Breaking the Shackles That Bound Me
“Look here.” Several photographs were spread across the desk. “We’ve checked everything we could—the ground around the entrance, vehicle tracks, movement traces, residual mana, and the testimonies of the outpost guards.”
“But—no traces of anyone passing through. No footprints, no tire marks, no mana residue, no records from the outpost. Everything came back ‘no anomalies.’”
A light silence settled over the room again. Investigator Park Eun-chae narrowed her eyes. “If that group actually existed, it couldn’t possibly be this much of a zero.” Her gaze dug deep into my face. “Did it… really exist, Investigator Byun Jihoon?”
The air in the Director’s office grew heavy once more. Director Han Seo-yeon crossed her arms and looked at me. “Investigator Byun Jihoon. There are clear discrepancies between your report and the data we’ve secured.”
Her words tightened the atmosphere in the room slightly. “So I’ll ask. Is the content of your report… truly accurate?”
“…I wrote exactly what happened.”
The moment my words ended, three pairs of eyes locked onto me at once. A brief silence followed. Standing under those gazes, I felt less anxiety than irritation at the repeated questioning.
Section Chief Choi Jun-hyuk silently pushed several documents forward. “Very well. From here, we’ll need to examine things in greater detail.” He nodded toward Park Eun-chae. “Investigator Park, wait outside for a moment.”
Park Eun-chae gathered the documents with a reluctant expression and quietly left. The sound of the door closing echoed softly.
Choi Jun-hyuk continued in a low voice. “Investigator Byun Jihoon. Your rate of ability growth… is difficult to consider within normal parameters.”
Director Han Seo-yeon took over. “The speed at which you rose from F-class to C-class clearly exceeds the normal range. Strength, agility, senses—every stat rose simultaneously in a short period, and the growth curve differs from typical patterns.”
He paused briefly, tapping the table lightly. “That’s why we need confirmation. Whether you may have absorbed a dungeon core, or awakened with some other anomalous constitution that existing classifications can’t explain.”
The moment I heard those words, something I had been suppressing inside me shook violently.
“…Me? You’re saying I absorbed a core?”
Director Han Seo-yeon’s expression didn’t change. “Some studies suggest that a special mutation could absorb a C-class core.”
Section Chief Choi Jun-hyuk nodded. “With a growth curve like yours, that hypothesis can’t be ruled out.”
At that moment, heat surged up inside me. It wasn’t that the accusation didn’t sting. But what bothered me more was the blatant way they were forcing suspicion on me without even hearing an explanation—as if they had already decided on a conclusion and were trying to fit me into it.
I started quietly, but the more I spoke, the more strength gathered in my hands. Like clenching a fist, the emotion tightened inside me.
“So…” After taking a breath, I continued without averting my gaze. “Are you calling me a liar right now?”
Section Chief Choi Jun-hyuk’s eyes flickered slightly, but he remained silent. Seeing that reaction, I felt there was no longer any reason to hold back.
“Fine. Then let me ask.” My voice had sharpened a tone without me realizing it. “According to you, is it more ‘reasonable’ to believe that a C-class like me single-handedly dealt with all those orcs and even took down the boss monster? Do you think that’s normal?”
Director Han Seo-yeon and Section Chief Choi Jun-hyuk’s gazes wavered for a moment. I pressed on. “And… I didn’t receive any support. When Team Leader Yoo Mira requested rescue, what was headquarters’ answer?”
Without pausing, I continued. “Twenty mana-stone bombs. That was it. Are you going to call that ‘support’?”
I didn’t even give them time to breathe. “You refused immediate rescue, then threw twenty bombs at us and essentially told us to ‘handle it ourselves.’ And the first thing you say to someone who barely made it back alive is whether I absorbed a core, whether I have some anomalous constitution, whether my report is false. So suspicion comes first?”
When Director Han Seo-yeon tried to speak, I cut her off. “Investigator Byun Jihoon, that’s not what we—”
“Not what? According to your logic, I solved everything alone. That would make me at least S-class, wouldn’t it?”
The air in the investigation room shifted subtly. “If that’s your judgment… fine.” I exhaled shortly. It wasn’t quite a laugh—there was no humor in it at all. “So this is how the Investigation Bureau treats S-class ability users? No support, and suspicion the moment they return alive?”
No one could easily continue. “And absorbing a core?” I looked between Director Han Seo-yeon and Choi Jun-hyuk. “How exactly do you plan to confirm that? Are you going to shove a dungeon core into my mouth? Or cut open my stomach to check?”
Silence fell. “Do you have anything else to say?” My voice had lowered, but the anger hadn’t subsided at all. “If not, I’m done here. I can’t stay in this organization anymore. Do whatever you want.”
After I spat out my final words, the Director’s office fell completely silent for a moment.
“Investigator Byun Jihoon. I understand that your emotions are running high because of what you’ve been through. But the Bureau’s suspicion isn’t meant to attack you personally.” Her tone remained calm, but there was a firm line beneath it. “When dungeon-related incidents don’t match their reports, it disrupts the entire response system. That’s why we have no choice but to verify your report again.”
Section Chief Choi Jun-hyuk added briefly, “We don’t want you as an enemy. But as long as there are discrepancies, suspicion is a natural procedure.”
Those two sentences were both a warning and a notice—meaning they wouldn’t press further, but also that they had no intention of dropping their suspicions.
