Give Me a Different Assignment
The day after they had subdued the Orc Lord.
“Uwaaargh!”
Jeong-Hoon, who had come home, showered, and collapsed straight into sleep, let out a small scream at the muscle aches he had forgotten for nearly a month.
“Are you all right, sir?”
“I definitely drank a potion before bed. Why does it hurt this much?”
It was muscle pain so severe that even the fatigue-recovery tonic Jeong-Hoon called a “potion”—the one he drank every day—could not touch it. He twisted his face in a grimace.
Out of sheer habit he tried to rise from the bed and head for the sofa, only for the pain to flare so violently that he nearly sprawled face-first onto the floor.
“Looks like it exceeded the potion’s recovery capacity, sir.”
“…When you put it like that, it really does sound like a magic elixir.”
“It is magic. More precisely, alchemy.”
“You’re allowed to just say that out loud?”
“What is there for me to hide from the Gaju?”
Until now Jeong-Hoon had assumed the potions were products of superpowers and medicine. At the blunt confession he started to nod—only for a spasm to seize his neck, forcing another grimace.
“Ghk—I can’t even turn my head!”
Lying on the floor and trying to scream only made him feel pathetic. The one saving grace was that this was not the PC bang or jjimjilbang he used to collapse in; it was the royal suite of Lumen. That fact might have made him feel a little less pathetic… if not for the Third Vassal looking down at him, which somehow made it worse.
“Don’t just stand there staring—help me up.”
“Would you like to visit the hospital, sir?”
“Who on earth goes to the hospital for muscle pain? It’s not even my hospital.”
“…Why not simply make it yours, Gaju? It will be yours soon enough either way.”
The absurdly casual comeback made Jeong-Hoon scowl again. Come to think of it, among the family businesses—among the tasks his great-uncle had left him—there was a hospital.
“Myeongil Hospital, right?”
“Yes. The same hospital where you were admitted for malnutrition not long ago, Gaju.”
“…Might as well get a checkup while I’m working on the assignment.”
A snap of his fingers would bring his personal physician running, but visiting in person for the sake of the task seemed better. Jeong-Hoon tried to nod—then winced as fresh pain shot through him.
Myeongil Hospital was operated by the Myeongil Medical Foundation, one of the family’s front organizations. It had served as a cover for the family long before the world changed; after monsters appeared it had become a pioneering facility for the treatment of superpower-related injuries.
Even originally it had been ranked among the world’s finest medical institutions. With the addition of Awakened—hunter—treatment it remained at the forefront, and the lobby was always thronged with patients. Fees were kept deliberately low, so the rich and the poor met there as equals.
“Which means even I have to wait.”
Having downed potions like water until most of the muscle pain had faded, Jeong-Hoon sat in a corner of the lobby and sighed.
“If the Chairman wishes, you could be seen this very moment.”
“That would be cutting the line.”
“Director Woo Do-Il is your personal physician. It would not be cutting the line; it would be the exercise of a legitimate right.”
“I’m pretty sure a doctor that good has more patients than just me.”
The man Jeong-Hoon simply called “Doctor”—Woo Do-Il—was an extraordinarily capable physician. He was one of the 12 Vassals, yet he was also the director of a world-renowned hospital and an authority in the medical field. Even setting aside his vassal status, his public identity alone made him more than qualified to serve as personal physician to others.
“No, sir. Director Woo Do-Il truly serves as personal physician to the Chairman alone. Everyone else is seen only when he happens to have free time.”
In other words, cutting the line would be perfectly fine under the rules. Morally, however, it was another matter. And every patient Woo Do-Il “happened to have time for” was a celebrity who appeared in the papers. Canceling their appointments so Jeong-Hoon could walk in would be bad for Lumen’s image.
“You’ve already considered the management angle. Forgive me for failing to take it into account.”
“You don’t need to apologize that hard.”
Butler Ju bowed deeply. Jeong-Hoon shook his head and pulled out his phone. There was still plenty of time before he would see Woo Do-Il; he figured he might as well kill it somehow.
“Excuse me—aren’t you Chairman Lee Jeong-Hoon?”
He had only looked down for a moment when a man in his thirties approached. Jeong-Hoon nodded on pure reflex.
“Ah—yes, that’s me…”
The stranger wore a tailored suit that was not particularly expensive; it marked him as a businessman. Yet his appearance did not match the usual image of one. Neat but carefully styled hair, refined features, a well-proportioned build. Jeong-Hoon first wondered if the man was a hunter, then, watching him carefully, realized who he was.
“Would you happen to be Chairman Kim Sang-Myeong?”
“Oh! You recognize me. What an honor.”
“No, no—the honor is entirely mine.”
Completely unprepared for the encounter, Jeong-Hoon could only let the man seize his hand and shake it vigorously.
Chairman Kim Sang-Myeong, age thirty-four. In an era when hunters were as famous as celebrities, he was a businessman whose name recognition surpassed most hunters and entertainers. In the economic sphere his influence ranked among the highest in the world.
At thirty-four one would normally assume a chaebol second-generation heir, but that was not the case. Sixteen years earlier, at a mere eighteen, he had drawn attention as an investor of remarkable talent. At twenty he founded his own company. At twenty-four, when the dungeons first appeared, he poured his entire fortune into stabilizing the world—and he was still thriving.
If Jeong-Hoon was merely posing as a young entrepreneur, this man was the genuine article: a youth who had started as a student and built everything himself.
