To address complaints about the risk of injuries from playing sports in office clothes and dress shoes, they provided everyone with sportswear and sneakers. There hadn’t been time to think about an actual prize, so they just threw in a cash reward, and only then did the guild members start showing some enthusiasm. Well, at least they got free clothes and shoes out of it.
Snacks later, dinner after the sports day…
No need to crunch the numbers—he already knew the budget had been blown to pieces. Yang Eunho gazed bitterly at the sports day grounds, a scene brought to life by the miracle of creative accounting. Unfortunately, Team B seemed to consist entirely of people who couldn’t care less about exercise, including Lee Hangyeol, and they were locked in a pitifully petty match, neither side pulling ahead.
If Tae Woon has even a shred of conscience, he’ll go slay a monster in the North Korean field and plug this budget hole.
But… Did Tae Woon even have a conscience?
If Tae Woon didn’t go out and hunt a monster, Eunho swore this time he’d really turn in his resignation—repeating, yet again, the empty resolve of a weary office worker.
Come to think of it, he’d heard Tae Woon was spotted eating at the cafeteria with that person sitting next to him. Surely that had nothing to do with the sports day? No way—even Tae Woon’s brain couldn’t be that broken… right?
“They say the sports day’s going well.”
Tae Woon handed his phone over as he drove. On the screen were photos and videos sent by Yang Eunho.
“Ah, there’s Hangyeol.”
A smile spread across Kim Sibaek’s face as he spotted Lee Hangyeol flailing, swinging his racket like it was a distress signal. It had been a long time since he’d seen him—ever since returning to Earth—so the sight was especially welcome.
[Death and Beauty wonders why that human is flapping his limbs like that.]
“Because he’s uncoordinated and has no muscles. Hangyeol still hates exercise? He used to absolutely hate P.E. class.”
“Still does. If I hadn’t been pumping him full of supplements, he would’ve passed out ages ago.”
As they laughed and chatted over the photos and videos, they arrived at the Management Center—a facility that handled things like Awakening confirmation and Hunter registration. Tae Woon had mentioned that the building also housed a Manastone Exchange.
“But the Manastone Exchange looks way bigger?”
The Management Center, technically the main building, was three stories high. The Exchange, on the other hand, had four floors including a basement parking level.
“At first, no one really understood how useful manastones were, so they just stuck the exchange onto the side of the center.”
But as the value of manastones became widely known, the situation flipped. The volume of stones traded grew every year without fail.
“It’s too late to build a new exchange now, and once we reclaim Seoul, we’re planning to bulldoze everything and rebuild from scratch anyway, so they’ve been putting it off. Honestly, the Exchange is basically the main building now. Even the cafeteria’s inside the Exchange.”
As they walked through the Center, people they passed turned to stare at Tae Woon in surprise. As the glances multiplied, Tae Woon subtly slipped half a step behind Sibaek, clinging to his shoulder like he was trying to hide. The murmurs grew louder.
“Why’s Tae Woon hiding behind him?”
“He’s not even covered.”
“Who is that? A close friend?”
“I recognize most of the Seven Guild’s Hunters, but…”
Kim Sibaek, unaware that the attention had now turned to him as well, kept chatting casually.
“So why is Seoul still not reclaimed? Just how many monsters are we talking? I heard Busan was retaken in just a few years.”
It was a natural question, but Tae Woon hesitated before replying.
“…Since you’re staying, and it’s easy to look up online anyway, I’ll admit it now—if your vision really was a sign that the apocalypse starts in Seoul… then honestly, even I have no idea what we’re supposed to do.”
He muttered in a low voice, then flinched and quickly backpedaled.
“I mean, not me personally fighting—just… offering advice, you know.”
“Sure, sure. You’re afraid of monsters and you’re afraid of blood. You wouldn’t last a second fighting anything. I know you.”
“See! You’re the only one who understands me, hyung~”
With an exaggeratedly delicate tone, Tae Woon rubbed his cheek against the back of Sibaek’s head. Somewhere, a startled “Hiiik” hiccup rang out—it had to be a trick of the mind.
[Death and Beauty squints and asks what exactly Tae Woon did in the Eid Portal.]
“So what’s the actual issue?”
[Death and Beauty pecks your head, saying don’t pretend you didn’t read the Divine Words.]
“Ow, ow.”
