Mock Mission
Five days before the awakening test.
Noh Joo-yong stepped out of the car, fully prepared.
A worn checkered shirt, ripped jeans at the hem, holey gloves, and an oil-stained wig—perfect.
An employee pulled up with the handcart.
It was only half-filled with discarded boxes and old books.
"I can do it myself."
"No."
Noh Joo-yong flashed a grin. The bigger the money on the line, the more he had to handle it personally. One slip-up could tank his already shaky detective agency's finances.
This was a request from the Association.
Nail this, and more gigs like it would follow. The agency's future would brighten.
He checked his face in the side mirror.
Hmm, still too clean. Need to dirty it up more...
Noh Joo-yong rubbed his hands on the tire, then scrubbed his neck and face. After two rounds, it looked passable.
Next, the pitiful expression.
Relax the eyes, mouth slightly open, jaw slack—that was key. Back when he first started the agency, this face had landed him several big jobs by tugging at heartstrings.
Finally, the innocent smile.
People loved a rose blooming from a trash can.
His left sleeve hung loose.
You needed at least one missing arm to squeeze concessions from folks.
He practiced in the empty parking lot. Maneuvering the cart with one arm wasn't easy. That's why rehearsal mattered. He had to make it look natural, like he'd always had just one arm. Get caught, and he'd never work with the Association again.
"Cigarettes?"
"Here, but will these do?"
The employee offered a cigarette with both hands.
"Heh, more than enough."
Noh Joo-yong pocketed it in his shirt and pushed the cart out of the lot.
Now he wasn't the precarious detective agency boss—he was a disabled man scavenging boxes from the street. His gait, clothes, expression, even his mindset screamed it.
Going up the hill, two high school girls pushed the cart for him. Noh Joo-yong waved like an idiot, grinning.
He'd arrived at the apartment.
The waste collectors came in three hours.
From his observations, the woman had already dumped her recyclables at the designated spot next to the management office.
Alright, let's get started.
Parking the cart at the entrance, Noh Joo-yong staggered to the management office and knocked with his right fist. Thump thump.
"What?"
The prickly janitor emerged.
"...Uh, um, this."
Noh Joo-yong giggled idiotically and offered the cigarette from his pocket.
"A smoke, huh?"
"F-found it. Sm-smoke it. I-I don't smoke."
"Well, if you're offering."
The janitor snatched it and eyed the recycler with one arm.
That smile shone. How could someone in his shoes grin like that?
The janitor glanced at the half-empty cart, then the pile of boxes by the office.
They've got a contract with collectors, but a few boxes won't hurt.
"Ahem. Take some from over there."
"R-really?"
Noh Joo-yong gaped.
"Just today, though."
"Th-thank you."
"I'll check the other side. Help yourself."
The janitor clasped his hands behind his back and vanished into the alley between buildings.
Noh Joo-yong grinned. Spot on. One pack of smokes cleared the toughest hurdle.
Acting's everything.
He dragged the cart to the boxes and rummaged through the notebooks.
What he wanted was Kim Jun's practice book.
Kim Jun wrote his name on the back cover of books and notebooks.
Noh Joo-yong scanned the parking lot, entrance, and upper balconies periodically, hunting for "Kim Jun."
He had no idea why the Dungeon Association was paying top dollar for this practice book. Nor did he care.
Money was what mattered.
Aha!
Inside a workbook, he spotted the name: Kim Jun.
English workbook.
Noh Joo-yong tossed it aside. The Association's specs were strict. No payout for English.
Then, a voice from behind.
"Mister, whatcha doing?"
Startled, Noh Joo-yong whipped around with his idiot face.
A four-year-old kid stared up at him.
Luckily, no adults around.
Noh Joo-yong scowled. No more giggling.
"Go away."
"Play with me."
"I said go."
"Give me a ride."
The brat climbed into the cart uninvited and yelled, "Go! Go!"
This could draw eyes from the whole apartment. Noh Joo-yong gave the kid a lap around the lot with him aboard. Kids were easy to please, quick to bore.
One loop, and done—or so he thought.
Wishful thinking.
The little devil waved at passing kids, and three more imps swarmed over.
"Go! Go!"
They chorused.
Noh Joo-yong sweated buckets, circling the lot one-armed. No quitting now. Two laps later, the brats lost interest and scattered.
Panting, Noh Joo-yong dove back into the paper pile. One hand made it awkward, but he pushed on.
A book with Kim Jun's name. Damn—a novel. No study marks.
It's here somewhere. It has to be.
His eyes widened.
A notebook!
Kim Jun's handwriting, packed with math formulas.
Jackpot!
Suddenly, someone snatched it from his grip. She grabbed other papers and tied them with string.
The bundled stack went into her cart.
"Nice weather today, huh?"
The woman said.
"...Yes."