“I’ve wanted to meet you for some time, but I never imagined it would be here.”
“Haha, is that so?”
“I began business so young that I used to pride myself on being the youngest entrepreneur around. Meeting you taught me that pride was nothing more than arrogance.”
Jeong-Hoon did not bother to correct him that it had, in fact, been true. Everything Jeong-Hoon possessed had been inherited and merely dressed up as his own creation; this man had built his empire with his own hands. Moreover, everything he touched turned to gold. In the age of superpowers people half-jokingly called him “the Regressor.”
“…What brings you here, if I may ask?”
Out of conversation, Jeong-Hoon steered the talk elsewhere. A hospital was the perfect place to lace the question with genuine concern.
“I’m here to see Dr. Woo Do-Il, of course. Just a periodic checkup—nothing to worry about. I assume the same is true for you, Chairman?”
“Yes. I’m here for a checkup as well.”
Relieved to hear the man was healthy, Jeong-Hoon relaxed a fraction. Among Kim Sang-Myeong’s many ventures was a welfare foundation; Jeong-Hoon, who had spent his high-school years in an orphanage, had benefited from it. Even the meager settlement money he had received in those chaotic days had come through Kim’s foundation. Respect for the man was therefore already present.
“Meeting like this is fate, and I would love to talk longer, but I mustn’t keep Dr. Woo waiting. I’ll take my leave first. Perhaps we could share a meal sometime?”
“That sounds good. I don’t mean to boast, but the dining at Lumen is excellent. I’d like to treat you one day.”
“If it’s Lumen’s table, I’ll count the days.”
With an expression that held no pretense—only genuine anticipation—Kim Sang-Myeong bowed and disappeared into a consultation room. Jeong-Hoon exhaled softly.
“Whew. Moments like this make me feel like I’m actually someone important.”
“You are, in fact, someone important.”
Until now Kim Sang-Myeong had been a benefactor who lived far above the clouds. The fact that they had spoken as equals still astonished Jeong-Hoon. He steeled himself again. He could not keep being shocked by his new station and the family’s hidden power forever; he knew that well enough.
“By the way, Butler Ju—Kim Sang-Myeong isn’t one of the family’s people, is he?”
“No, sir. You received the list; you can already guess that if he were, he would easily have ranked among the 12 Vassals.”
“True, but everything he touches succeeds. His assets are enormous, and he adapted to this changed world with lightning speed. Doesn’t it look an awful lot like the family’s own operations?”
The only difference was that the family had worked in secret while Kim Sang-Myeong had acted openly. The resemblance made Jeong-Hoon’s question reasonable enough—yet to Butler Ju it was nothing of the sort.
“Gaju, our family is not the only one that has resolved to protect the world.”
The butler’s solemn voice left Jeong-Hoon feeling, for a moment, that the world was still a place worth living in.
Woo Do-Il, the 12 Vassal in charge of Myeongil Hospital, was a man in his fifties with an extremely rigid demeanor. Solidly built, hair slicked straight back, posture ramrod-straight—he looked more like a soldier than a physician.
“You are in perfect health, Gaju. Have you come because of the assignment?”
The remark casually discarded the day’s scheduled checkup the instant he laid eyes on Jeong-Hoon. Jeong-Hoon shook his head. He had sensed it during his earlier hospitalization: conversation with this man was almost impossible; the man was simply too stiff. That such a person had appeared the very first time Jeong-Hoon learned to snap his fingers still astonished him.
“I came for a checkup. Is it really all right to diagnose me at a glance like that?”
“I am merely stating the results that have already come back.”
Jeong-Hoon had already given blood and undergone every test imaginable, so the answer made sense—yet the way Woo Do-Il treated even the family head exactly like any other patient left him speechless. Had Yeo Tae-Hyeon behaved this way, Butler Ju would have barked an immediate reprimand. Instead the butler merely shook his head in resigned acceptance.
“Well, I didn’t come to the hospital for mere muscle pain expecting miracles. Yes, I’m here for the assignment.”
No point arguing when even Butler Ju had given up. Jeong-Hoon brought the matter up at once. Woo Do-Il opened the safe beneath his desk and drew out a single envelope.
“Then I shall execute it.”
With that flat declaration he rose. Butler Ju, the moment he saw the envelope, dropped to one knee without hesitation. The sudden formality surprised Jeong-Hoon a little; even the rigid Woo Do-Il had this side to him.
Then Woo Do-Il began to raise his presence. Jeong-Hoon felt an intense pressure settle over him. Of course an SS-class Awakened was not releasing his full power, yet the posture alone made clear how seriously Woo Do-Il regarded the task.
Thus speaks the 237th Head of the Family.
The 238th Head who would claim Myeongil Hospital shall tend a terminal patient for one full week and thereby learn the preciousness of life.
The examiner is hereby appointed: Butler Woo Do-Il, charged with the affairs of Myeongil Hospital.
Once he had finished reading, Woo Do-Il withdrew his presence, approached Jeong-Hoon, and bowed politely, holding out the letter that contained the assignment.
“…Uh, could I maybe get a different assignment?”
“The assignment left by the previous Gaju is absolute.”
Accepting the letter meant accepting that a human life was being used as a test. The weight of that fact made Jeong-Hoon try to refuse in a roundabout way. Butler Ju and Woo Do-Il immediately began to persuade him that this particular task was necessary.