Chapter 69
Chapter 69
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 69
Chapter Title: 42. Paradise (2)
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Having a hunter among Chairman Park Cheolju's bodyguards wasn't all that surprising. What I hadn't expected was that one of them would be someone I knew.
A guy named Kim Pilseong showed up at my bunker with Younghee.
He was from my academy class. A classmate, no less.
Not that big a shock, though.
With twelve hundred classmates, it was bound to happen.
Most were dead, sure, but plenty of survivors were still out there, brazenly carrying on.
"Park Gyu. The real Park Gyu."
When you had that many classmates, faces blurred together. But Kim Pilseong? I remembered his.
Because in a mock battle using cold weapons, he'd held out against my attacks for a decent stretch.
7.8 seconds.
That was how long it took me to knock his weapon away.
"...Fuck."
He'd spat that curse right after losing.
In a school that banned any undignified behavior, that was taboo.
Our instructor, Jang Gi-young, especially saw swearing as utterly vulgar.
"You! Front and center, you uncouth bastard! Hunters don't swear! Repeat after me!"
Jang Gi-young had bellowed that, then made him do punishment drills.
I later heard Kim Pilseong came from a family of kendo masters spanning generations. He was a black belt himself.
That explained the raw fury when he lost the spar.
He never crossed paths with me again after that.
Probably off in China on different missions, fighting on other fronts.
Now, over a decade later, two classmates reunited.
The scrawny kid with the buzz cut had transformed into a tanned, muscled guy with long hair slicked back into a ponytail.
"Whoa~."
Kim Pilseong let out a hollow laugh as he took in my camouflaged house.
He looked at me with genuine awe.
"No way anyone lives in a place like this."
Of course not.
But admitting that gained me nothing, so I slapped on a poker face and said coolly,
"...A mountain's a mountain, water's water. Get attached, and that's home."
I'd never been good at lying, but after everything—life on the run, even disguising myself as a woman—this was small potatoes.
"Here, take this first."
Kim Pilseong was a polite guy, at least.
He hadn't come empty-handed, that much was clear.
He hauled a massive oil drum, while Younghee carried a thick black bag.
Inside were leftovers from yesterday—beef, veggies, instant rice, combat rations—plus some water purification capsules.
"Whoa, you didn't have to bring all this."
I waved it off but snatched it up anyway. Felt a bit un-"Professor"-like, but whatever.
Times like these, you ate what you could.
Who knew when I'd get quality veggies and protein like this again?
Better to live a thousand days on beef than ten thousand on goral sausage.
Younghee spoke up, eyeing me.
"We've owed you before, and I figured things must be tough, so we brought some stuff."
She'd put thought into it. Nice.
I bowed my head in thanks. Then Kim Pilseong blurted, scanning my turf,
"You been living here the whole time?"
That hit me with a wave of awkwardness.
Even as classmates, we weren't close enough for personal check-ins.
Strangers, basically. The familiarity felt off.
Silence stretched. He glanced at me.
Had to say something. I hedged,
"Off and on. Headed to Incheon sometimes, back here when work dried up."
"Got it."
His gaze shifted to the low hill where my main bunker sat.
"Highest ground around. Perfect sightlines all around."
"..."
"Anyway..."
Kim Pilseong trailed off with a knowing smirk, flicking his eyes my way.
"Feels like the whole area's laced with killing intent?"
He'd sniffed it out.
The death traps lurking in my seemingly ramshackle setup.
He grinned.
"Booby traps, huh?"
War vet instincts, I guess.
"Planted a few traps, yeah."
I admitted half of it.
"Knew it."
He nodded, looking pleased for some reason.
"Heard you're heading to Japan."
I pivoted the topic quick.
Kim Pilseong glanced at Younghee.
"Details from Younghee. I'm gonna crash in the car—pulled guard duty all night, no sleep."
He'd circled my area once, then yawned hugely and flopped into the SUV's passenger seat.
