The incident at the clearing was far from ordinary, so Cha Eui-sung had entertained multiple possibilities. With time practically spilling out of his pockets, he’d even laid out various hypotheses to be prepared for whatever the System might reveal.
But never in his wildest imagination did he expect this kind of answer.
King: A trace… is merely a trace.
“What?”
What kind of cryptic nonsense was that? Cha Eui-sung glared at the System window, then scowled hard.
Don’t tell him this bastard had suddenly started walking the path of enlightenment or something. If it was just trying to conceal some backstory connected to the trace, that was seriously irresponsible.
No… that can’t be it.
The System was, without question, an infuriating prick—but not a brainless one.
Cha Eui-sung quickly tamped down his irritation and shifted gears into analysis.
This bastard’s default setting was to ghost you completely no matter what you asked. If it didn’t want to answer, it could’ve just ignored him like usual. There’d be no need to spew such gibberish.
So maybe that weird statement was a signal that it couldn’t explain any further.
Which meant this side of the mystery would have to be solved with his own conjecture.
A trace is a trace…
The answer was so cryptic it only heightened his unease.
If “a trace was left behind” merely meant some mild aftershock from the Jeongchoduk Dungeon, there’s no reason the System would be unable to speak plainly about it.
After agonizing endlessly over that single word, Cha Eui-sung suddenly recalled something—the fact that the System’s “language” was fundamentally different from that of humans.
Hell, calling it “language” might be giving it too much credit. Whatever the System babbled on about was a modified version of something else, reshaped to match the user’s native tongue.
…Hmm?
Maybe it was the unintended byproduct of a broadened perspective, but a possibility he hadn’t considered before suddenly sprang to mind.
What if “trace”—a word uttered by something so far removed from his level of existence—didn’t mean something small or cute the way he imagined it?
He needed to start by shifting his entire worldview. Worrying about whether he should lie low for a while just because an incident happened a few days ago—that was a human-centered way of thinking rooted in chronological time.
But what if, from the System’s perspective, the world wasn’t some neat timeline laid out in sequential order?
What if everything was stored as a unified chunk of raw data, and the administrator could sort and view that information based on topic, regardless of time?
In that case, this “trace” might’ve remained in a way completely different from what he expected.
…That could be bad.
A grim hypothesis filled his head. Cha Eui-sung slowly blinked, slumped back against the sofa.
Say there’s a printed document with continuous text, and a drop of coffee lands on it—only a couple of letters would get smudged.
But if that document were actually a bunch of discrete pieces loosely bound together for convenience, and the stain fell on them instead—there’s no way that coffee mark would stay confined to just one part.
To put it simply: if there were 10,000 files that made up the world, and 120 of them were tagged “tomato,” then if the Outer God left its fingerprints on those, they’d show up not only when someone searched for “red” or “vegetable” or “fruit,” but also “noodles,” “sauce,” “festival,” or even “nation.”
And since His Majesty the King had no concept of time or space as perceived by humans…
In short, as long as the tag “tomato” was attached, those corrupted files could affect an event on the opposite side of the planet three years later.
Interfering with missions in completely unpredictable ways.
“…This is insane.”
Sure, if “tomato” was split across 120 files, then for topics with only one or two references, the contamination would be minimal.
But there were bound to be topics with, say, 60 related files. Something like:
[The Birthplace of Tomatoes and the Leading Tomato Producer Develops a New Spaghetti Recipe! Tomato Festival Edition]
What if… that topic was something like the Jeongchoduk Dungeon?
His heart dropped at the terrifying thought.
No way. There’s no way. If this was how things worked, there was no way he had the courage to fight—Hero or not.
King: You worry too much, Hero! Do you take me for some wimpy pushover?
King: There’s no way such a tragic distortion of the flow would ever occur!
King: It’s not some kind of ░░░.
King: It’s not a “stain”—it’s just the “trace” left behind after the cleanup was already done.
Fortunately, the moment his complexion visibly drained, the System popped up right away. Unlike usual, it actually went out of its way to offer a detailed explanation—like its pride had taken a serious hit.
Wait, why didn’t it mock me this time?
Still, the delusion he’d come up with must’ve been surprisingly accurate, because instead of laughing, it emphasized the scale of the “trace.”
Honestly, it was kind of incredible. He hadn’t even come close to trying to guess something like that.
“God, my head…”
Why did it feel like his skull ached every time he talked to the System? Cha Eui-sung shut his eyes and took a deep breath, forcing down the scream rising in his throat.
Stay calm. At least for now, there were no meteors crashing down on his head or monsters strangling the life out of him.
Judging by how frantically the System jumped in to correct itself, the catastrophic-level fallout he’d feared probably wasn’t happening—at least not yet.
From now on, yeah, the Outer God would probably be entangled in every damn thing. In the worst case, like the Jeongchoduk Dungeon incident, it might even interfere with his missions…
But most of the time, it would probably pass without major consequences.
I can handle that much.
That’s why the System even bothered to answer the question. If it were something he had no hope of influencing, it would’ve simply cut him off or hidden the truth from the start.
King: Exactly. The king has the king’s duties, and the Hero has his own.
King: From here on out, this isn’t something you need to concern yourself with.
Realizing that it had merely left him a warning eased his nerves significantly.
Was this some kind of shock therapy? If he’d heard right off the bat that the Outer God had already left its dirty fingerprints all over the place, he probably would’ve lost his mind.
But now, oddly enough, he actually felt relieved.
Bit by bit, Cha Eui-sung began to regain his composure. The fear that had been crushing his mind began to peel away, letting his thoughts stretch out again.
“…Sigh. So, what do I need to do now?”
Should he just keep filling the gauge?
Even with the Outer God interfering in who knows what, leaving traces everywhere and stirring up war clouds—was his only job still just charming the Demon King?