Noh Joo-yong bowed hastily.
"Kim Jun's mom, what're you doing there?"
Middle-aged women crossing the lot stopped; one recognized her.
Why was she here?
Noh Joo-yong swallowed dryly. Did she know who he was? Know he was swiping her son's notebook? Unease gnawed at him.
"Oh, helping out someone in need? Classic Kim Jun's mom."
She just smiled and started breaking down boxes, stacking them neatly.
The women joined in.
Noh Joo-yong stood like a useless sack. Aunties were unstoppable. The cart brimmed with paper in seconds.
"Th-thank you."
The notebook was in there somewhere. Escape with it, and the job was done.
He brushed off lunch invites and exited the complex—only to face an unexpected roadblock.
A wrinkled old man slapped his cheek hard.
Smack!
Noh Joo-yong reeled.
The geezer unloaded boxes and books from Noh's cart into his own.
"...What the hell?"
"Ungrateful punk. That's my turf. Some young punk thinkin' one arm gets a pass?"
Luck struck again. The old man skipped the pile with the notebook.
"Show your face again, you're dead."
The old man glared and shuffled off.
Noh Joo-yong sighed and pulled his half-full cart away.
* * *
Three days before the awakening test, late night.
The lighter flicked on, banishing shadows and highlighting wrinkles near his suit cuff.
A lunch kimchi stew stain lingered at the hem. Park Myeong-seop spat on his finger and rubbed, but it smeared worse.
Ugh, gonna get an earful.
His tiger of a wife wouldn't let this slide.
Clock check: 11:55.
Meeting at midnight. Five minutes left.
Long, narrow alley, sporadic orange streetlights barely outlining stairs and uneven pavement.
Beyond the walls, pitch black.
Revelopment zone—no residents.
Some buildings demolished, area desolate. Apartments planned, maybe.
"Why meet in a dump like this? Annoying."
A scream pierced nearby—woman's voice shredding the air. Park Myeong-seop's hackles rose. Dish shattering, man's curses followed. Domestic spat?
"...Scared me, damn it."
Midnight passed.
Ten minutes gone.
No show. Park Myeong-seop bit his lip, pulled his phone, dialed.
Dial tone.
Then, a blaring ringtone right behind him.
He yelped and collapsed. A man loomed over him.
"Manager Park Myeong-seop?"
"...Instructor Jang Man-ho?"
"That's me."
Jang Man-ho extended a hand.
Park Myeong-seop cursed inwardly but grabbed it. His body floated up; he was standing.
Retired Raider's still a Raider. But I know his game. Sneak up, spook me, play hero with the hand—
Park Myeong-seop launched into acting.
"Whoa, you nearly gave me a heart attack! Gotta hit the doc first thing tomorrow. If anything's wrong, it's on you, Instructor—haha."
A ploy to stir guilt in the stiff bastard. Gain leverage for the deal.
"What's the job?"
Jang Man-ho asked.
Not a dent. Cold fish. If you weren't a supervisor...
Hiding his thoughts, Park Myeong-seop explained: cash for a task.
"Target?"
"Kim Jun."
No reaction—like he knew. Park Myeong-seop set down the black rectangular case, popped the lid.
Bundles of 50,000-won notes filled it.
Jang Man-ho's face twisted in disgust.
"Don't need it. Just do as I say."
"If you insist, fine."
Park Myeong-seop inwardly cursed the blunt instructor. Kicking away 200 million won. Few square feet of burial plot—what's the big deal?
"The item."
Jang Man-ho said.
Park Myeong-seop handed over the transparent evidence bag. A torn notebook page inside.
Jang Man-ho examined it closely.
"Kim Jun's handwriting?"
"Verified."
Jang Man-ho left without a word.
His gruffness irked at first, but entrusting the job felt reassuring now. That confidence let him act so brashly.
Park Myeong-seop called the section chief.
"Delivered."
* * *
Yeon Min-gyun lay sprawled on the slanted slate roof, munching an apple crunchily while watching the covert meet under the streetlight below.
The family head mobilized not just Yeonmu Daesabun but other capable kin.
Cheonmu Pavilion Leader Yeon Sang-gon shadowed Guild Management Section Chief Lee Wan-yeol like a ghost. Cheonma Pavilion Leader Yeon Si-hwa monitored Dungeon Management Bureau Chief Jeong Gi-taek's every move.
Cheonchal Pavilion Leader Yeon Myeong-deok deployed underlings to scrutinize suspicious section chiefs, deputies, and staff in the Dungeon Management Bureau.
The problem: too many to watch.
Yeon Un-jae even called in Yeonmu Daedo.
That's why Yeon Min-gyun tailed Guild Management Division 1 Manager Park Myeong-seop to this redevelopment zone deep into the night.
Yeon Min-gyun rose.
The slate below cracked with a snap.