Senior Researcher Lee Yun
Monday rolled around without fail. Even for an awakener whose physical prowess far surpassed that of any ordinary human, the relentless pull of gravity showed no mercy. It was annoyingly diligent. Despite the overwhelming boost to his abilities from nonstop romps with Shin Ye-hwa over the weekend, it did nothing to fend off his Monday malaise.
Still, he had to go. Ditching without notice right after a rank-up would be rude. Connections and fate could twist in unpredictable ways. If you were quitting, the basics were giving advance warning and submitting a resignation letter. And YP Research Institute wasn't just any place—it was a core lab of YH Group, Korea's top conglomerate and a global powerhouse. Best to do things properly.
"Around B-rank, maybe?"
The commute was the same as always, but the world seemed sharper somehow. Was it because his circumstances had changed? Rattling along in the subway, he pondered. He'd only know for sure after an official evaluation, but his strength now hovered somewhere between late B-rank and the cusp of A-rank.
By comparing Shin Ye-hwa's current physical stats as listed in Heroine Hunter with his own corresponding power, he could roughly gauge his level. A B-rank awakener—not just any hunter, but the grade treated as a main combatant in most hunting guilds.
Of course, Seong Ye-han hadn't seen real combat beyond some basic solo training over the past two years, so even if he tested as B-rank, no one would throw him into the front lines right away. But skills could be learned. It was like buying a movie ticket to analyze the acting and directing—you couldn't review what you hadn't seen. Until a few days ago, he hadn't even had the ticket. The man from then and the one now were worlds apart.
Finally, he was qualified to stand at the starting line as a hunter.
"That's still a long way off..."
After seeing Shin Ye-hwa off, he'd felt like he was flying. But one massive wall loomed ahead.
"I knew it was pricey, but..."
The wall was the cost of hunter gear. There was a saying that hunter equipment prioritized performance over efficiency. Reality demanded some cost-effectiveness, sure, but the core design philosophy was raw power. Special suits that pierced monster mana fields, hides, and scales far more effectively while defending against attacks, plus auxiliary functions for survival and non-combat losses.
Even a C-rank hunter's full kit easily topped ten million won. Back in the chaotic early days, before mana cloud tech integrated with body cams went mainstream, the adage "hunters are more dangerous than monsters" was gospel. Anyway, the point was: hunter gear was crucial. And crucially expensive.
Naturally. It was forged by grinding whole magic stones into alloys as a baseline.
Magic stones—the cores of monsters, the root of their power. Post-Gate catastrophe, they'd rebuilt modern civilization. The alchemists' dream made real, a miracle stone. Scholars even called it the Philosopher's Stone incarnate.
Its most basic use mimicked turning lead to gold. Some dubious quantum theory and tech manipulated neutrons and electrons with mana to freely transmute elements. Efficiency varied wildly by element, so a magic stone wasn't worth exactly its weight in gold, but still.
Beyond that: purifying industrial waste, carbon capture catalysts to ease Earth's runaway warming, cutting-edge materials—you name it. Their value was self-evident. Equipment made by pulverizing those stones into alloys? No wonder the price tag.
"If I get this month's salary plus severance, maybe I can swing it."
That would only cover generic C-rank stuff, though. No choice. Most awakeners financed their first sets via bank loans collateralized by gear and future magic stones, or corporate sponsorships. Then they slaved away selling hard-won stones at a loss until the debt cleared.
Damage or loss meant hell. And as frontline fighters, rookies racked up insane maintenance fees, debt snowballing until year two, when skill kicked in and repayments began. Pre-year-two hunters were called "mannequins"—no freedom, gear wearing the person, not vice versa.
Seong Ye-han could tap those services for B-rank gear too. But it'd likely screw him. Two years post-Academy, combat-virgin him jumping into monster brawls with high-end gear? Obvious disaster. Higher ranks meant pricier gear, ballooning debt and interest.
Corporations and banks meddled in hunts to safeguard investments. For a guy with no backing like him, it was a hard pass. He needed to minimize risk. Hence, generic C-rank mass-produced gear. He'd hone real combat sense, skills, and knowledge at a safe level first.
Anyway, he was confident he'd climb beyond B-rank—past A, to S. No way he'd saddle temporary gear with debt.
"Step by step."
Compared to days ago, when he had potential but no ladder, now he just needed time. Sturdy stairs lay ahead.
That morning's task was unusual research assistance. Midway through prep, the team lead pulled him and Dong-uk inside the lab. Rare, but it happened: handling materials live during experiments, or observing reactions to awakener mana fields. A few from management got drafted.
This project's theme? Temporary mana boosters, apparently. Han Dong-uk, assisting alongside, geeked out with "Stimpack!?" Seong Ye-han couldn't fathom the hype. Not that novel, was it?
Standard NDAs applied, but drafting a non-regular like Dong-uk while skipping full-timers like him suggested it wasn't top-secret. Still, Senior Researcher Lee Yun taking a seat was unexpected... though she'd been present for his prior assists too. Maybe she just dove into everything.
Always stunningly beautiful. Even after a weekend tumbling with Shin Ye-hwa, her shine held.
Assists paid bonuses on top of salary, with strict breaks and top-notch lounges—everyone in management coveted them. He'd envied lab folks back then.
"Not anymore."
Lunchtime hit. He'd submitted his resignation at clock-in: last day on payday. Team lead blinked at the suddenness but approved without fuss. Natural—E-rank grunt labor overflowed at YP Lab.
Still, a year's camaraderie meant a farewell booze-up Friday. Seong Ye-han wasn't big on drinking, but not heartless enough to refuse.
Thus, farewell loomed for his year at the lab. Relief for better horizons, but regrets too.
"Gonna miss these meals, though."
He'd pine for the cafeteria grub daily. As a monster-hunting hunter soon, proper hot meals would fade. Hunts lasted 3-4 days short, a week long, far from city centers. Rations: high-calorie, portable, shelf-stable combat food.
Companies aggressively pushed premium ration sets now. YP dabbled too, via E-rank stones for special packaging to boost freshness and flavor—a game-changer for hunter chow, as he recalled. Still inefficient for mass power, mostly emergency fuel.
"Kinda sucks."
But no match for this. Swallowing regret with his meal, an unexpected voice piped up.
"What's so regrettable?"
Eh? The cafeteria noise seemed to vanish.
Scrape—the chair dragged. She plopped down naturally across from him, locking eyes. Long, lustrous black hair swept to one side. Delicate face framed by slim silver-framed glasses. Deep black irises glinted with an enigmatic golden hue, as if dissecting him. Premium shirt differing in texture from his, stretched taut by full, heaving breasts. Sensual yet intellectual. The beauty who'd effortlessly drawn gazes just by existing here for a year.
Lee Yun sat before him.
"What's so regrettable?"
Chin propped on one hand, she smiled and repeated. Seong Ye-han fumbled for words.
A day prior, Shin Ye-hwa had felt this confusion toward him. Now he tasted it from another.
Unaware or not, Lee Yun continued leisurely.
"Wanna talk?"
"Uh... sure. Why not."
Utterly unforeseen. But intriguing. What did this woman want with him?