[Death and Beauty tilts her head and asks if her Apostle had no mana.]
“…….”
She was right. He had Divine Power, but no mana.
As he wrestled with whether to let Tae Woon enjoy a fleeting moment of happiness or to drag him back to reality, the chime of the number display rang out—his turn had come.
“Hyung’s gonna tear all of Korea apart today.”
“I-I’ll be right back.”
In the end, Kim Sibaek couldn’t bring himself to confess the truth. Sweating nervously, he stood up. Left behind, Lord Biendeoé hesitated for a moment before fluttering onto Tae Woon’s shoulder, but his face was aglow with uncontainable anticipation, as if he hadn’t even noticed.
Avoiding Tae Woon’s gaze, Kim Sibaek walked over for the mana test.
Tae Woon’s appearance had thrown the entire Hunter Registration Department into chaos. Despite his notorious reputation—or rather, his fame—he was surprisingly well-mannered. It was just that his very presence instilled a fear bordering on cosmic horror.
Naturally, attention shifted to the young man with him. If Tae Woon had personally brought someone for a mana test, they had to be exceptional.
One staffer was so excited they contacted a journalist, whispering about the possibility of a new S-rank. Online gossip boards were already buzzing with headlines like: “Why Did Tae Woon of the Seven Guild Appear at the Hunter Registration Department?!”
Since humans cannot perceive mana, the machines used for detection—like those for sensing demonic energy—are magically crafted. Full-body scans take time, so there was a queue. Still, the center’s staff immediately grabbed Kim Sibaek’s results. Suspecting a malfunction, they ran the test again. And again. And again.
The final result…
“U-Unawakened civilian.”
Tae Woon tilted his head with a cheerful smile, standing brightly beside Kim Sibaek.
“Hmm? I thought I heard something weird—could you repeat that?”
The unlucky staff member who had ended up helping them by random draw now regretted not writing a will that morning. She stammered, barely getting the words out.
“M-Mana… um, none… You’re just… a civilian…”
“…….”
Tae Woon froze, his smile unchanged, as if time itself had stopped. A deathly silence followed. Then the scar on his left cheek twitched, and shadows spilled from the coat draped over his shoulders, engulfing the entire department in an instant.
***
I really thought I was going to die.
The staff member exhaled shakily, hand clutching her chest. In the restroom mirror, her face was still deathly pale—like a zombie freshly risen from the grave. She couldn’t believe she was still alive after witnessing Tae Woon’s power firsthand.
Tae Woon had never publicly revealed the nature of his ability, leaving room for endless speculation. Some guessed it was darkness, others said shadows. But no matter the theory, everyone agreed on one thing: he was impossibly powerful.
His monster-devouring skill was unique among Awakened beings across the globe. Creatures swallowed by his ability vanished without a trace. For a while, a viral theory claimed the “Mad Dog” was actually Cerberus, the guardian of hell, and the monsters he devoured were dragged straight to the underworld.
That rumor only disappeared after Tae Woon was asked about it on live TV. His blunt reply: “What kind of bullshit is that?” It aired uncensored and unmuted.
Having seen that devouring power up close…
He really might be Cerberus.
Her knees were still shaking. Everyone who had been at the Registration Department that day probably felt the same.
“Woonie.”
But the darkness that had nearly swallowed the entire office vanished like a shadow melting under spring sunlight, dispelled by a soft, clear voice from beside him.
“What are you doing in a crowded place like this? You don’t even know what happens when something gets swallowed by that darkness, do you?”
The scolding tone, firm like that of a parent chastising a child, melted Tae Woon’s frozen expression into something meek and sulky.
“Did you really think I’d hurt someone? I was just… really shocked by the result…”
“I know you’re not someone who hurts people.”
“Hyung…”
“Still, others could get scared or misunderstand. Don’t do this again, okay?”
“…Okay.”
Seeing Tae Woon so dejected and pitiful, the staff member felt another kind of heart attack coming on. And the one who had calmed her terrified heart was the young man.
The one who had made Tae Woon retract his power with just a few words gave a polite bow.
“I’m sorry for startling you.”