I nodded shortly. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be leaving now.”
Director Han Seo-yeon didn’t try to stop me. “Very well. You may go. But this matter isn’t over. You may be summoned again.”
When she finished, I walked silently toward the door. The moment I stepped out of the Director’s office, the heavy air lightened slightly, but my mind became even clearer.
‘This is it.’ The organization won’t protect me. They’ll suspect, pressure, and sacrifice me if needed. Then there was only one choice.
‘Focus on growth. And someday… I’ll build my own faction that will stand by me.’
Just then, I heard movement from the side corridor. Investigator Park Eun-chae, carrying documents, met my eyes as she returned. She said nothing, but her gaze quietly held the meaning that ‘this isn’t over.’ It wasn’t conviction or accusation—just a single suspicion that wouldn’t fade.
I met her gaze briefly and passed by without a word. I had already made enough decisions for today.
The next morning, I headed to the Investigation Team 3 office as usual. People were busy as always, but my footsteps felt different. Jae-hoon was the first to spot me.
“Jihoon! Yesterday… what happened—”
“Hyung, I… came to submit my resignation.”
The words were short, but that single sentence brought the office to a halt. Team Leader Yoo Mira stood up immediately. “Jihoon, wait a moment. Is this because of what happened yesterday?”
I turned toward the team leader. “Team Leader. Isn’t an organization supposed to first check on and protect an employee who went missing and returned alive? But the Bureau suspected me first.”
My tone was calm, but my resolve was clear. Do-yoon also approached. “Jihoon, still, resigning is too—”
“Hyung. I’m sorry. I can’t stay here anymore.”
I placed the resignation letter I had prepared on the desk. My hand trembled slightly, but I had no intention of taking it back.
A moment later, as I walked out of the building, Jae-hoon hurried after me. “Hey, then how are you going to live? We’re supposed to work together!”
I smiled faintly and replied, “I have some savings. I also have a few B-class mana stones. I’ll live off those for now and work as a free hunter.”
Jae-hoon’s expression grew complicated. “A free hunter… You’re really going that route?”
“Yes. I think I can manage now. Being C-class means I can handle proper combat… My goal is to grow and advance to B-class.”
I gave a short greeting and shook hands with Jae-hoon. “See you next time, hyung.”
Then I left the Investigation Bureau building behind. As the door closed, the outside air rushed in all at once. In that moment, my mind cleared strangely. This was the real beginning.
“Now… I have to walk my own path.”
After returning home, I deliberately made no plans. For a week, I did only the bare minimum of thinking. I just rested, ate, felt my body, and closed my eyes when needed. The flow inside my body was stable. The rough waves from absorbing the core in the dungeon had now settled into almost calm ripples. But the sheer amount of energy was clearly maintaining a level close to A-class. When I inhaled, power filled my entire body and vibrated subtly, and every movement made me feel that the very structure of my muscles had changed.
On the third day, a text message arrived on my phone. [Your resignation has been processed.]
Even after reading it, I felt no particular emotion. My heart had already moved far ahead.
After that, calls and messages from my teammates kept coming—worries, check-ins, half-joking and half-serious words. I only replied briefly to the necessary ones and left the rest. I had no intention of cutting ties. But right now, I needed to focus on planning what came next and organizing the direction I had to go.
After a week, both my body and mind had settled to some degree. The Bureau’s gaze, the organization’s practices, their suspicions—none of it was directly related to me anymore. Only one thing remained. Getting stronger. That resolve didn’t waver.
One week after leaving the Investigation Bureau, I stepped out of the house without hesitation. “From now on, I have to live by my own strength.”
First, I headed to the Hunter Association branch. After a simple paperwork process, my identity was sorted, and the newly issued registration card clearly displayed [C-class Hunter Byun Jihoon]. I slipped the card into my wallet and exhaled shortly. Now I was unbound by any side.
Next, I organized my spoils. I had already separated the items into my backpack and the car’s cargo space. I went straight to a private workshop that handled gem appraisal, equipment purchase, and cash trading of mana stones—a place frequently mentioned among hunters.
It was a small second-floor workshop with a modest sign. When I opened the door, the smell of metal and the sound of polishing naturally filled the air. “Welcome. Whether it’s appraisal or purchase, feel free to leave it with us.”
I set down my backpack and placed the gems, accessories, armor, and mana stones on the workbench one by one. The workshop owner examined each item without much reaction and nodded. I sold the armor all at once. I bundled the gems, accessories, shaman talismans, and miscellaneous consumables together for processing, and also sold thirty mana stones for cash. The unit price was lower than official routes, but that was the price of avoiding transaction records. When the settlement was complete, after purchasing new equipment, I had about 150 million won left in hand. It was more than enough.
I left the orc chieftain’s sword for separate appraisal. After checking its condition, the workshop owner nodded. “The blade itself is good. With a little work, you can keep using it.”
I requested repairs. I had no intention of replacing the sword. Instead, I only purchased new defensive gear. After trying on lightweight armor—top and bottom—along with gloves and boots, my movements felt much lighter. I also bought five equipment appraisal certificates. Thinking ahead, this level of preparation was necessary.
When I finished paying and stepped out, my equipment setup was neatly organized. Just before leaving, I casually asked one more thing—whether they knew a place that handled monster corpses and byproducts. The workshop owner looked at me for a moment, then silently slid a contact number across the workbench. No explanation, no conditions, but that was enough.