His military boot stuck out the open door.
"How's your dad doing, by the way?"
Not probing on purpose.
Just buying time—Kim Pilseong seemed sharper than expected.
Luckily, Younghee smiled and answered.
"Staying at Chairman Park Cheolju's place."
She threw up her hands and shook her head like it was hopeless.
"His wish came true."
"Wish?"
"Yeah. He always wanted to own a chaebol mansion."
Her explanation filled in the blanks.
Her father, Ji Chang-su, had bought Park Cheolju's half-ruined estate.
No clue how he scraped the cash in the apocalypse, but now he was lord of a chaebol house.
In the photo Younghee showed, Ji Chang-su grinned center-stage amid a group, with Park Cheolju's infamous wreck behind them.
They all wore aprons—some bloodstained.
Switching to butchery?
I knew Ji Chang-su made auto parts.
The aprons were one thing, but his bold stance as "mansion master" looked off.
To me, he'd always been Je Phong-ho's loyal right-hand man.
"...Dad wanted to be a chaebol. That's why he pulled those crazy stunts. Never got it before, but seeing him smile in that house? All his weird choices suddenly make sense."
Younghee gave a wistful smile.
"Dad found his paradise."
Her face mixed satisfaction and something bittersweet.
Plenty of resentment and disappointment there, no doubt.
Maybe still processing.
"You heading to Japan?"
Younghee stared, glanced around, then whispered,
"Can I be straight with you?"
"..."
No need to hear it.
But no chance anyway.
A wolf howl echoed from the west—familiar from ages ago.
The dogs' baying.
Younghee shuddered, baring her teeth.
"Mutation!"
Yeah.
Dogs to the west.
Gold.
The pack leader who'd fetched me a boar, a goral, three pheasants, three chickens—now leading his gang, growling threats our way.
"Younghee! We gotta go!"
Kim Pilseong yelled.
Younghee turned, then paused, looking back at me.
"Hunter Park."
"Yeah."
"Can you help?"
Had to.
Not Park Cheolju's crew—Gold's pack.
Ka-chunk—
Seeing Kim Pilseong rack a big-bore anti-mutation rifle from the car sealed it.
*
Park Cheolju's guards outclassed the ragtags Ji Chang-su brought. By miles.
Military types, or close enough.
Their gun handling, their worldview, that gunpowder aura from years on the front—veterans all.
And they were whispering about me.
"That hunter's no joke."
"Tell me about it. Those man-eaters bolted just from seeing him."
"Aura or something? Like a dog whisperer."
"Shh! He'll hear!"
I hadn't asked for it, but respect anyway.
Gold provided the proof.
I'd piled into Kim Pilseong's SUV, raced to Park Cheolju's camp, borrowed a bike, charged straight at Gold, and hollered,
"Beat it! Beat it, you punk! Cheapskate mutt! Few kilos of beef, and you bring gorals? Ungrateful bastard. Eat shit. Goral."
Gold snarled at me.
Especially at "cheapskate"—his rage peaked, paw jabbing my way.
Calling me cheap?
Okay, the beef was a bit off, but still beef.
Dog stomachs were tougher than human ones, resistant to botulism anyway.
Point landed.
I pointed back, mimed slitting my throat. He got it, led the pack running.
That's when Kim Pilseong's SUV squad rolled up behind, weapons hot.
"What the fuck?!"
One guy yelled.
They pieced it together.
Me, chasing off mutation dogs without firing a shot.
On paper, a heartwarming tale of a beast repaying kindness, folktale-style. But to them? I was a superhuman intimidating killer hounds with sheer presence.
"Awakened?"
One clueless guard asked.
I nearly blurted my go-to chat reply.
SKELTON: Up to your imagination~♥
Close call.
"..."
Internet's ruining me.
My brief fluster only amped their awe, adding mystery.
"Hunter Park, you're insane. Took down dozens of mutations solo with just a gun and axe. Movies couldn't top that."
