Ep.02 The Only Customer

Well… the world had turned upside down.

Towers and Gates appeared, and those who awakened became Hunters.

The rest, everyone knows.

And as humanity had always done, we succeeded in bringing the unknown mostly under our thumb. We lit our cities with magic stones harvested from monsters and absorbed the technologies carried down from the Towers, pushing civilization another step forward.

There was just one thing we never managed to understand.

Runic script.

The very bizarre characters I'd been copying out all day, every day, all the way through grad school. No grammar, no arrangement — no rule ever held. The most renowned linguists and cryptographers on the planet threw themselves at it, and not a single sentence was ever properly translated.

Across all those long years, we learned exactly one thing.

Copy the shape exactly, and you get exactly the same effect.

Which meant you had no choice but to lay a photograph beside you and trace, stroke by stroke.

When a person did it, you got a handcrafted skill book. When a machine did it, you got the mass-produced kind sold at every mart these days.

A book no one could read, yet anyone could buy and use.

And into the face of me — a man who made his living creating such books — this text appeared.

Was that why?

Before the fact of my awakening had even fully sunk in, my hand was already reaching for the photograph lying on the counter desk.

It was the original image of the skill book I'd abandoned halfway through transcribing that morning. Along the bottom ran a mana analysis of each individual stroke, plus the familiar performance sheet.

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

Light Footsteps. An E-rank movement assist skill.

You could move a little faster — but the moment you jerked sideways to dodge a monster, the whole thing cut out. And on top of that, it came saddled with a hefty Agility requirement, so freshly awakened rookies often couldn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠even learn it.

Its one and only virtue was a tiny mana cost. Yet paradoxically, that single virtue was exactly what had made this skill mandatory for every rookie hunter out there.

It was a steady seller, which meant I knew by heart every stroke that had to go where in this book, and how. The only ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thing I'd never known was what any of those strokes actually meant.

I drew the photograph closer.

So I can read it now. This stuff.

I fixed my gaze on a single character, and the instant I thought I want to know what it means—

something came loose deep in my chest.

It rushed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠along my body and pooled behind my eyes, and then the characters on the photograph lifted off the page and began to float.

"—!!!"

The strokes peeled away from the paper and layered themselves before my eyes. Shapes that had looked like a tangled ball of yarn suddenly acquired an order — a front and a back — and the mass I couldn't even tell was a single letter moments ago strung itself into sentences.

And then, as though it had always been that way, I simply understood them.

At the moment your foot strikes down, expel the mana gathered in your sole toward your direction of travel. Hold that force for five seconds—

No, wait. Why on earth is it written like this after that?

I read the third line again.

The runic text wasn't following the direction of travel naturally. It was locking onto the direction of the very first step. Twist your body, and the path the mana needed to flow went crooked — that was why the effect broke.

So that's where the problem is.

Only after that thought did pressure gather in the hand gripping the photograph.

A man who used to zoom into a photo just to place a single dot now knew why that dot belonged there. The sentences I'd only ever been able to copy without error suddenly made me want to lay my hands on them.

"…This is insane."

A shiver ran down my spine.

I set the photograph down at once and picked up my pen —

the pen that hadn't cooperated with me all morning.

Right now, I honestly didn't want to let go of it.

My face stared back at me from the glass of the window.

Only when I lifted my head did I realize the sky outside had gone dark. I checked the clock — half the day had slipped past without me noticing.

The desk was buried in a small mountain of revised drafts. At first I'd thought I only needed to rewrite the passage locking in the direction, but the moment I changed it, a whole cascade of other spots demanded fixing, front to back.

Thanks to that, I'd even forgotten to eat.

And the single book that labor had produced was now sitting right in front of me.

"…Ha."

A hollow laugh escaped me.

Anyone who didn't know better might think it wasn't such a big deal.

But that was the kind of thing only a person who truly knew nothing could say.

The speed boost had doubled. The quality was Supreme. The restriction that unraveled at the slightest change of direction was gone entirely — and yet the requirements to learn it had actually dropped.

No need to dump a pile of stat points into Agility anymore. This was a C-rank skill you could learn on the very first day of your awakening, so long as you met the bare minimum.

I opened the book one more time. Only after reading through to the last page did I force down the corners of my mouth, which kept trying to climb.

Ding-a-ling. Ding-a-ling.

Just then, the door opened and a girl in a school uniform walked in.

"Oh, you're still here today too, mister!"

"…I'm still in my twenties. It's oppa."

"You got it, mister."

Ah. I should walk back that comment about my customers having dried up completely.

This kid was the exception. She never bought anything, but she was the one regular visitor our shop had.

She attended a high school nearby and lived with her grandfather and a little younger brother — three of them, getting by on a tight budget.

