Mission: The Promise
Kim Jun ran for over an hour without stopping.
The walking path stretched alongside the Han River.
The sweat that had poured down had dried, leaving only salty traces. His breath rose to his throat, and his heart pounded like it was about to explode. His legs trembled. His body moved on its own, hazy as if in a dream.
It's starting.
The edges of his vision yellowed.
Conversations of passing people sounded slow. Even his gasping breaths softened.
Everything gradually turned like a black-and-white photo.
Then, a little girl darted out from the grass right in front of Kim Jun.
He dodged on instinct.
The moment he started stumbling, losing balance, the urge to just collapse and rest grew strong.
I've run enough.
It's okay to not finish today's quota.
No. If I give up once... I'll keep giving up.
He lifted his head, and the streetlamp he'd set as his goal came into view.
Not much left.
Just to there. Just to there.
This hellish pain will end soon.
A bicycle whizzed by. It cut through the wind so fast it seemed to pierce right through.
The instant he saw the receding bike, Kim Jun exploded forward without thinking.
His throat burned like fire; he couldn't breathe.
His ankles and knees twisted, the muscles in his shins and thighs felt like they were tearing. Still, Kim Jun didn't slow. He squeezed out every ounce of strength and sprinted full tilt.
Hold on! Push! More! More!
In that moment, it felt like he wasn't racing the bike—he was fighting the whole damn world.
Fighting an enemy he could never beat!
There was only one way to win. Never give up. As long as he didn't quit, he hadn't lost.
The moment he thought his heart would really burst, he passed the streetlamp.
"Hah, hah."
Kim Jun stopped, gasping. Forcing his buckling waist upright, he pulled water from his bag and barely managed a sip. His parched throat finally cleared.
Sensation returned.
His vision normalized, sounds sharpened.
Training over.
Kim Jun checked his watch.
Weaving through leisurely walkers on the riverside path, dodging oncoming bikes—he'd lost time, but he'd reached his goal in 1 hour, 8 minutes, 34 seconds.
A half-marathon, 21 kilometers.
Not bad, but not exceptional either.
For a carrier mission where better stamina meant higher survival odds, he needed to shave more time.
As he pulled clothes from his bag and layered up, a burly man over 190 centimeters tall approached.
"Kim Jun!"
"Man, I thought you were a bear. How'd you know I'd be here?"
Kim Jun plopped onto the bench, eyeing the approaching guy.
"I know you like the back of my hand."
"Something up?"
"Didn't know today they hand out CSAT scores?"
"Was it?"
"School's in an uproar looking for you. They even called home."
"Shit, this is a headache."
Kim Jun wiped his nape with a towel.
"Congrats."
"Congrats?"
"Perfect score."
"Yeah?"
Kim Jun wasn't surprised. He'd self-scored and figured it'd be around there if he hadn't messed up.
"You really gonna be a carrier?"
His friend Choi Muhyun asked, voice half-worried, half-concerned.
Unlike Choi Muhyun—who'd tested as an awakener in sixth grade and trained relentlessly to hone his abilities—Kim Jun was ordinary.
The only position for non-awakeners in raids, carrier, had abysmal survival rates.
Last year's stats: 24% carrier fatality in dungeons.
People rushed in for the money, volunteering as carriers, but to Choi Muhyun, Kim Jun didn't need to.
Kim Jun asked,
"Heading to the guildhouse, right?"
"...Yeah."
"Let's go together."
It was always like this. Every time he brought it up, all he felt was Kim Jun's iron resolve.
"No need to go home?"
"Later."
Kim Jun rummaged in his bag, found a sports drink, twisted the cap, chugged half, then offered it to Choi Muhyun, lifting it with a glance.
"Want some?"
"You sure recover fast."
Kim Jun grinned, downed the rest in one go, and chucked the plastic bottle at a distant trash can. It swished clean through, not even grazing the rim.
"How far'd you run?"
"Three half-marathons."
"...Three times?"
Choi Muhyun's eyes widened.
Was this a normal person's training volume?
