Level 9 - <strong>Ung, Complete Empathy</strong> (10)
Kwang! With a deafening crash, the partition wall in the office crumbles in a heap.
Yoo Chaerin's fist, which she'd swung in fury, trembled as she fought to contain her rage. Under normal circumstances, image-conscious Chaerin would never have let something like this happen. And even if it had, I'd have inwardly grumbled that it was just her true nature slipping out. But today, even I was fully on board with her emotions.
"Hey, fuck. Did we half-ass that fight or what? I'm so dumbfounded I can't even speak. What? Find the cause of the failure? Who the fuck do they think they are?"
"Chaerin, calm down...."
"Calm down? You think I can calm down? Eunha, is this how they should be treating us? While other countries call us heroes and shit, back home they just call us hunters like we're goddamn mercenaries or something!"
Chaerin was so incensed she didn't even think to fix her tattered gear. Seo Eunha, Yoo Hyeun, Yoo Hyemi—their equipment was all in rags. They were the clear heroes who'd just returned from the front lines.
When dungeons first appeared, Korea adapted to them and the trait system far faster than other countries. That turned us into a hunter powerhouse disproportionate to our landmass. It was back then they started calling us "hunters" to distinguish us awakened from "awakening criminals."
But rapid growth backfired. Hunters became seen as a job that not only protected everyone as a given but raked in big money—something to envy. Instead of heroes, we became targets of jealousy and spite.
But that position belongs to those who risk their lives to protect everyone—true heroes worthy of the title. No other country fills its patriotic pride by treating hunters like this while calling them heroes elsewhere.
Sure, Korea's stabilized system lets hunters earn top dollar. But whenever shit hits the fan, they dump all the blame on us.
"What? Analyze the failure and identify the responsible party? You think dungeons are a joke? They treat us like celebrity slaves every damn time—do we look like total pushovers?"
"Chaerin...."
"Look, if our team just up and went abroad, places would line up to take us. They should be grateful we're sticking around out of that damn patriotism. And they treat us like this?"
Yoo Chaerin's team had failed their raid. Then the dungeon break happened, causing chaos and casualties. To be precise, they hadn't done a single thing wrong. They'd given their all in the raid, and even exhausted afterward, they'd poured everything into stopping the break.
If gear touted as the world's best S-rank exclusive got shredded like that, anyone could see how hard they'd fought. The real issue? The nation and public had over-trusted Chaerin's flawless streak.
For high-level dungeons—especially ones on the verge of breaking—evacuation is basic common sense. Dungeon management 101. But they assumed Chaerin's team would clear it no matter what and ignored protocol. Boom—major disaster the moment it broke.
Then they pinned it all on Chaerin's team for not clearing it instantly.
"Speaking out like that will just get us bashed more. Chaerin, let's stay cool-headed."
"Yeah, we're sorry too. Sorry we failed the raid, sorry for the victims. But what didn't we do? Did we half-ass it? We threw our bodies on the line, and this is the thanks we get?"
"It doesn't add up...."
Hyeun had no real counter, just sighed heavily. Of course, this blame-shifting was practically tradition in Korea. But it usually hit low-rank hunters. This case was baffling—two S-ranks, the nation's top force, treated like this?
It was so absurd, with such brazen confidence, that even the public bought into it and raged at Chaerin's team, assuming guilt.
"Hello? What, news? You want me to check the news...? Hold on."
Amid the fury, something pinged. Chaerin paused to check her phone. Her face crumpled more with every line she read, giving away the gist.
Curious how bad it could be, I pulled out mine. Reading the government's freshly released statement felt like a brick to the back of the head.
"No fucking way, what bullshit is this."
They cherry-picked raid footage, pinning it on Eunha not blocking one hit. Total fabrication. I'd helped Hyeun plan that raid, so I knew how nonsensical it was.
Sure, blocking it might've helped a bit. But no real causal link to failure. And even if that caused it, why blame Eunha? She's no tank. She sometimes tanks for the team in emergencies with self-heal, but that's above and beyond—risking her life through sheer will.
Now they're saying she should've and didn't? Pure sophistry.
"No, Eunha, don't look."
"What's it say?"
"Please, Eunha. Don't open the internet. No net for a while."
Chaerin, who'd been raging, panicked to stop her. It was that ridiculous. Up to there, we could've fought it as bullshit. But they knew it was nonsense and launched a PR war.
Sudden barrage of suspicion articles on Eunha. They're burying her. Simple reason: She's the type who'd accept it.
They know her pushover nature well. No matter how vicious the smears, she'll self-blame instead of fighting back.
That's what they'd banked on—her character. Even uninformed civilians were slamming her for not responding.
A few insiders leaking anonymously couldn't sway opinion.
But that won't flip public sentiment.
To fight, Eunha speaks up or Chaerin charges in. But Eunha's soft—best she can do is counter suspicions. Chaerin has too much baggage; one wrong move, politically buried.
Chaerin might bulldoze anyway, but if she got sunk, Eunha'd blame herself. Total checkmate.
"Ugh, gonna lose my mind...."
So the only fix: Convince Eunha to fight the government herself. Otherwise, no dice.
"Show me."
"Eunha...."
"I can guess anyway. Just show me."
And as predicted, she caved. Quietly reading the statement, she nodded slowly, agreeing and self-flagellating.
"I could've blocked that."
"You'd have been bedridden again! And there's no causal link to the failure!"
"She's right, Eunha. Think it through."
"Even if I wasn't at fault, no need to make people doubt national or team stability, right? If I take all blame, it's over. That makes most people happy."
"You're the one talking nonsense! Why should you take responsibility!? Hey, Seo Eunha! What did you do wrong!? I'm gonna snap!"
Frustrating as hell. I almost respect Chaerin for holding back without slapping her today. She finally looked like a proper hero.
Endure this?
"This mood? They'll probably kick you from the team for solo ops. That's the goal. Then use you for raids but erase your name from official press."
"Fine. If it makes people happy."
"And next crisis, 'She was there' and blame you again. Gonna live like that?"
"Yeah."
But everyone knew gentle Eunha hated this most. She self-blames even undeserved hate.
No way she endures mass hate and speculation. Last time minor hate crushed her; she vowed to shun public opinion.
"You struggled with a few hate comments before. Gonna turn your back on opinion now?"
"Doesn't matter. It's all true anyway."
"...Hey!"
"I didn't block that attack, contributing to failure—fact?"
"Not blocking is normal!"
"No, I could've. I know."
Eunha's face twisted in agony, self-loathing pouring out uncontrollably.
"Like that no-makeup article, I buried victims' pain to avoid noise—fact."
"You got their permission! You gave them what they wanted!"
"Still hid truth, disappointed them when exposed."
"What nonsense!"
"And I'm connected to Hunting Yandere's chairman, helped each other—fact."
"Most was my requests!"
"Still did it, disappointed people. Deserve the hate."
If she didn't care about opinion, it'd be noble. But she's visibly hurting saying it—too tender-hearted. One curse wounds her into needless apologies.
How can we load that burden on her? Team begged, but she wouldn't budge.
"Still no word?"
"...Yeah."
A week later, opinion solidified: Eunha's scum. She's holed up at home, not stepping out.
"Eunhyuk, please."
"I'd do it anyway."
I can't just watch a good person suffer. Not my style—or I wouldn't have clashed with Chaerin from the start.
"Even if it means selfish methods, I wanna change that woman."
Traits or whatever. I want to make Seo Eunha happy.