United States, Oregon National Laboratory.
A researcher hurried down the corridor and knocked on the office door marked with an electronic nameplate: Cloud Carter. The professor was in, so the researcher waited the agreed-upon ten seconds before pushing the door open.
The first thing he saw was a desk stacked with neatly organized printouts—each document arranged with meticulous precision. Seated behind the desk was a middle-aged East Asian man, eyes fixed on his monitor, not sparing even a glance at the visitor.
“Professor.”
Despite hearing his name, Cloud Carter didn’t lift his head. Most people would’ve taken it as rude, but the researcher, well-acquainted with the professor’s mannerisms, didn’t show any reaction. He simply got straight to the point.
“News just came in—there’s been a mutation of the Anxious Mist in Korea. It’s transformed into a mineral form. First case in the world. Also… it’s a twin split.”
Only then did Cloud respond, speaking in a slow, lethargic tone.
“Which hunting ground?”
“Sorry?”
The question caught the researcher off guard. A beat later, he realized Carter was asking which hunting ground in North Korea it had happened in.
“Oh—no, not the North. It happened in the South. In the temporary capital, uh…”
He paused, trying to recall the name of the city. As he subtly pulled out his phone to check, Carter spoke again.
“Daejeon.”
“Ah—yes. Right. It appeared in downtown Daejeon. From the looks of it, a Monster Seed has germinated. I’ll send a full report once it’s compiled.”
With that, the researcher fell silent, waiting for any sign of interest.
South Korea—Carter’s birthplace. No one knew exactly when he’d been adopted, but it had been back when Seoul was still the capital. He probably had at least a few lingering memories from childhood. Yet even now, hearing news from his homeland for the first time in ages, Cloud remained expressionless.
The only sound was the quiet clicking of a mouse.
The researcher took the hint. There was nothing more to be said.
“Well, I’ll take my leave.”
Cloud’s only response remained the two words he’d spoken earlier.
As the door shut behind him, the researcher exhaled sharply. He liked to think he was used to the man, but facing Carter always made him tense. It felt like talking to a wall.
Still… at least he never wastes time with small talk.
On his way back, a colleague called out.
“Where’d you disappear to?”
“Went to see Professor Carter. We just got word—the Anxious Mist in Korea mutated into a mineral form.”
“Oh, right. Korea’s also where that Giantvine sprouted, wasn’t it? The one in that city supposedly purified of all demonic energy? Weird how things keep happening over there.”
“Yeah, if you can even trust that ‘perfect purification’ stat. Could’ve just been bureaucratic BS.”
“I’ve got a contact at a Korean lab. Said the demonic energy concentration made it impossible for a Monster Seed to germinate naturally. This new case happened in a city too—circumstances are pretty damn similar.”
The researcher rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“Once might be a coincidence. But twice in a row? …You don’t think it’s artificial germination, do you?”
Research into artificially germinating Monster Seeds had been ramping up lately, all in strict secrecy. Korea was reportedly working on it too. So was it possible? Maybe. But he remained skeptical.
Even the U.S. couldn’t pull it off—why would Korea succeed? Sure, their government stabilized early, and their proximity to North Korean hunting grounds gave them an edge in monster studies, but still…
The researcher was deep in thought when his colleague, unaware of the storm brewing in his head, made a casual remark.
“Come to think of it, Professor Carter’s name is kinda unusual, isn’t it?”
There were always parents around the world who deliberately gave their kids strange or standout names. The colleague figured Carter’s case was one of those. But the researcher shook his head.
“He was adopted from Korea. I heard his current name is tied to whatever his original name was.”
***
After the Cataclysm, the city hit hardest after Seoul was Busan. When Xiangliu, an S-rank named aquatic-type monster, claimed the waters off Busan’s coast, the entire region’s shipping routes were cut off. Debate erupted among monsterologists about whether floating, guppy-like monsters and eel-like creatures that slithered on land could truly be classified as “aquatic,” but that hardly mattered in practice.
With Incheon and Pyeongtaek ports too close to Seoul—and too dangerous—restoring safe maritime routes meant reclaiming Busan at all costs. But even though it wasn’t as devastated as Seoul, Busan had still become a monster haven.
“That’s not a city—it’s just Jagalchi Market for monsters. The sashimi’s not fish, it’s Hunters.”
One lawmaker’s flippant remark after watching footage from Busan still circulated among the locals. That same lawmaker never managed to get reelected.
Five years after the Cataclysm, it was the refugee Hunters—those who had escaped from Seoul—who finally led the charge to reclaim Busan.
