his glee almost unsettling in contrast to the monstrous form he bore. His head lifted, glowing eyes gleaming with utter devotion and awe, “ Thank you, My King.”

Jin-woo shot the ant an exasperated glance, deadpanned at Beru's behaviour. This one seemed a little…too eager, huh? 

Talk about forgive and forget.

“...Then serve me well, Beru.”

Beru immediately bowed so deeply that his head practically smashed into the ground.

“Yes, My King!”

Jin-woo felt sweat trail down his head. Shaking his head, he turned and surveyed the battlefield, his glowing gaze narrowing in focus. He could sense a decent amount left from the Ant horde buzzing around outside— and they were heading straight for the hunters waiting on ships as standby.

Ah, he guesses he might as well get to work-

.

.

.

Something… shifted .

A subtle flicker of unease coursed through Jin-woo’s body. It was so brief, so insignificant that any lesser hunter would have ignored it.

But Jin-woo wasn’t any hunter.

His gaze flickered to the distance, then he closed his eyes and felt through his domain for the shadows that remained tethered to the people he cared for. 

They were all still there.

Still active. Undisturbed.

And yet…

For a fraction of a second, something had felt off. A distortion. A disruption. Then… nothing. As if the feeling had been snuffed out entirely before it could even fully form.

Jin-woo’s fingers twitched at his side.

Something about it… bothered him.

His mother and Jin-ah should be perfectly safe. He had ensured it himself. He had left his shadows in place, woven through every corner of their home. Nothing should have been able to bypass them.

And yet, that sensation…

This feeling.

His jaw clenched slightly.

It was probably nothing. Just the lingering paranoia of a battlefield.

But…

.

.

.

Jin-woo exhaled sharply. Just in case.

His gaze sharpened.

“Beru.”

The newly named General snapped to attention, his shadowy exoskeleton shifting eagerly as he awaited his King’s command.

Jin-woo tilted his head toward the exit of the cave. There were probably thousands of ants left, but he was more than sure he could handle it.

“Clean up.”

Beru shuddered with delight at the order.

“As you command, Master.”

And then—he vanished.

A blur of shadow and death.

Jin-woo's mind raced. Unease was still settled in his chest, but his Shadow Exchange was still on cooldown. His finger twitched.

At best, he could summon Kaisel, it would be quicker than relying on regular transport. 

Jin-woo breathed a deep sigh, closing his eyes.

“…I'm sure it's nothing.”

.

.

.

A hush fell over a small apartment located in the outskirts of Seoul, broken only by the muted hum of distant traffic. Jin-ah sat curled up on the couch, purple hair pinned back but a soft pink band, staring at her phone with wide, anxious eyes. She’d heard news about the Jeju Island raid—everyone in Korea had—and her older brother, Jin-woo, was dominating the battle against the terrifying beasts. It was pretty epic, she could barely tear her eyes away.

Still, worry gnawed at her, absently nibbling at her bottom lip. What if something happened to him?

In the adjacent room, her mother tidied the kitchen table for the third time that evening, glancing at the clock as though willing Jin-woo to walk through the door at any moment. She was unaware of where he had run off to; and she couldn’t help but worry for him.

A heavy knock shattered the silence.

Jin-ah’s mother looked up, startled. “Were…you expecting anyone, Jin-ah?” she asked, already moving toward the door, a hint of hope underlining her soft tone.

Jin-ah shook her head, eyes straying away from her screen to stare at her mother, brows furrowed. “No…” 

Kyung-Hye blinked before wiping her hands on her apron with a sigh "Maybe it's the landlord...or a package?", a small smile crept onto her face. “Ah. It’s probably Jin-woo, and he forgot his keys?”

BANG.

They both jumped. The second knock was harder. Heavier. Slow, and yet somehow impatient. A chill snaked down Jin-ah’s spine. 

Something…felt wrong.

That...wasn’t her brother. Jin-ah’s eyes darted to the screen in front of her, displaying the shakily streamed footage of the raid still playing. Her brother was there-fighting, winning.

So...who was at the door?

“That’s- I don’t think that’s him, Mom.”

Kyung-Hye frowned, a heavy, twisted feeling writhing in her chest as no more knocks followed. She glanced at her daughter briefly, steadying her shoulders. 

“Stay here,” her mother instructed firmly, her voice tense, but Jin-ah could see her hands tremble. She disappeared around the corner into the hallway.

Jin-ah’s phone screen glowed in her hands, the live feed of Jeju Island flickering. She tried to refocus on the battle—on the monstrous ants and the hunters and the shadow monsters locked in deadly combat—on Jin-woo, but her heart pounded with a growing sense of dread, like a snake was slithering relentlessly under her skin. 

She heard the door creak open. Jin-ah strained her ears, hands gripping her sweater.

"Ah...may I help you?" Her mother's voice floated back softly.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Too long.

Too quiet.

Jin-ah's skin prickled.

She pushed herself off the couch, heart hammering, and she crept towards the hallway, feet silent against the floor. She reached the corner and slowly peeked her head around, squinting her eyes.

At first, she only saw her mother's back, her posture tense. But as her gaze shifted-

Her breath hitched.

A man stood in the doorway.

Tall. Broad. Imposing. The dim light of the apartment barely touched him, his form partially swallowed by shadow.

Jin-ah could barely make out his face, but she could feel something- something cold and awful bleeding from him.

Kyung-Hye, oblivious to the tension gripping the air, forced a polite smile. "Sir? I'm sorry, are you looking for someone?"

He said nothing.

Jin-ah felt her heart start to race.

Her mother shifted, her nerves beginning to show. "Sir..? Please, can I help you?"

A smirk slowly graced his face, his gaze flickering past her mother - locking directly onto Jin-ah.

She froze.

Something in his gaze shifted.

Those eyes. Eyes that gleamed with pure malevolence—he radiated a menace that stole her breath and made her entire body tremble.

He turned slowly, eyes remaining locked onto Jin-ah. A cruel smile curved his lips, eyes glowing in utter glee.

Her body screamed at her to move, to run, to scream for her mother to slam the door-

But she couldn't.

Her legs wouldn't move.

Her voice wouldn't work.

“You must be Jin-woo’s sister,” he drawled, letting the words hang in the air.

Jin-ah's stomach dropped through the floor.

Her mother barely had the time to react before- 

BANG.

The door slammed open, crashing into the wall.

Kyung-Hye stumbled back with a gasp as the man moved into the hall, face split into a wicked grin. She snapped her head in her direction, mouth moving to form her name, reaching her hand out- legs fumbling to move towards her- 

.

.

.

C  R  A  C  K

.

.

.

Huh?

.

.

.

"...Mom?"

A body hit the floor with a sickening thud.

.

.

.

H u h ?

.

.

.

Blood was pooling beneath the body's head.

She couldn't breath.

She couldn't move.

She couldn't look away.

The man nudged her mother’s limp body with the tip of his shoe. “Hm. This was your mother, huh? She got in my way…” he remarked casually, as though it were a trivial inconvenience, scoffing under his breath as he shook his hand from the force it used.

Jin-ah’s eyes filled with tears. That was-

Her mother.

She rushed forward, dropping to her knees beside her mother, pressing trembling fingers to the leaking wound, hand's moving everywhere and nowhere, “M-Mom! Mom, please—”

A snort of derision came from the man. “Oh, how disgustingly touching.”

Jin-ah glared up at him, fear mixing with fury. “You- Who are you!? Why would you-”

His dark eyes flicked toward her. Something about him tugged at her memory—a face she’d glimpsed in passing news stories, perhaps? 

He tilted his head, a smirk forming as he shrugged. “'s simple. Sung Jin-woo took my brother from me. So it’s only fair I repay the favour, no? Don’t take it personal, sweetheart, this is just hunters business. ”

The words rattled in Jin-ah’s mind, slowly clicking into place. This was…Hwang… Dong-soo? She’d heard his name in hushed conversations, seen fleeting images in the news. An American hunter of Korean descent, running off at the first chance to the United States. Ruthless and merciless.

An S-rank hunter.

She felt her blood run cold. 

“No…he wouldn’t .” Her voice cracked. “Y-You can’t —”

Hwang lunged without warning, grabbing Jin-ah by the arm. She fought back, nails clawing at his wrist, but he barely flinched. With a savage jerk, he hurled her down the hallway.

She hit the floor hard, pain lancing through her shoulder. Ignoring it, she scrambled onto her hands and knees, tears streaming down her face. Her mother lay just a few feet away, still unresponsive. Was she even breathing? 

“M-mom?… Oh God …”

But Hwang was faster. He stepped on Jin-ah’s ankle, grinding her into the floor with a bored huff. A scream tore from her throat, spit and drool leaking out her gaping mouth.

“Pathetic,” he spat, sneering down at her, “Is this the best you can do? Isn’t your brother Korea’s new precious golden hunter? At least put up a decent fight, make this worth my fucking while. ”

Jin-ah’s vision blurred with tears and agony. She twisted, kicking out with her free leg. By sheer luck, her foot connected with his shin, and he grunted in slight annoyance. She took the momentary distraction to drag herself forward with her arms, fingertips brushing her mother’s arm.

“ Mom , please, please wake up ,” she begged, sputtering out words in desperation, voice cracking. “W-we have to— A-ARGHH!! ”

A brutal kick slammed into her side. She cried out, the impact leaving her gasping for air, her ribs shattering with ease under the brute force. The room spun, and a wave of nausea hit as she turned her head and emptied her stomach, eyes wide and bloodshot.

Hwang crouched beside her, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her head back. Jin-ah’s cry was strangled by the pain radiating from her scalp. 

Each breath was agonising.

He leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear. “You know, I’m disappointed. I thought you would at least be some fun .” A low, humourless laugh rumbled from his chest. “It's a pity." Hwang sighed with a tsk, shaking his head, "You're really not worth killing. But hey..."

His smirk widened as he stared deep into her bloodshot eyes.

"An eye for an eye."

Jin-ah’s tears blurred her vision. 

Jin-woo…

“Y-you—you monster —”

Hwang hummed non committedly, slamming her head against the floor, leaving behind a sizable dent. Dazed, she could've sworn she heard her mother moan, something that might’ve been her name; but it was faint—maybe  it was her imagination but-

A surge of desperation lent Jin-ah strength. She wasn’t Jin-woo, she never had to fight before. Jin-woo was always there for her. He always protected her no matter what.

But…

He wasn’t coming this time

...Was he?

Jin-ah lashed out with her arm, trying to shove him away. Hwang caught her wrist mid-swing.

S N A P

The sickening sound of bone breaking reverberated through her body. White-hot pain exploded in her arm, and her broken scream tore the air. She instinctively curled up, clutching her shattered wrist as she wailed.

Hwang’s eyes shone with sadistic glee, cackling as if her pain was music to his ears. “Yes, scream little girl. Let your brother know—while he’s out playing hero —that he’s nothing more than a failure. ”

Jin-ah sobbed, pressing her forehead to the floor. “ O-oppa …” she whimpered, voice quivering with heartbreak. She didn't want to die. But…

“ I’m sorry …”

She could still see her mother, unmoving, blood pooling around her head. Her mother’s eyes were half-open, unfocused, lips parted as if trying to form words.

Hwang rose to his feet, towering over both of them with a yawn. “Well, this got boring real quick. Let’s finish this, shall we? I have a flight to catch.” He grinned, stretching his arms over his head.

He lifted his foot, aiming for Jin-ah’s skull.

“Any last words?”

She braced herself, tears streaming, eyes fixed on her mother’s still form. This-

This is it, isn’t it.

She saw…flashes. Flashes of a life well lived…and a life she would never get to have.

And strangely. Her mind fell back to a few months ago. On a random day.

School had been a little hard that day.

Jin-woo had bought food. No real reason but...it made her happy.

She had been so excited to eat fried chicken.

It had tasted…

Dong-soo shifted his weight.

Really good.

Warm.

Crispy.

“J-Jin-woo.”

She never did thank him… did she?

The blow fell.

Then darkness.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: A Place They Shouldn’t Be

Go Gunhee couldn’t wipe the wide grin off his face, even if he tried.

In his many years on this earth, he couldn’t recall a time when such pure elation ran through his body—an echo of youthful exhilaration surging through his veins.

For years, Jeju Island had been a death sentence. A looming reminder of their incompetence. A battlefield where only the strongest hunters of Korea had dared to tread, only to fall victim to the relentless swarm of death that nested within its shores. 

Failure after failure, after failure.

So, the past few hours had taken him through a whirlwind of unfathomable emotions. His aged hands had trembled against the table, his keen eyes dead-locked onto the screens in front of him, tracking every moment of the battle, the heartbeats of his S-rank hunters teetering on the edge of oblivion.

Until Sung Jin-woo showed up.

The live feed had cut long ago, the screen dark, but the outcome had been sealed the moment that boy—no, that force of nature —had made his shadowed entrance, calmly wielding an army of beasts at his back and a power that even he struggled to truly comprehend.

The war was finally over. Jeju Island was theirs .

A chuckle escaped him, low and satisfied. He let out a deep sigh, leaning back against his chair for the first time in hours.

"Sung Jin-woo..." he murmured, shaking his head with quiet awe.

The name alone carried weight now.

The world had begun to realise Korea’s 10th S-rank Hunter was something far beyond what could have ever been anticipated. What anyone could even hope to understand. Already, Korea was drowning in requests—foreign agencies, powerful guilds, and entire governments clamouring to stake their claim on the absolute powerhouse that was Sung Jin-woo.

But over his dead body would he let that happen.

Gunhee lifted his cup, a rare moment of peace settling over him laced with a bittersweet melancholy. This was it. The moment they had all been waiting for. Many had dedicated their lives to transform what had once been a meagre dream into tangible reality, and this realisation was manifested by a single hunter .

Truly extraordinary.

Just as he went to take a sip—

His doors slammed wide open.

" Chairman -"

The frantic voice was familiar. His eyes flickered toward the entrance.

Woo Jin-chul. His trusted Chief Inspector. A man who had stared death in the face countless times, who had seen the worst of humanity and beasts alike. He was known for his cool, collective exterior; and he only had the few pleasures of seeing behind that barricade.

But now? The younger man’s expression was ashen. His normally collected demeanour was shattered, his chest heaving from either exertion or pure, undiluted panic.

Gunhee slowly set his cup down. His chair groaned as he straightened, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Director Woo," he said, tone measured. "What is it?"

A pause.

Jin-chul swallowed harshly. His fingers trembled where they rested at his sides, clenching into fists. His next words sent ice lancing through the Chairman’s veins.

“Sir… It’s Hunter Sung.”

Gunhee’s stomach twisted.

"What about him?" He frowned, his heart tightening as his mind raced. 

Jin-chul inhaled deeply. His gaze wavered as he spoke softly, eyes downcast.

"...A call was put through from neighbours of the Sung residence…there was a commotion."

Silence.

He could feel it. With every second that passed, the warmth of triumph was ripped away so violently that it left a hollow void in its wake. The air suddenly felt ice cold, each breath ripping through his throat and drowning his lungs with dread.

Gunhee’s heartbeat slowed.

"...What happened?"

Jin-chul’s jaw tensed. His entire body trembled.

"...I think it’s best if we head there now, sir.”

The street was cordoned off.

Flashing red and blue lights bathed the dim pavement in a haunting glow, reflecting against the polished steel of the many patrol cars that lined the area.

A group of uniformed officers and several medics and hunters stood outside and inside the apartment building. The state of the Sung’s complex had been…harrowing. The front door hung off its hinges, the wooden frame splintered beyond recognition. Shards of glass littered the ground, mixed in with something darker, thick. Something that still glistened under the flashing lights.

Blood.

A suffocating weight hung in the air, thick and choking. The cloying scent of blood and death is unmistakable.

Gunhee stood near the wreckage in the building's hallway, his broad frame unmoving. His face was blank, eyes almost unseeing. Jinchul was at his side, his expression dark with grief.

Neither of them spoke.

Two white-draped gurneys were being carefully rolled out toward the ambulance, medics moving soberly but quickly under the scrutiny of the hunters standing guard. A stark contrast to the earlier joyous celebration. Of relief. The euphoria of Jeju’s victory felt like a mockery now.

 A fallacy.

Gunhee's eyes locked onto the sight of bodies being lifted into the back of an ambulance through the window. A slow inhale. A slower exhale. His fingers curled into a fist. This…was truly a tragedy. Sung Jin-woo had just won an impossible war. And yet, unbeknownst to him, at this very moment.

 He had lost more than most of them could fathom.

"...Who is responsible for this?"

His voice was low. Dangerous. Jin-chul hesitated before answering, adjusting his tie.

"...Although the evidence is still being collected. We have enough  reason to believe it was… Hwang Dong-soo, sir."

Gunhee's breath hissed through his teeth.

" Hwang Dong-soo ?" he repeated, voice sharp as a blade, eyes beginning to flash.

Jin-chul nodded stiffly, his own eyes narrowed behind his shades in disdain.

"Yes sir. From what we know…he most likely leveraged the chaos of the Jeju mission to slip into Korea. And—" he exhaled, expression tightening. “He used that opportunity to—”

"Where is he now?"

Jin-chul’s hands curled into fists.

"…We don’t know. But…we suspect he is already on his way over borderlines. Last known location puts him at an airport."

The Chairman’s jaw locked.

Under normal circumstances, while Hwang Dong-soo had maintained the right to travel to Korea, controls had been put in place and required said hunter to explicitly state his reason for travel; given his pension for trouble and the context of his permanent… move away from Korea. But with the majority of resources being pooled into the Jeju Island mission, every effort employed with desperate hope of ensured success…

Hwang Dong-soo had managed to slip in without anyone batting an eye.

Gunhee’s hands twitched, aching to slam against something—to tear something apart. A roaring flame raged within his chest, brimmed with utter fury .

As a man who had watched over this city for years, who had seen its hunters rise and fall, who had witnessed countless battles, he had thought he had seen it all. Hunters could be ruthless; and some may argue they have to be, it’s in their nature. Very few are able to maintain their moral compass in a line of work where death creeped so close to the front door. Signing up to be a hunter; it is guaranteed that the enemies you face are not subject alone to the beast’s that reside within dungeons.

Hunters could be just as lethal. Just as merciless.

And so, death is simply a fact in the lifetime of a hunter.

But, this?

This was unforgivable.

This was not a dungeon. They were not hunters. 

They were innocent .

A slow breath left his lips.

“Director Woo.”

Jin-chul snapped to attention.

“How long until Sung Jin-woo arrives?”

Jin-chul winced slightly.

“I’m not entirely sure, sir. Most likely in the next few hours.”

Gunhee turned to one of the officers passing by. The poor man nearly tripped over his own feet under the weight of the Chairman’s stare.

“You. Clean this up.” His voice was quiet, but firm. “ Now .”

The officer gulped, blinking in confusion, sweat dripping down his head. “S-Sir?”

“I want every trace of this crime scene gone within the next few hours .” Go Gunhee’s eyes narrowed. “The boy who just saved Korea, doesn’t need to see this. Any of this. Am I understood?”

“B-But Chairman-”

“ I will not repeat myself .”

The officer flinched, then shakily nodded. “U-understood, sir.”

He swiftly released him and turned back to his director.

"Wait here."

Jin-chul straightened.

"Sir?"

"He is most likely on his way home from Jeju. It’s only a matter of time." The Chairman’s gaze hardened. "I want you to meet him here and escort him to my office. I-” he paused, and he suddenly looked so, so tired, “I will be the one to inform him."

Jin-chul’s jaw tightened. Then, he bowed.

“Understood, sir.”

Gunhee took one last look at the white-draped bodies before the doors to the ambulance slammed shut.

He exhaled sharply.

It was at times like this, where he truly felt the tolling weight of his old age.

He turned away, each step fuelled by a brewing fire burning in his chest.

He had some calls to make.

The night was eerily still as a shadow streaked across the sky at blinding speeds.

A monstrous form descended from the night sky, its silhouette blotting out the dim moonlight. It let out a low rumble as its wings folded inward, slicing through the wind silently.

Jin-woo stood atop Kaisel’s back, the wind whipping past him and through his raven hair as the massive wyvern glided smoothly above the city skyline. His fingers were clenched, his expression unreadable,  his eyes sharp and unblinking.

Something was wrong.

That feeling—the one he had tried to push away since the conclusion of Jeju Island—hadn’t left him.

It had only grown stronger. His shadows were silent. Not a whisper. Not a flicker of reaction when he reached for them. He had felt them before, stationed at his home. But now… there was nothing. 

The stillness crawled up his spine.

Kaisel let out a low growl as they neared his neighbourhood.

Too quiet.

Jin-woo’s eyes narrowed.

Too empty.

His apartment complex loomed before him—untouched. From the outside, it looked just as he had left it. Quiet. Undisturbed.

.

.

.

Ś̴̞ò̶͍m̴̩̄e̴̟͠t̸̲͠h̶̪͂ĭ̴ͅn̷͓͝g̷̱̓ ̶̼͂w̸̫͛a̴̠̋s̵̙̓ ̵̲̓w̷͔̏ r̴̘̈ ȯ̷͙ n̷̼̋ g̶̦̉

.

.

.

Jin-woo’s breath was slow. Calculated.

As Kaisel descended, landing on top of the complex, Jin-woo leapt off his back, shadows dispersing beneath his feet as he landed silently. The dragon rumbled lowly, sensing his master’s unease and aiming to soothe with a deep purr.

Jin-woo patted his head gently, whispering a soft thanks.

He felt something in his chest squeeze.

He swiftly jumped down, landing gently. His steps were silent as he approached the door, his hand moving to grasp the door handle—

Jin-woo sensed him before he even spoke.

“Hello, Hunter Sung. ”

Jin-woo stilled.

Behind him, the soft crunch of gravel.

He turned slowly, eyes narrowing. A man in a black suit stood a few paces away, his hands folded neatly before him, signature shades perched on his nose. Woo Jin-chul.

Jin-woo’s gaze flickered over him. The few times he had seen him, he always maintained the perfect balance of calmness and surety, and it had given him an odd sense of comfort at times. Now, the Chief Inspector’s usual composure was strained, his shoulders tense beneath his neatly pressed uniform. His mouth opened slightly— Then closed again, as if choosing his next words carefully.

Jin-woo’s fingers twitched against the doorknob.

"Director Woo. You were waiting for me ." His voice was flat. It wasn’t a question.

