The Truth of the Family
So-Hyeon’s funeral became exactly the unconventional affair she had hoped for—serving budae-jjigae instead of the traditional yukgaejang.
As a result, Jeong-Hoon and Si-Eun, seated as chief mourners, had no choice but to wear bitter smiles throughout the entire ceremony.
“……She really was a storm of a person.”
After finishing the third memorial rite and placing her few remaining belongings beside the urn, Jeong-Hoon shook his head as he spoke. Beside him, Han Si-Eun let out a short laugh.
“A storm? More like a force of pure chaos, don’t you think?”
“That’s what makes her a storm.”
Even after spending time together, Jeong-Hoon still hadn’t grown particularly close to Han Si-Eun. The center of everything had always been So-Hyeon, never him. Yet the shared hours they had spent with So-Hyeon left him with a quiet sense of camaraderie, as if they were already friends.
“You’ve worked hard, Chairman.”
“Not at all. You worked harder, Hunter Han Si-Eun. You looked after everything as if it were your own.”
“Wasn’t it the same for you, Chairman?”
Her words left Jeong-Hoon momentarily speechless. The task had ended with Lee So-Hyeon’s death, yet he had voluntarily taken the role of chief mourner, seeing the funeral through and even completing the third memorial rite. That had been pure kindness on his part.
“And through this, I finally understood.”
“Understood what?”
“What you meant when you said you’d make the world remember your name.”
He had only spoken the words offhandedly, so when she claimed to grasp their meaning, Jeong-Hoon could only look bewildered.
“Because of this, your reputation among hunters has skyrocketed. People are saying the Chairman looked after a guild that no one else wanted to touch.”
Her words jogged his memory—during the funeral, the head butler had mentioned something similar. Given Jeong-Hoon’s position, word was bound to spread, and with it, his standing had risen. Unlike the quiet resolution of the Shine Mall task, this one had left a considerable social ripple.
“A corporation can’t own a guild, but you intended to make the hunters who form those guilds rely on you. That was the declaration, wasn’t it?”
“What? Ah—no, I never thought that far. I simply hoped many people would remember my name.”
Sensing she was about to run with a wildly exaggerated misunderstanding, Jeong-Hoon hurried to set the record straight.
“Will you keep doing volunteer work like this?”
“I’d like to if I can, but…… watching people die never gets any easier.”
It was a gentle refusal, yet Si-Eun—who had seen him bite his lower lip until it bled after So-Hyeon’s passing—simply nodded.
“But I won’t hold back on this kind of support.”
“……At that rate, Lumen won’t have any rooms left.”
“……I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe we should expand?”
“If you wish, we can open a second location in Seoul.”
They were trading light jokes when the head butler interjected. Jeong-Hoon shook his head. He had no real intention of opening a second branch. He simply planned to expand the welfare services at Myeongil Hospital.
“Then I’ll be heading back. Everyone’s waiting. Thank you for your hard work.”
“Thank you for staying with us far beyond what we asked of you.”
FC Guild, the one she belonged to, had revolved around So-Hyeon, so its activities had been suspended for roughly a week. Jeong-Hoon had no intention of keeping her any longer and bowed in farewell. Still, as a fan, letting her leave like this felt a little disappointing.
“Ah—wait!”
“Yes? Is there something else?”
“I couldn’t say it because of So-Hyeon noona, but…… I’m a fan too. Could I get an autograph and a photo?”
Smiling, the head butler held out paper and a pen. Si-Eun signed it, returned the sheet, then stopped the butler as he raised a phone to take the picture. In one swift motion she snatched the phone from Jeong-Hoon’s pocket and operated it with practiced ease. No password protected it, so she moved freely, framing herself and Jeong-Hoon in the same shot.
“I’m taking it.”
Caught off guard, Jeong-Hoon struck an awkward pose for the photo, then stared blankly as she continued typing without returning the phone.
“Here’s my number. We met because of So-Hyeon unnie, but we’re friends now, right?”
“Ah—yes. Friends.”
Still dazed by her sudden declaration of friendship, Jeong-Hoon took the phone back. He could have obtained her number through Lumen anytime, and she knew that perfectly well. Giving it to him herself was a clear invitation: contact me anytime, as a friend.
“Then next time, let’s meet as friends. Take care.”
She pulled away in an instant, waving as she went. Jeong-Hoon waved back, still half in a daze.
“Friends…… I became friends with Han Si-Eun…….”
Another item on the bucket list he had believed impossible had just been checked off. Jeong-Hoon kept murmuring as he stroked the phone.
“You look even more stunned than when you became Gaju.”
“Honestly, the shock is about the same. No matter how well-off I am, I’m just a rich guy—not an Awakened. I never thought our paths would cross.”
As he spoke, the reality that he was now friends with Han Si-Eun finally sank in. Jeong-Hoon smiled and slipped the phone into his pocket. So-Hyeon had thanked him, but he felt he had received far more from the task. From resolving it, to becoming Gaju, and for the first time since his parents’ deaths—no, for the first time in ages—he had laughed freely and played to his heart’s content.
“The family will carefully manage Hunter Lee So-Hyeon’s urn.”
“I’ll visit often, so please look after it.”
He had no intention of neglecting someone he had called noona. Jeong-Hoon nodded, watching the entrance Si-Eun had dashed through before turning his gaze deeper into the building.
“Since I’m already here, I should pay my respects after so long.”
At the sudden declaration, the head butler looked inside, thought for a moment, then understood and bowed.
