Chapter 53: The Fukushima Incident
In most novels, a battle of ten thousand against a thousand would favor the hunters. After all, even the lowest-level monsters like goblins—ten of them—could be handled by any hunter.
But this wasn't following the novel's script. I'd fought goblins myself, and they weren't particularly formidable fighters. That matched the stories. The problem was that these hunters didn't seem like the competent monster slayers from novels.
"-We'll end our breaking news coverage here."
The announcer wrapped up with a visibly flustered expression. And who could blame him? The broadcast had just shown hunters being hunted by goblins.
It was gruesome. Goblins didn't fight—they hunted. Their goal? Securing prey. The footage captured them killing people on the spot and tearing into their flesh right there, all exposed live on air.
"Hmm... this is serious."
"Yeah, looks like they clashed without any real preparation."
Goblins pouring out from some gate in Fukushima. They were aggressively hungry, which wasn't hard to figure out from the situation there. Fukushima wasn't fit for life anymore—not after the nuclear incident. Japan touted it as safe for PR, but they never released solid data.
It felt like they believed if they said it was safe and everyone bought it, it would magically become safe. Maybe that was just a Japanese quirk. But those days were long gone, back when the analog world let such nonsense slide. Now, events on the opposite side of the planet streamed live in real time.
No way that worked anymore. Everyone knew Fukushima wasn't livable for humans. And if humans couldn't survive, animals had it even worse.
"I wonder if that person's okay?"
"Who's that?"
"I saw it in a documentary once. A guy who went back to Fukushima after the plant explosion to care for the abandoned animals."
"Ah... yeah. Animals can't comprehend something like that. They wouldn't even think to flee."
Most animals probably died during the Fukushima crisis, and the survivors lingered there until the end. Dogs waited loyally, unable to grasp their owners' absence. Cats wouldn't leave unless forcibly moved. And livestock like cows, pigs, or chickens? No way their owners grabbed them amid the frantic evacuation.
The guy from the doc had returned to his old home by chance, found hordes of strays, and stayed to care for them. He knew he wouldn't live long himself but couldn't abandon them again.
What about me? If Hoya were left alone there, forced to survive in a world that rejected her, could I leave? Probably not. I couldn't abandon family.
"But here's the thing."
"Yes?"
"Goblins don't just appear out of nowhere from a gate, right?"
"Exactly. They must have been inside already."
"So that means there was a gate owner in the Fukushima area."
I nodded at Father's words. Had to be. It made sense.
"What if the gate owner deliberately unleashed the goblins?"
I nodded again. Possible. Very possible.
"Did they resent the world?"
Would someone living in Fukushima curse the world? Probably. Maybe they even cleared a path for the monsters out of spite, letting it all burn.
Right then, a ding from the company group chat. A link to a YouTube video titled Real-Time Fukushima Situation. I played it on the TV immediately.
"What the hell kind of idiots..."
Father sighed in disbelief. The hunters were fighting like morons.
Our family alone could handle goblins easily. With Seon-woo added, we'd wipe out a hundred in seconds. But these hunters? Not even close.
They charged yelling "Banzai!"—meaning "long live" or ten thousand years. Screaming it as they rushed in, evoking WWII Japan.
And it was idiotic. History's most absurd tactic: the Banzai charge. British, Commonwealth, and American troops were sick of it, yet it persisted as some driving force in Japan.
The result? Carnage. Hunters got shredded.
Goblins used paralyzing darts with fast onset, short duration. Hit the front line, and formations collapsed. No decent armor—some wore what looked like Sengoku-era junk, but no real items.
Hunters were minced. Goblins advanced, feasting on the dead and dying. Ten thousand was terrifying. I'd dismissed ancient tales like Goguryeo's 100,000 vs. Tang's million, but watching ten thousand goblins swarm was pure horror.
The Banzai chanters dwindled exponentially. Soon, runners outnumbered fighters.
Stupid. Smarter to shell them inside Fukushima from afar.
"Oh, dear."
Father sounded pitying. Why the blunder? Now goblins spilled beyond Fukushima.
Hunters had massed at the perimeter; retreating meant Japan got steamrolled.
"If they scatter, the damage is unimaginable."
"Yeah. No airstrikes possible then."
Goblins in cities? Bombing risked civilians, and no guarantee of total wipeout. Hellgate indeed.
"Goblins, of all things."
"Remember Gangneung? Similar there."
"Military handled it, right?"
"Yep. Ceasefire nation—troops deployed fast. Casualties, but contained."
"Japan's snag is Fukushima's uniqueness."
"Pretty much."
The feed cut—drone probably smashed by goblins.
"Let's head to work."
"Right."
I left with Father.
The company already knew I was dispatching to the new subsidiary. Didn't expect it this sudden.
"Choi, Team Lead—or Section Chief now?"
"Suddenly?"
"Promotion on dispatch. You've earned it."
He whispered, "Can't go higher without issues. Keep your dad's presidency secret and play smart."
"Got it."
"Picked your dispatch team. Grab the list later."
"Yes, sir."
Chaos at the office. Cafeteria auntie hounded for eggs; Father's poultry farm collapsed in the quake—no supply. Smart call; endless eggs would've been suspicious.
Others pointed to Seon-woo's shop, sparing me hassle.
I met the president again—second time since joining. Intimidating aura, but surprisingly approachable. Promised secrecy on my secret. In return, a cute request: steady watermelon supply.
Prep docs ready, even an office—Father was scouting, but I texted him the company spot.
"High hopes for you."
"Thank you. Oh, this."
"What's that?"
"A vest that maintains body temperature. Wear it underneath."
His eyes widened. "An item?"
"Yep. Sets to your preferred temp."
"Heavens, such a treasure."
It was valuable—street price sky-high. But rumors needed spreading carefully; only someone like him could handle it. Gave one to Manager too. Near-chaebol families—our prez's clan was loaded.
They could absorb it.
"I'll repay this item's worth another way."
"Knew you'd get it. No need to explain."
Straightforward—refreshing.
"One request."
"Shoot."
"Know anyone with severe pain?"
"Pain? Comes with age, doesn't it?"
"Age-related too, sure. But ideally CRPS-level extreme."
"Another item, huh."
"Yes."
I offered the vest; his eyes sparkled. "Another vest."
"Easy to wear underneath."
"Perfect. Friend's brother—an entertainer. Park Sung-hwan. You know him?"
"Love his acting."
"CRPS hit him sudden; halted activities."
Knew he paused work, not why. Mid-30s, tall, sharp-featured—great actor, killer action star. CRPS must've been hell.
"I'll introduce. Text him."
"Thanks."
Got the contact, headed to the new office.