Jin-chul hesitated, then gave a slow nod. “ Yes. I do apologise. You must be tired, Hunter Sung, after everything you have done today; but I’m afraid I must ask you for more. ” He finished with a low bow.

Jin-woo’s gaze remained locked onto him, before he glanced back at the door.

“…Can this wait? I need to get home.”

Jin-chul bowed even lower.

“I’m afraid this is urgent and I insist we leave immediately. And before you ask any questions, Hunter Sung— ” His voice was quiet, cautious. “Please refrain for now. All will be made known once we arrive..”

.

.

.

S̷̼̮͕̰̖̏͗̊̃̄͆̚͜o̷̳̓m̴̟͎̼̤̼̌͆̚͝͝e̵̢̘̻͉͕̯͍̿͝t̴̩̰̤̀͐̈́͗̿h̵̪̗̫̮͊̊̇̑̊̃̊͋ì̵̠͚̼̞͔͕̤̔͗̔̓n̶̢̻̣͇̝͓͑̑͊͘͝ģ̸̼̖̣͈̰͂͌́̏̌ ̷̜͕̱͓̐ẅ̴̼́̃̍̋̃̕͝ȧ̴̡̟͉͉̞̺̪͋͐̅͛̊s̶̨̹̬͍̳̣͋̆̔̋̿̚̕͘ͅ ̸̮̬̋̋͑̚w̵̛͈̹̹͑̑̽̍̓r̴̳̯̋o̵̯̜̝͙̩̍̂̌̉́̃͜͠͠ͅņ̴̛͕̹̰͙̻̻̓̇̄ġ̶͎́̃̉̓̾͘͝

.

.

.

Jin-woo’s eyes remained void of emotion.

“…Where?”

Jin-chul raised  his head slightly.

“To Headquarters. The Chairman will explain everything there.”

Jin-woo’s gaze flickered up to where his apartment unit should be. The lights were off. 

His shadows still would not respond.

Jin-woo exhaled slowly.

“I’ll drive us.” Jin-chul offered, stepping towards the sleek black car parked at the end of the block.

“That won’t be necessary.”

Jin-chul barely had time to react before a massive gust of wind exploded outward, whipping through his slicked back hair and causing him to stumble as a deep, guttural growl rumbled through the air. A daunting shadow descended from above, a nightmarish blend of an eerie blue and the dark abyss. 

Jin-chul’s breath hitched and his eyes bulged at the sight.

“...My goodness-”

The massive wyvern loomed above them, wings spread wide, its glowing blue eyes locked onto Jin-chul with an unreadable intensity, not unlike its master’s. His eyes flickered to Jin-woo, who seemed to be communicating silently with the beast.

This man…he never ceases to amaze.

Jin-woo stepped forward as Kaisel lowered it's head, reaching up to grasp the scales of its neck.

"This will be faster. You coming?"

Jin-chul hesitated for only a moment—glancing at the huge, winged beast and questioning the practicality of having such a thing soaring over the city – then, firmly shook his head, adjusting his shades as he straightened.

“No need. I will meet you there.”

Jin-woo nodded his head slightly before glancing back at his home.

The second he was secure, Kaisel launched into the sky silently, the wind roaring past them as the city below became nothing but a blur of lights.

.

.

.

S̵̗̅͑͗̄̉̈́́́̓̑̈́͗͂̚͝ͅǫ̶̧̖̪̠̙̟̯̟̙̳̺͔͈͉̔͋͋̀̓͂́̍̓́̂̊͐͛̑͘̕͠m̴̧̧̳̹̟̺͙̟̭̹̗͙̖͍̝̯̺͊̒̒͐̍̔̔̀̑͛̓͒̓̆̔̇̕ĕ̸̺͚̖̦̫̦̭͍̜̱͍͓̙̙̬͜ͅt̶͈̰͎̪̞̻̝͂̈̈́͛̒́̕̕͝͝ͅḩ̴̳̼͇̫͚̙̜̞̟̹̱̪̩͔̬̮̻̠̜̭͎̍͛̈́̀̓̌͋̓̇̈͊͑̃̕͠i̴̢̱̝͇͔̜̲̺̟̭͙̖̱̫̱̱̟̤̺̖̙͉͐̽͘ͅn̵̝͓͙̝̻͔͉̣̙̝̘̙̽͑̿̇̂́̇̀̒͘͜͜g̷̢͇̮͙̣̘̪̞͚̮͈͔̩̹̭͠ͅ ̶͉͍͂̒͗̋͋̾  w̶̨̲̹̞̗̻̞͙̼̹̪̟̥̻̬̎͋̄͌͛̈́͌̈́̔͒͑a̷̼̥͉͎̝͖̯̘̜̳̞̽͐̈̎̄̏͑͆͐̒̆́̆̓̀́̉͘̕s̷̢͕͔̤̺̘̞̜̲̗̰͉̺̪̜̜̟͉̻̾͒̃̉̈́͐̂̽͑̾͋̆̕̚̕   ̴̱̯̭̻̞̮̳̣̑̈́̈́͋́͜͠w̵̓̍͗̽̅ͅr̵̢̮̦̟͔͈̫͖͔̩͒̔̈́̀̎̈́͛̍̔̉͑̆̓̋̂̾̋̚̚͜͠o̸̼̟̙̟̣͐̃͆̈̐̈́̈̈͂̓̎̋̓̔͗́͋̕̚n̵̪͕̜̝͙̬̝̲̭͛̋̿͋͒̃͂̔̊̓̈̔̕͘͜ĝ̵̭̰̾̓̈́͌͌̅́̇̿̿̚

.

.

.

Gunhee was back behind his desk, his large frame unusually still. His aged hands were clasped together, fingers interlocked as if holding something fragile between them. His mind raced and his chest ached almost unbearably. 

He exhaled sharply, his fingers moving to press against his temple as he leaned back in his chair. The weight of the last few hours had settled deep into his bones.

His weary eyes flickered over the latest request sprawled across his desk. Another American proposal. Another thinly veiled attempt to sink their claws into Sung Jin-woo. The hungry vultures hadn't even given it a day.

It was almost laughable—if it weren’t so damn exhausting.

First, they had stolen one of their best. One of Korea’s most powerful S-rank had once been theirs—until America, with its bottomless resources and whispered promises, had pried him away. Then, when Korea had stood on the brink of destruction, drowning in the blood-soaked sands of the Jeju dungeon break, those same hands that had snatched their hunter had remained folded. Not a single helping hand. Not a single foreign hunter. Not a single penny.

Instead, they had watched from the side-lines.

Mocking them.

And now in the same breath that refused to cooperate fully with his hunt and retrieval of Hwang Dong-soo, they have the gall to demand an audience with the very hunter affected by his crimes. 

From the moment he had arrived at the scene—witnessing first hand the horrific aftermath of what had transpired—he had not stopped moving. Not for a second. He had begun communications immediately; demanding every answer he could from the American Hunters Bureau and their government officials, for their lack of precautions and gross oversight and their plans to make this right. And all he's had back are half-assed explanations, vague misdirection or just complete and utter silence. It was all proving… frustrating but expected. Even now, with all the power he held as Chairman of the Hunters Association, the likelihood of extraditing Hwang Dong-soo once he was found was alarmingly slim. The U.S. protected their hunters fiercely, especially ones with S-Rank capabilities. That defected coward was mostly likely aware and willing to hide behind such political defences. 

Even if they confirmed Hwang’s crimes.

Even if they acknowledged his guilt.

It wouldn’t be enough.

He knew this song and dance all too well. They would drag their feet, stall proceedings, demand evidence, go through bureaucratic hoops—anything to keep one of their own under their jurisdiction.

Not to mention the nation sized elephant in the room.

Gunhee clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening. It was already a battle he knew he was unlikely to win.

How was he going to face that boy?

There was a small knock on the door. He straightened and took a deep breath, watching as Jin-chul entered behind Jin-woo, with a small greeting, shutting the door softly.

“Ah, thank you Director Woo. Jin-woo, please, take a seat.”

Jin-woo watched him for a moment, then moved silently and sat across from him without a word.

His movements were measured, deliberate. He leaned back slightly in his seat, his piercing gaze locked onto the Chairman with quiet expectation.

Go Gunhee exhaled, the sound heavy in the otherwise still room.

"Jin-woo," he began, his tone warm, almost fatherly. "Before anything else, please allow me to thank you. I am practically short on words. What you did on Jeju Island… It was nothing short of extraordinary. The whole nation- no - the whole world thinks so."

Jin-woo closed his eyes briefly and sighed, inclining his head slightly. "...I only did what was necessary, sir and besides", he seemed to battle with himself, glancing down at his clenched hands "People still died. I don't deserve praise."

Gunhee allowed himself a small, fleeting bittersweet smile. Ah, always so humble. His gaze softened, but only for a moment. Then, slowly, he turned toward the vast cityscape beyond his window, eyes tracing the skyline, the sea of flickering lights below. The city was alive—breathing, thriving—completely unaware of just how close it had come to utter ruin.

"Even so," he murmured, voice low but firm, "Korea owes you a debt we can only hope to repay someday". His words were laced with nothing but sincerity.

"Yes you are right," he continued, his voice dipping, quieter now, but carrying the gravity of what must be years of leadership, heavy on his shoulders. "People died. Too many." He exhaled sharply, as if the very admission weighed down on his chest. "4,801 hunters and 727 awakened civilians were called to arms and fought bravely.”

His gaze flickered toward Jin-woo, who watched him back quietly.

“Of that… 96 were lost.” He paused, eyes fluttering close. “Thirty-two of which were civilians.”

A small silence settle, almost in respect to the mentioned fallen.

“And for that,” Gunhee broke it gently, voice solemn, “We mourn. We grieve.” His fingers curled into a loose fist atop the desk. “Every life lost is a wound to this country. To all of us.”

The words settled between them like dust after battle. Then—he shifted. His expression changed. His eyes—sharp, unwavering, unyielding—locked onto Jin-woo’s with quiet intensity.

“But.” His voice echoed, quiet but resolute.

"There is no doubt in my mind that it would've been more. It should've been more, if not for your efforts, Hunter Sung Jin-woo, do not disregard that." He finished, heavy with truth.

Jin-woo's eyes widened as Go Gunhee, the Chairman of the Hunter's Association rose from his seat. Slowly. He straightened his back, squared his shoulders and despite the weight of his years and the burden of his title, he placed a hand across his chest.

Jin-woo stared for a moment, at loss for words at the humbling display.

"Chairman I-"

He didn't finish, words failing. He looked off to the side with polite nod in acknowledgement, quietly flustered at the display.

Silence stretched on for a moment, as Gunhee straightened and watched with a critical eye as the boy shifted in his seat.

His long fingers tapped against the armrest, subtle but telling. 

Of course, he wasn’t here for praise.

Gunhee's expression sobered as he slowly sat back down. The warmth in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something heavier. The shift was so seamless, so natural, that Jin-woo barely registered it at first.

Not until the Chairman leaned forward ever so slightly, his voice lowering.

“My boy…”

Something about that address made something in Jin-woo tighten.

Woo Jin-chul stood just off to the side, gaze flickering between them, his own hands clenched at his sides, his back ramrod straight.

Gunhee was quiet for a beat, as if carefully considering his next words, choosing them with painstaking precision. Then—

"I will not make you wait any longer, so I...shall get right to the point. The reason I called you here, when you should be at home resting," Jin-chul shifted where he stood, his hidden gaze locking onto Jin-woo as the Chairman continued, voice laced with woe.

"There...is no easy way to put this. While you were fighting on the front lines, fighting for this country. Your family…"

Jin-woo’s fingers stilled.

"There- There was an incident."

Jin-woo's breath slowed. There it was. That sinking feeling that had been festering and gnawing at him since his battle with Beru was twisting into something colder, something sharper. It stabbed into him ruthlessly, like a dagger twisting against his insides, brutal and insistent.

An…incident?

“Earlier today, we received a distress call to the residence in which you reside. Once I was made aware, I personally went down to oversee the events that had transpired.”

The words hung in the air, suspended between them, sinking deep into the very walls of the office.

Gunhee didn’t look away.

Gunhee hesitated, just for a fraction of a second as if every fibre of his body repulsed the words he was about to say. But he didn’t shy away from it, instead, he leaned forward, eyes looking directly into Jin-woos with a gentle intensity, pinning him down as if seeking to provide an anchor for what was to come.

Jin-woo stared back, frozen.

"I am sorry to say, my boy...

Your family…

…they’re g̶̞̼͍̤̬̲̼̯̹̿͗̈͋̓͑̉̈́̚ö̶̰͖̘̰̩̬̙̰̟͕̩̩̗̤͚̘͓̮͎͙̠̞͚̙̺̫̬́̍̊̊̒̈́̍̎̃̾̔̀̔͘̚͜͝͝͝ň̴̡̪̩͍͔̮̙̬̼̤͔̦͇̠̮͓̼͉͈͎̫̘̝͔̋̇̓̽̑̉͆͂̇̓̿̈́̄̇͋́̏͜͝͠͝e̴̡̻̜̪͙̥̮̻̭̯͇̣̠͈̘̱̱̼̦̪̟̬̘͌̊͋́̆͛͆̋͗͜͜͜"

.

.

.

Jin-woo blinked.

.

.

.

What?

.

.

.

For a moment, there was nothing.

No sound. No movement.

Just stillness.

His expression didn’t change. His eyes, impossibly blank, remained pinned to Gunhee. The younger hunter sat unnervingly still—no tension, no furrow of his brows, not even the flicker of an eyelash.

Jin-woo heard the Chairman's voice continue—muffled, distant, words bleeding together into something incoherent. The room seemed to close in, but he couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t…feel anything.

It was like listening through water.

His breath came slower, more shallow.

.

.

.

What…did he say?

.

.

.

.

G̷̛̛͕̦͖̪̩̬̃̽̆̈́̉̄͐̏̅̓̒̈́̄̔͆͐̂̐̆̉͋͌̓̀̈́̂̂̉̈́̈͛͒̃͌́͘ö̶̧̧͚̜͙̯̞͙̝̯̩̺͕͓͈͉̙̖͚̙̦̬̤̝̤̞̠͓̹̗̯̰͉́̑̉̐̑̎̓̅̽́͐̑̈́̾̇̆̽͂̋n̸̨̧̧̨̛̫̟̜͚̜̬͖̳̜̖̫̝̩͖̠̭̣͉͈̬͓͔̙̩̜͇̝̱̘̥̍̈̀̓̌̆͑͗͂͗̓̓̓̀̃̅̊͑̿͛̌̓̅͠e̶̛̗͌̈͊̾̀̋̊̂̓́͒̋͒̏̄̆͗͂̌̌̿͛̍̀̐̀͆͌̐͛́͂̽̾̍̓̚̕͘͝͠͠?

.

.

.

"...Jin-woo?"

His head snapped up.

The Chairman was watching him, eyes lined with something unspeakably solemn.

Jin-woo blinked slowly.

“...I’m sorry,” he murmured, his own voice sounding oddly detached to his ears. “I didn’t- catch that. What- what did you just say?”

Go studied him carefully for a moment, then, softer, with the utmost gentleness—

"I said they are at Seoul General Hospital, my boy. And I-I cannot possibly begin to understand how—"

Jin-woo stood.

Abrupt. Decisive.

Gunhee cut himself off as Jin-woo straightened his coat, his movements smooth, fluid—controlled.

"Thank you for your time, Chairman," Jin-woo said, his voice eerily even. "I think I will go see them now."

A pause.

"They’ve been waiting for me long enough."

"Jin-woo-" Gunhee shot up and reached out a hand towards the hunter's retreating back, only to pause and let it drop back to his sides, fists clenched so tight he could feel pearls of blood well up under his fingertips.

He parted his lips as if to say something else, but...

Jin-woo was already gone.

The door closed behind him with quiet finality.

Jin-chul let out a slow breath, his shoulders rigid. He looked pained.

Gunhee fell back and leaned deep into his chair, staring at the empty space Jin-woo had occupied just seconds ago, an old feeling of hopelessness creeping into his chest as his fingers tightening over one another. Jin-chul moved closer, staring at the door where the former E-rank had just exited from, frowning deeply.

“Sir, I believe it is best if we…send some hunters over. Just as a precaution.”

“...I guess you’re right.”

Neither of them spoke another word.

There was nothing left to say.

The hospital was bright.

Too bright.

It always was.

Jin-woo knew this hospital all too well.

He had walked through these very doors countless times, back when he visited his mother—back when she was still trapped in eternal sleep. He knew this melody by heart; the quiet beeping of machines, the hushed murmurs of doctors as they moved from room to room.

He had hoped that he would never have to set foot inside these walls ever again.

The stark white walls stretched endlessly, the fluorescent lighting humming faintly overhead. The air smelled of antiseptic and something else—something sterile and unfeeling.

Jin-woo walked through the entrance, his steps measured. He barely noticed the heads that turned as he passed.

Nurses. Doctors. Patients.

They all recognised him. Whispers crawled along the walls, hushed and awed.

S-rank Hunter Sung Jin-woo.

A hero. A saviour. A phenomenon. The man who had single-handedly turned the tide.

Jin-woo ignored them all.

His feet carried him forward, slow and steady, until he reached the front desk. The nurse stationed there glanced up from her monitor, her polite customer-service smile already forming—

Only to falter. Her eyes widened, recognition flashing across her face as she flushed.

“I- Oh my goodness—you’re the Hunter Sung Jin-woo-nim! Good evening, sir, I was just talking about—”

“I’m looking for my family,” Jin-woo said, his voice quiet. “Jin-ah Sung and Kyung-Hye Sung. They should be patients at this hospital.”

The words came out evenly, with no urgency, no panic—just simple, factual. As if he were stating a fact about the weather. The nurse nodded quickly, eager to help. “Of course, sir. Please give me a moment.” Her fingers flew over the keyboard, clicking away as she searched the system.

Jin-woo stood motionless, waiting.

His mind felt… distant.

Like he was here, and yet not.

The seconds stretched.

The nurse frowned slightly, her brows furrowing.

“That’s odd…” she murmured, eyes squinting.

“What is it?”

The nurse hesitated, glancing at the screen again, retyping the names.

“I… I’m not seeing them in the system,” she admitted, looking confused. “Are you sure they were admitted to this hospital?”

Jin-woo blinked.

Something cold pressed against the back of his mind.

A strange, hollow sound echoed in his ears—like distant static.

.

.

.

Ǧ̴̡̡̨̛̛̜̪̼̙͎͕̻̯̙̗̜̯̞͇̭̣̞̳͚̺̝̭͙͓̱̫͋͋͒̒̅̔̈́̏̾́̃̑̆̀̆̓̂́̂́̋̆̃̀̽̿̋̈́̈̓̉͒̂͗͌̾̚͘̕̕͝ở̴̢̡͕̜̭̤̘̮̲̗̰͚̝̠̳͍͎̤̹͔̥̟̖̟̠̺̮̫͈͕̺̟͎͇͉̗̒̍͑̇̒̇̀̑͛̒̒̀̔̽̀̏̔͂̃͌̚͘͠͠ͅͅͅn̴̨̢̨̡̗͍̘͙͇͙̥͔͉̝̰̹͉̘͙̱̮͓̙͔̟̯̘̟͚̝̹͙̓̆͑̔͐̄̍̍̆͌̌̒̊̍̎́̇̎̍̍͐͑͗͂͆̿͗̽͗̑̀̂̀̕͘̕̕̕̚ͅę̸̡̬̺̰͔̪̼̪̠͍̙̰̳̺̱͓͆͛̈͜͠

.

.

.

“They should be here,” he said simply.

The nurse bit her lip. “Uh, r-right! Please, allow me to check again, Hunter-nim!” She typed faster this time, checking every variation of their names, sifting through patient lists, broadening the search parameters.

Jin-woo waited.

His fingers twitched slightly.

The clicking of the keyboard filled the space between them.

Finally, the nurse let out a soft breath and shook her head.

“I-I’m really sorry, Hunter-nim” she said gently, peering up at him shyly. “There are no patients by those names registered here.”

Jin-woo remained still.

The cold feeling slithered deeper.

A strange, dull ringing settled in his ears.

That...didn’t make sense.

His lips parted slightly.

“Check again, please.”

The nurse hesitated. “Sir, I—”

“Check. Again.”

A shiver ran down her spine at his tone as she flinched back. Jin-woo blinked, shaking his head slightly, his face still blank.

“Sorry.”

She swallowed and nodded, fingers moving across the keyboard once more.

Jin-woo watched her.

The screen reflected in her wide eyes.

Seconds passed.

“Oh!”

The nurse smiled, exhaling in relief.

“I found them! I don’t know why they weren’t appearing at first, but—”

Something caught her eye. Her voice cut off abruptly. Her expression twisted.

Jin-woo’s chest tightened.

“Well…Where are they?” he asked softly.

The nurse didn’t answer. Her fingers curled slightly, trembling over the keyboard. Her eyes wouldn’t meet his.

“I- They’re… not in a patient room, M-mister Sung.”

Jin-woo’s brows furrowed.

“Then where?”

The nurse opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Her hands trembled slightly.

The silence stretched.

“Mister Sung!”

A new voice.

Jin-woo turned his head.

A young doctor approached. His eyes flitted between the two, assessing the situation with a searching gaze.

The man nodded politely, sparing the nurse a glance before turning his full attention to the S-rank hunter.

“Let me see if I can be of help.”

Jin-woo stared.

The doctor hesitated, then exhaled, something akin to awe bleeding into his voice.

“I just want to say first, Hunter-nim, that what you did on Jeju Island was beyond—”

Jin-woo’s gaze flashed a glacial blue.

The temperature in the room dropped.

The doctor stopped speaking, flinching back with a wince.

Jin-woo’s voice was quiet. Gentle. Dark.

“...You said you could help, so can you tell me where they are?”

The doctor hesitated.

Jin-woo took a single step towards him.

The shadows at his feet shifted slightly.

The air thickened.

The doctor’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. His hands trembled as he turned back to the monitor, fingers hovering over the keys, knuckles white. Something caught his eye, and a wrangled noise escaped from the back of his throat, hands clenching, but he quickly covered it with a cough, turning to face the hunter watching him silently.

“…We do, Mister Sung,” he finally admitted, "...Have them, that is."

The nurse looked sick, her face pale, leaning back like she wanted to shrink into her chair.

Jin-woo’s stare did not waver.

Then, softly—

“Take me to them.”

