“Don’t these emojis feel like they’ve suddenly time-traveled twenty years back?”
“Ah… you’re right.”
“When the first quest completion message popped up, the emoji suddenly changed into something only someone my age would use. I didn’t think much of it then, but now that it’s happened again, it doesn’t feel like a coincidence.”
Tae Woon’s eyes flicked up briefly, as if recalling something.
“Emoticons are that complicated now?”
“Well, some people still keep it simple. But there are also drawn ones like the stickers I send you, emoji which are pictograms, and others. I think the system might be part of the MZ generation.”
“What’s that supposed to be?”
“Basically the younger generation. Broad enough that I fall into it too.”
“So the system’s new-gen, and I’m old-gen. No wonder these emoticons feel chaotic.”
The two of them had once talked about the chaotic emojis that popped up in the system window.
“So, you’re saying the system is listening to you?”
“Probably. I mean, right after I talked to you about it, those loud, flashy emojis suddenly changed into something more familiar to me.”
“That would mean it’s aware of what’s happening around you. And if it’s been listening this whole time but still ignored all your questions, then it’s got a real nasty personality.”
“If this were Mak Slechth, there are a few gods with personalities like that that come to mind…”
Kim Sibaek tapped his fingers lightly on the table.
“Sending Divine Words to a human who isn’t a believer, let alone a priest serving another god, is supposed to be impossible. It was a god of Mak Slechth who created the Divine Words and status windows for humans. So what exactly is this system?”
“There are plenty of gods on Earth too.”
“If someone else besides me is out there doing quests, then yeah, it could be one of Earth’s gods.”
If the goal was to save Earth from destruction, someone who lived here and would continue to live here would make far more sense than someone who might one day return to another world.
“You’re listening, aren’t you? Why me, of all people?”
The system window stayed silent. Tae Woon answered instead.
“Well, you’re probably just as desperate. Your only ticket back to Mak Slechth hinges on this, after all.”
Then did the system already know Kim Sibaek would return to Earth? With no clues, the more he thought about it, the more tangled it got.
Tae Woon peeled a mandarin orange from the dessert tray and dropped it onto Kim Sibaek’s tray. It was Biendeoé who ate it.
“Time’s short, so you’re going straight to register afterward, right? Your personal chauffeur Tae will take you there—”
“What about work?”
“We’ve got a company sports day this afternoon. If the CEO’s just sitting around while everyone else is trying to have fun, it makes people uncomfortable.”
“You’re seriously holding a sports day on a weekday afternoon?”
“It’s just something simple indoors. Won’t take long.”
“…”
It was suspicious. Why now, of all times?
Kim Sibaek narrowed his eyes. Tae Woon’s sharp gaze softened into gentle crescents, and his voice—ending with a slight upward lilt—was thick with playful charm.
“Hyu~uung.”
“…”
“If you don’t trust Woonie, you can stay and watch the start of the sports day before you go~”
[Death and Beauty hastily covers her ears.]
“Fine. I believe you.”
After all that, it didn’t seem like he was lying. Feeling a little guilty for doubting him, Kim Sibaek reached out and affectionately ruffled his hair. Smiling softly under the touch, Tae Woon was secretly texting under the table the entire time.
[Book the gym for this afternoon. Hold an all-staff sports day, excluding anyone on off-site duty.]
Yang Eunho, who’d been enjoying a rare moment of peace at a restaurant outside the office, saw the message from his CEO and immediately called to curse him out—but the phone was already off.
***
Lee Hangyeol—one of the six Awakened from Somang Orphanage, a mage of the 7777 Guild, and an A-rank Hunter—was in a spectacularly foul mood.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Who the hell springs a same-day sports day on people?”
Lee Hangyeol barely left his lab, let alone did any kind of exercise. Unless it was for Hunter work, the only thing that got him out was food. Having grown up without enough to eat and suffered through being trapped in Seoul, good food had become his one indulgence. If not for mealtimes, he would’ve spent his life holed up in the lab without ever seeing the sun.
“This is bullshit. What’s the point of everyone gathering just to flail around like idiots? Breathing should be enough exercise.”
“Lee Hangyeol. I told you to stop cursing.”