Even though the temporary capital had been pushed all the way down to Daejeon, regions outside Seoul still maintained enough infrastructure and civilization to live decently. Seoul, though? That was a different story.
In that broken city, surviving each day meant non-stop monster hunting. Compared to other Hunters, those from Seoul had become sharper, rougher—honed by pure necessity.
When the refugees escaped Seoul and underwent rank evaluations, the national ratio of S-rank and A-rank Hunters in South Korea suddenly spiked. Among them was Sister Benedicta—who, despite not being from a combat or production class, was exceptionally classified as S-rank for almost single-handedly keeping the Seoul refugee population alive.
Naturally, this didn’t sit well with the established Hunter community. It was like someone had yanked the food right off their table. Seoul refugee Hunters became a source of resentment. But once they began resolving Eid Portal incidents, their voices grew louder—and harder to ignore.
“What’s it matter if the monster’s got nine heads or ninety-nine? Just cut ’em all off.”
“Have you not heard a word of the briefing? We don’t have a Hunter or a method capable of dealing with an S-rank monster right now. And even if you are a Hunter, you’re just a kid—watch your tone.”
“I’ll kill it.”
With a cold, sharp expression far beyond his years, Tae Woon had made that promise—and then led the Busan Restoration Operation himself. He decapitated Xiangliu and destroyed its Core with his own hands. The nasty scar etched across his face was proof of the brutal battle he endured.
Lee Hangyeol thought the scar made him look cool and said so with childish excitement, but the other children from the orphanage, like Pi Minhyung, couldn’t help feeling bitter every time they saw it. There was guilt, too—if only they’d been stronger, maybe Tae Woon wouldn’t have been hurt so badly.
Still, there was one unintended benefit. People who used to look down on Tae Woon because of his age would instinctively recall the footage whenever they saw his scar—him, drenched in blood, tearing through monsters like a man possessed, completely unbothered by the risk to his own life. After that, they’d think twice before running their mouths. Life had a way of realigning priorities.
“It’s like he’s got a manners enforcement device strapped to his face.”
That was Justyna’s one-liner. It stuck.
Either way, for Pi Minhyung, the battle against Xiangliu and the restoration of Busan marked a turning point.
“Do you know anything about Xiangliu’s venom?”
That’s why Kim Sibaek’s sudden question, while tending to an unconscious Tae Woon, seemed so out of the blue. It caught Minhyung off guard, but he answered honestly.
“You mean the one from Busan? All I know is the venom was some kind of blend.”
“Do you know the exact components?”
Minhyung scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed. He was more brawn than brains. Kim Sibaek thought for a second, then asked again.
“Could you contact Section Chief Gwak Yoonsang from the Paranormal Phenomena Response Agency and ask for me?”
“I don’t think he has clearance to release detailed data on an S-rank monster…”
“He’ll send it.”
The certainty in his tone left no room for doubt.
Sibaek might have seemed a little out of touch with how the system worked, but when it came to monsters, he was surprisingly knowledgeable. Just like earlier with the Anxious Mist. And considering Tae Woon’s sudden collapse, there had to be a connection.
Minhyung didn’t argue. He just pulled out his phone and called Gwak Yoonsang.
– “Ah, Hunter Pi? I heard about the monster incident at the amusement park. Great work out there.”
“Thanks. Actually, can you send over the analysis report on Xiangliu? Sorry for calling without any paperwork, but it’s kind of urgent.”
– “That’s… tricky. It’s hard to justify sending S-rank monster data for private use, especially without a formal request.”
“It’s a request from Hunter Kim Sibaek of our guild.”
– “…”
There was a pause. Then Gwak’s tone changed.
– “I’ll send it within twenty minutes. Just give me your email.”
“Awesome, thanks. I’ll draft the paperwork after.”
– “No need. Don’t worry about it.”
Gwak’s easy compliance left Minhyung speechless. On any other day, he might’ve basked in the satisfaction of feeling like some behind-the-scenes power player pulling strings. But not today.
“He said he’s sending it.”
“Thanks.”
Sibaek replied curtly, still resting his hand against Tae Woon’s side. It didn’t feel real—this was the same guy who’d just taken down an A-rank monster without a scratch, and now he was unconscious, sprawled in the back seat like a broken doll.
Pi Seo-yeon and Pi Seo-jun hovered nearby, restless and anxious.
“Uncle!”
Minhyung, who’d been scrubbing his face with both hands, snapped to attention at Seo-yeon’s shout. Tae Woon’s shoulder, which had been limp against Sibaek, twitched. Then he started coughing—dark, half-congealed blood trickled from between his lips.