It wasn’t a request.

The doctor’s lips pressed together. He hesitated for only a second longer before nodding, his gaze softened with something unspoken.

“…Of course. This way, please.”

Jin-woo followed.

They walked past all the patient rooms, past the surgery wards. Away from the ICU.

The halls grew quieter. The murmurs of doctors and nurses faded into the distance.

They entered an elevator, the doctor pressing a button. They began descending down to the lowest floors.

Down.

Down.

Down.

The elevator doors opened.

They walked. The doctor led the way.

The hall was long. Empty.

And at the very end—

A door.

The doctor stopped.

“...W-we’re here, sir.”

A thick, metal-plated door.

Cold. Sterile.

It's funny…it somehow seemed more daunting than those doors of the double dungeon.

The doctor hesitated, lips parting as if he had a million words to say, but nothing was said. He simply paused, looking the silent hunter over. There was something in his eyes, Jin-woo couldn't quite place, before he scanned his card, grasping the handle, pushing it open.

.

.

.

I̵̧̜̹͎̖̲̹͉͓̊͝'̷̖̙͕͖͚͔̌̽͗̄̓̒̄̌̀̔̊̑̋̿̔͌͌̕͜͠ͅm̷̫͎͎͓͍̞̬̯͔̩̥̪̫͔͔̫͖̞̗̩̈̆̂́̈́̈͗̐̓̌̂͑͌̽͋̇̈̓̄͂ ̷̡̨̧̛̞̻̗̘̝̩̤̩̣͚̠͎̩̣̏́̏̂̈̄̃͋̄̌̂̕͠s̶̫̤͚̱̪͉̦͉͋̈́͋̉̚o̸̧̢̡͖̦̫̹͕̰̐̑̃̊̄̅̏̀̀̍̍̽͂͋̅͘ŗ̴̨̗̫̖̱̝̞̫͙̹̯̹͍̯̫͖̟̬͎̑̀͂̎̄͋͠ͅr̴̢͚̘̳̗̱͖̘̤̟̬͇͙͋y̷̮͔̥̠͔̠̻̣͍̲̳̩̙̣̭̓̊̇̓͌̍̅̈́̂̓̉̔̍̉̾́̊̇͆͘.̸̧̨̡̲̠̳̘͍̠͔͈͔̗̩̩̥͓̘̦͗̃͜ͅ.̵̜̞̠̋͌̅̉̂͂̚͝͝.̵̛͚̫̜̤͉̑̆̓̀̎̓̎͐͛̍̉̾̉̒̚͝J̶̛̩̺̮̣̬̣̯̼͐́̓͜͜í̵̺̲̃͛́͛͒͜n̴̨̢̖̺̤̙̦̱̬̗̖̘͙̱͔͍̆̈́-̴͍̜͓͎̊͊͘̕͜͠͠͝w̵̨̧̧̨̮̭̤̞̯̥̜̠̦͈̏͐͜ǫ̷͙͍̟͍̲̬͎̞̿̀̈͛̍̕͜͠ơ̵̖̥̬͑̈͋́̐̈́̚͝͝͝”

.

.

.

He stepped inside.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: A Place They Cannot Follow

A soft breeze rustled through the trees, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and the distant laughter of children. The park was bathed in the warm glow of the afternoon sun, casting long shadows across the ground.

A small girl with violet hair giggled loudly, the swing beneath her creaking as she pumped her little legs forward, higher and higher. Each time her feet reached toward the sky, she let out a shriek of pure delight.

“Higher, Jin-ie! Higher!”

Behind her, a dark-haired boy rolled his eyes gently, but pushed her again, this time with a little more force.

"I told you not to call me that, Jin-ah. And you’re gonna fly off if I push any harder," he muttered, huffing under his breath.

"But I wanna fly!" she insisted, laughing breathlessly as he pushed a little harder, legs flailing around tirelessly.

Their mother sat on a swing beside them, watching with a small smile. The wind ruffled her long, raven hair as she swayed lightly, hands resting on her lap. "Jin-ah dear, please be careful," she warned gently, though there was no real reprimand in her voice. "Not too fast, son."

Jin-woo exhaled through his nose but nodded. "Yeah, I got it."

But Jin-ah wasn’t satisfied. She leaned back slightly, extending her little arms as if trying to touch the sky above, her joyous giggles spilling into the air. “Higher! Just a little—”

A sudden jolt.

A split second of weightlessness.

Then—

The sharp thud of a small body hitting the ground.

The laughter died.

Jin-ah gasped, then whimpered. Her knee stung, hot and sharp, as tears welled in her eyes. Crimson trickled down her leg, thin and bright against her pale skin.

"Jin-ah!" Their mother was on her feet in an instant, rushing over to her fallen daughter.

Jin-woo's heart lurched, his stomach twisting. He barely registered his mother kneeling beside Jin-ah before he dropped to his own knees, hands hovering over her wound, uncertain for a split second before he moved, eyes rapidly taking her in.

"Hnnnn, I-I’m - sniff - okay." Jin-ah hiccupped, but the pain in her voice betrayed her. Her small fingers curled into the dirt. Tears an endless stream down her flushed cheeks.

Jin-woo didn’t waste time. He grabbed the hem of his own t-shirt and ripped it cleanly without batting an eye .

“Jin-woo!” Their mother gasped, but he didn’t stop.

Without hesitation, he reached for the water bottle tucked beside their mother’s bag. Twisting the cap off with his teeth, he poured a gentle stream over the wound, washing away the dirt and blood. Jin-ah winced, sucking in a sharp breath, watching with wide, teary eyes.

"Almost done." Jin-woo murmured, completely focused, “Sorry. I know it hurts. You’re being very brave, Jin-ah, I’m proud of you. Here,” he held up a hand, “squeeze my hand if it hurts.”

Jin-ah beamed and reached out to grab the extended hand that swallowed her smaller one in a gentle squeeze. The praise from her older brother had stoked a fire in her eyes, her little nose scrunching in determination to not cry. 

Jin-woo’s single hand was steady, movements precise—somehow wrapping the torn fabric securely around her knee, holding onto Jin-ah the whole time. He observed his work. Not too tight, but firm enough to stop the bleeding.

Jin-ah sniffled, watching her brother work with thinly veiled curiosity. “H-How…how do you know how to do this? You’re like that doctor from that show!”

Jin-woo hesitated for half a second, then scratched the back of his head. "Uh...I've had a little practice."

Their mother let out a slow breath, watching him carefully, analysing her son. “...Where did you learn that, sweetheart?”

Jin-woo paused, eyes darting away as he shrugged. “...I just did, Ma.”

A quiet moment passed. Kyung-Hye’s gaze softened, the tension in her shoulders melting away as she reached out, brushing her fingers lovingly through Jin-woo’s matching dark hair, an exasperated yet fond smile creeping onto her face.

“You did well, baby.”

Something warm settled in his chest, but before he could acknowledge it, Jin-ah spoke again, whimpering softly.

“…Oppa, my face stings.”

Jin-woo blinked and frowned, shifting slightly to get a better look at her. Sure enough, a thin scratch trailed just beneath her left eye, red and slightly swollen. Likely from when she hit the ground.

He clicked his tongue, shoving down the guilt bubbling in his stomach. “...I think we’re going to have to ban you from these swings, Jin-ah.”

She pouted, sniffling.

With practiced ease, Jin-woo dampened another piece of fabric and gently dabbed at the wound, mindful of her flinch. She squirmed slightly but stayed put, sniffling as she watched him, squeezing his hand a little tighter.

He squeezed back.

“I think you’ll be fine,” he muttered, staring intensely at her cheek. “It’s just a scratch. A little deep but…”

“...Is it gonna turn into a scar?” she asked, wide-eyed.

Their mother hummed, tilting her head slightly, watching her children. “It might,” she admitted, voice soft. “But I’m sure it won’t be too bad.”

Jin-ah’s lips wobbled. “B-But I don’t wanna have a scar on my face…”

Jin-woo sighed, placing the fabric down and brushing a hand over her head, ruffling her violet locks. His other hand rubbed the back of hers in a circular motion. “Hey, silly. It’s just a little one. No one will even notice it.” He dropped his hand from her head to boop her on her nose, snickering as it twitched in retaliation. 

She grumbled, unconvinced. Then she huffed.

"Maybe… next time, I won’t go that high."

Jin-woo exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he ruffled her hair once again, ignoring her blubbery protests. "Ya think?"

She whined, shoving herself out from under his grip with relative ease. But she still held on tightly to his hand. Then, her lips curled into a mischievous grin, eyes glinting. "We have to go even higher next time! ‘Cause it was your angle that was all wrong!!"

Jin-woo gaped, baffled at her statement. "You're unbelievable."

She stuck out her tongue, “Just don’t let go next time!! You gotta hold on tighter so you can fly with me, Jin-ie!! We can go WHOOSH” she waved her hand dramatically towards the sky.

Their mothers laughter rang through the air like ringing bells at his exasperated groan, filled with pure amusement at her children’s antics.

“Mama! You can come too!”

“Yes, yes of course dear.”

Jin-woo sighed, shaking his head with resigned amusement. He gently turned Jin-ah’s head and wiped her lingering tears with his sleeve, cleaning her chubby cheeks as she smiled wide, a huge gap in her cheeky grin. Something unbelievably soft settled in his chest. His mother placed a hand on his shoulder, her eyes squinting under the weight of her own smile. 

 He tried to fight it, but he couldn’t stop the small grin that spread onto his own face.

“There. Now you’re all patched up baby sis. Good as new.”

Jin-ah threw her smaller body onto him, squeezing him tight with a gleeful woop.

“You’re the best! Thank you, Jin-woo!”

Their mother gently grabbed both their hands, helping them up as her gaze softened with an indescribable love, their little palms clenched in hers.

“Come Jin-ah, Jin-woo. Let’s go home.”

The room was…cold.

Metal tables gleamed under harsh fluorescent lights, their sterile shine reflecting off pristine white floors. The air was thick with the sharp scent of disinfectant—clean, clinical, but it did nothing to mask the undercurrent of something else. Something heavier.

Jin-woo’s footsteps echoed hollowly as he entered. Each step, slow and soundless, felt like it belonged to someone else. His body moved on its own, as if guided by unseen strings, carrying him forward with an eerie, mechanical stillness. His eyes—sharp, calculating, always aware—were unfocused. Glazed.

When…did I get here?

A voice spoke behind him, but it was distant, muffled. Words blurred together in a meaningless hum.

The door clicked shut.

Silence.

Jin-woo did not move.

Two tables.

Two forms.

Two white sheets.

His breath was slow, measured. It left his lips in thin, visible wisps against the cold air. His chest barely moved.

He stared.

At first, it was just that—staring. His gaze drifted along the sterile drape of fabric, smooth and crisp, untouched. He traced the outlines beneath, his mind detached, eerily blank. His arms hung limp at his sides, fingers twitching once before stilling again.

Seconds passed. Or maybe hours.

Then—he moved.

His hand, steady in battle, unshaken against beasts, now trembled. He reached forward, fingers stiff, hesitant. He hovered over the first sheet, unable to grasp it fully, his fingertips grazing the fabric lightly.

For a moment, he couldn’t move. Every fibre of his being refused, as if some primal part of his soul was screaming don’t.

Sung Jin-woo had faced death countless times, to the point where he would almost call it an old friend. He had knocked on its door, had one foot on the threshold, his very life slipping between his fingertips. So, he was familiar with fear. It was something he had learned to embrace, when he was nothing more than the weakest hunter who was stupid enough to fight.

But this feeling.

Another pause.

A deep breath.

And then he pulled.

Slowly.

The sheet peeled away in a whisper of fabric.

.

.

.

It was a girl.

Young.

Too young.

Her hair…reminded him of violets, spilling loosely over the metal table. Strands clung to her cheek, damp with something he didn’t want to name. Bruises bloomed across her pale skin in ugly browns and deep blacks, creeping up her arms, painting cruel patterns across her exposed collarbone.

Her lips were a muted shade of blue.

Her body was still.

Cold.

Empty.

He did not flinch. He did not react.

His fingers moved again, grasping the edge of the second sheet. Without thought, without hesitation, without a word, he ripped it back.

.

.

.

Another body.

A woman. Older.

Motionless.

Her dark hair fanned out around her face, dull strands cascading over slack shoulders. Shadows pooled beneath her eyes. The bare skin of her arms and neck was littered with deep gashes, dark bruises. A single hand—her hand—rested limply at her side. It looked…familiar.

.

.

.

His mind refused to name them.

This wasn’t them.

This wasn’t real.

This was a mistake.

.

.

.

For a moment, nothing moved. The world itself had frozen.

His fingers twitched, reaching forward before he even realized what he was doing. His actions barely felt like his own. He traced the length of an arm, the shape of a familiar hand—one he had held before, one that had combed gently through his hair, one that-

His breath hitched.

His touch lightly drifted across the girl's face, his eyes empty, unseeing.

Then–

He felt his finger’s graze it.

A small, indistinguishable line of raised skin.

A small. faint mark. Barely a scar. 

A thin line beneath her left eye...

No.

“Higher, Jin-ie! Higher!”

No.

“...You did well, baby”

It’s not real.

“You’re the best! Thank you Jin-woo!” 

Stop it.

“You gotta hold on tighter…”

It’s…not real.

“...so you can fly with me, Jin-ie!”

It’s. Not. Real

“Come Jin-ah…”

Please...

“...Jin-woo…”

…

“Let’s go home.”

Jin-woo gasped.

Like a man submerged breaking through the surface.

Reality crashed down on him.

His breath stuttered. His vision blurred. His throat tightened.

Memories slammed into him so violently it stole the breath from his lungs—

His knees buckled. His body collapsed before he even registered it, legs giving out as the weight of everything descended upon him all at once. His hands slammed against the cold metal table, gripping it like a lifeline. His entire body trembled violently, his eyes obscenely wide.

His lips parted, but no sound came out.

His throat burned, raw with something unspeakable, something clawing its way out of his chest, something that had no name but tore through his ribs all the same.

A shuddering breath.

Then—

“…J-Jin-ah.”

The name barely left him, a croaked whisper, fragile and broken.

A strangled sound left his throat, caught between a sob and a gasp. His body lurched forward before he could stop himself. With wide, wide eyes his eyes scanned her still frame, his eyes drifting to her side.

“Mom…?” His voice was small. So very, very small. 

Nothing.

His hands grasped at her shoulders, shaking her gently at first. Then harder.

“Mom...? M-Mama? C-C'mon wake up.”

Silence.

His breath hitched, “...N-No. Nononono-”

He turned back to his sister, reaching out, shaking her now, desperation creeping into his voice. “ Jin-ah . Come on, sis. This isn’t funny please -”

Again. Nothing.

His hands trembled violently as they hovered over their bodies. He could feel their skin cooling under his touch, feel the lack of breath, the absence of warmth.

He could smell their bodies decay.

His chest tightened painfully.

Oh God

His head spun.

His stomach twisting violently, roughly shoving a hand over his nose, the rancid scent of decay seeping into his lungs. It was thick, cloying—wrong. It clung to the back of his throat, coiling around his senses like a parasite, refusing to let go.

A sharp gag tore from his lips. His body lurched before he could stop it. His knees dug into the cold floor with a hollow thud as he doubled over, retching violently.

His hands clutched at the tile, nails scraping against the sterile white as bile burned up his throat. But the nausea didn’t stop.

Because it was still there.

That smell. That stench.

Familiar, yet unfathomably foreign.

And it was coming from-

He violently clutched at his hair, his fingers digging into his scalp painfully as his breaths came sharp and uneven. “W-Wake up.” he pleaded, voice cracking under the weight of his grief. “Goddammit, Jin-woo. Wake. Up! Fucking Wake Up!! ”

The lights flickered.

Mana seeped from him in thick, suffocating waves, distorting the air around him. The sheer pressure of his power rattled the steel tables, making the room groan under the force. The overhead fluorescents burst one by one, glass shattering and scattering across the pristine floors.

The world was unravelling around him.

His body trembled as he fell further into the ground and rocked back on his knees, gripping his head as if trying to hold himself together. “This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This Isn't Real This Isn't Real This Isn't RealThisIsn'tRealThisIsn'tReal.” His voice cracked, bordering on hysteria. “I-I want to wake up now. P-please- ”

His lips trembled as he squeezed his eyes shut, choking on his tears. “This is a dream ,” he whispered, barely breathing the words. “T-That’s right. This… this is just another illusion.”

Yes.

That was the answer.

A nightmare.

A cruel joke.

He refused to accept anything else.

"I-It hurts." He sobbed.

He drowned it in. In the indescribable pain that had taken hold of him. 

In the agonising truth of what he had truly lost.

And it consumed him.

A moment passed.

His sobs quietened.

His movements stilled.

Then-

A choked sound escaped him.

Small. Almost inaudible.

A breath of disbelief coiled at the back of his throat, scratching to be freed.

Then—another.

A wheezing chuckle, barely formed, slipping past trembling lips.

It didn’t make sense.

None of this made sense.

“...H-Haha…”

A sound. Soft, barely above a whisper.

Then another. And another.

Until suddenly—

He let go.

It tore from his throat, raw and uncontrollable, bubbling over in waves of manic hysteria. His shoulders shook, his body trembled, as the sound—that awful, awful sound—spilled into the dead air. He threw his head back, his entire frame wracking with sheer delirium. Tears streamed down his cheeks, mixing with the laughter, with the horror, with the sheer absurdity of it all.

The very hospital trembled beneath the weight of it all.

The walls groaned. The floors cracked. The lights flickered and shattered, glass raining down in shards. Machines short-circuited, monitors screeching before sparking out, leaving nothing but panicked screams echoing through the halls.

Doctors stumbled and collapsed. Patients screamed, scrambling and muttering as the darkness around them lurched and the ground shook and shuddered beneath a power too vast, too consuming to be contained.

The shadows in the halls stretched. They slithered up the pristine white walls, bleeding into every corner, devouring anything in sight. Dark tendrils coiled, creeping across the floor, crawling up the trembling walls—twisting, writhing, invading. The very air was thick with something oppressive, something wrong.

Jin-woo clutched his sides, gasping between fits of deranged laughter, his mind fraying at the seams. His eyes, wide and gleaming with unshed madness, flickering between a glacial blue and a terrifying violet, reflecting something truly monstrous.

It was all a joke.

A sick, twisted, horrifying joke.

A ragged breath. A hiccupped sob. A broken laugh. 

It hurts. 

Make it stop.

Please.

"…My King."

Jin-woo froze.

His laughter cut off abruptly, strangled in his throat.

For a moment, all was silent.

Then—

A slow, measured click of claws against tile. A faint but unwavering presence behind him, kneeling, waiting.

"…My King," the voice rumbled again. Lower this time. Gentle. Steady.

A voice.

A familiar voice.

Something within him snapped back into place—not fully, not yet, but just enough.

Just enough to stop.

Just enough to listen.

Beru knelt beside him, his enormous frame hunched, claws hovering just shy of touching his master. His usually fearsome form was subdued, his glowing eyes dim with something almost… gentle.

Jin-woo stared at him, unseeing at first. His vision was blurred, his mind trapped somewhere between disbelief and devastation. His breathing was ragged, uneven.

Beru remained still, unwavering. His wings folded close, his claws twitching slightly, as if resisting the urge to reach out. “My King… breathe....please.” he watched him, voice even softer this time.

Jin-woo’s lips parted, but no words came. He simply stared as Beru’s chest began to rise and fall in a steady pattern.

Up. Down. Up. Down

Jin-woo’s chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, trying to imitate Beru’s expanding chest, the remnants of his episode still scraping his throat raw. His mind was a storm, an endless, swirling abyss, and he was sinking.

A faint clink of metal.

Jin-woo stiffened. His tear-streaked gaze, still blurred with disbelief, flickered to the side.

There, knelt in silence at his side, was a second figure.

A knight clad in blackened, shadowy steel, a towering presence wreathed in shifting shadows and luminated mana, his long, obsidian cape and red feather fluttering gently behind him.

Igris.

He did not speak. He did not need to.

His helmeted gaze was fixed on Jin-woo. Unfaltering.

Jin-woo’s trembling hands clenched against the cold tiles, his nails biting into his palms.

A sharp, shuddering inhale.

“…Master.”

Beru.

Jin-woo didn’t respond. He didn’t move.

Beru’s claws twitched, his wings flexing slightly before settling once more. He was choosing his next words carefully.

“…Your sorrow is…immeasurable.”

He said it with a deliberate delicacy.

His breath hitched, his throat still burning. 

Beru hesitated for only a moment longer. Then—

“…Perhaps…”

A stillness fell over the room.

“...There is a way, My King?”

Jin-woo’s head lifted ever so slightly.

Beru’s piercing blue eyes watched him carefully, mandibles clicking in thought.

“A way… to bring them back.”

Jin-woo’s world screeched to a halt.

His mind, still caught in the haze of devastation, barely processed the words at first

Then—

A sharp, excruciating clarity.

His breath stilled.

Slowly, agonizingly slow, Jin-woo turned to look at Beru.

“… What? ”

Beru’s eyes turned downward in submission, body bowing lower.

“You hold dominion over death itself, My King. I have had the honour to see it.” His voice rasped in an awe-filled hum. “ Perhaps…If you command it… they will be reborn...like us.”

Jin-woo stared.

The words coiled around his mind like a serpent, twisting, curling, embedding themselves deep into his thoughts.

His fingers twitched.

His lips parted.

His vision cleared slightly.

“...”

That–

It was…

No way to live.

That was what it was.

He was very much aware.

To be a shadow—a fragment of what once was.

A servant to his will, bound to an existence of eternal servitude.

A cruel fate.

But—

Jin-woo’s gaze slowly dragged back to the lifeless bodies before him, before darting away.

Cold. Motionless. Still.

G̴̢̨̛͉̞̳̯̫̫̹͖̱̬̽̄̽̎͌̎̎͗́͐̈́͑̎͜͜͠o̵̡̹͇̟̮͖͗͒͜n̴͉͇͍͉̹̣̣̈̌̌͛̓̂̄̎̔̍̒͜e̶͇̖̱͙͂̓͛̄.

A ragged breath.

His shoulders trembled.

No way to live.

But still—

Anything is better than this.

The sky was dark.

A breeze passed through the empty street. The hospital loomed ahead, still and silent.

No reporters. No civilians. The entire perimeter had been blocked off, Association personnel stationed at every possible entry point.