“The conditions for raising the gauge are way too vague. I feel like I need a proper explanation here.”
He pressed his fingers into the back of his neck, massaging out the tension, and asked another question. But what appeared next was the unmistakable mess of a failed communication attempt.
King: ░░░ not like you don’t know ░░ and ░░░
King: ░ No way in hell I’d #$@^ with ░░░…
The whole message was so garbled he couldn’t tell what it was trying to say, but one thing was certain—it didn’t sound particularly polite.
King: …
King: Ah, it seems I’ve lingered too long.
King: But surely you already know, don’t you?
King: Just keep doing what you’ve been doing. That’s all I can say for now.
“Hey, wait—!”
King: Farewell!
♪ Bam-bam-bam ♪
Sensing it was about to make a run for it, he called out in a hurry—but the System window disappeared in a loud flurry before he could stop it.
Seriously? It drops a bomb, plays a jingle, and peaces out?
He still needed to learn more about the relationship between the Outer God and the Demon King. He was also curious about what would happen once the gauge was fully filled.
There were so many things he still wanted to ask, and yet this rare one-on-one chat had ended after just one question.
Not that he had any guarantee the System would’ve answered him anyway… but still. He’d raised the gauge this far, hadn’t he?
“…Sigh.”
As always, whenever the System blitzed in and out like this, it left him dazed. Cha Eui-sung sat on the sofa, stunned, his fist clenched in his lap.
What he’d just learned was pretty shocking. His chest felt like it was churning with unease.
It left him teetering on edge, the kind of tension that made it clear he wouldn’t be sleeping well tonight, either.
Still—
Bzzz—
[Boss, you remember the sports day is in four days, right?]
[Don’t even think about ghosting. Okay?]
[I already told everyone you’re coming.]
His unsettled mood didn’t last long.
Right on cue, as if he’d somehow sensed Cha Eui-sung had returned to Cheongseri, a message from Kim Jeong-baek came flying in. Even though it was just a text, it practically echoed in his ears like a grumble. The heavy silence shattered in an instant.
[Why are you going around telling everyone?]
[Should I have kept it a secret, then? What are you, on an assassination mission?]
“Tch.”
He had no real comeback—it wasn’t wrong. Still, it wasn’t exactly something he needed to broadcast to the whole village.
Grumbling along with him helped coat his fraying nerves with something more mundane, more grounded—everyday emotions.
Bzzz— Bzzz—
Riding the momentum, Kim Jeong-baek escalated to calling him outright, not giving him room for distraction.
The radio silence over the past few days must’ve really rattled him.
—Boss?
“What is it now.”
—If you ghost after saying you’d show up, I’m gonna be the one in trouble.
“I said I’ll go.”
—They need a headcount for the lunch, so I already chipped in. Hello?
“I’m not eating there.”
Group lunches only ever meant one thing—something obvious and communal. Bibimbap stuffed with rustic ‘heartfelt flavors,’ soggy banquet noodles, that kind of thing. Not his style.
—That’s how people bond, over meals. And you, of all people, keep pulling out?
“Oh, come on… Isn’t polishing my image enough? Why do I have to bond too? Just don’t start up a booze fest.”
—Booze fest? Probably won’t happen before the day’s over. It’s a school event after all, and the teachers aren’t fans. It usually wraps up pretty quick. Though back in the day, everyone used to gather and sip a little something on the side…
The wistful tone in his voice was unmistakable. And yet, he wouldn’t even get drunk if he tried.
Shaking his head, Cha Eui-sung opened his calendar.
He found the date four days from now, nestled among a mess of emails to send and people to contact. In the middle of all that clutter was one beautifully simple word: Return.
Hmm…
His lips curved into a small, unintentional smile.
Since Moon Tae-young had already dragged him back to Cheongseri, he could delete that now.
—Can’t be helped. Still, sounds like a big turnout this year.
Judging by how light Kim Jeong-baek’s tone was, Moon Tae-young’s no-alcohol zone must not have stirred much resistance.
These folks didn’t usually back down just because a teacher disapproved, so their unexpected cooperation was… interesting.
Well, makes sense.
A Demon King who doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, doesn’t party, never lets himself go, and religiously sticks to a miracle morning routine probably does come off as unnervingly intense, even to a town full of friendly extroverts.
Despite being far younger than many of them, people maintained a respectful distance—not just out of deference to his authority as a teacher, but because of that otherworldly vibe.
A teacher who wore an impassive, stern face but kept a courteous smile for everyone…
He was serious… yesterday, too.
—Huh? What the heck? Why’d you suddenly start smiling like that? Real creepy.
Ridiculous. Just moments ago, stress had his scalp on edge, and now the tension drained out of him so completely it felt absurd.
Cha Eui-sung let out a faint laugh and turned his head.
Outside the sunlit window, the world looked so peaceful and quiet, the words “Outer God” and “apocalypse” felt like delusional nonsense.
It was a surreal contrast. Something could be unraveling beneath the surface, yet the scene was so still.
—Ahem. Anyway, be there by 9 that day. You’ll be going with Seo-ryong.
“Alright.”
—You’re not gonna take part in stuff like tug-of-war, right?
“Of course not.”
And yet, the first thing that came to mind wasn’t world-ending catastrophes or alien invasions.
It was Moon Tae-young.
What would he look like participating in that ridiculous game? What would he be wearing? What color whistle would he have around his neck?
He had a thousand things he should be racking his brain over—things that required grinding his mental gears down to dust—yet these kinds of pointless thoughts kept bubbling up instead.
Click. He hung up.
Then slowly collapsed into the sofa like a rag doll.
No matter how hard he tried to suppress it, that emotion kept rising to his throat.