The conversation resumed only after they entered the Hunter Registration Department. Under normal circumstances, if a Guildmaster of Tae Woon’s level showed up, even the Director would come running barefoot to greet him. But faced with the sight of Tae Woon sweetly clinging to Kim Sibaek’s arm and rubbing his cheek like a lovesick cat, everyone was too stunned to notify anyone inside.
Oblivious, the two of them casually took a queue number and sat down.
“It’s not just the monsters nesting in Seoul. There’s a beast living in the Han River. It’s so powerful that some say it was the reason people were trapped in Seoul during the early days of the Cataclysm.”
“It’s that strong? They’re calling it a beast?”
“Yeah. We named it Gon. Monsters are normally ranked up to S, but people are saying this one deserves an SS or even SSS rating. It’s an absolute nightmare. It’s not just the river—it’s taken over nearly all of Gangnam.”
“……”
“Even when we escaped Seoul, we barely made it out alive while avoiding Gon.”
With a grave tone, Tae Woon gently stroked Kim Sibaek’s hand.
“Honestly, I just don’t know. I can’t figure out how the others—who looked like they died alongside Hangyeol—managed to get somewhere with a clear view of Namsan Tower….”
His words hinted at doubts about whether the vision truly depicted the future. But Kim Sibaek shook his head with certainty.
“I might not know what’s going on here, and yeah, maybe the system is trying to deceive me like you said. But there’s still a chance it’s real. And as long as that chance exists—even the smallest sliver—I can’t just let you all die.”
“…Hyung.”
“Whether it’s real or not, I’m not changing my mind. So let’s stop talking about it. Even if I was tricked, it’s not like I can just warp back to Mak Slechth, right?”
Tae Woon stared at him for a long moment, then rubbed his face roughly with one hand before changing the subject—like he was silently agreeing to go along with Sibaek’s decision.
“Either way, almost no one gets past Gon.”
“If it lives in the Han River, then it’s an aquatic-type monster, right? Any idea how big it is?”
“No one’s ever measured the whole thing, so I’m not sure. But I’d say it’s at least five meters long—probably more.”
Kim Sibaek closed his eyes, quietly retracing the memory of the vision. It had been brief but intense—impossible to forget. While it was hard to determine height from a first-person perspective, the viewpoint had definitely been several meters above the ground.
…How likely was it that the perspective belonged to Gon?
When he shared the theory, Tae Woon looked visibly startled.
“But if it’s aquatic, can it come up on land?”
“If monsters here are like the ones in Mak Slechth, then yes.”
Monsters, in terms of growth, were biologically similar to living creatures—but with a crucial difference: they grew, but they didn’t evolve. They were categorized by appearance and habitat, but they didn’t undergo natural evolution or interbreed across species.
Except for one kind.
The singular entity—a monster that, by itself, constituted an entire species. These apex monsters were unique, complete beings. There was only one of each in the world. They had no mate, no offspring, and no need to reproduce.
In Mak Slechth, these top-tier predators were named and cataloged. Earth had adopted the same approach. Gon—the monster of the Han River—was one such S-rank named monster.
“Named monsters are rare, but sometimes they do evolve—unlike regular ones.”
“……”
“If Gon evolved, its body would have grown. If the Han River became too narrow, it might’ve developed the urge to migrate onto land.”
Tae Woon listened in silence, then frowned with a conflicted look.
“If the river was too small, wouldn’t it just head out to sea instead…?”
“Maybe. I’m just speculating.”
“But if your guess is right, doesn’t that mean killing Gon could stop the apocalypse—even if it’s not part of the quest?”
“I doubt it’s that simple.”
Kim Sibaek leaned back in his seat. As his head shifted, Biendeoé—who had been perched atop him, listening intently—flapped down onto his lap in surprise. Around them, the once-chaotic Hunter Registration Department was finally returning to normal.
“I heard a song… a song that commanded the monsters. Even named monsters can’t control others. So there must’ve been a Paladin of Chaos involved. That might be the real cause behind the apocalypse.”
“That ‘Paladin of Chaos’ you keep mentioning—how are they created? Do they just… pop into existence like named monsters?”
Pop into existence—that choice of words was so classically Tae Woon it made Sibaek smile. Pop…
“No, not exactly…”
Kim Sibaek paused, unsure how to explain it, then gave a brief answer.
“They’re human.”