A handful of Korea’s strongest hunters stood near the entrance, their bodies bandaged and stiff, lingering wounds from Jeju still fresh. The battle had ended, but its effects lingered in every sore muscle, every scar, every uneasy breath.

Yet, when Chairman Go had called for them, they had answered without hesitation.

A handful of other A-rank and B-rank hunters stood behind them, shifting anxiously, off put by a lingering sense of dread.

Choi Jong-in adjusted his glasses, the golden glow of the street lights reflecting off the lens. His crimson eyes glanced at his fellow rankers. “To think…” he murmured, voice quieter than usual, devoid of its usual bravado, “It's all truly over. I…feel like I’m dreaming”

Baek Yoonho exhaled sharply, crossing his arms. His golden eyes flickered, gaze heavy with something unreadable.  “...A part of me thought that was the end.” His fists clenched. “We were done for. All of us. I was so sure we were going to–…after Byung-Gyu…” He trailed off, his voice cracking slightly, eyes squeezing shut, head turning away.

Choi’s own eyes closed in silent understanding.

Director Woo Jin-chul approached them, his normally unwavering composure strained. He had just finished speaking with a pale-faced doctor, who had hurried off, white-knuckled and visibly shaken.

Woo exhaled sharply, nodding to the gathered hunters. “Thank you for coming given the...unusual circumstances. I know you should be resting.”

Choi Jong-in watched him, his sharp eyes taking him in, before shooting him a kind smile. “No trouble at all, Director. If this concerns Sung Jin-woo, it’s important. There was no need for elaboration.”

Baek Yoonho scoffed, crossing his arms over his massive chest. “Honestly, I thought you would be at home, wrapped up in a blanket by now, Choi-ya. I've got this handled.”

Choi huffed softly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’d return the sentiment, You look like hell. And it is I, who has it handled.”

Baek exhaled a dry scoff, running a hand through his ginger hair, shaking his head slightly. “Tch. Yeah, well, I’ve seen better days. We all have. Maybe it is best we're all here for...whatever this is.”

Cha Hae-in, who had been mostly quiet, finally spoke. “…Is he alright? Mr Sung?” she questioned, her voice gentle but firm. “The Chairman...didn’t give much away. He only said that we needed to be here.”

Jin-chul remained silent for a moment, his eyes flickering towards the building. Then, almost reluctantly, he murmured, “The Chairman will be here soon to explain. It is...not my story to tell I'm afraid.”

Her gaze was locked onto the hospital. Her arms were crossed, her fingers twitching against the fabric of her coat.

Jin-chul let out a breath, but then his gaze flickered towards her again. His brows furrowed. “And…Are you alright, Hunter Cha?”

At the mention, Baek glanced at her, his expression sobering. “Yeah. You’re the one who took the worst of it in Jeju,” he said. “You sure you’re good to be up and about like this?”

Cha blinked, caught off guard by the sudden concern. For a moment, she hesitated, fingers curling slightly as she gripped her arm. Her gaze flickered to the hospital, something unspoken in her eyes.

A moment passed.

Her fingers clenched slightly. Then, finally—

“…I’m fine.”

Baek didn’t believe her. Neither did Choi.

But neither was going to press.

Before anyone could say anything else—

The air changed .

Like a storm before the first crack of thunder. A pressure unlike anything any of them had ever felt descended. A wave of pure, unfiltered, monstrous mana. Like a fist slamming down from the heavens. A tidal wave. A black hole. A collapse of reality itself.

The lower-ranked hunters didn’t even have time to scream.

The moment the pressure hit, they collapsed like marionettes with their strings cut. Their bodies twitched, convulsed, before going eerily still.

Some gasped for air, choking on nothing, their nails digging into the pavement as if trying to cling to reality. Others were simply motionless, their eyes rolled back, bodies limp against the cold concrete.

One let out a ragged, garbled noise—half a breath, half a sob—before his body finally gave out, sinking into unconsciousness.

Choi's breath hitched. His entire body shook, his lungs forgetting how to breathe. His head throbbed, a sharp, unrelenting agony splitting through his skull. His glasses cracked, split and then shattered . The frame bent under the sheer force of whatever was pressing down on them.

Baek's mountainous form buckled until he crumbled to one knee. His claws extended—not by will, but by instinct, his hair flashing a ghostly white. His entire body screamed at him. His bones felt like they would snap.

Cha’s vision blurred. Her body felt like it wasn’t her own. Her breath hitched, her fingers twitching, her throat tight with something she didn’t understand. She reached by her waist, clenching her sword in a tight grip on instinct, the aura around her roaring like a wild, powerful fire. 

Her cheeks were wet.

Her cheeks were wet .

She touched her face, stunned, staring at her fingertips. Tears.

Why am I crying?

Her pupils contracted, her golden eyes locked onto the hospital where the torrential pressure originated.

Is this…

Jin-chul clenched his fists, gritting his teeth so hard they threatened to crack, his own shades rendered broken and useless on the ground revealing bloodshot eyes. He had fallen to both his knees, his hands pressed against the floor as if trying to fight against an invisible force.

The windows of the hospital exploded outward as the mana pulsed again. The walls groaned. The floors cracked, glass raining down like frozen tears. The sheer force fracturing the very air. The building itself shuddered, its structure groaning under an invisible force, the pavement beneath their feet splitting apart.

Choi barely managed to gasp, his voice strangled. “W-What is this!?”

His mind was slipping back into that state of unbridled fear he had faced on Jeju Island. But this—

This felt so much worse .

Cha’s lips trembled, her voice small, shaking—She recognised this mana. 

They all did.

“…T-That's-!”

A deep voice cut through the chaos.

“That poor boy.”

All eyes turned toward Chairman Go Gunhee.

His hands were clenched at his sides.

His expression was grave.

Even as the very ground beneath them split and crumbled, his presence was a silent force against the storm.

But even he was stiff, his knuckles white, his jaw clenched.

Baek Yoonho exhaled sharply, his body still shaking as he forced himself to breathe. Sweat dripped from his temple. His voice was rough, hoarse—

"What the hell is happening in there? ”

Chairman Go was quiet for a moment, and they were all taken aback by the deep sadness in his wise eyes, staring ahead as if he could see something they couldn't.

"...This...is someone's entire world...falling apart before our eyes."

Jin-woo stood over the still bodies of his family, his expression eerily calm, but his fingers twitched at his sides, betraying the storm within.

This was it.

He had made his decision.

It wouldn’t be the same.

They wouldn’t be the same.

And perhaps… perhaps they would hate him for it.

But that was a reality he could live with.

If they never forgave him.

He could live with that.

What he couldn’t live with was this.

The emptiness. The silence. The finality of it all.

So he had to try. He had to.

Igris stood to his right, silent and steady, his dark armour gleaming under the dim hospital lighting, the mana coursing through him casting a soft glow. His presence was unwavering, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his blade—a knight in quiet reverence, standing vigil over his King's grief.

Beru, on his left, was unnaturally still, his mandibles clicking softly, wings slightly flared. He had taken the initiative to heal their bodies, ensuring there were no bruises, no cuts—no sign of the horrors they had suffered.

Now, they simply looked… asleep.

His mother was as she had been when she had been trapped in eternal sleep, peaceful, untouched by time.

Jin-ah…

Jin-ah usually slept like a wild animal—twisted in her blankets, mouth open, a drooling mess.

But now—

She was so still. Too still.

Jin-woo inhaled slowly, mana rippling around him.

It had to work.

It had to.

His chest rose. Fell.

His glowing eyes narrowed in determination.

He lifted his hand.

And gave the command.

“…Arise.”

A pulse.

Darkness rushed forward, claws stretching, writhing, desperate.

The very air shuddered. The temperature plummeted.

Black tendrils surged out from the empty vessels, thick and viscous, coiling upward, reaching—

Jin-woo’s breath hitched.

It was working—

Then—

The shadows hesitated.

They twisted, trembling violently—before retreating.

Like smoke slipping through his fingers, they curled backward, dissolving into the air.

A sharp, jarring ping echoed.

[Failed Shadow Extraction. Attempt (1/3)]

Jin-woo’s breath shuddered.

The words burned into his vision.

The silence was suffocating.

Igris shifted subtly closer, his presence solid beside him. Beru remained where he stood, his glowing eyes locked onto the bodies, claws clicking in anticipation.

Jin-woo swallowed thickly.

Again.

His jaw clenched, his hand lifting with more force, a crackling pressure pressing down as his mana surged once more.

“Arise.”

The darkness exploded outward, a raging tide of power. The gurneys groaned beneath the force, their steel frames screeching against the floor.

Shadows clawed, strained—fought.

For a moment, the air itself vibrated with an unnatural pressure, the very walls trembling under the sheer force.

And then—

It failed.

Again.

Jin-woo watched as the abyss—his power—slipped away from him once more.

The second ping felt like a hammer to his chest.

[Failed Shadow Extraction. Attempts (2/3)]

[You have one attempt remaining]

A shaky breath.

A sharp tremor in his hands.

Jin-woo’s knees nearly buckled.

Jin-woo stared at the bodies of his mother and sister. His mind was blank.

No—

Not blank.

Breaking.

His breathing turned shallow.

“No…I-” he muttered, his voice cracking as his fingers dug into Jin-ah’s wrist.

He clenched his eyes shut, bending low, slowly lowering his head until his forehead rested against hers.

“...H-Hey…Hey, Jin-ah?…It's me, you're stupid, worthless brother. Do...do you remember? That time…when you found out I was evaluated as an S-rank?” He let out a wet, broken chuckle, tears falling onto her pale face. “You screamed at me for ages. Told me I was still just your dumb older brother. That nothing had changed.”

His voice trembled as he pulled away, turning to his mother.

“You were right.”

His shoulders shook, his breath ragged.

“Without you—” he whispered, “without both of you—I am nothing .”

A sob tore from his throat as he collapsed, his fingers clutching at the cold hands of the only two people who had ever truly mattered to him.

Before his awakening.

Before the double dungeon.

Before his re-evaluation.

Before the system.

Before it all.

Beru watched with wide eyes, a painful feeling curling in his chest, a sharp prickling in his eyes. 

Igris lowered his head.

“I-I should’ve been there, I should’ve never left your sides.” he choked out helplessly, “I don’t care how many would have died…If it meant you would be able to shout at me again.  I-If it meant we could clean up together. If it meant...we never ended up here.”

His lips quivered, his head bowing low in utter defeat.

“I-I know I have no right to ask. I know .”

His voice cracked.

“I don’t deserve it.”

His shoulders shook as he leaned over their lifeless bodies, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m a failure of a brother”

Tears streamed down his face, trickling down in his bottomless sorrow.

“A h-horrible, worthless son”

He squeezed his eyes shut.

“But please …”

Someone.

Anyone.

A breath.

A whisper.

A final, broken command.

“ Arise .”

In the void beyond mortal comprehension, something watched.

A presence, ancient and unseen, lurking in the abyss where light did not reach. It had no true form, no shape—only an all-seeing gaze, watching. Calculating.

It had anticipated many things. But this… this was amusing.

A dry, clicking chuckle echoed into nothingness.

“𝕬𝖘 𝖊𝖝𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖉. . . 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖍𝖚𝖒𝖆𝖓 𝖎𝖘 𝖇𝖗𝖊𝖆k𝖎𝖓𝖌…”

It watched with a wide, sickening smile

“...𝕳𝖔𝖜 𝕴𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌…”

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: He Who Dwells In Shadows

Darkness.

Thick. Endless. Oppressive.

It swallowed him whole.

Jin-woo drifted in nothingness, his body weightless, untethered, alone. Silence pressed against him, suffocating in its totality. He didn’t know where he was. Didn’t know how he got here.

.

.

.

Was he… dead?

.

.

.

It wouldn’t have been surprising. He had failed. He had reached out, grasped, begged , but the world had remained indifferent. He had poured every ounce of power he had into that final attempt, and still… nothing.

He wasn’t enough .

Jin-ah. His mother.

Gone.

They were…gone.

His breath was hollow in the void, a mere echo swallowed by the abyss. 

.

.

.

Pain.

It was everywhere.

Not just in his body, but in his blood, in his breath, in the marrow of his bones. It wasn’t sharp or fleeting—it was all-consuming, pressing into every inch of his being like a weight he could never put down.

Jin-woo drifted in darkness, but he was not free.

The pain was there.

Still there.

Even in the void.

It sat in his chest like shattered glass, cut through his mind like barbed wire, wound through his soul like a noose that refused to loosen. A relentless, insidious thing that clawed and gnawed and hollowed him out. It burned beneath his skin, deep and unyielding, a wound that bled even when there was nothing left to spill.

He thought—no, hoped—that death would feel different. That it would be soft, merciful, empty.

But there was no mercy. No quiet end.

Only this aching, this unbearable existence, stretching on and on into nothingness.

He had lost everything. His mother. His sister. His purpose. His reason.

So why?

Why was he still here?

Why was he still hurting?

It…hurts.

His fingers twitched. His throat was raw. He wanted to move, to scream, to tear apart the unseen chains that held him suspended in agony. But there was nothing to fight, no enemy to kill, no dungeon to clear.

Only the void.

Only the pain

.

.

.

.

.

.

How long…has he been there.

It felt like eons had passed and like no time had passed at all.

He wasn’t sure if he was sinking or rising—if he even had a body to begin with. If he was even real anymore.

It didn’t matter.

The pain had faded.

It had peeled away, layer by layer, stripping him down to something simpler. Something lighter.

Something... empty.

Jin-woo exhaled. Or maybe he didn’t.

He existed, but barely.

And for the first time in his life, there was no burden.

No struggle. No grief. No fury.

Just…

Silence.

It was peaceful. Blissful, even.

The nothingness cradled him like an old friend, whispering promises of rest, of release.

And for a moment—just a fleeting, fragile moment—he thought maybe he could stay like this.

Just be .

.

.

.

And then—

.

.

.

A voice.

.

.

.

"Does it burn, Jin-woo?"

The voice slithered through the abyss, sharp and heavy as stone.

A beat. A breath.

"Or have you finally become so pathetic...that you don't feel a thing?"

Slowly, as if moving through water, Jin-woo turned toward the source.

A figure stood there in the distance, just beyond the reach of the nothingness. A boy, slight of frame, barely scraping past his shoulders.

Black scruffy hair. Hollow eyes. A cruel, knowing smile.

A mirror of who he once was.

Dull, sunken eyes stared at him. Familiar.

The boy who had once been called the Weakest Hunter of All Mankind .

A slow smile stretched across his face. Wide. Wrong. It didn’t quite reach his empty, abyssal stare.

The boy tilted his head.

Jin-woo didn’t answer. Didn’t move. Didn’t care.

The boy clicked his tongue. His presence was weightless, yet suffocating, coiling through the air like something unnatural.

"I've been watching you"

His tone was light, conversational- but the weight beneath it burned like poison.

"Watching you wail and crawl like a dog. A pitiful sight, really."

A chuckle. Dark. Amused.

"All that power. All that struggle. And yet-" He exhaled, slow and deliberate. "You have nothing to show for it"

The words should have hurt.

But Jin-woo felt nothing at all.

The boy’s smile didn't falter, but something in his gaze sharpened. Cut deeper.

He took his time, hands slipping casually into the pockets of his hoodie, his gait slow, effortless, unhurried—watching him, circling him. His steps barely made a ripple in the void, but his presence pressed down like an ever-tightening noose.

Once behind him, he exhaled a quiet hum. Once beside him, he tilted his head, peering at him with something unreadable, something almost… disappointed.

A huff.

His voice dipped into something sickeningly sweet, like poison wrapped in honey.

"Do you enjoy it?"  

His black eyes glinted, disgust curling at the edges of his smirk.

"Playing the part of a grieving hero? "

A pause. A tilt of his head.

Then-

The warmth in his tone disappeared

What was left behind was sharp, serrated.

"He's out there, living."

His voice dropped into something colder.

"And here you are- wasting away."

His eyes narrowed.

"Pathetic." He spat the word like venom

Jin-woo blinked. Slow. Detached.

The boy, now in front of him, took another step forward, eyes glinting with something sharp, something cruel.

"I thought you would have changed by now." The boy mused, voice almost thoughtful. "Did you not get the hint, the last time we found ourselves here?"

Another step.

"You’ve gotten even taller. Put on some more muscle."

His lips curled.

"You look pretty strong.”

A pause. A tilt of the head. A whisper.

“But…where has that gotten you really ?”

No answer.

He sighed, his expression shifting into something resembling genuine disappointment.

"Even now…You’re still so weak,” he whispered, shaking his head likes he's scolding a child. “You still hesitate. You still cling to things that have already crumbled to dust in your hands.”

His black eyes glinted in the empty dark, something cruel lurking beneath.

A step closer

“You still seek purpose in a world that has nothing left for you.”

Jin-woo stared.

“Why ?” his past self mused, tone lilting like the sound of a blade dragging against stone. “Why, I wonder, do you insist on it? This incessant desire of yours to be weak, no matter how strong you grow.”

His eyes squinted in an emotion that resembled frustration.

“You have everything. All these pieces . ” His voice was soft, but the venom beneath it seeped into Jin-woo’s bones. "Power. Status. Fear."

A hum.

"But what do you do with it?"

His voice dipped into something mocking.

"You play the saviour."

A pause.

A click of his tongue.

"That’s why they died." the younger Jin-woo said simply, as if discussing the weather. The words fell so simply. A matter-of-fact statement.

"Because you still refused to accept reality."

A slow step forward. Close enough now that Jin-woo could see the void swirling in his younger self’s empty, hollow eyes.

"You continue to decide to choose morals in a world that does not allow for them."

The void stared into him.

Jin-woo stared back.

The boy smiled.

“Y o u  l e t  t h e m  d i e,” he murmured, soft, gentle, poisonous. “Because even after everything, you’re still the same, helpless fool who dreams that people will see him differently if he just tries hard enough. If he can just be enough.”

A grin.

“Tell me, Sung Jin-woo. ” the entity cooed, leaning in. “Did it work?”

He leaned in further. Close enough that Jin-woo could feel the whisper of his breath.

"A dead sister."

.

"A dead mother."

.

"And a man who got away".

.

"That is all you have”

.

Silence.

Jin-woo didn’t flinch. Didn’t react.

Because there was nothing left in him to react with.

The boy exhaled softly, his expression shifting into something almost pitying.

"You understand. I know you do."

His fingers ghosted over Jin-woo’s chest, pressing lightly where his heart should have been in a delicate caress.

"That thing inside you? That tiny…small...pathetic human heart?"

The touch lingered

"It died back there. In that place. In that room. With them."

A shiver ran through the darkness

"And in its place..."

His fingers flexed slightly, moving. They dragged. Slow. Methodical. From one side of his chest to the other. Tracing. Mapping. Feeling.

The boy smiled.

Low. Knowing.

And then—

That same hand pressed deeper.

"Something so much greater took its place."

Jin-woo’s eyes lowered, staring at the boy’s hand resting against him.

Waiting.

For something.

For nothing.

.

.

.

But he listened.

The boy grinned, triumphant.

"You don’t have to hurt anymore."

His voice dripped with promise. Pressing his hand into his chest, deeper.

Something pulsed beneath his palm.

"You don’t have to lose anymore."

The weight of his words seeped in, curling around the edges of Jin-woo’s hollow mind, pressing against the emptiness, against the numbness.

A beat.

"The world is cruel...but we've always known that."

Then another.

"The weak get taken from."

Another.

Slow. Deep. Powerful.

"You just have to become even stronger ."

A spark.

Tiny. Barely there.

But it flickered.

"Destroy those who wronged you."

The darkness stirred.

"Who took from you."

The flicker grew.

"No hesitation. No mercy ."

He closed the last, fragile inch of space between them.

Jin-woo didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

"How could you forget..."

The boy reached up—gentle, almost reverent—and placed his fingers beneath Jin-woo’s chin.

A touch so light it should’ve felt insignificant.

But it wasn’t.

Because when he tilted his head down, guiding him—Jin-woo let him.

Their foreheads met.

"In this world. It's kill or be killed."

.

.

.

A quiet, suffocating stillness settled between them.

Those eyes never left his.

A void reflecting a void.

His gaze held him there, unrelenting, unblinking.

"I think it's time...you stop pretending." he breathed, almost tender. "You are not human. You are not like them. You…” something flickered in his gaze, bright and burning.

"We are so, so much more."

The boy exhaled, a soft, knowing sound, his voice brushing against his lips—a gentle hum.

"Just let it all go."

.

.

.

Let it…go?

.

.

.

Let…go.

.

.

.

Let go.

.

.

.

Destroy those who wronged him.

.

Erase those who stood in his way.

.

No more hesitation. No more mercy.

.

Let both the weak and those who call themselves strong…

.

Let them suffer, as he had suffered.

.

Let them fear .

.

.

.

How could he forget.

.

.

.

In this world...

.

.

. 

Only the strong survive.

.

.

.

His other self smiled.

“Embrace it, Sung Jin-woo” he murmured, almost fond. “The path has already been set for us. We just need to walk it .”

The emptiness inside him wavered.

The boy’s fingers lingered, his palm still pressed firm against Jin-woo’s chest.

Then—

He eased back. Smooth. Intentional. His fingers dragged away, slow, deliberate, as if savouring the contact. Then, with a light tap—a final press over where his human heart should have been—he let go.

And stepped back.

One step.

Then another.

The air rippled in his wake, as if the void itself recoiled from his presence. But his eyes never wavered.

Black. All-knowing. A grin curled lazily over his lips, something dark, something triumphant, yet gentle lurking beneath it.

And then—The boy’s form wavered, as if the darkness itself was unravelling at the seams.

The silhouette before him twisted, stretching taller, broader—the lines of a frame sharpening, shifting, becoming something else.

Something familiar.

The last remnants of his younger self melted away, shadows peeling back like a discarded shell—until they were one and the same.

Only him.

Only us.

He raised his hand.

Palm up.

An invitation.

“Come.” he whispered. “Let us be who we were always meant to be. ”

That voice.

It was his own.

The darkness roared.

“And I promise…”

Jin-woo… reached out.

“…we will never feel this pain again.”

He was no longer empty.

“I’ll leave you…with this gift.”

That emptiness…faded away.

And in its place—

Something new began to bloom.

Not warmth.

Not light.

Something black. Something endless. Something vast.

Something achingly powerful.

