Chapter 176
Chapter 176
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 176
Chapter Title: 85. King (1)
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The boy's name was Jeon Si-hoon.
He was a member of a typical four-person family: parents and a younger sister.
His father ran a small business, scraping by just enough to get by, so his mother worked as a cashier at a mart to cover the tuition for their two kids.
He hadn't grown up in a particularly well-off household, but everyone said he was a good kid—kind-hearted and always thinking of his family.
Whether it was because of that good nature acting as a catalyst, who knows, but God had blessed the boy with an Awakening over level 10.
An Over-10-Level Awakener was already treated as a national strategic asset before the war, precious enough that each one was a VIP.
And that kid had fallen into the hands of that infamous gang boss.
"He was on Jeju Island, got some counseling for mental issues, and came back to Incheon. We don't usually meddle in that sort of thing, but he's a level 10 Awakener. We need to somehow get him straightened out and send him to the front lines. But King sweet-talked him. And when the uprising hit Incheon, he bolted."
Jeon Si-hoon apparently didn't like Woo Min-hee much.
Strictly speaking, who would like her? But from the perspective of an 18-year-old boy, having a terrifying woman like Woo Min-hee as a mentor wasn't easy—even from my view as a third party.
The message Woo Min-hee wanted delivered to the boy was extremely simple.
- Your father is dead.
"He hated his dad. Hated him with a passion. He even left Jeju because he couldn't stand the sight of him."
"What kind of dad was he?"
Woo Min-hee chuckled, then continued with the sound of her hook finger scraping against metal, audible even over the radio.
"A dad whose business wasn't doing well, so he didn't bring in much money, but he was kind, never laid a hand on anyone, didn't drink, and took the family out every Sunday."
"What's the problem with that?"
I couldn't understand it.
That sounded like a pretty decent father.
"Way better than Dongtanmom, right?"
"Senior, you said you didn't surf the internet much, but now that you're caught, you're dropping internet names like it's fun?"
"Ah, slipped out."
"I never pegged you for it, Senior. How are you so good at lying? Was he that kind of guy?"
"..."
"Si-hoon's dad was the same. He lied."
"What lie?"
I was dying to know what kind of lie could sever the father-son bond in one go.
I understood immediately after hearing Woo Min-hee's explanation.
After the war, Jeon Si-hoon's family had taken refuge in a shelter.
Like the good son he was, family-oriented Si-hoon agonized over how to help his family amid the horrific routine of eating mystery nutrient bars. He applied to Guard, the new school.
It was a challenge, knowing many kids died or went missing during selection—and that one of his own friends had lost contact.
The child chosen by God revealed his abilities flawlessly in the test arena.
The supervisor, who had been wearing sunglasses with a blank expression, took them off himself—such was the impact of his debut.
"That supervisor was Gong Kyung-min. My cohort from Guard, Senior."
The boy's path to Jeju was set, along with his family's.
But on the day they were heading out, the boy spotted someone who looked just like him—a bit younger.
He had no little brother, so he was puzzled by this near-double. But he soon learned why.
"Looks like he set up two households. They send families with level 5 Awakeners or higher to Jeju, but his dad showed up with some illegitimate kid he'd never mentioned before."
"That's shocking."
"The real shock came after. Even I don't get surprised easily, but Si-hoon's dad... what a piece of work."
His mother, the mart cashier, had essentially shouldered the family finances.
The father brought in 100 to 200k a month, but that couldn't support a family of four with two kids in school.
Si-hoon's dad ran a small business, but it wasn't profitable—he'd borrowed money multiple times from his wife and her family.
All lies.
For over ten years, he'd whined about the business failing, but he'd been a high earner making over 500 million a year since then.
The problem? Not only did he hide it, he never gave a single won to the household.
Aside from living expenses, he'd toss pocket money or toys to the kids—late, every time. His wife had basically kept them afloat.
"Si-hoon's parents weren't on good terms. I met his mom; she was strict, super pious. His dad seemed weak-willed, cowed by her. But Senior, even so—does it make sense to you to lie for over ten years and keep up the fake marriage?"
For Si-hoon's father, his real family was the one with his mistress.
He gave nothing to the official family on paper, but built a bunker costing over a billion for the second one.
"How much resentment must he have harbored against his wife to go that far?"
Woo Min-hee was baffled, but the kid with such a pathetic father left Jeju because of him—and now he was in the gangsters' city.
"Anyway, his hated father is dead. Just tell him that, and he'll come back. I didn't like the kid much, but Kang Senior said he looked up to him a lot."
"Not sure he'll come just from that, but will King let him go easily?"
"Doesn't matter. Just deliver the message. If King blocks it, we use force then. What matters is Si-hoon's heart."
"Figures a level 10 Awakener gets special treatment."
"Don't you have potential too, Senior?"
Woo Min-hee's offhand remark lightly shook my usually unshakable emotions.
"What?"
A ticking sound came over the radio—like her hook finger tapping the floor.
"Used to think it was impossible, but watching you lately, you're at least human-ish."
"What're you saying? Is there a condition?"
