Human resources are finite, and so whenever you set out to do something, you always have to weigh your choices and focus. It’s not just about money or time. Mental energy is also a limited resource—and to use it efficiently and economically, it needs to be thoroughly managed and distributed.
That might’ve sounded a bit complicated, but boiled down, it was basically this: “Don’t overthink. Don’t stress. Just focus on what you need to deal with right now.”
It’s sound advice, sure. But actually living by it? That’s a whole different beast. It’s like eating modestly, having three light meals a day, going to bed early, waking up early, and exercising regularly—everyone knows that’s the formula for a healthy body and mind. It’s not that people don’t do it because they don’t know—they just can’t.
Besides, when have people’s thoughts ever gone the way they wanted them to? If it were that easy, why would mental illness exist? Why would therapists even be a thing?
Pressed for time every single day, always feeling like he was one step from collapsing, Cha Eui-sung ended up cheating the system. Whenever things got too tangled in his head, he’d shove everything aside and leave only the thoughts that mattered most in the moment.
“Just think about what’s most important.”
“That doesn’t need to be dealt with right now.”
“So when will you deal with it? Uh… later. Not now.”
Also known as: the “Future Me Will Handle It” tactic.
It worked pretty well for Cha Eui-sung. It helped him lighten his mental load and stay focused on the present, and since his future self was still him, he could trust that the job wouldn’t be done half-assed.
He’d never once run into trouble because of it. It wasn’t laziness—it was triage. He was just postponing things due to time constraints, not neglecting them. So there’d never been any fallout. But this time…
Bruughh—
His water-soaked hair swayed and drifted like seaweed. Cha Eui-sung stared up at the blurry bathroom ceiling with a troubled look.
Damn it. Honestly? He’d been avoiding this because he didn’t want to think about it. Yeah, he was busy, but every time the thought popped up, it gave him such a headache.
What happens if the Savior Gauge fills up?
When all this is over, what becomes of the Demon King?
Even if the Outer God quietly disappears, will the System really just leave Moon Tae-young alone? He is the Demon King.
No matter how much he pondered, no answers came. And every question forced him to confront one unsettling fact: He was worried about the Demon King.
When it all became too much, he’d thrown it off to his future self to deal with…
Sorry, but I don’t have an answer either.
And honestly, passing the buck again probably wouldn’t help. He doubted his even more future self could solve it either.
What made it worse was that part of his mind kept rebelling: Why the hell are you even worrying about him? But despite that, his chest kept twisting in strange, uncomfortable ways, making him feel even worse.
Ugh, screw it. He’d already been coughing up blood like a sprinkler this morning—piling Moon Tae-young worries on top of everything else was just too much.
Still, that damn image kept resurfacing. That damp face the skill had shown him… It wouldn’t stop flashing through his head. Some part of his chest throbbed, irritated and raw, every time it did.
Cha Eui-sung finally shut his eyes. When he couldn’t see, at least the thoughts dulled for a while. The warm water enveloping his face rocked gently, helping to barely soothe the chaos inside him…
Lucky I can hold my breath for a while.
The moment he lifted his head out of the water, reality would come crashing back in. Then he’d be back to stressing minute by minute about the Savior Gauge, the mission, Go Yeong-won, Oh Se-dan, the Outer God, the System… and the aftermath of the Demon King.
Haaah. All the remaining air in his lungs trickled out in bubbling streams. Cha Eui-sung didn’t even want to hear that sound, so he covered his ears and floated like a strand of waterweed.
Breathing was starting to get difficult. Maybe he could last another thirty seconds?
That idiot could’ve just climbed out of the tub, but no—Cha Eui-sung stayed submerged, lying there like a moron when—
CRACK!
…?
Even through his plugged ears, he heard the sharp, splintering sound of something breaking. Eyes snapping wide open, Cha Eui-sung flailed in alarm.
He didn’t even have time to sit up before—
The bathroom door burst open, and a dark shadow loomed over his head in an instant. A large hand clamped down on his shoulder.
SPLASH!
Cha Eui-sung was yanked out of the tub like a ragdoll, gasping and coughing for air.
“Haaah… Hahh… What the—?”
As he choked out the breath he’d been holding and lifted his head, There stood Moon Tae-young, his face grim as he looked down at him.
“You’re awake? Just what were you doing…?”
“Haaah… Haah… Wh-what?”
His pupils were blown wide, pitch-black with shock, and all the color had drained from his face.
***
Before clocking out, Moon Tae-young had been working on plans for supplementary lessons.
- What do we call the basic rights that citizens can demand from the state to ensure a humane life?
(Right to petition?) - A strip of paper measuring 58.7 cm is divided equally into 12 parts. How long is each piece?
(4.81666666?)