Like a fire. But not the kind that comforted.

No, this fire consumed .

.

.

.

There, beating in his chest…

.

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A black heart.

.

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.

"𝗪𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝘂𝗽…𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗴 𝗞𝗶𝗻𝗴"

.

.

.

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.

"𝙄𝙩'𝙨 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙝𝙪𝙣𝙩"

.

.

.

.

The remains of the hospital lay in ruin- a hollow husk of its former self.

The air shifted. Not with wind, but with presence. Thick. Suffocating. Something unseen slithered beneath the skin and coiled around the soul.

Though the mana wave had dissipated, its aftermath lingered like a scar. Where once there was chaos—screaming patients, crumbling walls, the sheer weight of mana that threatened to collapse everything under its suffocating grip—there was now only silence.

A hollow, deathly stillness.

The S-rank hunters had barely managed to recover, their limbs still sluggish, their lungs burning from the suffocating pressure that had brought them to their knees.

Choi clenched his fists, his breathing shallow as he stared at the remnants of the hospital, crimson eyes tired with strain. The flames he so often wielded flickered along his fingertips involuntarily, an instinctive response to the sheer unease crawling through him.

'I've never felt this before...Not even then. It's almost unbearable."

Baek rolled his shoulders, flexing his claws, as if he could tear apart the weight pressing against his chest. His animalistic instincts screamed at him—that what was in that hospital was not something he should ever stand against.

The very air reeked something ancient. Something absolute.

Cha stood apart from them quietly, her eyes muted with lingering tears. The grief that had settled upon her features was raw, unguarded. She clutched at her chest, gritting her teeth in frustration, fresh tears sparking to life.

Woo exhaled sharply, glancing to his side.

'Chairman..."

Gunhee stood at the forefront, his expression unreadable.

They could all feel it.

Lurking within the broken building was something horrible. Something terrifying. They held their breaths, all eyes pinned to the building’s entrance.

A wrongness in the air, thick and suffocating.

It wasn’t just power.

It was something more.

Something incomprehensible.

Something they had no words for.

.

.

.

They could hear it.

Footsteps.

Slow. Steady. Sure.

Each step echoed, reverberating in their bones like the toll of a distant bell.

Baek choked back a strained noise.

From within the shadows of ruins, something shifted.

A figure emerged.

At first, it was hard to process.

The way the darkness clung to him, rolling off frame like living smoke, distorting the air itself—it was as if he was a mirage. Something not quite real.

But he was.

.

.

.

A man stepped forward.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Cloaked in the remnants of shadow and mana. The fabric on his person shifted like liquid, as if it breathed with him. His hands, loose at his sides, flexed slightly- fingers curling and uncurling. Testing the air. Adjusting.

His hair- dark, unruly, tousled from a battle long since won- hung over his forehead in raven curls, casting faint shadows across his face. It moved unnaturally, as though  responding to an unseen force. 

But it was his eyes—those terrible, luminous eyes—that sent ice racing through their veins

A swirl of colours—a chaotic blend of purples and blues—endless, consuming, void-like. Power pulsed within them. Neither warm nor cold. Neither merciful nor cruel.

It was something beyond their understanding

Something that whispered of both creation and destruction in the same breath.

He walked with the grace of a king, yet the weight of a reaper.

His presence was suffocating, yet mesmerizing.

The air itself seemed to still in quiet awe.

He was divine in his terror.

A god stepping onto mortal soil.

And they—

They did not know whether he had come to bless…

…Or to destroy.

.

.

.

No one moved.

No one dared to breathe.

Then–

“Hunter Sung…”

The Chairman’s voice was steady, but there was something beneath it. Something careful. Something cautious.

Gunhee was the first to take a single step forward, his weathered face etched with something unspeakably heavy. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, as if struggling to find the right words. Then, in a voice softer than anyone had ever heard from him, he said—

“Jin-woo...”

Jin-woo’s eyes flickered over him.

The Chairman froze.

That gaze—

It was like staring into the abyss, a void so deep that even light could not escape.

Only one thing reflected back.

Power.

Jin-woo looked away.

Gunhee inhaled sharply, his hands clenching at his sides. He tried again, steeling his resolve.

"I am... sorry," he murmured, voice thick with something raw and unfiltered. "You did not deserve this. No son should have to... lose his family like this."

Jin-woo's expression remained blank.

He kept walking.

“I—” Gunhee exhaled heavily, his gaze searching Jin-woo’s face. “I know nothing I say will make this right. Nothing will take away what’s happened. But… I’m worried about you, son.”

Jin-woo’s expression was unreadable. It was as if the words did not reach him at all as he walked right past him.

Gunhee grimaced. 

The S-Rank hunters, who had watched him walk out of the wreckage with grief in their hearts, stepped forward now, their own voices breaking into the tense air.

“Mr Sung...we were informed of what occurred. I cannot imagine what you’re going through,” Choi whispered quietly, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “But I need you to know that you’re not alone. If there’s anything you need—”

Jin-woo walked past him without so much as a glance. Choi's words died in his throat.

Baek’s jaw tightened. He took a step forward, fists clenching. “...Mr Sung, we owe you our lives . Please, if there’s anything—”

Nothing.

Jin-woo didn’t react. He barely even batted an eye.

Cha Hae-in swallowed, voice barely above a whisper. “…Jin-woo.”

She might as well have been invisible.

Not a glance. Not a pause. Not even the barest acknowledgment of her existence.

The pain of being disregarded was sharp—unexpectedly so. They had fought beside him. Bled beside him. And yet, at this moment, they felt no more significant than the rubble beneath his feet.

Something tugged at the crevices of Cha's memory, deep in the recesses of her mind. Knocking, scraping clawing. 

A memory. Faint. Fleeting. A whisper of words. A desperate warning.

Her breath hitched. 

Why...do I feel as if...I'm missing something?

No matter how she tried, she couldn't grasp it.

Gunhee sighed deeply, his voice carrying the weight of something final. “…S-rank hunter Sung Jin-woo. I need you to listen to me.”

.

.

.

Jin-woo stopped.

.

.

.

Gunhee’s gaze was unwavering, his voice tinged with something quiet and heavy. “I can see it,” he murmured. “In your eyes…this grief…your pain...it’s pushing you to walk down a path you have no means being on, my boy.”

Jin-woo kept his back turned.

“It doesn't have to be this way. Let us help you .”

.

.

.

The silence was suffocating.

.

.

.

Finally, Jin-woo shifted—turning his head slightly, his gaze locking onto Gunhee.

Gunhee’s heart twisted.

The Chairman watched him closely, fists clenched tight as he pushed. "Please. Allow us to help you. Allow me to do what I can to end this nightmare and to give you some peace." He squared his shoulders, "I have already begun preparations to negotiate with the States. Hwang Dong-soo will be brought to justice, I swear it. If you wait, my boy, and allow the Association to handle—"

Jin-woo’s eyes flashed.

.

.

.

“...Wait?”

His voice was quiet– soft. Like a feather fluttering in the wind. But something about it sent a cold shiver down their spines.

Go Gunhee, the Chairman of the Hunter’s Association faltered.

"You want me to…wait?" Jin-woo’s head tilted slightly, his tone now laced with something razor-sharp, something dangerous and yet vaguely amused. "And I…what? Sit idly by, while the people responsible still dare to draw breath?"

Gunhee stiffened.

"No." Jin-woo stated, matter of fact. "I don’t think I will."

That eerie wrongness in the air thickened. The S-Rank hunters tensed, hands twitching towards their weapons, not in aggression, but instinct. Something primal in them screamed at them to move, to run, to do anything but stand there.

“I’ll handle this myself.”

The Chairman frowned deeply, something ugly and relentless writhing in his chest, a sinking feeling dragging his stomach to the pits. He squared his shoulders, eyes narrowed as he watched him.

“I don’t believe that is a good idea.”

Jin-woo didn’t so much as blink.

“...”

“My boy please…you need time to grieve, to rest . This tragedy has compromised your heart, your soul, your control. Look around you, ” he urged, watching him carefully, sweeping a steady hand around at the carnage left behind, "The damage left in your wake. The people who were caught in it."

Jin-woo’s eyes slid past him, over the cracked earth, the shattered windows, the lingering devastation his mana had left behind.

Then, he looked back at Gunhee, bored.

"...And?”

A sharp inhale.

The single word cut through them like a knife.

Baek Yoonho flinched, eyes wide, brows furrowed in pure shock. “I- And?! People were hurt, Mr. Sung!” he said, his voice rumbling with an undertone of anger. "And while I know you're hurting, you are currently unstable —"

Jin-woo tilted his head, his expression blank.

"Am I…supposed to care?"

The breath left Baek’s lungs. Cha violently flinched back, horror swimming in her wide, tear-brimmed eyes. Choi lips pressed into a thin line, his fingers curling at his sides. Jin-chul looked at Jin-woo as if he couldn’t believe this was reality. This…was the hunter who had saved countless lives not even twenty-four hours ago. Who had shown up to prevent any more deaths.

Cha felt her heart quiver.

The man who saved her life .

Gunhee let out a slow, heavy breath.

There it was.

The moment they realized.

That this–

This went beyond grief.

The man before them—the one they had fought beside, admired—

Was consumed by something else entirely.

The silence that followed was unbearable.

And then, Jin-woo fully turned towards them.

He hummed.

Just a small, simple sound.

But it might as well have been the haunting melody sung by death itself.

Jin-woo took a slow step towards them, and it was as if the earth itself bowed under his presence. His gaze swept over them all, cold and unfeeling. "You want to help." he murmured, his eyes locking onto Gunhee once more. "Then—tell me, Chairman.” He titled his head, his voice rolling into a smooth purr.

“Can you bring Hwang Dong-soo to his knees for me.”

Gunhee hesitated.

Jin-woo’s lips curled, but it wasn’t a smile. It was something wicked, something cruel. "Can you make him bleed? Suffer? Beg ? Or perhaps…” he seemed almost amused.

"Have you the means to tear down the very system that allowed such a pathetic waste of space to exist in the first place.”

Jin-woo’s eyes darkened.

“A system...I know all to well." He began, voice soft, yet sharp enough to carve through stone. "Where ranking is the only thing that has ever mattered."

He took a step forward. Shadows curled at his feet, licking at the fractured ground like eager hounds.

"Where the title of S-rank is akin to the status of gods."

The air grew heavier. The hunters stiffened.

Jin-woo’s eyes flickered. The glow intensified.

“And yet…” A humourless chuckle escaped his lips. “What does that make the rest?"

He tilted his head. "The ones without strength? The ones crushed beneath the weight of those who stand above them?”

His gaze flickered to Gunhee—sharp. Cutting.

“They are trampled.” His voice dipped lower, colder, unforgiving. “Forgotten. Left to suffer under the laws that fail to protect them.”

The shadows trembled.

A slow tilt of his head. A mocking, bitter smile.

“Laws that do not serve justice.”

A pause.

“No. They exist only to serve those who live under the illusion of power.”

The air itself quivered.

“The ones with money.” His fingers twitched. The ground beneath them cracked. “With influence.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “With enough weight to bend the rules to their liking.”

Silence stretched between them.

His gaze sharpened, slicing through them like a blade.

“The very laws that have allowed humans like Hwang Dong-soo to kill…”

His voice was quiet now, deathly soft.

“…again.”

The darkness surged.

“…and again.”

The ground beneath them groaned.

“…and again.”

A weight crashed down, suffocating, overwhelming, absolute.

Jin-woo’s expression remain unchanged.

"So, Chairman."

He let the silence stretch. Let them feel it.

“Spare me...”

The air stilled.

“Your empty promises.”

.

.

.

The Chairman, for once in his long, long life, was speechless.

The words cut.

Not in the way a knife might carve through flesh—clean, quick, with an inevitable finality.

No.

This was deeper. Sharper.

Like a slow, deliberate incision through the very fabric of his beliefs, slicing them open, laying them bare.

Go Gunhee had stood before countless hunters in his time. He had faced the arrogance of the powerful, the defiance of the reckless, the desperation of the weak. He had seen men break beneath the weight of this world—had watched the hope flicker from their eyes as they realised that strength was the only thing that dictated survival.

He had spent decades upholding a system that, while flawed, was the best chance they had. A system meant to protect. To bring order.

And yet—

As he stood there, faced with Sung Jin-Woo’s cold, merciless gaze, those very beliefs—his life’s work—felt meaningless.

The Chairman’s lips parted, but no words came.

There was nothing to say.

Because Jin-woo was right.

This system. The laws.

Had they ever truly protected anyone?

Or had they simply offered an illusion of safety, a fragile construct meant to pacify those who could not wield power for themselves?

The weight of it settled heavily on his chest, pressing against his ribs, constricting his breath.

His fingers twitched at his sides, curling slightly, then uncurling—restless, uncertain.

When was the last time he had felt so uncertain?

A slow, bitter breath left him, his shoulders heavier than they had ever been.

Jin-woo stood before him, his expression unreadable, his eyes—those eyes—holding no expectation, no hope.

Only judgment.

As if he were already looking past him.

As if Go Gunhee were nothing more than a relic of a broken system, standing in his way.

And for the first time in his long, long life—

Go Gunhee felt…powerless.

Jin-woo tilted his head, watching them with something almost akin to amusement. Or perhaps it was indifference.

It was hard to tell.

Baek was still reeling, his mouth parted in disbelief. Cha’s hands trembled, her face pale but...she couldn’t look away. Choi’s face was stuck in a grimace, his fingers curled into tight fists at his sides giving away the tension thrumming beneath his skin.

The elite hunters felt it—the weight of his words. They held no answer. No excuse. It was a system they thrived in. A world that favoured them from the point of their awakening, and they saw little fault, little reason to oppose what benefitted them so.

It weighed heavy on their hearts.

Gunhee let out a slow breath, his eyes dark with something deeper and he looked so, so tired.

“...I know now there is nothing I can do, or say that will change the way you feel. You have already chosen. I see that now” he admitted, resigned. He continued, voice quieter now. “But even so. I cannot allow you to continue this way.”

.

.

.

Jin-woo's smile dropped.

.

.

.

The shadows around stilled.

.

.

.

And then—

.

.

.

A wave of something vast exploded outward, swallowing the sky, consuming the earth.

Shadows bled into existence, writhing, twisting, curling, expanding—devouring.

The sky itself became obsidian. The clouds twisted, swallowed by an abyss so deep, so endless, that it felt as though the heavens themselves had been erased.

It was complete and utter darkness.

This wasn’t something human.

This was death’s domain.

A realm of shadows.

And they were all standing in the presence of its ruler.

Baek choked on his breath and Choi clenched his teeth, his body locking up, his instincts screaming at him to flee. But he couldn't move an inch. It was as if he was being held down, rendered immobile, his very existence left powerless. Even the flames that flickered at his fingertips were nothing against the all-consuming black.

Cha felt utterly helpless, the light inside her quivering, shaking, dimming.

Jin-chul's mouth was agape with terror.

He saw death.

He felt death. 

It was everywhere. It was on him. In him. Through him.

Go Gunhee trembled.

All they could feel was–

Fear.

.

.

.

One by one.

.

. 

.

They all fell to their knees.

.

.

.

A voice echoed all around them.

.

.

.

“This world… is infested with those who live under a fragile illusion of power.”

The air grew heavier.

The darkness thickened.

“They think themselves untouchable.”

The ground trembled.

“They think themselves kings. ”

A pause.

“Allow me to show them all…”

The shadows surged.

Everything— everything —was swallowed whole.

“… What it truly means to be a King. ”

The weight of his words dropped like a guillotine.

It felt like reality itself bent around him.

As if existence had shifted to accommodate the thing standing before them.

Jin-woo did not feel like a man.

He was something else entirely.

Something higher.

Something terrifying.

They couldn’t breathe.

They couldn’t move.

And just as quickly as it had come—

.

.

.

.

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.

.

It was over.

.

.

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.

.

.

The shadows, the suffocating weight, the abyss that had swallowed the world—

Vanished.

Leaving only a 'man' standing before them.

A man with glowing, merciless eyes.

Jin-woo turned around, tilting his head back toward them as he moved to walk away.

His voice, quiet, yet commanding, cut through the air with authority.

“I have…things planned.” he murmured, his soft words carrying something dark. Final.

“For Hwang Dong-soo.”

A flicker of something dangerous danced in his gaze. Hungry.

“And for the pathetic system he cowers behind.”

His shadows stirred once more, curling at his feet, licking at the air like flames hungry for destruction.

And then—

He sank.

The darkness at his feet swallowed him whole.

And just before he was gone—

His voice rang through the air one last time.

A decree.

A warning.

.

.

.

.

“You’d do best to stay out of my way.”

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.

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.

.

And just like that...

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.

He was gone.

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.

A woman dressed in a pristine two-piece suit paced up and down a well lavished room, muttering harshly into the phone clutched tightly in a manicured hand, sweat trickling down a flushed cheek. Her blond hair, usually pinned back in a perfect bun, had begun to unravel, a few stray strands cascading down her face—evidence of her growing frustration.

The heels of her pumps clicked sharply against the polished floor, a frantic staccato that matched the tension in her voice. Harsh, venom-filled words spat from her lips like bullets, brows pinched as she tore into the person on the other end.

"I don't care if the report was delayed due to 'internal miscommunication'—" her voice was an icy whip, sharp and clipped. "You lost track of Hwang Dong-soo three days ago , and you're only choosing to inform us now? What kind of incompetent—"

The faint creak of a door opening went unnoticed.

A looming figure stepped through, shadowing her much smaller frame.

“Laura.”

The deep, rumbling voice rolled through her like thunder. She startled, spinning on her heel with the grace of a seasoned professional, even as she swiftly ended the call with a blunt remark.

Her face smoothed into a mask of practised indifference. "Mr Andre, Sir."

Thomas Andre stood lazily in the doorway, his massive frame easily filling the space in its entirety. The leader of the Scavenger Guild, the strongest hunter in America, a National Level Hunter —looked completely at ease in his gaudy floral shirt, sunglasses perched on his nose, and a careless smirk tugging at his lips, golden eyes peering at the small woman stood in front of him.

"Been lookin' for me, sweetheart?" he drawled, stepping forward.

Laura exhaled sharply through her nose. "Where have you been, Sir? I have been trying to locate you."

Thomas let out a low chuckle, stepping past her and sprawling onto the closest couch like he owned the place. Which, technically, he did.

"Had to sneak off for a bit," he admitted, stretching an arm over the back of the couch. "Would’ve been a damn shame to miss the whole Jeju Island fiasco. Quite the spectacle, don’t you think?" He grinned wolfishly. "That new kid put on one hell of a show, huh. He’s an interesting one, haha!"

Laura's expression remained carefully neutral, but the tension in her shoulders didn't ease.

"That ‘new kid’," she echoed dryly, closing her eyes, "might be a problem."

“Hm?”

Thomas finally gave her his full attention, his smirk dimming just slightly. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, eyes shining dangerously with intrigue. "Oh? And why’s that?"

Laura inhaled through her nose, composed yet sharp. "Two days ago, the surveillance unit that was assigned to monitor Mr Hwang lost sight of him and have been unable to relocate him."

Thomas titled his head then waved a dismissive hand with a derisive snort. "Hah, typical. That kid and his tantrums. Probably sulking somewhere after gettin’ his ass handed to him by that stranger."

Laura’s gaze was flat. “Perhaps. As for what I’ve gathered, he’s decided to ‘sulk’ within Korean borders."

That made Thomas pause. His easy demeanor faltered, ever so slightly, blinking up at her. "Korea?" he repeated, a thick brow lifting.

Laura nodded. "And that 'stranger' you mentioned—the one who beat Mr Hwang down - and who we have also, lost track of - is another piece in this puzzle. There's evidence to suggest that he is Korea’s 10th S-rank hunter’s - Sung Jin-woo’s - father, Sung Il-Hwan."

Thomas's smirk vanished entirely. He blinked, sitting up straighter.

"The same Sung who just saved Korea’s ass over in Jeju?"

"Correct, sir. One and the same."

Silence.

Thomas drummed his fingers idly against his knee. "Explain the connection." he demanded, voice quieter now, eyes narrowed in thought behind his shades.

Laura nodded, straightening her stance. "Yes Sir. Mr Hwang has held a vendetta against Mr Sung Jin-woo for some time now. He believes Mr Sung is responsible for his older brother’s death during a dungeon raid a while back."

Thomas snorted. "The dumbass brother that got himself killed?” he cracked his neck casually, “Yeah, that’s probably what happened."

"Most likely." she agreed. "Mr Hwang has tried to confront Mr Sung before, but the timing has never worked out. At first, Mr Sung was still an E-rank, then he vanished into a Red Gate in which Mr Hwang assumed him dead. By the time that was debunked, Mr Hwang had been…preoccupied"

"And now he’s run off to Korea. That…is an issue." Thomas finished for her.

"Precisely."

Another beat of silence stretched between them.

Thomas leaned back against the couch, rubbing his chin. "So Hwang goes missing. Shows up in Korea. And you think he's stupid enough to try and take a swing at the kid? What, is he gonna wait the kid out?"

Laura didn't answer immediately.

Instead, she hesitated, baby blue eyes flickering to the side.

Thomas noticed.

His eyes sharpened. "Spit it out, Laura."

She exhaled through her nose, almost reluctant. "I don’t think Mr Hwang is after Mr Sung Jin-woo, exactly."

A tense pause.

Thomas frowned. "Then who?"

She met his gaze, face grim.

"Ms Sung Jin-ah. His sister."

Thomas stilled.

A dark, heavy weight settled into the room.

His hand dropped from his chin. His smirk was long gone.

Laura continued, voice carefully measured. "Mr Sung is currently in Jeju. If Dong-soo wanted revenge, he knew the timing wouldn’t allow for a direct confrontation. And he’s too impatient to wait him out. So… he might have gone for an alternative. And given the identity of the stranger who attacked him at the Bureau…"

Thomas didn't blink.

He just… sat there.

Thinking.

And then, he sneered.

"That bastard wouldn't dare."

Laura didn't respond. She knew what he was capable of.

Thomas stood.

The movement was slow, deliberate. A shift in the air, a sudden drop in temperature.

For all his easy-going bravado, Thomas Andre was not a man to be taken lightly. 

And he was pissed.

