Han Daeri Evolves into Han Guwon (1)
Suddenly, but most folks figure Han Daeri's standard evolution tree leads straight to Perpetual Manager. Because that's the common sense of this world. But I'm a man who doesn't play by common sense. Short for a real man. So I used the Stone of Salvation to pull off a mutant evolution.
"These are the new brother and sister joining us starting today."
"Hi there, I'm Park In-ha~."
"I'm Han Guwon."
I couldn't use Han Siwoo or Han Daeri, so I came up with a name that fit the cult's vibe—salvation. That's how I landed on Han Guwon. The brainwashed fanatics thought it matched their cult name perfectly and made a huge fuss about how I ended up with such a great name. Like, now that Han Guwon had joined the New Millennium Salvation Society, salvation was guaranteed or some bullshit. Anyway, I successfully infiltrated the cult not as Han Siwoo or Han Daeri, but as Han Guwon.
Deep down, I wanted to flip the whole place upside down and go around yelling, "Do you really believe in Jesus?" But I barely held back. It was pathetic even for me to think how the mighty Han Daeri had been reduced to skulking around like a total pussy, watching his step. The problem was the insane unity among these cult fanatics that Park In-ha had pointed out.
If they were the thugs roaming outside, stabbing innocents to steal their "time," that'd be one thing. But these ones, huddled in the cult's hidden base under perception-disrupting spells, followed the doctrine in a whole different way. If the outside mobs were just mindless action junkies, these were elite fanatics ready to ditch their flesh and offer their souls to whatever entity at a moment's notice.
In other words, even if I whipped out my business card like some undercover inspector and bellowed "Han Daeri reporting for duty!", they wouldn't fight or run. They'd jump straight into a "ritual." And that ritual? The mass suicide or human sacrifice bullshit that countless cults have pulled before. Meaning it'd be faster for them to hurl their own souls into the abyss than for me to grab 'em and ship 'em to heaven.
They were beyond saving anyway, but that was beside the point. I'm a man who does what he sets his mind to—a real man. If I've decided to send them to heaven, then to heaven they all go. I figure even Jesus would be thrilled with his 2025th birthday-slash-Christmas gift from me.
We looked like clueless young couple converts who'd been proselytized by "Deaconess," so the fanatics fussed over us from one to ten. It wasn't long before New Year's hit, and these bitches were packed around us, rock-solid in their belief that the path to salvation would open with the new millennium.
Stuck in this batshit insane setup, even the sanest person would lose their mind in a day or two. Especially in this freezing weather—they'd gone out of their way to warmly offer us hot tea after our "hard journey," one cup after another. No clue what they brewed it with, but it reeked of a thick, nauseating aura.
Hallucinogen... nah, not that. Feels more like something that forcibly drags the mind and body down into calm. Antipsychotics, the kind they shove on mental patients?
It mimicked the effects of psychiatric meds that slacken the body and mind, inducing sleep. No fancy spells or curses infused, so no need to smash it down with force. Hell, I'd been popping heavy-duty pills for years to treat my 20-year-old anger management issues. Dumping a truckload of this weak shit into my gut wouldn't even faze me.
Park In-ha gulped it down like candy without a second thought, but she didn't change much. She kept that soft, bubbly vibe she had around third parties. Whether it was her unbreakable true nature or if she was like me and the drugs just didn't stick, it didn't matter.
Thanks to breezing through the whole initiation like it was a company orientation, we were accepted as full members without a hitch. A light pat-down confirmed no hidden cams or recorders, and our clothes were plain as dirt—nothing flashy or shabby.
We looked like the type no one could suspect if they tried, so Han Guwon (alias) and Park In-ha got treated like lucky last-minute riders on the New Millennium Salvation Society salvation bus. You know that trope, right? Zombie apocalypse hits, zombies swarming, and you're the lucky bastard who barely makes the chopper evac. That's the stares we were getting.
The cult fanatics lived inside what looked like a massive church from outside, but the interior was nothing like you'd expect. Separate worship halls, prayer rooms, dining areas—fine, whatever. But the rest? No way those belonged in a church.
A massive underground hydroponics room growing god-knows-what plants. A scorching underground sauna dug out for "penance." A "cleansing room" to strip away bodily filth and purify the soul before salvation. Stuff you wouldn't dream of in a church—I was even shocked, because now I had a reason to install a toasty underground sauna in the Supernatural Phenomena Resolution Office.
If these cult assholes could set up sauna gear, what excuse did Korea's proud builder Han Daeri have? I scoured every sauna company out there. From now on, I'm all about that clay kiln charcoal underground sauna life.
"Morning worship before lunch, so come along. Once you behold the Savior's face and hear his sacred words that become your flesh and bone, all worldly worries will vanish clean away."
"For real?"
"Of course. We were all struggling to eat back then too. Beaten down by the world, by people, by fate—until we grasped the Savior's hand and rose again. Look around—anyone here look unhappy or beat?"
Deaconess's words had me glancing around: everyone wore masks of pure bliss, no trace of worry. Like a troupe of perfectly drilled theater actors.
"Even if a speck of worry lingers, no matter. Everyone here is chosen, and the chosen await salvation. Some face predestined doom, but we embrace predestined salvation, shaking off the last regrets of the mortal world. Of course, that means engraving the Savior's every word into body and soul through atonement."
"Hearing it like that, it doesn't sound wrong. Hell, someone promising salvation for my life—which I couldn't see an inch ahead in—it's almost moving. No one's ever offered to help me before."
I laid it on thick, and Deaconess lit up like it was Christmas, chattering to hurry to the worship hall. Park In-ha chatted calmly with the women, then unleashed Oscar-worthy fake tears for some intense sisterly comfort. Women's tears were a deadly weapon, even on other women.
After touring the facilities, we naturally ended up at the worship hall. We surrendered our outer clothes and got handed crisp white robes like the fanatics wore. To greet the new millennium, you had to wrap yourself in this symbol of purity and innocence—or your past sins would show, making you unfit to stand before the Savior. Classic cult sophistry: nose-hook if it snags your nose, earring if your ear. Cults always peddle plausible bullshit as obvious truth.
Their success hinges on how much meaning they slap on it and how many swallow it whole. Shoddy cults stall out in the shadows, devouring each other till they fade. Real ones level up, ballooning their numbers overnight. The New Millennium Salvation Society was the latter.
Their Savior boss had killer charisma that gripped hearts tight, turning half-baked nonsense doctrine into rooted truth with slick meaning. A cult becomes a true cult the moment it's accepted as a legit religion.
As total noob believers, Park In-ha and I knelt side-by-side at the back edge of the massive worship hall. Soon, hundreds—no, thousands of cult fanatics packed in. Then someone lightly stepped onto the pulpit.
That moment, a brilliant idea hit me. If them figuring out who I am triggers mass suicide, then just stop the suicide before shipping 'em to heaven, right?
What if I become the real 'Han Guwon'?
Like how a cult morphs into a "real" religion, I needed to evolve from Han Daeri into the genuine Han Guwon. Nail it, and I could wipe out this massive cult—the biggest pusher of Seoul's exhausting New Year Doomsday hype—in one fell swoop.