A while back, working late into the night, I'd had her duck into my lit-up shop because she thought someone kept following her. After we sat and talked for a bit that evening, she started dropping by like this now and then.

And a week ago, she'd shown up with news of her awakening.

"So, how'd the awakening assessment go?"

"Hee hee. I'm combat-track! E-rank!"

"…I see."

Combat-track, E-rank.

Frankly, of all the verdicts an awakened person could receive, it was the most disappointing one. It meant you'd have to put your body on the line and risk your life — while the ability meant to keep that body alive was the lowest grade there was.

And yet there wasn't a trace of disappointment on her face.

"What are you talking about? I can earn money now, can't I? I'm going to tell Grandpa to stop collecting scrap, and we'll move someplace nicer, and—"

She broke off and smiled brightly.

"I just want to let him rest easy, that's all. He's getting old now."

"You little rascal."

I gave her head a light rap with my knuckles.

"Ow! Why'd you hit meee!"

"Here. Candy."

She narrowed her eyes and shot me a glare — while her fingers made quick work of the wrapper. A moment later the candy was in her mouth, and she climbed onto the chair in front of the counter and started spinning in circles.

"Hmm-mm— hmmmm-mm—"

…Honestly, even looking like that, she was a far better person than the likes of me.

It showed in the way that the moment she awakened, her thoughts went straight to her grandfather instead of her own comfort.

I wished I'd been like that while my parents were still alive. I'd assumed it was all supposed to come later — graduate first, land a job first, then give them everything.

Mindlessly opening and closing the lid of the candy jar, I stopped.

…What's this?

A thin thread of light was moving inside the girl's spinning body. A blue current had started somewhere near her heart and split off down her arms and legs.

Mana?

The moment I thought I wanted to see how it flowed, mana seeped into the backs of my eyes — and a strange window unfurled beside the girl.

I looked back and forth between Min-ji and the window beside her.

So "He Who Sees Through All" could read other people's status screens too, huh.

Dazzled, I scanned the contents — but the ability listed there was anything but welcome.

Nimble Movement.

An ability that granted a flat bonus of seven Agility points the moment you awakened.

Given how hard stats became to raise as time went on, it was by no means a small number.

The problem was that it was all there was. After those seven bonus points, the ability offered precisely nothing else you could use in a fight.

"Min-ji. Your exam's this weekend, right?"

"Yep! The Korea Hunter Academy."

The Korea Hunter Academy.

The nation's premier institution for training hunters, where the most outstanding awakened from across the country gathered. Normally, E-ranks were weeded out at the paperwork stage, but Min-ji had qualified to sit the exam thanks to her grandfather.

…Which meant, most likely, she'd fail.

Getting to take the test didn't erase the gap between her and the other applicants.

And as I thought that, my eyes landed on the skill book I'd finished only a little while ago.

"What about gear and skills? You all set?"

"Gear, yes! I got a 3-million-won government subsidy! I picked up all the basic equipment with that, but…"

"Skills?"

"Not yet. After buying the gear there was nothing left. They're way more expensive than I thought, you know?"

Min-ji gave an embarrassed laugh, then suddenly lifted her head to look at me.

"What? Are you gonna give me one, mister?"

She was still snickering at her own joke.

"Sure. Here."

I picked up the skill book on the counter and held it out to her.

"…Huh?"

Min-ji stared down at the book, smile still on her face. Apparently she'd taken it for a joke.

Only when I kept holding it out instead of pulling it back did her hand sneak up — and then, right before her fingers touched the cover, she stopped again.

"Hold on. Are you… are you serious?"

"Yep."

"Wait, why are you giving me this? These go for at least a million won even at the cheap end, don't they?"

…It'd cost far more than that, kiddo.

A C-rank skill book — one that could be learned from the very moment of awakening, no less. And Supreme quality, at that.

But if I told her the real price, she'd never find the nerve to accept it, so I didn't bother correcting her.

"So you go ace that exam."

When I held the book out a little further, Min-ji took it with both hands this time. She ran her palm carefully over the cover, lips trembling.

"…Oppa."

"What."

"Thank you so much. I'm definitely going to become a hunter, and I'll make lots of money and pay you back."

"What's a kid paying back, huh? And you only call me oppa when you want something?"

"Then should I go back to calling you mister?"

"Forget it. Just stick with oppa."

Min-ji hid half her face behind the book and laughed.

"Then I'm off to go practice. If I pass, this'll be the very first place I come to."

"Sure. I'll leave the door open."

Hugging the book tight to her chest, she gave a small bow.

"Okay, really going now!"

"Go, already."

Ding-a-ling.

The bell on the door jangled loudly, and the girl's figure was soon receding beyond the glass.

"…Never told her to take the candy with her."

I watched her go for a moment, then turned my gaze back to the counter.

Well.

I could just make another one.

After all, there was plenty of time ahead.