"You really think he’s that stupid?" he asked, voice lower now, almost amused in its own twisted way, but did nothing to mask his anger. "Fuck. He wouldn't be that reckless. I know I bail him out from time to time; but surely he isn’t this moronic. "

Laura arched her brow and huffed under her breath. "You hired him, Sir. You tell me."

Thomas barely registered her slight sass, exhaling through his nose, taking off his glasses for a brief second to rub at his temple. Then he slid them back on, face tense.

For a moment, it seemed like he was about to go off.

Then—

His face relaxed. He laughed.

A wide, almost manic grin stretched across his face, a deep, booming laugh shaking his shoulders.

"If he's actually dumb enough to pull something like this—" His grin sharpened dangerously. "Ah. He’s probably banking on me bailing him out. Again . Well, if it comes down to it, and he does do something he shouldn’t.” He shoved his large hands in his pockets, “I’ll handle it myself."

Laura nodded, unfazed. "I’ll have a more competent team track his last known location." She was already typing on her tablet.

"You do that."

Thomas turned to leave.

"Sir," Laura called after him, blue eyes raised and pinned on his retreating back.

He stopped, glancing over his shoulder. 

Her expression was blank. "If Mr Hwang did commit such a crime… what will you do?"

Silence.

The implications were clear as day.

Thomas’s grin didn’t falter.

He shoved his hands even deeper into his pockets, rolling his shoulders. "...He will be punished accordingly should he be stupid enough to do anything that annoying. I don’t tolerate shit like that in my guild. Although, with that being said…” 

The temperature in the room dropped several degrees.

“Hwang Dong-soo belongs to the Scavengers Guild." His voice was light. Almost conversational. But something heavy slivered beneath each syllable.

“And this guild belongs to me ." He finished, eyes flashing a liquid gold.

Laura didn't react. She didn’t need to.

She had expected as much.

Then, after a long pause, she murmured softly, "...And Sung Jin-woo?"

The air grew heavier.

Thomas said nothing at first.

For a second, his expression was unreadable behind the gleam of his sunglasses.

And then—he laughed again. A loud, boisterous sound, as if this entire conversation was nothing more than a passing amusement.

"Hahahaha. You worry too much, Laura," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "Leave all of that to me, don’t stress your pretty little head, hmm?"

And with that, he walked away.

Laura remained still. Then she gave a slight nod of her head, as if he could still see her.

She stood there for a moment, The scent of expensive cologne, whiskey, and the faint trace of burnt cigar— remnants of Mr Andres departure lingering in the room. 

Her boss' usual cocky bravado unable to hide his true emotions from her keen eye.

She barely glanced up when her phone buzzed.

A direct line. Private.

Laura’s brows furrowed slightly as she accepted the call, bringing the device to her ear. “Yes?”

The voice on the other end was measured, careful. But the weight behind the words hit her like a avalanche.

Her expression didn’t shift. Not at first.

She merely listened.

“…Confirmed?” she murmured after a pause, her tone smooth, impassive. She moved over to the desk, leaning her weight against it.

The reply came instantly.

A slow inhale.

Her fingers curled slightly against the polished wood.

Then, for the first time, her eyes flickered—just a fraction.

“I see.”

Another pause.

Her nails tapped once against the desk. A quiet, rhythmic sound. Calculating.

“Understood.”

A slight shuffle on the other end of the call. Then—

Laura’s breath hitched. She straightened slightly.

“You've found him already.”

Her eyes widened.

“Yes...yes. Finally. Good.” she confirmed. “I’ll be informing Mr. Andre.”

A final confirmation. The line went dead.

She lowered the phone, staring at the screen for a moment longer than necessary. Then, with a slow exhale, she set it aside.

It was just as she feared.

And now…

Now things were about to get complicated.

.

.

.

…Maybe she should finally cash in on those vacation days.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: A Loose Thread

"Good evening. Tonight, we turn our focus to a developing story—one that continues to raise questions within Korea and beyond. Our 10th S-Rank Hunter, Sung Jin-Woo, for his role in the Jeju Island Raid, has not been seen in months."

The news broadcast begins with a sharp, polished transition—headlines scrolling across the screen, urgent and bold. The anchor, a composed man in his forties, sits with an air of quiet intensity. Behind him, a montage of blurry footage and recent headlines flashes in sync with his words.

A press image of Sung Jin-woo appears, his unreadable gaze staring out beyond the screen. 

The anchor glances down at his script.

"Since his last known public appearance, the Jeju Island Raid, there has been no official statement, no confirmed sighting, and no verifiable trace of his whereabouts. Even those closest to him—his former raid teammates, his acquaintances, even his family—have remained unreachable for comment."

A split-screen image appears, showing outside his former apartment complex and the Hunters Association building, both marked with the words ‘No Comment’ in bold.

"Repeated attempts by the press and officials to contact anyone affiliated with Hunter Sung have been unsuccessful. It is as if he—and those connected to him—have vanished entirely or refuse to comment. Other hunters and guild leaders such as Choi Jong-in and Baek Yoonho, have also refused to comment."

The screen shifts, now showing an aerial map outlining several dungeon gates across Korea.

The anchor points to different marked areas.

"At the same time, across the country, something unprecedented is happening. Gates that appear—no matter the rank—are being cleared at a rapid, unnatural pace. Hunters report that whenever a gate appears, a black barrier is either found, or quickly engulfs the area, blocking any entry. No person nor guild has been able to breach these barriers. And then in little time—almost as suddenly as they appear—they fall."

Shaky footage shows a shuttering gate vanishing into thin air, leaving nothing but faint, swirling darkness in its wake.

The anchor glances back down to his script.

"While no official sources have linked these incidents to anything or anyone, speculation continues. Witnesses near these dungeons report shadowy figures within the mist, though any recorded footage has been… unclear at best. It calls to question if this may even be the work of magic beasts."

A distorted still image appears—a faint, blurry shape, vaguely humanoid and yet inhumanly tall, standing just at the edge of a disappearing gate.

The anchor shifts slightly, his expression darkening.

"There is also the matter of the incident that occurred on the same night as the conclusion of the Jeju Island raid—an event that, despite official explanations, continues to raise unanswered questions."

The screen cuts to an overhead shot of a ruined hospital, the remains of its shattered structure still under reconstruction.

"The official report states that it was an unnoticed gate within the walls of Seoul General Hospital, which led to a catastrophic dungeon break. However, experts have noted several inconsistencies—most notably, the sheer scale of destruction and the intensity of mana recorded that night. Such things are not consistent with previous dungeon breaks recorded."

A soft pause, the newsroom bathed in dim, calculated lighting.

"This is still a developing story despite what official records might say. While details remain sparse, there are unconfirmed reports that certain individuals near the epicenter suffered sustaining lasting injuries, and others…" the anchor hesitates briefly, “…news on their conditions are still developing.”

Another map of Korea appears, red circles marking areas most affected by the mana wave.

"Many across the country claimed to have felt the pressure of that event, even miles away. And yet, despite the widespread impact, official coverage of the incident was noticeably brief and official comments from both the Government and Association remain sparse and vague."

The screen returns to the newsroom, the anchor’s voice lowering just slightly.

"With Hunter Sung Jin-Woo’s continued absence, concerns are rising, both locally and internationally. The Korean government has remained tight-lipped, but sources suggest ongoing discussions regarding the implications of an unaccounted-for S-Rank hunter."

He stares intensely into the camera.

"For now, the only certainty is uncertainty itself. What is happening within Korea’s dungeons? What are they not telling us? And…”

He paused.

“Just where is Hunter Sung Jin-Woo?"

◆━━◆ 𝕺𝖋 𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕾𝖍𝖆𝖉𝖔𝖜𝖘 ◆━━◆

Men sat around a long mahogany table, bearing grave expressions, some tense with barely restrained frustration, others cold and calculating. The overhead lights cast a sterile glow, illuminating the exhaustion and unease lining the faces of Korea’s highest-ranking government officials and members.

At the head of the table sat Go Gunhee.

Despite the silver streaking through his hair, despite the deep lines of experience and exhaustion carved into his features, his presence commanded the room, dressed finely in his signature three-piece suit. His broad, muscular frame—marked by the scars of battles long past—remained as solid as ever, though his fingers pressed tightly together, his eyes sharp and unreadable as they swept across the table.

It was routine, at this point.

They had been talking in circles for an hour now.

Dancing around the inevitable.

“The hospital incident was difficult enough to bury,” one of the officials muttered, running a hand through his greying hair. “And it’s just one problem after the other. The reports of dungeons being cleared—blocked off, inaccessible—”

“We know who’s responsible!” Another cut in sharply, his tone laced with frustration. “And yet we’ve done nothing .” His eyes flickered to the end of the table where the Chairman sat.

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room.

One of the men, a younger official in a navy suit, leaned forward, fingers pressing against the table’s polished surface. “S-rank Hunter, Sung Jin-woo. He is the biggest problem we need to address, no?”

The air in the room tightened. No one spoke for a long moment.

Then, a voice, edged with irritation spits out. “I agree. It’s about time we addressed this issue seriously.”

“Hunter Sung has ignored every summon we’ve sent.” A balding man at the far end of the table tapped his pen against a thick folder in front of him. A government official. “And if that isn’t bad enough. Any personnel we send after him go missing and we have no leads on his or their whereabouts.”

“And it’s been a nightmare keeping that information from the media,” another chimed in.“The last thing we need is for the world to see Korea as a country that can’t control its own hunters. We can’t afford that, especially so soon after the Raid.”

Another sighed, rubbing his temple. “Well, we can’t control him. And the media are already piecing it together. He’s monopolising all the gates and there isn’t shit we can do.” he slumped in his chair and let out a suffering sigh, “We’ve received numerous complaints from guilds across the country—there are barely A-ranks, let alone D-rank gates left and our hunters are left scrambling for scraps. Every time a gate appears, he gets to it first.”

A younger official scoffed. “What, is the bastard in it for the money? For the shits and giggles? It’s an insult to us and this government! It’s like he’s actively dismantling and disregarding the system we built—”

“Because he is.”

The room stilled.

Gunhee’s voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable weight behind it. His fingers tapped lightly against the polished surface of the table, his sharp eyes sweeping across the men before him.

“Sung Jin-woo is done playing by the rules,” he said, his voice even. “And why should he? When those rules were never built to protect someone like him?”

The silence stretched. A few men exchanged uneasy glances, others shifted in anger, but no one dared to interrupt.

Gunhee leaned back in his chair, his fingers interlocked, his expression unreadable. “He’s seen through this system. He recognised it for what it was—a system where wealth dictates strength, and strength dictates power. Where guilds hoard gates for profit, where politics determine who lives and who dies. And now?” His voice hardened. “Now, he’s tearing it apart. He is showing us how fragile such a system is, even to that of our strongest hunters. Even to us.”

A scoff broke the silence.

“And you think that’s justified?” Minister Baek sneered, his voice carrying the weight of decades in politics. His deep lines and narrowed eyes reflected the sharp mind behind them. His neatly trimmed sideburns and his piercing copper eyes gave away his lineage. 

He was the father of Baek Yoonho, the guild master of the White Tiger Guild, and his frustration was palpable. “So what? Now he thinks he’s above us? Above the system that governs every hunter? He’s nothing more than a rampaging child who believes his S-rank status and his win over a bunch of ants puts him beyond the law!”

Minister Baek slammed his fist onto the table, seething in anger. 

“Even my son refuses to intervene! It’s outrageous. We cannot allow this to continue on any further. This child will not continue to make a joke out of this country!” He glared fiercely at the Chairman.

Gunhee’s gaze locked onto him.

His voice, when it came, was low and edged with steel.

“The same country he saved .”

Minister Baek gritted his teeth and looked away.

Gunhee’s fingers pressed against the table, knuckles taut. “You all seem so eager to forget what Sung Jin-woo has done for this country. And if you still believe you can handle him the same way you handle other hunters, then you have learned nothing.”

Minister Baek’s jaw tightened, but before he could respond, another voice cut in.

“Regardless,” the smooth, measured voice of Park Sung-Jae spoke from the far end of the table.

Unlike Minister Baek, Sung-Jae was a man who carried himself with quiet control—deliberate, composed, always thinking ten steps ahead. His silver-threaded hair was neatly combed, his dark eyes cool and assessing, his hands carefully folded atop the polished wood.

“Mr Chairman, please. We all understand that Hunter Sung is an asset to this country. And we know he has suffered,” Sung-Jae said slowly. “And I do not deny that his grievances are valid.” His gaze met Gunhee, unwavering. “But that does not change what happened on the night of the Jeju Raid. You cannot sit here and tell me that what he did—what he continues to do—are the acts of a stable man.”

Gunhee’s jaw tightened as he gritted his teeth. “That boy has lost everything .”

Sung-Jae merely inclined his head. “That does not excuse his actions.”

The words sank into the room like a lead weight.

Then, a quiet shift in the air.

The atmosphere in the room grew colder. Darker.

“ And what of your actions? ” Gunhee eyes glowed, a raging storm barely contained in his poisonous stare.

Sung-Jae didn’t flinch, simply closing his eyes.

Then Minister Baek spoke casually.

“The cover-up was necessary.”

Gunhee’s fingers twitched.

“The last thing this country needs is for the world to know that we allowed a highly visible, S-rank hunter’s family to be slaughtered in their own home by a foreign hunter. One who used to be our own, to boot. Can you imagine the consequences? The backlash?” Minister Baek exhaled, exasperated. “We buried it. It’s done.”

Buried it.

Gunhee’s voice was low, dangerous. “You’re telling me that their murders were—an inconvenience?”

Minister Baek scoffed. “What did you expect from us, Chairman? Tears?” His lips curled, his tone flat. “There is no room for sentiment in politics. The moment it happened, the choice was made. This country will not allow itself to be thrown into chaos over some—” he waved a hand lazily, “ Tragedy. If we buckled and bent over because of such a thing, we would’ve been on our knees decades ago. ”

Gunhee’s hands clenched into fists beneath the table.

Minister Baek’s expression darkened. “And this is why we must contain him. He is only going to continue to incite more chaos.”

Carefully, deliberately, Sung-Jae leaned forward, his fingers pressing together.

"Chairman, you speak of Hunter Sung’s heroics for this country. You argue we should consider the good, along with the bad. But tell me—" he paused, watching Gunhee intently.

"What happens if he decides to leave Korea?"

Gunhee stilled.

“If his family was the only thing tying him to this country, then what reason does he have to stay? After he’s done doing what we are allowing him to do.” Sung-Jae’s voice remains steady, but each word is delivered with bite. “What is stopping him from walking away—from taking his strength, his abilities, his power—and deciding that this nation is no longer worth his precious time?”

Gunhee didn’t respond.

Because he had no answer.

The official continued.

“What if Hunter Sung Jin-woo were to wage war on America? Shall we hand him our military and guilds too? Present our men on a platter to lay their lives down for his woes? Or perhaps we should grant him a seat at this table, so he can better spit and laugh in our faces.”

A silence heavier than before settled over the room.

Then Sung-Jae straightened, adjusting his tie.

“We needn't play this game, Chairman. You and I both know as he is now, he is more a danger than an asset. I propose we act now, no further delay. Not to persecute him, but to contain him,” he said evenly. “To, at the very least, detain him. If not to punish, then to help .”

Gunhee exhaled slowly, fingers pressing against his temple.

But Sung-Jae wasn’t finished.

“The ball is already rolling.” His voice remained measured. “Representatives from America will be arriving shortly to cement our agreement over the handling of Hwang Dong-soo. Minister Baek and I will be handling this matter.”

The temperature dropped .

“ Excuse me.”

Gunhee’s hands clenched into fists, his eyes shrinking into pinpricks.

His mana spiked, the air crackling with a sudden, dangerous pressure.

“I specifically said we will not be negotiating on that front! And you dare defy me ! You are selling out this country’s justice system, for what? Political favors?” His voice was dark, filled with something dangerously close to rage. “I will not allow for this.”

Sung-Jae sighed, closing his folder. “I’m not asking, Chairman. The government can, and will act independently of the Association on matters regarding national security. This government will no longer jeopardise itself for the sake of a hunter who clearly has no respect for it.”

Gunhee’s eyes glowed brightly.

Everyone tensed. Waiting.

Then—

“Get out.”

The words cut through the room, sharp and final.

Chairs scraped against the floor as men slowly stood, exchanging wary glances before beginning to file out.

But just before Sung-Jae reached the door, he paused.

Gunhee’s burning gaze followed him.

“You’re allowing emotion to cloud your judgment, old friend.” Sung-Jae murmured, still not turning around. “You, more than anyone , know this is never personal. You’d do well to remember that.”

Gunhee disappeared in a flash.

In an instant, he had Sung-Jae by the collar, pulling him close.

The air crackled.

Sung-Jae’s body tensed, but his dark eyes did not waver.

Gunhee’s voice was dangerously low.

“Do not forget who is in charge here, old friend . It is my authority alone that decides how this country handles its hunters.”

Sung-Jae’s breath stuttered, his fingers twitched.

“Are you handling them, Chairman?” he murmured.

A pause.

“Because it seems to me like you’ve let this dog go too far off his leash.”

A long, tense silence.

A beat.

Then, finally, Gunhee releases him.

Sung-Jae took a moment to compose himself, suppressing his emotions as he straightened his tie. Without another word, he turned and exited, the door clicking shut behind him without looking back.

Gunhee was left alone.

.

.

.

A deep, heavy breath filled the empty room.

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CRACK.

.

.

.

Gunhee’s fist drove into the wall. The plaster cracked under the force, a jagged web splitting across the surface. A piece of drywall crumbled to the floor. His knuckles throbbed, skin split from impact, but the pain was nothing.

It paled in comparison to the rage seething in his chest.

Vultures.

That’s what they were. A pack of insatiable, power-hungry bureaucrats circling above, waiting to tear into anything and everything the moment it became convenient. They spoke of control like it was some righteous pursuit, like it was their duty. 

They would happily let truth and justice rot beneath a pile of diplomatic lies.

And now—now they wanted to contain Hunter Sung? To detain him like he was some rogue variable, some unstable threat to be locked away before he became a problem?

They were extending a bigger courtesy to a foreign country than to their own hunters.

Gunhee clenched his jaw, his breath unsteady. His whole body trembled, his muscles wound too tight, his pulse hammering against his skin.

He was furious.

His body tensed and his fist twitched, ready to go again–

.

.

.

Knock. Knock.

.

.

.

A knock at the door.

Soft. Measured.

Gunhee exhaled sharply, dragging his injured fist down the wall before shaking out the pain. He didn’t turn around.

“Come in,” he muttered.

The door creaked open, footsteps padding gently across the floor.

Jin-chul stepped inside, hands clasped behind his back.

He took in the sight before him—the Chairman standing stiff and unmoving, his broad back turned towards him, shoulders still tense. His sharp eyes flickered to the fractured wall.

“…It must have been a particularly rough meeting.” he murmured, his voice as neutral as ever.

Gunhee let out a humourless chuckle, dragging a hand down his face before finally turning around. His expression, once hardened steel, softened just slightly.

“They’re vultures,” he spat. “Bloodsucking beasts, all of them.” He exhaled heavily, shaking his head. “I should have known better than to expect otherwise.”

Jin-chul hummed thoughtfully. Then, without a word, he removed his hands from behind his back, revealing a small porcelain teapot and a delicate ceramic cup.

Gunhee blinked.

“I…predicted you might need a pick-me-up,” Jin-chul said lightly, pouring a steaming cup of Gukhwa-cha—Gunhee’s favourite chrysanthemum tea. “It helps with stress.”

Gunhee stared at him.

Then, slowly, a small, weary smile tugged at his lips.

“...I would say you know me better than myself.” he muttered, reaching out to take the cup.

Jin-chul’s lips twitched upwards. “It comes with the job, sir.”

Gunhee exhaled a chuckle, bringing the cup to his lips, letting the floral bitterness settle on his tongue. He closed his eyes and let the warmth seep in his aching bones, the tension in his shoulders unravelling just slightly. 

With a quiet huff, he reached up and shrugged off his jacket in a practiced motion, the heavy fabric slipping down his arms. He slung it over the back of a chair and curled a finger through the loop of his tie, tugging it loose with a slow, measured pull. The knot gave way, and he exhaled deeply, as if he could finally breathe properly. 

The chair creaked slightly beneath him as he sat, but he paid it no mind, leaning back, letting his tired muscles relax for the first time that day. He took another sip.

A silence stretched between them, not heavy, but contemplative.

Then—Jin-chul hesitated. His eyes flickered downward, then back up, his fingers twitching briefly at his sides before stilling.

“…Sir.”

Gunhee glanced at him over the rim of his cup. “Hm?”

Jin-chul’s voice lowered, softer now. “…Did something happen in regards to Hunter Sung?”

Gunhee’s hand stilled.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then, slowly, he set the cup down with a quiet clink. He leaned back in his chair, exhaustion weighing on his every movement.

“I’m disappointed,” he muttered. “They are so eager to vilify the boy that they refuse to see the bigger picture.”

His brows furrowed. His expression darkened.

“…Or maybe,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else, “I’m the one being naïve.” His fingers tapped lightly against the wooden desk. “I want to believe so badly that he’s not a threat, but…” Gunhee closed his eyes briefly, “Maybe I’m thinking too much of what could have been, rather than what is right in front of me.”

Jin-chul was silent, taking in his words.

Then—

“…May I express my thoughts, sir?”

Gunhee looked up, nodding. “Go ahead.”

Jin-chul exhaled, eyes drifting downward in thought.

“I’ve been watching Hunter Sung for a long time now,” he reflected quietly. “And…one thing I’ve noticed is that he…is always saving someone.” His fingers curled slightly against his sides. “From the moment I met him after that Double Dungeon incident, to the Red Gate, to Jeju Island, to every fight he’s been in since…he has always been fighting for others, even when he fights for himself.”

He closed his eyes.

“…And it makes me wonder…”

Gunhee watched him, gaze steady, waiting.

Jin-chul opened his eyes, looking straight at him.

“…When a man gives everything to save others…”

His voice lowered to a whisper. Quiet, yet loud.

“…Who saves him, when he needs it the most?”

The words hung in the air.

A long silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Outside the window, the city lights flickered. The world moved on, unaware of the storm that was brewing beneath its surface. It was always like this. A city that knew no better. And the men who carried its weight on their shoulders.

And for a moment—just a moment—Gunhee allowed himself to sit in that silence.

To breathe.

To think.

The scent of sizzling meat was thick in the air.