Younghee's motormouth painted me untouchable.
Then my classmate Kim Pilseong dropped the mic.
"...My classmate was the best of us."
He eyed me.
"Only one who beat me in close quarters."
What do you say to that?
"..."
Silence was it.
And that silence led me to Park Cheolju.
"Chairman. Hunter Park Gyu."
In a massive underground conference room the U.S. military ditched, Park Cheolju stood with hands behind his back, studying a faded wall map.
"Nice to meet you, Hunter Park Gyu."
Pre-war rep on Park Cheolju? Not great.
Off the top:
His one talent: marrying into power. Biggest achievement.
Classic cronyism—thrived on regime protection, not skill.
Without daddy's halo, he'd run a corner store at best.
That baggage trailed him.
Polar opposite of Je Phong-ho.
Post-collapse? Their responses diverged hard.
One died a leader. The other? Mocked by thugs.
What kind of man was this chaebol chairman?
"INFP? INFP?"
Park Cheolju suddenly shoved his face close, babbling weirdly.
"?"
"You an INFP?"
"What're you on about?"
"No MBTI?"
Vaguely familiar.
Personality typing test.
Pseudoscience like zodiacs or blood types.
Not opening banter for a chaebol boss.
"Totally INFP vibes. Right?"
"Nah, no clue what that is."
"I'm ENFP. Bubbly activist! Spark! That's me!"
Grinning innocently, spouting 21st-century mysticism. For a second, I wondered if he was a middle-schooler in chaebol skin.
"Ha, they say INFP and ENFP clash. Feels real—no instant click."
What was with yesterday's glare?
Not suspicion—reassessing my MBTI match?
"Got a sec? Try this."
He shoved a tablet at me.
Free Personality Test (MBTI) 16 Types
"Do it."
"No."
"Just once. No downside."
"Pass."
Why this guy?
I showed annoyance. He backed off, pointed both index fingers, grinning.
"Knew it—INFP!"
That was Park Cheolju.
*
"The chairman's been like that since the shelling."
His son-in-law picked up the details.
"Always cheerful, but brighter now."
"Must've eaten a ton of cod roe."
"?"
"Nothing. Go on."
This son-in-law, Go Seong-jun, seemed uptight.
Bulging eyes, mouthing "This guy?" without sound.
My joke hit that hard?
Younghee next to him stifled a laugh.
Atmosphere cooled, Go Seong-jun continued.
"Escort us to the Chinese rendezvous. Aside from mutation dogs, low risk."
Chinese, huh.
Curious what those landing on our soil were thinking.
Why trade with Koreans after all that?
"Food, fuel as pay. Ten hours a week. Medical too—specialists on hand. Get a checkup!"
"Specialists?"
Tempting.
But biggest reason? Gold.
Kim Pilseong was beyond old A-rank hunter standards.
Vast experience, geared up.
His soldier crew? No amateurs.
Plainclothes hid it, but military for sure. Frontline vets.
Legion grunts, probably.
They'd turn Gold into dog meat.
Chinese curiosity factored big too.
We SUV'd to the rendezvous.
South: zombie-choked city. North: deep bay like a river, reclaimed land.
Chinese in modded SUVs flashed headlights from afar.
Red flags on their rigs stirred old boredom.
"Watch it. No telling what they'll pull."
Drones from both sides scanned.
Ambushes? Heavy gear?
Long scan over, vehicles met.
Kim Pilseong bantered fluent Chinese with a ragged-uniform soldier.
They fist-bumped.
Our side: food, oil. Theirs: forklift-heavy gear.
So heavy the 3.5-ton truck swayed.
I knew plane engines were big, but this for a 15-seater jet? Massive.
Bay wind knocked the crate panels loose.
Exposed: a simple conical metal hunk.
Not an engine.
The engine was...
"Ah."
I knew it.
Looked away, played dumb.
Had to.
What the Chinese handed over looked a hell of a lot like a nuke.