The pop quiz he’d handed out on a hunch had ended in total disaster.
Screee—
His hand, holding a colored pencil, dragged a harsh red line across the paper. They didn’t do this badly when the test was multiple choice. Sensing something was off, he’d sprung a surprise quiz—and the results were abysmal.
Clatter.
Moon Tae-young put away his stationery and drifted into thought. Come to think of it, the kid’s parents had been busy lately. He didn’t know the full story, but with talk of lawsuits going around, the household probably wasn’t in a good place.
No innate motivation to study. Anxiety from emotional instability. And no guardians to guide them. With those three factors stacked together, the child had ended up like this in just a few weeks.
Focused management for Unit 4…
It couldn’t be helped. Human development was slow by nature, and the world was filled with unpredictable misfortunes. In an ideal world, sure, every parent would devote themselves fully to child-rearing for all those long years—but reality wasn’t so kind.
Moon Tae-young sighed deeply as he resolved to gather a few kids for extra lessons after the upcoming field day.
Now that he thought about it, he used to wonder about things like this.
Why were young humans designed to be so dependent on others? Why was help a requirement just to survive?
He remembered a childhood with nowhere to reach, but far too many things he needed. Maybe it was because those memories stuck so firmly that Moon Tae-young grew into someone specialized in standing alone.
Most things he could handle by himself. And for anything beyond his ability, he’d learned to create situations where help would come. At this point, he neither expected nor needed anyone’s assistance.
…Or so he thought.
Until something completely unexpected came crashing down on him.
“If that’s truly what you long for… then I want to help you, too.”
That earnest voice kept echoing in his ears. Moon Tae-young wore a conflicted expression as he stripped the bloodied bedding and sheets from the bed.
Was this lingering in his mind because there was still a part of him that hadn’t given up hope?
That was the only explanation he could think of. If he was this shaken just from the outstretched hand of someone in a worse position than he was.
Shhhhhh—
As water trickled from the bathroom, he reflected on the chaos of his daily routine. Prepping for schoolwork. Managing individuals tied to various plans. Overseeing dungeons. And dating someone on top of it all.
Out of everything, dungeon management always took the most effort.
An A-rank dungeon with constant spatial distortion—more parasite than privilege. Rather than a benefit, it was practically a black hole that devoured his time and energy.
[G-a-t-e-w-a-??-y!]
Based on what Moon Tae-young had gathered, “that thing” circling him moved through dungeons. If this world were a massive fortress city, then dungeons were like exposed aqueducts. Gaps that had to exist—and into one of those open holes, an intruder from outside had burrowed in.
The dungeon in Cheongseri, which he referred to as the Control Tower, was, strictly speaking, not his. It had already been taken over by “that.”
Grrk—Screeech!
SKREEEAAAH!
So it functioned like any other dungeon. Monsters would respawn with each entry, and if left alone too long, the place would overflow.
To prevent that, Moon Tae-young regularly cleared out the monsters and maintained a link with that thing.
VOOOOOOOOM—
Through that link, he could touch the edge of a vast unknown. The fringe of a collective beyond comprehension—a realm almost alien in its abstraction.
He felt it instinctively. That it was the hem of something too large for this world to contain. Not even the full robe—just the hem of the hem of the hem of the hem… A sliver of a sliver of a sliver of a sliver of a sliver…
And when he touched it, he could just barely glimpse the flow running through this world. A flow of channels that interwove with other channels, a web of interlinked dungeons. The spaces were separated, but in theory, he could influence other dungeons as well—though barely.
To call it “influence” was generous. At most, it was like a baby chick hopping into the stream and splashing a few drops of water.
Woomp—!
In the dead of night, while the world slept, the dungeons would stir.
Portals would start behaving strangely, or the air would twist with invisible tears. Sometimes, even matter from within would leak out.
Not that anyone noticed at that hour—only the Bureau of Regulation kept track.
They never made official statements, but whispers spread. Though human casualties were rare, changes would ripple through nearby areas.
Residential zones would recede. Hunters would make more frequent visits. Security would tighten.
Facilities would move, disappear, shift—changing how people lived their lives. Deemed safe but avoided nonetheless, those areas would soon be filled with things no one wanted around.
Sewage treatment plants. Landfills. Dungeon byproduct processing plants. Prisons… or mental health detention centers.
The newly built facilities always boasted better infrastructure. And inmates with connections—even if they couldn’t be released—could be transferred to more livable conditions.
Since precision targeting wasn’t possible, it was more like a gradual herding process. Chipping away at the edges until everything fell into place.
But with enough time and effort, it was possible to round up the desired people in one place. People like Jo Tae-jong. And others involved in that incident—the top brass of the Hunter Association, and a few choice politicians.