"Yeah, running day today. Let's sprint to the guildhouse. Loser buys donkatsu set! Go!"
"Hey!"
Go Cheolmin, the guild master, wasn't in a great mood.
With just ten days to the year's final official raid, training was fierce, but the new team's synergy sucked.
The tanker went rogue, the dealer broke formation ignoring protection, the buffer missed timings. Even the carrier flailed, leading to a total wipe.
"Hey, you fucking assholes!"
Emerging from the virtual simulator, soaked in sweat, the raiders flinched at his roar, heads bowed.
Go Cheolmin kicked the tanker's ankle.
The tanker groaned.
"If you wanna get kicked out that bad, go on, get the hell out."
Go Cheolmin grabbed the tanker's collar, dragging him toward the training ground exit.
The nearby dealer and buffer intervened.
"Master, calm down."
"We'll do better. Please, Master!"
Go Cheolmin sighed.
He released the collar, feigning defeat, but this was bullshit!
"If you keep this up, you're all dead. Dead, I said. Wanna die? Wanna bury your bones in that dark, alien hellhole?"
He hated yelling like this.
But if he didn't play the villain, these kids—in their prime—would die cold and forgotten.
"Master, this dungeon's F-grade."
The kicked tanker grumbled.
"Right. The sim was E-grade."
The dealer chimed in; the buffer nodded agreement. The carrier stayed quiet.
"And that's why you wiped?"
Go Cheolmin crossed his arms. His muscle-swollen upper body dwarfed the tanker's.
"...An E-grade needs twenty-plus people. We went in with three; of course we wiped."
The tanker answered cautiously.
Touchy personality, but a capable guild master. No one wanted to piss off Go Cheolmin.
"What monster'd you face?"
"...Medisaurus."
The dealer replied.
"Medisaurus appear in F-grades too. So?"
"...They do, but not in swarms like that."
The buffer said.
"If you'd held the line as tanker, dealer nailed the weak points, buffer sealed their regen—they wouldn't overwhelm even in a pack. No wipe. Right?"
No one answered.
Go Cheolmin's irritation boiled.
Potential-wise, these kids could push past E to D, maybe C-grade dungeons.
The problem? No will.
Higher grades meant higher risk, higher death chance. They just wanted safe dungeons, steady cash.
No drive to test limits, seize wealth and fame.
Fair enough.
Annual salary: 100 million won.
Even the lowest, the buffer, pulled 100 million. Awakeners started at that baseline.
Scarce awakeners, pricey dungeon resources—salaries would only rise. No need to risk higher grades.
"Alright, that's it for today."
"Thanks for your hard work."
The team bolted like they'd waited for it. Home safe after a day's work—that mattered to them.
"Lee Sang-seop, you stay."
The carrier jumped at Go Cheolmin's call.
"Results in?"
Lee Sang-seop's face darkened.
"...Sorry."
Go Cheolmin's heart ached. As much for the guy as himself.
"Sigh, awakening's no easy thing. Shame. You worked hard, deserved the payoff. Still doing carrier?"
"Yes."
"You know carriers have the highest mortality in the guild."
"Yes."
"Good. Rest up, see you tomorrow."
"Yes, Master."
Lee Sang-seop shuffled out, shoulders slumped.
Watching, Go Cheolmin exhaled deeply.
Mid-tier awakening, and he'd be C-grade material.
Hardest worker, toughest grit.
Awakening isn't earned through effort.
You had to be born for it.
Steady Awacum from dungeons—no dice. Failed the test again. 9th grade for official guild entry; he was 12th.
12th grade: top athlete stamina.
No decent talent...
Go Cheolmin sighed at the simulator.
Arriving at the guildhouse, Kim Jun spotted Kim Yun-seok climbing into his sports car.
"Wiped again?"
"Don't ask."
The engine roared to life with a guttural rev.
"Master's training's always brutal."
"Even so. Where's Muhyun?"
"Coming."
Kim Jun pointed—Choi Muhyun waddled up.
Kim Yun-seok snorted a laugh.
"Catch you later."
"Good work."
Red sports car peeled out with a whoosh, hitting the road.