005 – Nymph Oinoi # 5
I still remembered that day as clearly as if it had happened this morning.
It was quite a while after I first began to sense mana and became a D-rank. Back then, my kind wasn't even called D-rank yet — we went by the clumsy title of Additional Awakener.
Anyway.
An anomaly rift had appeared on the mid-slope of a mountain near Chungcheong Province, and around ten awakeners — myself included — were hired by the government to handle it. Inside, the rift opened onto a vast expanse of ancient architecture. The plan was to spend about two days scanning the interior with drones before anyone actually went in.
We had pitched a temporary tent at the rift's entrance to serve as a field office, and we were monitoring the situation. The drone reconnaissance was to be handled exclusively by the women. I honestly can't remember why, but the result was that only four women were inside that tent.
At some point I needed to grab equipment from it, so I ended up walking over there. But barging unannounced into a space full of women felt a little embarrassing, a little awkward, and I had stopped in front of the entrance to clear my throat — hm-hm — when I heard it.
"Isn't Hyunsoo so cool this time around? He used to be a lawyer, you know. Quit the whole thing and became an awakener."
"What's with you, Jihyun? Do you like Kim Hyunsoo or something?"
"As if! I don't like him. I just said he's cool, that's all!"
Kekeke. Kyahaha—.
…….
The women were having a rather distracting conversation in there. Most awakeners were teenagers or in their early twenties, so talk of crushes and romance was common enough among people my age. But it made the entrance feel all the more awkward to cross.
Well, now it's even more awkward to walk in there.
I felt like I was eavesdropping on a conversation I had no business hearing — and, at the same time, a flicker of curiosity stirred in me. In hindsight, I should have known better.
"What about you, Yerim? Anyone caught your eye?"
Seo Yerim.
The moment that name came up, I froze. I can still vividly remember swallowing my breath, terrified my heartbeat might actually be audible inside the tent.
Back then, Seo Yerim was beginning to rise in fame like a rookie celebrity. She had the face for it, and among the up-and-comers her talent was exceptionally promising.
I had worked alongside her maybe three times by that point, and every single time, I'd caught myself marveling — so the world really does make women this beautiful. When the men gathered together during breaks, we'd trade comments about the women too — isn't she pretty or she's got such a kind personality — and because every man's taste and ideal type ran differently, the assessments usually scattered in every direction. But when it came to Seo Yerim, everyone agreed. Unanimously. Every time.
"Yerim, didn't you shoot down Lee Jeonghun's confession the other day? Lee Jeonghun? That's serious chaebol money, no? Turning a guy like that down means you've either already got someone or you like someone else, right?"
"What? Yerim rejected Lee Jeonghun!? No way! Why am I only hearing about this now!?"
The atmosphere inside the tent ripened nicely, like fruit left out in the sun. My conscience was beginning to prickle — do I really get to keep listening to this? — and I had just turned on my heel to leave when—
"I don't have anyone I like. But I do have someone I hate. Ha Ildo."
"What? Ha Ildo's not bad at all, is he? Decent-looking, seems competent. Doesn't seem to have a single sharp edge to his personality, either."
"He coasts through everything without a shred of effort. I hate people like that."
"Ahh, so that's why you turned down the third-generation chaebol too? Yerim, looking at you now, you really are a strict one. Straight-up Strict Yerim."
…….
Has anyone ever felt what it's like to have a stranger's cold hand close around their heart? My chest went ice-cold while my head, in perfect contradiction, burned hot.
That day, I learned a valuable lesson: never, ever eavesdrop on what other people say about you. The problem was what came next.
"Ildo! What are you doing over there? Aren't you getting your equipment? We go in ourselves any minute now!"
Someone bellowed it across the campsite. Inside the tent came the sounds of a small stampede — clattering, scrambling, shrieking — and I found myself in an impossible position, with no idea what the right move even was.
What I chose, in that moment, was to act like I'd heard nothing at all and stroll calmly into the tent. So I went in. I gathered my equipment.
The women wore expressions that were hopelessly awkward and ambiguous, hastily disguised as serenity, and they forced out their encouragement. "Take care in the rift, Ildo-oppa!" and "Be careful in there!"
I gave them a breezy "Got it," and in passing, stole one glance at Seo Yerim's face. And I was more shocked than I had been listening at the tent flap.
"……!"
Because Seo Yerim was glaring at me with an expression so ferocious I doubted she had ever worn one like it in her entire life. Fury, maybe. Or the edge of tears. Her face was so small that every emotion on it seemed vivid and alive, painted in a dozen shifting colors at once.
As for what came after… well. We cleared the rift harmoniously, and parted ways.
And after that is the story everyone already knows.
Seo Yerim ground herself down with relentless effort and became one of the three S-rank awakeners in South Korea. Meanwhile, I remained a career D-rank so obscure that a search engine couldn't even find my name.
The two of us should never have needed to see each other's faces again. And if we ever did, it would be nothing more than me gazing one-sidedly at Seo Yerim through a screen. That's simply the distance between an ordinary citizen and a top-tier celebrity.
I was just about to reach the self-deprecating punchline — should I brag to my descendants that a woman like her once cursed me out specifically, by name? — when the thought landed.
"…Seo Yerim… cursed me?"
It felt bizarre. Implausible in a dozen different ways.
What even was a curse, to begin with? Up until now, curses had been nothing to me but the superstitions shamans mumbled about — material for horror movies, nothing more.