He apologized not just to her but to everyone else still frozen in place. Then, gently placing a hand on Tae Woon’s back, he led him out of the department.
From behind, she saw it clearly.
The holy light shining around the young man who had turned that Mad Dog into a docile puppy with a single sentence.
His name was Kim Sibaek, right? He’s a saint. A literal saint. Saint Kim Sibaek…!
The heavens had sent down a force of nature in the form of the Mad Dog—a walking catastrophe—but in their fairness, they also provided his leash.
Anyway, before anyone started thinking she was slacking off, she needed to get out of the restroom. She splashed cold water on her face to snap herself out of it.
Everything that happened today is absolutely a valid reason for medical leave. If they don’t approve it, I’ll collapse right in front of the section chief. I’ll even get a hospital counseling record.
She was just working herself up about that when—
Crack.
A strange sound echoed through the room—like something splitting or being torn apart. She turned around, puzzled, and the last thing she saw was a thick tentacle bursting up through the floor.
***
[Quest 02]
[Complete Hunter Registration (0/1)]
[Time Remaining: 9 hours 18 minutes]
He had assumed Hunter registration would be immediate once his Awakening was confirmed, but it turned out this quest had a strict time limit. He had declined Director Noh’s generous offer, so he couldn’t exactly show his face now—but finishing the quest was more urgent.
When he cautiously asked whether registration could be completed today, Director Noh had agreed without hesitation.
—“The registration will be finalized before the end of the day.”
Having someone so fully in his corner was reassuring. Afterward, they crossed the street to a café and waited for Director Noh’s confirmation call.
The vibration alert from the café’s pager didn’t startle him as much this time. Tae Woon, who had been groaning into the table, slowly sat up.
“…I’ll go grab the drinks.”
“Just stay put. I’ll be quick.”
He gently pushed Tae Woon back into his seat and returned with the coffee tray. Even as he sipped the cloyingly sweet coffee—sweet enough to melt his tongue—Tae Woon still wore a face full of gloom.
[Death and Beauty wonders … wasn’t his reaction a bit much?]
Kim Sibaek was wondering the same.
“I get that you’re upset your plan didn’t work out, but this was something Director Noh could handle, right?”
“I know, but still…”
Tae Woon fidgeted with his coffee cup, his face shadowed by worry. Seeing that, Lord Biendeoé blinked wide-eyed—as if, for the first time, she truly saw him as a child, just like Kim Sibaek often described him.
“…I just didn’t want more filth splashing onto you because of me.”
Ah.
Kim Sibaek bit his lower lip in silence. Now he understood why Tae Woon had reacted so sensitively. In many ways, it was still a trauma.
A child who has grown up no longer fears adult men. But the shame of dragging someone else down—of being the reason they fell—remains. It scabs over, but never truly heals. One trigger is all it takes to make it bleed again.
Wondering how to respond without hurting him further, Kim Sibaek decided to speak the simple truth.
“It’s different now. Even if rumors start, they won’t touch me. And once I prove myself, they’ll vanish quickly. So what’s there to worry about?”
“……”
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
That quiet, unshakable confidence—that calm, resolute smile—was both beautiful and steadfast. Tae Woon couldn’t meet his eyes. He lowered his head. Kim Sibaek had become someone untouchable by shame, someone who shone no matter what filth tried to cling to him—while he himself would never escape the filth of that half-basement room from when he was five.
“I’ve told you before—it wasn’t your fault. I’ve said it how many times now? Even if I could go back to nineteen, I’d still walk into that half-basement and choose to meet you. I’ve never once regretted it.”
But Tae Woon—he regrets, and regrets again.
He should never have met him thirty years ago. And because he’s as wretched as the regret that eats at him, he composes himself and smiles smoothly.
He had imagined this moment so many times—rehearsed it, refined it. So his tone, his expression, his gestures and body language were all composed.
So that Kim Sibaek wouldn’t notice anything.
“What you just said… was really cool.”
“Oh, stop it.”
Oblivious to anything strange, Kim Sibaek reached over and ruffled his hair.
“Looks like this finishes Quest Two—”
Reclining in his chair, he didn’t even get to finish the sentence.
