The Ritual and the Creeping Erosion
Erosion. Typically, gates are one of those bizarre phenomena that generate and regenerate repeatedly, their reasons and causes utterly unknown. If you think about it simply, when mana suddenly appears in a world that's been developing normally, gates pop up, and all hell breaks loose, wouldn't the natural human response be to adapt and figure out countermeasures for the future? And in the midst of that, once people realize the byproducts spilling from those gates can be incredibly valuable resources driving social progress, they focus solely on securing a steady supply—while the why and how of the gates themselves? That's left to the labs, those money pits. Not the ones actually utilizing resources, mind you, but the useless otakus obsessed with digging through history just to say "turns out that's how it is." So, this otherworldization and erosion about to unfold? For folks living in the now, it's an event that naturally amps up the tension. At the same time, whenever gate-related social issues flare up, they've always spurred economic growth. So as the new year dawns, expectations for how the world might change mix with that unease, filling the streets.
"Oh, the subjugation team's heading in... Looks like a higher caliber than usual?"
Call it a New Year's event if you want—sort of a ceremony. Every year around this time, the Association's awakeners line up gates in order, subjugating the bosses to harvest resources. But this time, their levels seem a notch higher than what we've seen before, drawing whistles from the crowd. Guess the Association President and the Academy Principal are in cahoots, prepped to the hilt.
"Yeah, right around now, we'd normally get texts from C- and B-rankers getting called up as reinforcements for gate subjugations... Looks like they're stacking the party higher just in case."
"Ah... that explains it. I got a text even though I snagged an A-rank license and shouldn't be on the list. Thought it was spam."
Come to think of it, this time of year, classmates short on cash or itching for fieldwork would've all rushed to gates. Nods all around.
From the rooftop with Tae-gun, we scanned the annual ritual unfolding below—the awakeners gripping their weapons, stepping into the gate in sequence. Time to kick off the real subjugation ceremony.
"Goddamn it... Should be kicking back at home with a drink, watching the juniors do their thing by now..."
"Quit your bitching. The President's got no clue what's coming either, so they're bumping up the subjugation rank as insurance."
"Tch... You saying I badmouthed the President? Just talk, that's all... Nah, everyone's thinking it, right? The annual gate's always a safe C-rank to avoid accidents, but sending us B-ranks? Normal situation?"
Once inside the gate, no need to watch their backs, the team leader who'd been scolding the complainer scratched his head bitterly—just like the guy said. Sure, rumors of otherworldization had everyone on edge, but deploying a full B-rank party for a mere C-rank gate? Sour taste all around.
Awakener ranks weren't just about clearing gates; they factored in surviving intact. A C-rank could handle a C-gate solo, even injured—that's the benchmark. Human rights matter, but awakeners are national assets, social resources. So they rate conservatively.
In that context, ten B-ranks on a C-gate? Overkill—enough firepower for B- or even A-rank tries. Too conservative, even mentioning the President felt awkward. Leader cleared his throat, pumping up his voice to lighten the mood.
"President's orders, so let's not overthink—just subjugate. We're all here for incentives, bonuses... You know the drill, right?"
"Mm..."
"Fair enough."
They were the types who turned crises into opportunities, squeezing profits from any show. Leader's words landed; they grimaced, looked away, playing coy.
"Heard you all cashed in big already. Don't make it weird—easy job for fat rewards. Buncha B-ranks on a C-gate? Cakewalk, lying down eating rice cakes."
The original complainer and the lazy ones cracked sheepish grins. Mood lifted; leader smirked, nodding.
"All good? Let's slaughter some monsters and head back."
Two hours since the subjugation team entered. Factoring regen quirks or irregularities, average clear's four hours. With upper-tier lineup, they'd wrap soon. Killing time on the rooftop, I slowly rose from my chair.
"Want something to eat?"
"...Nah, rested enough. Time to stay alert for whatever's coming."
Handed him an energy bar from inventory; Tae-gun eyed the chair and bar dubiously but shook his head, standing with me. He'd seen me trail the Principal, snag perks—figures inventory's some artifact tie-in. 'He'll mention it when it's time.'
Jeong Jae-kyung and I might rag on him, but Tae-gun's solid as a bear. Guys rarely earn my interest or trust, but if I had to pick one reliable dude from our class? Everyone'd say Tae-gun first. No need for ability rundown—his chill pass amused me with a smirk.
"Hey, what was today's gate theme again?"
"Hm? C-rank, and if otherworldization hits, theme won't matter anyway. Didn't check."
Tae-gun tilted his head; made sense, so I nodded. New Year's first regen gate's fixed; otherworldization turns the whole gate into the problem, not the theme.
"Looks undead—skeletons, ghouls for C-rank?"
While I pondered, Tae-gun dug out his smart device, curious from my question.
"Ah, that explains the party leader—Sarim, right? Famous back in Academy for light skills?"
"Yeah, priest-like but no real healing. Notable senior, but talent fell short."
"Big talk now? You handle him fine?"
Tae-gun chuckled, shrugging at my jab. About to snort and humble him—
Kkiiik!
Sensing wide with mana for surprises, an alien mana twitch crawled up my skin—first time ever. Whipped around, staring down: sunset orange sky, but roads and buildings sprouting incongruous tombstones and graves. Reality blending with another world in seconds. The New Year's hype chilled fast.