“Now that you mention it, this is where they rest.”
“Yes. Both of them were hunters.”
The place where Jeong-Hoon had enshrined So-Hyeon’s urn was the Hunter Memorial Park. Being a hunter was a noble calling that protected the world. Those among the Awakened who registered as hunters could pursue only that profession, yet in exchange they earned the right to be laid to rest in the Hunter Memorial Park so long as they maintained their qualifications. It was the national park for hunters—and Jeong-Hoon’s parents rested here.
A full week after taking control of Myeongil, Jeong-Hoon still had not left Lumen. That did not mean he had merely been idling. He trained under the head butler, received etiquette lessons from Jeong I-Yeong, and learned the truth about the seals, the barriers, and the nature of the Gaju who maintained them.
“In the distant past, monsters existed as a matter of course on this Earth, along with powers such as magic and martial arts.”
“You already told me that much back then.”
“And the one who remade that world into the one we know today was none other than the first Gaju.”
“Ah—so my distant ancestor, then? Roughly how many years ago was that?”
“You are the 238th Gaju. The average reign of each Gaju has been approximately eighteen years.”
Jeong-Hoon found it odd that the term “reign”—normally reserved for kings—was used for a Gaju’s tenure, but that detail hardly mattered. What mattered was that 237 Gaju had come before him.
“About 4,266 years. Not even a hundred years after Dangun settled this land.”
After calculating the years, Jeong-Hoon offered a mild murmur of admiration. A family that had existed since an age when proper records barely remained was a fascinating tale.
“I don’t know about the founding of Gojoseon, but you’ve shared the history ever since. Doesn’t that make this a family that has walked alongside the Korean people?”
“……We have only been settled on this land for a little over six hundred years.”
“That’s hardly a span of time anyone would call ‘only.’”
“The important point is that the first Gaju sealed the monsters roughly 4,300 years ago.”
Indeed, the true matter was the identity of the family and the Gaju, so Jeong-Hoon nodded. The power that sealed the monsters had not acted on them alone. Every near-human race except humanity itself had been sealed away, and humanity had lost its transcendent powers—magic, martial arts, and the like.
“The problem was that the seal was maintained primarily through the male descendants of the first Gaju.”
“Why would that be a problem?”
“If the direct line is broken, the family’s reason for existing vanishes—and the world itself is endangered. That is the problem.”
Thus the family had been established so that the bloodline would never fail. For roughly 4,300 years it had continued without interruption—until misfortune piled upon misfortune and the Gaju’s bloodline began to wither.
“So in the end, I’m the only direct descendant left?”
“That is correct. As a result, the seal that had been maintained for ages began to waver, giving rise to the world as it is now.”
“But it hasn’t completely come undone?”
“No. According to the family’s records, conditions were similar even when the first Gaju first created the seal. As the number of descendants grew, the seal strengthened until monsters, magic, and martial arts faded into mere superstition.”
In other words, the seal was sustained by the number of descendants. Jeong-Hoon nodded silently. Unless some unknown direct descendant still existed somewhere, his death would mean a massive flood of monsters. The truth weighed heavier than he had expected.
“So as long as I’m alive, the world can at least remain in its current state?”
“We hope so, but it will likely be difficult.”
Ten years earlier the seal had temporarily loosened, bringing dungeons and monsters into the world and causing people to Awaken. And as if to prove it was no fleeting phenomenon, ever-stronger monsters and Awakened continued to appear. Dungeons and the superpowers of the Awakened were transitional symptoms of a seal that was steadily unraveling.
“Judging by this progression, the seal has already suffered severe damage, yet because you live, Gaju, it has not fully broken.”
“Even if it completely fails, we’d only see more monsters, right? Not ones that are vastly stronger?”
“Gaju, would you believe me if I told you that the orc lord we once subjugated was merely mid-to-upper tier among orcs?”
The news that monsters stronger than an orc lord were commonplace made Jeong-Hoon’s expression harden. The family’s vassals had subdued it with ease, but that was only possible because they were the family’s vassals. When an orc lord had appeared in China and the United States in the past, entire cities had been reduced to ash.
“One consolation is that humanity grows stronger with time as well. The family has been steadily preparing for that future.”
The founding of the Hunter Association, the transmission of magic and martial arts to talented hunters, the development of new technologies effective against monsters—Jeong-Hoon recalled the enterprises the family undertook to protect the world and nodded. It was not merely about defending the present, but a grand design for the future.
“Is there no way to restore the seal?”
“It is only conjecture, but…….”
“It’s fine. Just tell me. If there’s a method we can try, we should.”
His interest had shifted from mere preparation to the actual restoration of the seal. At the question the head butler looked troubled, yet at Jeong-Hoon’s words his eyes lit with resolve.
“Gaju, you should marry as soon as possible and have many sons. If marriage feels unappealing, becoming a rake would also serve. What do you think?”
“……Even for the sake of the world, I don’t think effort would get me there, so I’ll pass.”
Understanding at once why the head butler had hesitated, Jeong-Hoon shook his head in firm refusal. Had Jeong-Hoon shown even a hint of lecherous inclination, the man would have urged him immediately. Finding none, he abandoned the idea cleanly.
“I expected you would say that. Then let us focus on preparing for the future.”
“I will.”
Jeong-Hoon nodded at the head butler’s suggestion and turned his attention to the next item on the schedule. Having taken control of Myeongil Hospital, he had gained a new authority as Gaju: the right to transmit magic or martial arts to S-class hunters—or those with the potential to become so.