“How the hell can I not? I just pulled two all-nighters, finally got a bit of sleep, and then I get yanked out of bed for a sports day? Do you not see the state of my hair?”
“…”
Yang Eunho didn’t have a reply. His reasons were different, but he was just as pissed off.
“Whose genius brain came up with this? It was Director Yoon, wasn’t it? Don’t stop me—I’m cursing his house the second this damn sports day or whatever-the-hell-it-is is over.”
But Yang Eunho knew exactly how to shut Lee Hangyeol up in the most effective way possible.
“It was the CEO’s order.”
“…Huh?”
“Tae Woon told us to.”
When Eunho showed him Tae Woon’s actual message, Hangyeol made an immediate and dramatic U-turn.
“If Hyung said so, then… well… guess I should exercise… Yeah, a person’s gotta move around now and then to stay alive, right?”
Among all the Awakened from Somang Orphanage, Hangyeol followed Tae Woon with unwavering loyalty. If Tae Woon told him to climb Hallasan with no warning, he would have accepted it without a single complaint, not even asking why.
Once, Tae Woon had told him, “Make a magic bomb for the Cabinet Room,” and Hangyeol had answered with a cheerful “Okay!”—then actually created a bomb using explosive magic. It was powerful enough to obliterate not just the Cabinet Room, but the entire Government Complex in Daejeon.
Thankfully, Tae Woon never set it off. But the looming threat alone made the government quietly drop its nonsense—a Special Act on Awakened Persons that would have restricted high-grade Hunters from leaving the country under the pretense of national security.
If the bill had moved forward, Tae Woon definitely would have detonated it. Outsiders might think it was just a bluff, but those who knew him understood. Tae Woon was the kind of person who would have done it—without a moment’s hesitation. And if he had, Hangyeol’s name would’ve gone down in infamy as the man who made the bomb behind the most notorious terrorist act in modern history…
Even thinking about it now sent a chill down Eunho’s spine. He gave a visible shudder.
Since that incident, the government’s left Tae Woon alone—and that’s made things easier for the rest of us Hunters, too.
There’s a saying: if a mad dog doesn’t just bite but kills, you don’t keep it in your yard—you let it loose on someone else’s. The government simply let Tae Woon off the leash, directing his rage toward monsters instead.
Despite the nickname “Mad Dog,” Tae Woon was also hailed as the savior of Seoul’s refugees and a hero of Busan. With strong public support and the government’s silent approval, the 7777 Guild had been able to surpass even the most powerful corporate-backed guilds and climb to the top.
“Hyung, I’m gonna go play some paddle badminton.”
“Don’t push yourself. Just watch and take it easy. If you exercise too hard after two sleepless nights, you’ll drop dead of a heart attack. Not that I expect you to suddenly go hard or anything.”
“Tch. You’re only a year older than me, but you always treat me like a kid.”
“That’s the curse of being the youngest.”
Yang Eunho gave his butt a light pat, and Hangyeol grumbled his way toward the court, dragging his feet as he got ready for the match.
Now that it was finally quiet, Eunho let out a long sigh and glanced around the gym. Inside, the hastily arranged sports day was limping along.
They hadn’t even had time to print a proper banner. “7777 Guild Autumn Sports Day” had been printed one letter per A4 sheet and taped to the wall. Not even on white paper—they’d used colored sheets to make it look a little less sad.
Just imagining someone posting something like “This is the quality of a #1-ranked guild’s sports day, lol” made him want to cry. The employees assigned to take pictures looked completely unmotivated. He seriously doubted any of the photos would be worth putting on social media.
Honestly, the fact this event even happened at all was a miracle. The moment he got the message, Eunho had dropped his lunch and rushed back to the office, ready to throttle Tae Woon on sight (well, in theory—he never would’ve actually done it). But by the time he arrived, the culprit had already vanished.
Trying to scale things down, he’d sent all the Strike Team Hunters out on field duty and excluded anyone with pressing assignments. Even so, there were still plenty of guild members left—office staff, researchers, and more.
The event agency balked at the request, too. They’d refused outright, saying it was impossible to organize something same-day, even with extra payment. Eunho had to pile on bonuses just to rent a gym at the last minute. But space was limited, so they couldn’t fit everyone at once—they had to split the participants into three teams.
And the problems didn’t stop there.
