A Birthday Wish and a Dungeon Notice

Nam Taejae woke this morning as he always did, and greeted Gudari, who lay tucked quietly beside him in bed.

“Good morning.”

Then, just like every day, he wedged the Wake Up, Big Green Onion plushie under his arm, opened the door, and stepped out of his room.

“There's our little rascal! Awake already?”

His grandmother was in the kitchen, setting out breakfast.

“Yes, ma'am—”

“Go wash your face quick, then let's get some food in you first.”

Washing his face on his own was no trouble at all. Nam Taejae marched straight into the bathroom, set the Big Green Onion plushie — nearly as tall as he was — up on top of the toilet, and gave himself a whirlwind scrub.

Pat, pat.

And because he'd been raised by a grandmother who prized good manners above all, Nam Taejae began his meal with the utmost courtesy.

The house was silent except for the soft clink of dishes.

His mom and dad rarely came home, busy as they were looking after sick people at the hospital.

Seven years old, and I've only seen them three times.

Whenever drawing time came around, or when the other kids started talking about their families, Nam Taejae would quietly try to picture his mother's and father's faces — then shake the thought away as fast as it had come.

I can't really remember them.

It was Grandma, Noah, and Auntie — the people he saw every day — who came to mind far more easily.

“Our pretty baby's birthday is coming up soon. Is there anything you'd like?”

His grandmother ladled out his rice and topped it with stir-fried potatoes as she asked.

Something he wanted?

As a matter of fact, there was. He'd watched the TV commercial closely and made sure to commit it to memory, so the answer came without a moment's hesitation.

“They just came out with a new Wake Up, Big Green Onion plushie — not the Sleep Tight one. I'd like that, please.”

“...Of course, sweetheart. Grandma will buy it for you. Aigoo... and where are his parents, on their own child's birthday, I'd like to know.”

He flinched.

Nam Taejae shot a careful glance at his grandmother, then went back to eating his soup.

I know Mom and Dad are busy.

But he also knew it wasn't simply busyness that kept them away from home.

He could piece it together from the times he'd overheard Grandma on the phone with his mother, getting angry.

—You're just going to leave the child like that? He's your son!

—How can you two become parents and then hate your own child?

So Mom and Dad don't like me.

That's why they don't come home.

“Jealous of a baby, honestly. What a pair of fools.”

Jealousy.

Grandma said his mom and dad were jealous of him.

...Why would they be jealous of me?

Mom and Dad are grown-ups. Why would grown-ups be jealous of a kid?

However many times people told him he was clever, Nam Taejae simply could not make sense of this.

He knew his grandmother and grandfather had worked as healers for BOND.

And he knew his mother was an ordinary doctor, from an ordinary background — no powers at all.

—Honestly, I wish you'd been born without an ability.

He remembered his mother coming into his room late one night, tears falling, drop by drop, as she said it.

Was that the reason for the jealousy?

If I weren't an Awakener, maybe Mom wouldn't resent me?

And then maybe Mom and Dad would actually like me?

...He didn't know.

Nam Taejae set down his spoon mid-meal and looked at the Big Green Onion plushie sitting beside him.

And then, just past it — at Gudari, quietly waving his hand.

“Grandma, Gudari is waving at me.”

“Hmm? Gudari? Oh, is he now. Yes, I'm sure Gudari's happy to see you. Come on, finish your breakfast, Taejae — we've got kindergarten to get to.”

At his grandmother's urging, Nam Taejae picked up his spoon again.

But his gaze stayed fixed on Gudari all the same.

—You're not like us. We have to bleed and strain ourselves to save a single life. You don't.

—Taejae, live for the sick and the injured, for the rest of your life. You have the power, so that's how you must live.

His mother and father had said these things to him in passing, long ago.

The words had sunk deep into the heart of a boy far younger than he was now.

Back when he couldn't attend a regular kindergarten and played alone at home.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Back when there was no one at all by his side.

That was when, in the corner of his room, Nam Taejae had created Gudari.

An imaginary friend who could keep company with a boy destined to spend his whole life living for the sick and the wounded.

Gudari always looks like he's in pain. So it's okay to stay with him forever.

Noah was far too healthy, so maybe someday they'd have to part ways.

Today marked two weeks since Principal Kang Beomseok had arrived at the kindergarten.

And I found him sitting right on the floor of the Dolphin Class, playing with the children.

He's actually doing a better job than I expected.

Frankly, it surprised me. The decades he'd spent as a corporate man hadn't weighed on him one bit — he already looked every inch the part of a kindergarten principal.

Case in point: right now.

The moment he finished his assigned principal duties for the day, he didn't stop there — he made the rounds of the classroom and played with the children himself.

Thanks to him, the teachers had finally gotten a moment to breathe.

“Whew...”

I rolled out my shoulders with a light stretch and kept a careful eye on the group at play.

Nothing seems off.

Ever since I'd formally registered the children in my Status Window, I'd been checking on them constantly whenever I had a spare moment.

But every time, I found ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠nothing out of the ordinary.

I'd been paying special attention to Taejae, too — the only one of them with an actual 'STORY' chapter in his file...

Still can't figure him out.

And besides, peeking at 'STORY 1' — a child's private life — when it wasn't strictly necessary... that felt a bit much, even for me.

Just as I was sinking deeper into the dilemma—

Knock, knock.

At the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠knock, the door cracked open and Yoo Jinchae poked her face in, calling out to me.

“Teacher, got a minute? There's something I need to talk to you about~”

“Sure, let's talk outside.”

The kids were completely absorbed in playing with the principal, so stepping out for a minute would be fine.

Only after I watched the door close behind me did Yoo Jinchae hold out a single sheet of paper she'd been carrying against her chest.

I read the whole thing through, then looked up at Yoo Jinchae.

Why on earth would this go to me?

“Is it yours?”

In this country, no one could call themselves a 'Hunter' unless they were an Awakener officially recognized by the government.

You had to pass a formal examination at a testing center, complete training at an academy, and then...

You absolutely had to be affiliated with a hunter corporation.

Otherwise, unless you registered as an independent contractor and freelanced under your own business license, you weren't a 'Hunter' at all.

They even issued a separate license for it, if I remembered right.

Take me, for instance — I'm an Awakener, but I'm not a Hunter.

As the times changed, more and more people were manifesting abilities and simply choosing not to live as Hunters.

Anyway, back to the point.

What I wanted to say was: there was no reason this should be addressed to me.

It obviously wasn't mine, so it had to be hers, right?

But Yoo Jinchae shook her head and tapped one finger on a line of very small print at the very bottom of the page.

“Not mine~”

Then ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠whose is it?

“It's Taejae's.”

Only then did my eyes catch the three familiar syllables under her fingertip.

Nam Taejae.

“Taejae has to enter a dungeon tomorrow.”