But this was a world where mana, an unknown energy, undeniably existed. In a world like that, it wouldn't be so strange if the 'curses' we'd dismissed as fantasy and fabrication turned out to be real.
It gnawed at me in a dozen different ways — but Oinoi was curled up into a warm little ball under her blanket, fast asleep.
"Mhew-heh-heh… Menthenoi…! This Oinoi has come to see you at last…!"
Snore—snrrk—.
Good grief, that's an alarmingly loud snore.
Monday morning.
I took Oinoi with me and headed for the government office.
NATIONAL INTELLIGENCE SERVICE : NIS
I'd been in and out of this building fairly often back when I first awakened to mana, but years later, it felt like a distant spire — the kind of place your shoulders hunch instinctively as you approach, guilty conscience or not.
Mind you, this wasn't the main headquarters. It was one of those branch offices built in every city of half a million people or so — something like a local police substation for awakened affairs. Ever since the first rifts opened, the government had been installing these outposts in every major city and strategic region, keeping awakeners on standby for rapid response. They also handled the endless stream of drifters and wanderers cropping up here and there.
Ding-dong—.
I pulled a waiting ticket and sat down in the chairs beside Oinoi. She glanced around the lobby — the gleaming marble floor, the tidy façade of the building, the faces of the women working the counters — and then broke into a mhew-heh-heh grin.
"The building is clean and the people who work here are pretty, so it is just like a temple, it is…! This Oinoi wonders what god is enshrined in this place, she does…!"
Gods.
Oinoi talked about gods and goddesses from time to time. Not the singular absolute deity modern people tended to imagine, but gods of the Greco-Roman variety. According to her, somewhere out there in the world, beings genuinely called 'gods' supposedly existed…
Well, not that it was any concern of a mere D-rank like me.
Ding-dong—.
"Number 52, please come to the counter."
Number 52. My turn.
I walked Oinoi up to the window and handed over the Drifter Report Form I'd filled out in advance. The clerk, her face worn down by the Monday morning grind, skimmed the paperwork — then frowned slightly above her glasses and looked at the two of us.
"So… you're saying she's a nymph?"
"That is so…! This Oinoi is a nymph of the ditch waters, she is…!"
The woman's expression — hardened against both work and life — transformed through a remarkable spectrum of colors. As Oinoi pulled back her hood, the clerk couldn't help but breathe out a quiet, involuntary "Ears… the ears are adorable."
Screeech—.
The chair rolled back as she stood up.
"Please wait a moment."
About five minutes later, a group of people materialized from somewhere and moved to take Oinoi away.
Startled by the men in black suits who had appeared so abruptly, Oinoi let out a bizarre shriek — "Heeeek…!" — and looked, for all the world, like a puppy being dragged off by the dogcatcher. Pitiful didn't begin to cover it.
"I-It is obvious they intend to hunt this Oinoi, it is…! Master of the house…! This Oinoi begs you to take pity on her and help, she does…! Heeek…!"
The suit-and-tie men — men for whom the word 'agent' could have been invented — were thrown into confusion. They exchanged helpless glances with one another and then looked at me as if to say, please, do something.
And that is how I ended up trailing after Oinoi all the way to the NIS main headquarters.
As I understood it, the process would be: draw some blood to check for whatever unknown 'diseases' she might carry, ask her a bunch of simple questions… probably take a few days at most, I figured.
We finally arrived at the main building. I watched as Oinoi had her blood drawn in the medical facility set up within the complex.
Zuuuurp—.
Bright red blood climbed the inside of the syringe. And once it was done — barely a moment later — a medical worker in a white face mask turned to me and said:
"You're free to head home with Ms. Oinoi now."
"……?"
That's it? It's already over? What kind of screening takes less than an hour? Is it really okay for this to finish this fast?
As I stood there dithering in incomprehension, the doctor pulled down his mask and elaborated.
"Ah, the support subsidy will be deposited into the account you listed on the report form. And before long, officials from the Immigration Service will stop by your home to ask you this and that."
"I see."
"These days the agencies get all kinds of flak for holding people for long stretches and hammering them with questions — human rights violations, and so on. Very loud about it, you know. If being a registered guardian is inconvenient for you, we can always dispatch a dedicated caseworker instead?"
Which would mean being separated from Oinoi. Honestly — and I say this only because my brain was finally starting to cool down and function again — I could barely feed myself as it was. Oinoi was a bewildering presence, like a lump that had grown onto me overnight.
"M-Master of the house…!"
Oinoi stared up at me, looking for all the world like she was the one in a panic.
I shook my head.
"I'll take responsibility for her."
There was still so much I wanted to ask her. But Oinoi thrust her hand up in the air with a decisive little wham.
"What a relief, it is…! If this Oinoi were abandoned by the master of the house, she would once again shiver in the cold and dig through things called 'garbage bags,' she would…!"
Not that she'd ever need to dig through garbage bags again, even if I did throw her out.
Anyway.
Just like that, the report of Oinoi's discovery was wrapped up — neatly, simply, done.
But I'd felt it clearly today: there was no guarantee Oinoi would stay with me. Sooner or later some professional agency would probably take charge of her. Which meant that before that happened, I should hurry and settle whatever business I could.
Terrified, trembling, every finger shaking — I opened my phone anyway, found the contact saved under Seo Yerim, and typed out a message.
First thing's first.
Get my hands on Seo Yerim's hair — as fast as humanly possible!