A soft hiss echoed as fat dripped onto the grill, a flickering ember crackling beneath an iron plate. The muted clatter of chopsticks against ceramic, the quiet hum of conversation–it was the same as always. The same warmth, the same low buzz of the television playing in the background.

But it felt different.

None of it felt the same.

Jin-ho slumped forward, face flushed and elbows resting against the wooden table, fingers loosely wrapped around a small ceramic cup of alcohol. The drink was half-empty, the amber liquid reflecting the dim glow of the restaurant lights. His posture was hunched, shoulders slightly rounded, his usual boyish energy worn thin, as if exhaustion had seeped into his very bones.

His eyes, usually bright with an easy-going energy, were clouded. Distant.

Across from him, an empty seat.

A chair that should have been occupied.

A meal that should have been shared.

With him .

Jin-ho swallowed.

A voice crackled over the restaurant’s small TV, a news anchor’s tone steady and professional.

"It has now been months since the successful Jeju Island Raid, a historic moment that cemented Korea’s rise in fame on the global stage. However, amidst this victory, controversy brews surrounding the nation’s 10th S-Rank Hunter–-"

Jin-ho’s fingers tightened around the cup.

“—Reports of gates being cleared all across the country—"

The news anchor continued, but Jin-ho had already tuned out.

It was him.

He knew it was.

Jin-woo was out there.

Raiding dungeons.

Clearing gates.

Alone.

His throat tightened. He clenched his jaw.

Months. It had been months since Jeju Island was reclaimed. Months since Jin-woo had vanished into thin air.

Jin-ho groaned, tilting his head back before slamming down the rest of his drink. The alcohol burned down his throat, but it did little to numb the gnawing frustration twisting in his gut.

With a sharp exhale, he reached for the bottle, swiftly refilling his cup with a heavy pour. His fingers were steady, but the warmth blooming in his chest told him he was already well on his way to being drunk.

His face flushed deeply, heat pooling beneath his skin.

And yet, even through the haze of alcohol, one thought refused to leave him.

.

.

.

‘Where are you…Hyung-nim?”

.

.

.

The chair across from him scraped against the wooden floor.

He blinked, glancing up.

A young girl slid into the seat across from him, moving with the kind of exhaustion that clung to her shoulders, weighing her down like an invisible burden. Her hoodie—soft pink, slightly oversized—was wrinkled at the cuffs, as if she had been clutching at the fabric without realizing it. 

Her black bob framed a face that should have been bright, expressive, full of life. But tonight, her green eyes were dim. She rested her chin on her palm, fingers curling against her cheek as she exhaled softly, her lips pressing together in a thin line.

“…You look like hell. Respectfully.” she muttered.

Jin-ho let out a huff, jerking a finger in her direction. “Oi! You don’t look so great yourself, Song-yi.”

“Gee, thanks.” She rolled her eyes, shifting as she settled in her seat. “But, uh. Actually, thank you, for you know…agreeing to see me.”

“Ah well, you know what they say. Misery loves company.” he drawled, sniffling.

Song-yi huffed, but her lips trembled as she rubbed at her face.

“Yeah well, I am miserable. I stopped by the apartment again.”

Jin-ho stiffened. His eyes flickered over her.

“…Yeah?”

Song-yi heaved a deep sigh, her head slumping forward. “And nothing! It’s been months and there is no sign of Jin-ah, Jin-woo oppa or even their mom! The neighbours all say they left shortly after the Jeju island raid was over with. It’s bullshit.”

Jin-ho exhaled sharply, gripping his cup tighter. He refrained from downing its contents. No good drinking in front of a minor.

“ Language . And, yeah, I know. I heard the same thing.”

She huffed. Jin-ho continued.

“I checked it out a couple times too. Their landlord, a sweet old guy. He told me the same thing. But…he’s definitely hiding something.”

Song-yi pursed her lips, her head nodding in agreement. “Yeah, I swear he always looks like he’s seen a ghost whenever I bring it up.”

He hummed in agreement.

“I checked with your school too,” Jin-ho muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Your teachers were…pretty useless. But one did say they saw some government guy in a suit come and apparently he handled the whole thing.”

Song-yi inhaled sharply, shaking her head. “What the hell. None of this is normal. A-and it’s just so frustrating .”

Jin-ho didn’t respond.

Because she was right.

“…Something happened to them, didn’t it?”

Her voice was quiet. Small.

Jin-ho looked up at her.

Tears pooled at her lashes, but she blinked them away, lips pressing into a thin line, but it wobbled. She was holding it together. Barely.

“They wouldn’t just leave,” she whispered. “Jin-ah… s-she would never leave without telling me. Never. ”

Jin-ho closed his eyes.

“…I don’t know.” he admitted, voice hoarse. “I don’t know what happened. I don’t know why the boss is not answering. He’s disappeared before, so maybe I should be used to this. But…” He gritted his teeth. “This time is different. He’s missing, missing . And his family going MIA? I-”

His fingers curled into his sleeves.

“I just—” His voice cracked. “I just really, really want to talk to him.”

Song-yi exhaled shakily. She blinked her tears away. “Yeah. Me too.”

She wiped at her face again. “I keep thinking—maybe if I could talk to him, I could ask about Jin-ah. But…”

A whisper.

“…But it’s like he doesn’t want to be found.”

Jin-ho stared down at the table.

It sucked. This feeling– this awful, clawing thing– coiled tight in his chest, restless, relentless. It dug in deep, sinking into the space between his ribs, pressing against his lungs, making it harder to breathe. He hated it. 

He was worried .

But even so, he clung to what he knew. Sung Jin-woo was strong. 

No.

He was the strongest person he knew. 

So even if it felt like he was stumbling in the dark, grasping at nothing, he couldn’t let himself drown in it. The thoughts. The stories. The rumours. He couldn’t let it get to him. Jin-woo had to be okay. 

He was going to be ok.

Because…they had plans.

They were going to start a guild together.

Jin-ho was going to follow him, stand beside him– build something real– from the ground up, with the man he saw as an older brother, more than his own blood. A bond they had forged, one he refused to let go of.

He had believed in that dream.

He still believed in it.

The glass in his hand trembled slightly before he set it down.

But as of right now, he was brotherless. And recently, fatherless too.

On the screen, the broadcast continued.

"There is growing concern over the matter surrounding Hunter Sung. After his display of power during the Jeju Island raid, and now his missing status, security concerns are starting to arise. Whether his alleged actions are truly for the safety of the nation, or if something more is at play—"

Jin-ho clenched his jaw.

Bullshit.

Jin-woo wasn’t hurting anyone.

He was still protecting people, wasn’t he?

“I can’t believe they’re questioning him,” she murmured, eyes dark with frustration as she glared at the screen. “Jin-woo oppa literally saved all of our asses. And now people are switching up on him? He would never hurt anyone in that way.”

Jin-ho didn’t answer right away.

His mind drifted briefly—back to that day.

.

.

.

A dungeon.

Men screaming

Blood staining the cold stone floor.

He had been frozen in place, trembling.

Jin-woo acted .

The weight of the memory sat heavy in his chest.

.

.

.

Quietly—almost too quietly—he whispered, “Yeah. You’re right. He’s…he’s not like that.”

Jin-ho stared down at his glass, his fingers idly tracing along the rim. His mind was elsewhere—drifting between the past and present, between memories of what should have been and the harsh reality of what was.

Across from him, Song-yi frowned, arms folded, watching him carefully.

“You know…” She glanced down at his half-empty drink and at the almost empty bottle. “If Jin-woo oppa saw you like this, he’d probably kick your ass,” she added, her lips twitching up into a smirk.

Jin-ho snorted and then exhaled. “Yeah… he probably would.”

A small moment of silence stretched between them. The kind that didn’t need to be filled.

Ping.

Jin-ho’s phone vibrated against the table.

He glanced at the screen. Then rolled his eyes, hard.

“Damn, they’re persistent today.”

Song-yi arched her brow. “Uh…Who?”

Jin-ho flipped his phone around, showing a screen cluttered with notifications.

“Ever since people started talking about Hyung-nim I’ve been shutting them down like crazy!” He puffed out his chest in pride. “Heh, there’s been a whole army of total jobless losers spamming my socials.” He scrolled through the messages. “Most of them just cry about how their guilds are broke. Blaming my bro for shit– uh I mean stuff– he didn’t even do. And others—” He tapped one. “—have moved onto death threats.”

Song-yi scanned the message and frowned. “That’s not funny.”

“I mean, it’s kinda funny,” Jin-ho said, grinning, shrugging his shoulders. “Some guy literally just wrote ‘I’m gonna find you’ in all caps like twelve times. Not even a location. Just vibes.”

Song-yi sighed, rubbing her temples. “You’re so chronically online. Which one of us is older again?”

“Listen, someone’s gotta defend Jin-woo oppa’s name. If I don’t shut down these idiots, who will?” Jin-ho leaned back in his seat, dramatically flexing his fingers. “I’m basically the last line of defence between Sung Jin-woo and the keyboard warriors of Korea.” He posed dramatically for added effect.

Song-yi rolled her eyes but didn’t hide her small smile at his antics. “You’re insufferable.”

Ping.

Jin-ho’s grin faltered slightly as another notification popped up.

Song-yi noticed his shift in expression. “Jin-ho.” She leaned forward to try and get a glimpse of his screen.

He looked up, moving the phone away. He waved his hand. “Seriously, it’s nothing!”

Her green eyes were steady, serious, watching him. “You should be careful.”

Jin-ho chuckled. “And you shouldn’t worry. Most of these guys are all bark and no bite. Besides—what are they gonna do, really?” 

He paused briefly, brows furrowing. “Although sometimes…” His voice dropped slightly, an uncharacteristic hesitation creeping in. “When I’m alone…It’s almost like…” his eyes glazed over, distant, as if recalling something just out of reach.

“...Like someone’s watching me…” 

His words trailed into silence.

A beat.

He shakes his head roughly, grinning wide. “Kidding! Besides–” He slapped his right bicep, “--Like anyone wants a piece of this!” He flexes his arm. “Or this!” He flexes his other arm.

Song-yi didn’t look convinced in the slightest.

“Right…Just don’t be stupid, okay?”

Jin-ho grinned, dropping his arms. “No promises.”

Song-yi studied him for a moment, but whatever she saw in his expression made her hesitate. She exhaled, glancing at her own phone. “Well—It’s getting late. I should probably get going. I’ve got class tomorrow.”

Jin-ho blinked as she stood, stretching her arms above her head. “Oh uh, yeah… how is school going?” He tried. The question fell kind of flat, given the circumstances.

She froze for a second, then shrugged, forcing a small, dismissive smile. “It’s okay. Just…lonely.”

He winced.

She didn’t say anything else.

She didn’t have to.

Song-yi sighed, pulling her bag over her shoulder. “Anyways. Text me the second you hear anything, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I got it.” Jin-ho mumbled, waving a hand lazily. “Like I could keep anything from you? You'll hunt me down anyways. Now shoo! So I can drink in peace!”

“You’re damn right I would,” she shot back, then paused, brows pinching together. “And…maybe don’t drink too much. Yeah?” Her voice was softer, the usual teasing edge barely there.

He looked away, nodding slightly.

With that, she turned, heading for the door, waving over her shoulder.

“Later.”

Jin-ho let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck. The restaurant felt quieter now. 

Too quiet

The room was dimly lit by a single overhead swinging light that cast harsh shadows across the steel walls. A two-way mirror lined one side, reflecting the tense, oppressive air that hung heavy between the two men inside the sealed room.

It was cold. Not from the air conditioning whirring in the background, but from something far more suffocating. A tension so thick it clung to the walls, the floor, the very air between them.

At the centre of the room, Hwang Dong-soo sat in a chair, his large, muscular frame dressed in a dull orange. Heavy iron shackles bound his wrists and ankles, bolted to the floor to prevent any movement. Not that it mattered. The real cage in this room wasn’t made of steel—it was the presence of the man across from him.

Thomas Andre.

The sheer presence of the American Hunter loomed like a storm cloud, suffocating in its weight. The Hawaiian shirt stretched across his massive frame seemed almost comical in contrast to the steel-hard expression on his face. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, eyes burning a golden yellow as they bore into Hwang like a predator sizing up its prey.

Thomas had put off this conversation for months. Allowed the bureaucrats, the agents, the faceless men in suits to play their little games, interrogate Hwang Dong-soo, and try to squeeze something—anything—out of him. 

But now, it was his turn.

He was done letting the trash fester in his backyard.

For a long moment, neither man spoke. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, a consistent hum in the deathly silent room.

Then, Thomas exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled.

"Months," he said, his baritone voice steady, deceptively calm. "It’s been months, and you’re still sitting here. What? No last ditch effort? Not going to try to squirm your way out of this one, Dong-soo?"

Hwang Dong-soo smirked, leaning back in his chair as much as his restraints allowed. "Would it matter, boss? You’ve already made up your mind about me, haven't you?"

Golden eyes flashed. A snarl curled at his lips. “You really are a heartless bastard. Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused me?” His voice dipped into a low growl.

Thomas's fingers curled against his arms, nails pressing into his skin. "You betrayed me, my guild, my name." His golden eyes darkened, burning with something molten. "You breached our agreement and slaughtered civilians like they were nothing."

"They were nothing." Hwang said smoothly in return.

A crack echoed in the small room as Thomas's fist met the table. The force of it was enough to shake the steel structure, and the entire room, the chains on Hwang’s wrists rattling loudly.

Hwang didn’t flinch. His smugness didn’t waver, but there was something careful in his silence now. He was stupid, but not suicidal.

Thomas breathed in sharply, nostrils flaring. "You killed a child, Dong-soo. A child ."

"A child related to the bastard who killed my brother," Hwang corrected, tilting his head. "And his mother? That was a little bonus. Consider it my swan song to him and that bastard father of his." he chuckled softly.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. The light flickered.

Thomas exhaled, forcing himself to lean back. He had been waiting for this moment. Waiting to look him in the eye and see if there was even an ounce of remorse. A flicker of regret.

There was nothing.

"When I made the mistake of letting you join my guild," Thomas said, his voice low, steady, dangerous, "you became one of my own. That is the truth, just as the sky is blue. And that’s the only reason you’re still breathing in this room, rather than buried six feet under where you can’t piss me off anymore."

Hwang’s smirk returned, sharp and smug. "You really mean that, Boss?" he asked, voice laced with mockery. "You're protecting me? Because from where I’m sitting, you’re the one keeping me locked up."

Thomas tilted his head, on the verge of punching his teeth out and holding back barely. "I protect what’s mine. You’re not dead. Consider this my last courtesy to the man I thought you were.”

For the first time, a flicker of something crossed Hwang’s face. Not fear. Not regret. But understanding. He knew there was no getting out of this.

"You will be prosecuted for your crimes," Thomas continued, his voice final, each word weighted like a heavy blow. "Korea has agreed to keep this quiet. So will we. You won’t be extradited on my watch. Not because you deserve it, but because I refuse to let your filth stain what I’ve built."

Hwang chuckled, shaking his head. "I suppose I should thank you. The States has really become my home. I wouldn’t want to be dragged back to Korea like some criminal."

Thomas leaned in slightly, golden eyes flashing. "Don’t flatter yourself." Thomas spat, his voice low and edged with barely restrained disgust. "This country may be your home, but you’ll rot in here for the rest of your miserable life."

Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken weight.

Then Hwang chuckled, shaking his head in exasperation. “All this trouble…for an old little game of get even .” He rattled his chains thoughtfully.

Thomas’s gaze snapped to him, a warning, but Hwang pressed on.

He sighed, glancing lazily at the ceiling, a smirk tugging at his lips. "How about we talk about something more interesting."

He paused. He held back a laugh, his tongue running over his teeth.

"I do wonder…How is their precious Sung Jin-woo holding up?" Hwang hummed, tilting his head, his chains clinking softly with the movement.

Thomas didn’t grace him with an answer. His golden gaze remained locked onto him with an unwavering stare, unreadable but suffocating all the same.

Still, Hwang pushed.

 "Still breathing, is he?” he prodded, voice dipping into something sickly sweet. “Or did he finally put himself out of his misery?"

His words hung in the air, laced with venom.

Hwang’s grin finally broke free despite Thomas’ continued silence, his red eyes gleaming as he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a cruel whisper. “It must have been something . I gotta know! Did it break him? Coming home to the rotten corpses of his family? Oh, I bet he’s going to bitch and moan over the carcass of his little hunter friend too! Hahaha–”

The air shifted.

Thomas didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

And yet, the temperature in the room plummeted.

Hwang's laugh cut off.

The weight of Thomas Andre’s presence felt like a crushing force, pressing down, squeezing the air from the room.

Hwang wasn’t stupid. He knew strength. He worshipped it.

And the pressure is suffocating him now? This wasn’t just strength.

This was power. Overwhelming. Unstoppable.

Thomas' eyes flashed.

But still, Hwang, ever the fool, dared to keep talking.

"I bet he’s seething .” he drawled, leaning back, chains rattling. “I bet he’s shaking with rage knowing he can’t touch me. Good. Now he knows how I felt” He cocked his head, “He ran from me like a little rat after killing my brother. Ah, maybe that’s it! He’s gone into hiding! It’s in his nature after all, haha–"

Thomas clenched his jaw. Because, as much as he hated to admit it, Hwang was right about one thing.

Sung Jin-woo had been too damn quiet. Too silent. For months, not a single report, not a single sighting. Not even Korea knew where he was. And that uncertainty…put everyone on edge.

There were signs. The dungeon raids. The barriers.

Whispers of smoke. Traces of shadows.

A man like that, moving in the dark.

It was enough to keep even the likes of him on alert.

Hwang let out a wistful sigh. "I would’ve paid great money to watch every second. To see his face when he found them. I bet he cried like a baby! I bet he fell apart . Oh, if only I could’ve been there to watch him b r e a k –"

“Shut. Your. Fucking . Mouth.”

The words cut across the room like a blade. 

Hwang's smirk faltered. 

He shut up. Not a second of hesitation.

He knew that tone. That aura.

Thomas leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table, his golden eyes burning hotter than molten iron. The veins along his forearms pulsed with power, glowing faintly beneath his tanned skin.

“I should break every bone in your body for what you’ve done.” His voice was low, almost quiet– yet it carried the weight of something indescribable. “You're only breathing because I allow it . Now shut it before I make you regret having ever crossed me, Hwang Dong-soo .”

Hwang swallowed.

He didn’t say another word.

The chair screeched against the floor as Thomas stood.

Thomas loomed over him, the golden glow in his veins pulsing.

Hwang lowered his gaze, his mouth pulling into a thin line.

Thomas turned on his heel, walking towards the door. He had heard enough. This was a waste of his time.

.

.

.

But then—

.

.

.

Thomas stilled.

.

.

.

…Wait

.

.

.

“…Just now…”

He slowly turned around, his pupils shrinking to the size of pinpricks.

“What did you mean…‘little hunter friend’?”

Hwang watched him for a moment, not saying a word, his expression blank. Then he relaxed, looking to the side with a whistle. “Oh, did I forget to mention it?”

His voice slowed to a drawl. "You really didn’t know about that?" he leaned back as far as his chains allowed. He closed his eyes with a huff. "Damn, I almost feel bad for ruining the surprise."

Hwang’s grin turned razor-sharp. Slow. Pleased.

He tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness. "You know how it is, Boss. Old grudges, unfinished business. Jin-woo took my brother. I took his family. Now, I just had to wrap things up nicely. Tie up those last loose ends. Like a neat little bow to finish off a lovely gift. A sister here. A mother there.” His eyes flashed and dark with something truly malicious. 

“And a pesky D-rank hunter there.”

Thomas didn’t move. Didn’t react. But his golden eyes darkened, burning like the sun before an eclipse.

Hwang's pleasure was palpable, his voice practically purring. “See, when I left, I was in a bit of a hurry, so I wasn’t able to finish things off myself. Pity. But It was no problem to set some things up, you know?”

Thomas' eyes were casted in shadows the more he listened.

Hwang shifted, the clinking sound of metal almost echoing his amusement. “Figured it’d be fitting. A nice little extra bonus, you could say. After all, that little shit was also there that day and I heard he was always hanging around that Sung bastard like a lost puppy.”

His grin sharpened, eyes glinting like a blade catching light.

“And well, you know me . I can’t allow such a little pest to continue breathing.”

A slow exhale left Thomas.

Thomas appeared in front of him in a flash, gripping the edge of the table, which creaked and groaned under the pressure, his massive frame casting a shadow over Hwang. Golden lighting sparked around his mountainous form, eyes glowing with barely restrained rage.

“ What the hell did you do?! ”

Hwang only chuckled.

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough, Boss.”

A sharp crack echoed through the room.

Hwang’s head snapped to the side, eyes wide as blood dripped from his split lip.

Thomas withdrew his fist. His voice rolled through the air like thunder. “Listen to me and listen well. You’d better pray I don’t find out anything more, Dong-soo.”

The threat hung heavy in the air.

Hwang spat blood onto the floor, but his smirk never faded.

That fucking smirk.

With a brutal swing, his fist connected squarely with Hwang’s jaw. The crack of bone meeting bone echoed in the room. Hwang’s head whipped to the side, his smirk finally slipping as his body slumped over, knocked clean out, eyes rolling back into his skull.

Thomas flexed his fingers, shaking out the lingering tension in his knuckles, before turning sharply on his heel. The heavy metal door groaned as he pushed it open, stepping through without another word.

‘Dammit…’

He couldn’t shake it.

From the moment he had caught wind of Hwang’s plans.

The unease clawed at his chest, heavier than it had been before.

It clung to him.

An awful, cold feeling. 

Jin-ho barely registered where his feet were taking him.

The streets were empty, the silence thick and the night sky loomed above. The dull glow of streetlights casting flickering shadows against the pavement. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed—brief, fleeting—before fading into nothing.

His mind was elsewhere. His body moved on instinct.

When he finally looked up—

A cold breath left him, visible in the chill of the night.

‘...This neighbourhood. '

He was only a few blocks from Jin-woo’s old apartment.

Jin-ho let out a dry chuckle, running a hand down his face.

Again. Really?

‘Even when he’s nowhere to be found…I’m still looking for him.’

He let out another quiet, humourless chuckle, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

It has become a habit. He somehow…always ended up here.