"Normalcy?"
"Normalcy?"
"Just my hunch, so take it with salt. Anyway, siren again. Take care, Senior."
As always, Woo Min-hee cut off abruptly.
"..."
Normalcy, huh.
What even is that?
Is that what I'm lacking?
Who knows.
More importantly, she'd dumped a tough job on me.
King...
This year feels like it'll be eventful too.
In places like Russia or China—vast lands with authoritarian governments—there are closed cities, or secret cities, a type unfamiliar to us Koreans.
Closed cities restrict entry to those with verified passes and IDs.
These are often massive military factories, research labs, or equivalent national facilities.
Shangyang in China was one such—nominally a research city for aerospace, but really a lavish resort for the Communist elite.
I'd never experienced its glamour.
When we entered, the gate blocking the road was smashed, rendering the "closed city" name moot. Guards and police had vanished long ago.
The city was ruins, functions paralyzed: no water, power, or comms.
Yet, astonishingly, people lived in those ruins.
Abandoned by the nation, surviving out of sheer stubbornness.
I'd never imagined a Korean closed city emerging—or that I'd set foot in it while building my bunker.
I'd half-expected this gang boss to flip like a pancake.
But the fact he knew me remained unchanged.
Flatter him a bit, and he flips back.
Heading bare-handed into raider-infested land is suicidal.
The difference between gangsters and soldiers is how well the underlings obey the boss.
King said a blue flag would work fine, but who knows.
Guest or not, a bullet or fire ends it.
Safest bet: sneak close to King's city without getting caught.
Even mindless raiders won't screw around in the boss's turf.
Still fifty-fifty, but it's my promise.
Plus, my junior's battling monsters in Paju right now.
Long life is my goal, but not a cowardly, petty one.
If he's suffering, I should show some effort.
I grabbed supplies and headed to Sejong: food, fuel, guns and ammo, two axes.
Motorcycle for transport.
Filled the tank with synthetic fuel, left my turf at dawn.
Weather still chilly.
Some snow melted, some still white.
One worry: the area I'm heading to, untouched since the war.
No data beyond pre-war roads.
Board friends in Daejeon say north of there is missile/nuke hell—no one goes.
Roads not just broken; some gone entirely.
Factories halted, fields abandoned; Geumgang River swelled, blocking Daejeon-Sejong.
That's my intel on Sejong.
Ignored city rumors.
Slaves worked to death, people killed for fun, women abused—too common in this dying world.
My turf leans Cheonan, so straight-line to Sejong shorter than to Seoul.
Nearly twice as short.
But felt twice as long as Seoul trip.
Unfamiliar terrain.
Anxiety from no intel.
Constant vigilance, no rest.
Honestly, -30, -40C was easier travel.
And zombies everywhere.
Black dots on road? Always zombies, unfrozen all winter.
Mutations too: saw a truck-sized wild boar.
It smashed a shambling zombie, crunched bones, then turned to me.
"..."
Reminded me of Gold.
Gold buddy.
I skimped on gifts, you resented me—but you protected me from stuff like this.
Could kill it, but cost too high.
Rifle mags useless; need heavy weapons.
Trampling zombies, mutations, mud, sprouting weeds, reached Sejong outskirts at dusk.
Pre-war hour trip took half-day.
Saw winding Geumgang, abandoned fields, smoky gray city.
King's city: Sejong.
Curiously, unfinished new city beside it—not Daejeon.
Probably for post-war admin rift response.
The half-built city was gray-tinted.
I nodded.
Why government ignores King squatting old capital?
Monster zone next door.
No raiders/gangers buzzing on bikes/cars, as feared.
As twilight fell, city lights flickered on amid red sunset haze and rising smoke—poetic, pastoral even.
Faint unease kept me alert, but as always, I ignored it, eyes on destination, easing the bike forward slowly.
My handmade blue flag fluttered.
No guards or sentries at entrance.
Just a one-eyed middle-aged man leaning on wall, arms crossed, glaring at me under gloomy streetlight.
He glanced at me.
"New face."
His voice like a busted accordion, leaking air—not quite human.
That was it.
The gatekeeper-looking guy didn't ask name, affiliation, or purpose.
I asked him.
"This Sejong?"
I knew, but wanted a glimpse of his thoughts.
He just stared blankly, silent.
I passed him, entered the city.
No need to ask anyway.
Corpses everywhere.
On half-collapsed government building wall, bodies hanged like Christmas ornaments in a row.
As I watched, grim men with crossbows—once called Judge Killers—approached.
One blocked me.
"How'd you get here?"
Facing sharp arrows, I spoke.
"Someone invited me."
"Who?"
"King."
His eyes flicked to the blue flag.
He gestured.
"Follow."
Beyond: bizarre street lost in gloomy revelry.
One side: ear-splitting music, flashing neon.
Other: dark, abandoned in grim poverty.
Felt starving, abused eyes gleaming under opposite neons.
Suddenly, he turned.
"Were you in Paju?"
I looked at him.
Unfamiliar face.
But he knew me.
"You're a Hunter, right?"