When he had found out about his father, it had almost broken him. He wasn’t dead, but gone in all the ways that mattered, lost to a sleep he would never wake from. And no matter how many times he tried to reason with it, to accept it, the truth clung to him like a weight he couldn’t shake—

‘He was exposed to too much mana–”

It was his fault.

That pain had nearly swallowed him whole. It clawed at the edges of his mind, whispering that he should have done something, should have been faster, stronger, better.

A better son. 

But as much as it threatened to consume him, as much as he wanted to crumble beneath the guilt, his body had moved on instinct, searching—desperate—for the one place that still felt safe. For the person who made him feel the safest.

But…he wasn’t there.

He hadn’t been, for a while now.

And maybe, maybe he should take the hint. Maybe he was really gone for good. Maybe he…didn’t need him anymore. 

Even so.

Something deep in his chest, something stubborn, something desperate– refused to believe that.

He liked to think he knew his older brother better than most. And he knew that Jin-woo wouldn’t abandon him like that. It wasn’t who he was. It had never been who he was.

He would come back. 

He always did.

And when he does…he wants to welcome him home.

A gust of wind cut through the empty street. The sound of something clattering against the pavement echoed in the streets.

Jin-ho flinched, his head snapping toward the alleyway. His eyes scanned the area, squinting against the thick darkness and flickering lights.

Nothing.

Just the wind.

He shook his head. He kept walking, beginning to drift away into his thoughts.

But then—

.

.

.

A prickle.

.

.

.

He froze. Ice cold shivers travelled down his spine.

.

.

.

That feeling. 

.

.

.

Was…someone else out there. He turned to check behind him once again.

“H-Hello?”

Silence.

His stomach turned. He started walking again.

His feet moved faster.

It’s nothing. It’s nothing.

His breathing began to pick up.

He was almost there. Just around the corner, and he would be–

A blur of movement.

Jin-ho jolted as something shot out from the alley, black against the night.

“ Shit–”

A sharp yelp ripped from his throat as he stumbled back.

His heart hammered. What the heck was-

A soft sound echoed in his ears.

Jin-ho blinked.

He looked up and saw nothing.

He looked behind.

Nothing again.

“What the–”

Something nudged his foot.

He glanced down.

‘...Huh.’

It was…a cat?

A sleek, black cat sat at his feet, staring up at him. He felt his mouth open slightly in shock. Luminous, piercing violet eyes stared deeply into his own. Under the moonlight, its fur shimmered with an almost ethereal sheen, shifting between shadowy black and indigo.

Jin-ho let out a shaky laugh, pressing a hand to his chest. “ Geez! ” He exhaled. “You scared the heck out of me.”

The cat tilted its head, ears twitching slightly, but remained silent.

Jin-ho crouched down, taking a better look at it. “Where did you even come from? Sneaky little thing, aren’t you?”

The cat blinked at him.

Unmoving. Watching.

Jin-ho shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "Man, I must be really losing it, talking to a cat in the middle of the night." He sighed to himself, then gave the cat a lopsided smile. Then he paused, squirting his eyes. He watched the cat. It watched him back.

“Hey…You kinda remind me of someone.” He pursed his lips in thought.

The cat’s ears twitched.

Then—

It meowed.

Softly, at first.

Then louder.

Then even louder.

Jin-ho frowned. “Hey, hey!—what’s wrong?”

The cat meowed again, an urgent, almost desperate sound.

His stomach twisted.

The cat’s gaze bore into him.

Like a warning.

His body tensed up.

Behind him–!

.

.

.

.

.

.

A sharp, blinding pain exploded in the back of his skull. His vision cracked apart. The world spun.

He barely registered the feeling of his knees hitting the pavement.

.

.

.

Voices.

.

.

.

Pain.

.

.

.

Shadows looming over him.

.

.

.

And then—

.

.

.

He slipped into the darkness, laughter echoing around him.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: A Price Written In Red

The private jet cruised smoothly through the night, its engines humming with a low, steady rhythm. Inside, the cabin was a picture of quiet. The dim, orange lighting casted soft shadows across sleek black leather seats and polished mahogany tables. The air was crisp, and laced with a perfect blend of aged bourbon and fresh coffee.

Adam White reclined in his seat, swirling a glass of bourbon in one hand. His arm rested casually over his armrest, one leg crossed over the other in a show of pure comfort. His sharp blue eyes flickered with something restless, something electric . He had been on countless missions before, had met with more hunters than he could count—but this? This was different.

His eyes lifted to the woman sitting across from him.

Norma Selner sat with pristine posture, the very picture of quiet authority. Her dark skin contrasted with the crisp cream of her suit, her wide-brimmed hat tilted at a precise angle to cast an elegant shadow across her face. Her long, curled black hair cascaded down her back, untouched by the turbulence. Those turquoise eyes—eerily bright, striking even in the dim cabin lighting—remained calm, composed.

Lining the edges of the cabin, men in tailored suits stood at attention, their postures rigid, their gazes sharp behind the tinted lenses of their sunglasses. They spoke in murmurs through invisible earpieces, monitoring their surroundings with the kind of ease that came from years of experience.

One of them poured a fresh cup of herbal tea, setting it down in front of Selner with practiced precision before stepping back into the periphery—silent, present, but never intrusive.

Adam exhaled, setting his bourbon down with a soft clink.

"Well, Ms. Selner," he said, voice smooth, "I assume you're looking forward to this just as much as I am?"

Norma lifted the cup to her lips, pausing only to glance at him over the rim. "And what, exactly, are we looking forward to, Mr. White?"

Adam chuckled, his grin easy but sharp. "Come on. We both know we didn’t fly halfway across the world to discuss the terms of Hwang Dong-soo’s incarceration.” He tilted his head slightly. “That deal was settled before we even boarded this plane."

Norma hummed in mild agreement, setting her cup down with a deliberate grace.

“Our friends in Korea think we’re here to help smooth things over,” Adam continued, stretching back into his seat. “Make sure their little diplomatic dispute doesn’t escalate. Talk things through like civilised people.”

He smirked. “But we both know we’re here to take something much more valuable.”

Norma traced the rim of her teacup with a manicured finger. “Someone.”

Adam’s grin widened. “Exactly.”

He exhaled, shaking his head with quiet amusement. "And I don’t think they even realise just how much they’re about to lose."

A pause.

His smirk didn’t fade, but his tone shifted just slightly.

“…Of course, there is a complication.”

Norma arched her brow.

Adam sighed, shaking his head. “Hwang Dong-soo.”

Selner remained unbothered. “Unfortunate. But irrelevant.”

Adam scoffed. “ Irrelevant? It's nearly wrecked everything! What he did to Sung Jin-woo’s family—” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his slicked-back orange hair. “It’s a damn mess. And you don’t think it complicates things?”

Selner regarded him coolly. “Precisely.”

“Then how do you suggest we—” 

“I have never met a man who turns down power, Mr. White.”

Adam stopped mid-sentence, blinking at her.

Selner adjusted her hat, ensuring the brim sat perfectly level. “And I doubt Mr. Sung will be the first. Regardless of external factors.”

Adam narrowed his eyes slightly.

Selner lifted her gaze, meeting him with quiet confidence. “America has always attracted the strongest.” Her fingers tapped lightly against the porcelain. “Why should this be any different?”

Adam exhaled, shaking his head with a small chuckle. “You really believe that, huh?”

“I know that.”

A beat.

Then, Adam smirked.

“Well,” he said, swirling his bourbon once more. “That makes two of us.”

He lifted the glass to his lips, taking a slow, measured sip before leaning forward once again.

“So let’s make sure this trip isn’t a waste.” His voice dropped slightly, a conspiratorial whisper. “This country is too small for someone like Sung Jin-woo. We’ll present him an offer he can’t refuse .”

Selner nodded, her expression poised and composed.

And yet—

As she gazed out the window, watching the darkened clouds swirl beyond the glass.

A strange sensation prickled at the back of her mind.

A whisper.

A flicker of something unseen.

Something… misaligned.

Her fingers curled slightly against her cup.

‘What…is this feeling?’

◆━━◆ 𝕺𝖋 𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕾𝖍𝖆𝖉𝖔𝖜𝖘 ◆━━◆

The faint buzz of an incoming call pierced through the otherwise silent office.

Go Gunhee barely acknowledged the sound at first, his mind already weighed down by the endless paperwork sprawled across his desk. Greyish green eyes sunk into an aged face, reflecting the exhaustion that had settled deep in his bones.

A knock at the door.

Jin-chul entered swiftly, his expression unreadable behind his glasses, but his posture was rigid, his stance lined with quiet urgency.

The familiar scene hit Gunhee with a suspicious dose of Deja vu.

“Sir,” he said briskly, stepping forward. He nodded towards the receiver on his desk. “Thomas Andre is on the line.”

Go Gunhee straightened instantly and frowned. Thomas Andre, America’s National Level Hunter. That was certainly not a name he had expected to hear tonight.

He exhaled slowly, reaching across his desk for the phone, pressing a button to accept. He took a quick glance at Jin-chul, nodding his agreement to let him stay and listen in.

He switched to fluent English with ease.

"Mr Andre. This is Go Gunhee speaking."

There was no greeting.

Just a low, weighted exhale before a voice rumbled through the receiver—gruff and low.

"Listen up Gunhee, ‘cause I ain’t repeating myself. If you can reach Jin-woo Sung, tell him to keep his guard up." His voice was sharp as a blade, cutting straight to the point.

Gunhee’s fingers tightened around the receiver. "What does that mean?"

A pause. A beat of cold silence.

Then Thomas spoke again, his tone measured, careful. "Just pass the message along, will you."

Gunhee’s brows furrowed deeply. "With all due respect, Mr Andre. I don’t have time for riddles" His voice dropped in tone, edged with steel. "What are you talking about?"

Another silence. Then—

"I just said I wasn’t going to repeat myself. Ya going deaf or something, old man?"

Gunhee’s pulse ticked sharply in his temple.

His lips pressed into a thin line.

"Hwang Dong-soo is being kept in America," Gunhee stated.

"No shit."

"Then how could he—"

"He made arrangements before he left."

Gunhee inhaled sharply.

Jin-chul’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses, his fingers curled tightly into a fist.

Gunhee’s voice remained low, controlled. "...Do you know what these arrangements were?"

Thomas’ gruff voice huffed through the speaker. "Something about a hunter friend. Either way, I know enough to tell you that if Sung has anyone worth worrying about, they should be watching their backs."

Jin-chul stiffened. His throat suddenly felt tight.

Gunhee exhaled slowly. “That’s an incredibly vague warning.” His tone was firm, clipped, unrelenting. “You must have more than that.”

A slow exhale from the other line.

"Gunhee." Thomas’s voice turned flat, final. "I don’t owe you more than that. I’m telling you as a professional courtesy. You know where I stand on this. Take it or leave it."

Click.

The line went dead.

Gunhee stared at the phone as if it had offended his bloodline.

Jin-chul frowned.

His entire body had gone still—his mind churning through details like clockwork.

Something felt wrong.

A target. Someone Sung Jin-woo cared about.

His mind moved backward, tracing connections, assembling pieces.

Gunhee watched as Jin-chul’s lips parted slightly, his brows furrowing behind his glasses—

Then his eyes widened.

A single name left his lips, breathless, shaken.

"Yoo Jin-ho."

Gunhee blinked sharply. “Who?”

Jin-chul exhaled sharply, his pulse hammering. His mind was assembling the pieces at a breakneck pace, and everything pointed to one conclusion.

"Yoo Jin-ho. He’s the only person Hunter Sung has ever openly kept close.” He swallowed. “If Hwang Dong-soo set something in motion before his capture, and if those plans are meant to hurt Sung Jin-woo…" His voice faltered, the words bitter on his tongue. "Then Yoo Jin-ho is in danger."

Gunhee’s chest tightened as a scowl tugged at his lips. 

Hadn’t the boy suffered enough? 

Hwang Dong-soo… What kind of monster still sought to twist the knife even from the depths of his own downfall?

Gunhee’s teeth clenched, rage simmering beneath his exhaustion. This wasn’t revenge anymore—this was pure malice.

Then Jin-chul’s expression darkened further, something clicking into place in his mind.

"Hunter Yoo Jin-ho…" he muttered, almost to himself. "He was there."

Gunhee’s brows knitted. "What?"

"That day. When an E-rank and D-rank joined a strike squad to raid a dungeon headed by Hwang Dong-suk." Jin-chul’s voice was grim, heavy. "He was there. When Hunter Sung killed Hwang Dong-soo’s brother."

A beat.

A sharp, suffocating silence.

Then—

Gunhee stood abruptly, his fist slamming against the desk.

"Jin-chul." His voice was low, commanding, absolute. "Every available unit that is under my command alone. I want them searching for Yoo Jin-ho. Now."

Jin-chul snapped into motion, already reaching for his earpiece. "Understood."

Gunhee stayed rooted in place, his shadow looming large over his desk, his hands curled into fists.

A cold weight settled deep in his gut.

If they were too late—

No.

They wouldn’t be.

They couldn’t afford to be.

Pain.

It came first. 

Sharp and biting as it clawed at his senses and carved itself into every inch of his body, pulling him out of the thick fog of unconsciousness.

Then came the cold.

It burrowed deep, sank into his bones, creeping into every shredded nerve, every torn muscle. His body hurt . A dull, throbbing ache that pulsed with every ragged breath. His wrists stung where the zip ties had cut into his skin, arms locked behind his back. His head throbbed, the metallic taste of blood coating his tongue.

He was on the ground—concrete, rough and freezing against his cheek. His vision was blurred, the world tilting in and out of focus. He blinked sluggishly, his surroundings swimming in and out of clarity.

Where…?

His fingers twitched. 

His breathing was ragged, his lips cracked. A pulsing agony in his gut told him he’d taken at least one brutal hit to the stomach. He shifted slightly– 

White-hot agony tore through his ribs. Definitely broken.

“ Ah–” 

The sound slipped from his lips before he could stop it.

Then–

"Someone finally decided to wake up."

Jin-ho froze.

A voice. Amused. Cruel.

The fog in his mind lifted slightly, awareness crawling in like a slow, insidious poison. 

He forced his eyes open.

A warehouse. 

Abandoned. 

Rusted steel beams stretched into the darkness above, the dim glow of a singular flickering overhead light the only source of light. The scent of damp earth, blood, and cigarette smoke lingered in the air.

And then—the men.

Scattered around the warehouse like vultures. Lurking in the corners, lounging against the walls. They were hunters, he could tell. Ten, maybe thirteen. Some C ranks and some B-ranks maybe. He couldn't really tell.

They were stationed at the exits, blocking any possible escape points.

And closest to him— three who seemed to be in charge of it all.

He wouldn’t be surprised if they were A-ranks at most.

The first man was huge, built like a wall of solid muscle, broad shoulders stretching the seams of his leather jacket. A jagged scar ran down the length of his jaw, disappearing into his collar. 

‘Scarface’, Jin-ho’s mind instantly named him with some building bitterness.

The second—lean, wiry, with cold, snake-like eyes, twirling a knife between his fingers with practiced ease. His head was shaved into a poor-excuse of a buzz cut.

‘Baldy.’ The chosen name made the pain a little bit better.

The third—taller than the rest, older, with piercing golden eyes that gleamed with something calculating, something sharp.

Jin-ho felt an instinctive chill creep up his spine.

"Confused?" Scarface taunted, approaching leisurely, crouching in front of him.

Jin-ho blinked blearily, trying to gather his bearings, trying to think.

Nothing made sense.

The last thing he remembered–

He had been walking.

A cat.

Then—voices. Pain.

And now—here.

Baldy let out a low whistle, practically skipping over, tilting his head mockingly. "Damn, he really looks clueless, huh? Like a little puppy that got lost on the street.” He raised his leg with a giggle. “How cute! "

A boot slammed into his stomach. Hard.

Jin-ho gasped, choking, his body jerking forward violently as the force sent him crashing onto his side.

Scarface smirked, straightening up. "Heh. That’s funny,” he mused, “Considering we’ve seen him sniffing around that Sung bastard’s house for weeks now.” 

He spat at the floor next to Jin-ho. “Waiting for his owner to come home like a good little boy."

Jin-ho’s stomach twisted. They had been watching him…for that long?

“Well look at you now.”

Scarface nudged his body with his foot. Jin-ho barely reacted. He was too dazed, too battered to do anything but try to breathe.

Scarface hummed, holding a hand out, palm up, expectant.

Baldy whistled cheerily and tossed his blade towards him. With ease, Scarface caught it mid-air, twirling it between his fingers, the dim light reflecting off the scarlet-stained steel.

"Starting to look real rough, kid."

Jin-ho’s bleary eyes followed the motion of the knife, its deadly arc hypnotic.

His gaze snagged something on the hilt.

A symbol.

Carved deep into the worn steel, almost blending into the grime and dried blood.

His bloodied fingers twitched.

He knew that symbol.

But where-

Jin-ho tried to push himself up, his arms still bound behind him, his shoulders aching from the strain. He barely lifted his head before a hand fisted into his hair, yanking him upright with a painful tug.

His vision swam. The world spun.

"Hmm." Scarface hummed, his breath thick with the stench of cigarettes and blood. 

Slowly. Deliberately, he pressed the blade against Jin-ho’s cheek, the sharp steel biting into fragile skin.

A thin, crimson thread bloomed, sliding down his face in a slow, warm trickle.

Scarface watched it. Amused. 

"Hey, you’re daddy’s loaded, right? Yoojin Construction or something.” His grin widened, wolfish and hungry.

He pressed the knife a little harder, just enough to make Jin-ho flinch.

“Cough up some cash and maybe we’ll finish you off nice and quick. Ain’t I nice?"

Jin-ho gritted his teeth.

Scarface paused. Amusement dripped from his eyes, dark and predatory, as he leaned forward.

He came close. Too close.

So close Jin-ho could see the yellowing of his teeth, and the madness in his eyes.

His voice was a low, taunting whisper.

“Or maybe you should call that little S-rank friend of yours. Then we can have twice the fun.”

Jin-ho glared.

He inhaled sharply before spitting blood right onto the bastard’s face.

The room fell silent .

Scarface blinked.

Jin-ho barely had a second before—

CRACK.

A fist slammed into his face.

White-hot pain exploded behind his eyes, the impact rattling his skull.

Then—a second punch.

Then a third.

And then he was all over him.

Fists. Boots. Knuckles. Again 

And again.

And again and again and again.

Blow after relentless blow.

Some charged with mana.

Some laced with pure malice.

The sickening crunch of impact. The wet splatter of his blood hitting the concrete.

Jin-ho was dimly aware of his own body jerking violently with every strike, his head snapping back, the world tilting violently as his body convulsed.

Blood poured from his crooked nose, dripping down his chin, staining his already ruined shirt.

His vision blurred. His breaths were shallow, wet.

"Damn, are we sure we’re not gonna get caught." one of the hunters muttered from a few meters away, shifting nervously. “I mean the Guildmaster or anyone else finds out about this–"

“He won’t!” Another hunter groaned, exasperated. “We’ve been planning this for weeks! Besides, we need the money! There aren’t any gates left to raid because of that bastard—” 

A collective grumble of agreement rippled through the group.

"Tch. That Sung asshole took everything for himself. Guild’s been starving for months because of him."

"And now we’re the ones crawling in the dirt to stay afloat." A third spat, arms crossed. "Only the high-ranking hunters get anything while we’re stuck on fucking unpaid leave.”

Another hunter leaning against a rusty pipe snarled.

"Oi shut up would ya?! I’m trying enjoy the show!"

Scarface’s grin widened, chest heaving as he leant back, shaking the tension out of his blood-slicked fists. 

"Hear that, kid? That friend of yours has us hunters real riled up.” He flexed his fingers, rolling his shoulders, relishing the pain he was about to inflict. “Let’s give ‘em a show to lighten the mood, hm?" 

With that, he reared his arm back, knuckles poised to strike again.

"W-" Jin-ho's voice cracked, barely more than a whisper. 

Scarface paused. 

The air stilled.

Jin-ho tried again. His throat was raw, torn. It hurt. Everything hurts. He could barely muster the strength to speak. His lips trembled from effort.

 "W- Why– "

Silence.

The room erupted in laughter. A chorus of cruel amusement, ringing through the warehouse like the jeering of a stadium crowd.

The hunter straddling him sneered. Then without warning–his elbow crashed down. Hard. Straight into Jin-ho’s throat.

A strangled, wet gasp tore from Jin-ho’s lips. His airways clenched shut, instinctive panic kicking in as he clawed for breath, each expansion of his lungs laced with true agony as he tried to suck in a breath that refused to come.

" W-Why? " Scarface mimicked mockingly, voice dripping with mock sympathy. His tongue swept out, licking away the blood on his cheek. His smirk curled at the edges, dark with satisfaction. 

"Pathetic.” His voice dropped to a taunting whisper. “You really don’t get it, do you?"

Jin-ho's fingers curled into fists, trembling as he fought to shove down the tears threatening to spill, choking on a mouthful of blood.

"We’re here because of you ." he jeered, pushing himself up with casual ease. He cracked his neck before fixing Jin-ho with a look, cold and amused. "Instead of wasting our time with stupid questions, ask yourself this…What did you do to piss a guy like that off, hmm?"

Jin-ho’s breath stilled.

‘Piss…someone off?’

His pulse pounded.

Baldy’s grin stretched wide, his teeth gleaming. He leaned forward, watching Jin-ho’s pain with sick amusement, his eyes alight with cruelty.

“Oh, man, this is priceless.” He let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head as if he pitied Jin-ho’s ignorance. “He really doesn’t know."

He exchanged a glance with Scarface, who smirked back, the silent confirmation passing between them like an inside joke at Jin-ho’s expense.

"Should we tell him?" Baldy mused, his voice thick with mockery, like a cat toying with a dying mouse.

“Hwang Dong-soo.”

Jin-ho’s pain-drenched mind stuttered.

His one good eye flickered towards and barely made out the figure approaching him—the golden-eyed hunter.

He had been watching. Waiting. Silent amid the carnage, like a predator in no rush to pounce. His voice was smooth, deliberate.

"You pissed off Hwang Dong-soo,"

He said it simply, like a fact written in stone, a death sentence already sealed.

Jin-ho stared.

His pulse lurched, nausea rolling violently in his gut. The name alone sent a cold, drowning weight crashing over him, suffocating, crushing.

That name.

The golden-eyed hunter watched him, unreadable, his posture relaxed—too relaxed for someone delivering a message of execution.