A Very Normal Registration

I had a dream.

A dream where I died, transmigrated into a bizarre alternate world crawling with hunters and dimensional gates, and awakened.

A grotesque nightmare where the secondhand tabletop RPG rulebook I bought twisted into an eldritch grimoire and pounced on me.

Chirp! Chirp, chirp!

Faint morning sparrow chatter pierced the haze of sleep, striking my ears for the first time in ages. The culprit was someone on the street outside who made a habit of scattering bird feed right past my semi-basement window, ensuring a daily dawn chorus filled my room. It was an evil, sleep-destroying routine that had earned my begrudging respect more than once.

"...Ugh, why do I feel so damn refreshed?"

No throbbing morning headache. No stiffness in my neck or back. Waking up from an uninterrupted, comfortable sleep into a crisp morning without a single ache was so rare it put me in a remarkably good mood.

Pfft-shhh—

I rolled out of bed, popped open a can of wholesale Zero Coke I kept stockpiled in the fridge, and tipped it straight down my throat.

"Khaaah."

The fizzy, refreshing bite swept away the last dregs of drowsiness—and immediately delivered the subtle, savory scent of pan-fried fish lingering in the room.

"Oh, for fuck's sake..."

Leaning against the sink, I stared at the grim aftermath I had wrought—or rather, been coerced into wreaking. The room smelled like a seaside grill, a ceramic plate lay shattered on the floor, cleaved cleanly in two, and at the epicenter of the aroma sat a jet-black volume, its cover clamped firmly shut. As if to prove none of this had been a hallucination, my desktop computer was still humming along merrily in the corner.

"Status Window."

Clean. Impeccably neat, without a single flaw to scrutinize. I offered the screen a thoroughly dumbfounded stare before dismissing it.

"So it wasn't a dream."

Awakening wasn't a dream, and getting physically overpowered by a book wasn't a dream either. Was I supposed to be relieved that I'd survived death, or should I despair over becoming the master of a tome that could drive me insane? Setting all existential dread aside, however, a far more pressing issue loomed.

"I have to register as a hunter... don't I?"

In this world, just like the novels I used to read, a Hunter Association existed, and anyone who awakened mana was legally obligated to register. The specific examination procedures were classified and nowhere to be found online. If they realized just how dangerous this grimoire was during the evaluation, how would they react?

"I'd be lucky if they only treated me like a walking tactical nuke."

They might lock me away in solitary confinement, or perhaps an association official with a specialized sealing skill would bind the grimoire for good. The problem was that people in this society possessed mana perception. Unless someone had a dedicated stealth skill, walking around as an unregistered awakened meant being dragged in for mandatory interrogation the moment an inspector caught a whiff. And why was the law so harsh? Because unregistered awakened who turned to crime were branded as villains, causing over a hundred civilian casualties every year. The forums had nothing sympathetic to say about them.

Branded a villain, or locked in a cell? At least with a cell, there was room for negotiation. The internet made it abundantly clear that if an unregistered individual was caught in the middle of a crime, licensed hunters were legally authorized to neutralize them on sight with zero criminal liability. It truly was an astonishing world.

"Ugh, my head..."

First things first: I cleaned up the broken crockery. Since I'd smashed it with the full weight of my body, the ceramic was pulverized. I wrapped the shards carefully in newspaper, dropped them into a municipal trash bag, and tied it tight.

"...Wait. What happens if I just toss the book in the trash with it?"

Morbid curiosity flickered to life. But the second I reached for the grimoire to shove it into the bag—

Shiver.

An icy prickle raced up my spine, freezing the air around my neck. Obeying a visceral instinct whispering that doing so would be fatal, I set the book back down on the table. Why did everything have to come with a catch?

Sighing heavily, I slipped the grimoire into a canvas tote bag and got ready to leave. Pulling up a map app on my phone, I typed in the Hunter Association, and the destination popped up immediately.

The headquarters is massive...

Hunters in this world apparently enjoyed far higher social standing than I'd anticipated. In some stories, hunters were treated like disposable cannon fodder, so I'd worried this place might be the same, but that seemed entirely unfounded.

Dressed in my neighborhood slacker uniform—black hoodie, gray sweatpants, and white slide sandals—I stepped out into the daylight.

Check above: clear. Roadway... all clear.

The memory of dying from a falling signboard the moment I let my guard down was still fresh. Determined never to go out like that again, I navigated the street with excessive paranoia.

Wait. Why is it so peaceful today?

No dump trucks careening out of blind intersections. No middle schoolers doubling up on an electric scooter hurtling toward my spine. I genuinely wondered if I'd ever experienced a day this safe in my entire life. Did the universe give you a break once you'd already died once?

My semi-basement apartment sat on a steep, winding hill, which meant every trip outside had historically been an obstacle course. I'd routinely dodged the runaway handcart of the cardboard-collecting grandpa who lived further up the slope, or narrowly missed flowerpots dropped by the ahjumma tending orchids on her rooftop. Not that I missed any of it.

For once, without a single brush with death, I arrived safely before the Hunter Association headquarters.

The facility was colossal, and all around the perimeter, individuals who were unmistakably hunters strolled about carrying lethal armaments. Claymores, longswords, recurve bows slung over shoulders... Their weapons belonged to the Middle Ages, yet they wore tailored modern business suits, creating a bizarre, surreal contrast.

"Well now, what brings a young man like you out here?"

As I stood gawking outside the main gates, an elderly security guard with a stooped back and thick white whiskers stepped out of the guardhouse and addressed me with a genial smile.

"Ah, yes, hello. Um, I'm here to..."

"Come to register, haven't you?"

"Huh? How did you know...?"

"Haha! Why, look here."

The elderly guard took off his peaked security cap. Beneath a mop of snowy hair, two small, rounded ears twitched atop his head.

A mouse? They looked identical to a field mouse's ears.

Whoa. An actual beastman.

"...?"

"Bwahaha!"

When I merely stared in wide-eyed wonder, the old man rested a hand over his belly and let out a hearty laugh. He tapped one of his fuzzy ears and explained.

"Mouse beastfolk are particularly sensitive to mana, you see. We can pick up the unrefined mana leaking from a fresh awakened faster than anyone else."

"...Oh."

"Most beastfolk have keen senses, but our kin especially so. There's a good reason this old-timer is still on active duty, hoho."

So the differences between beastfolk weren't just cosmetic. Looking closer, I noticed that despite his hunched posture, his frame was broad and remarkably muscular. Did the Hunter Association employ retired hunters even for their gate security?

"Just head inside the main hall, and the staff will guide you through registration. Don't let all the weapons intimidate you; folks might look rough, but they aren't bad people, so don't fret."

"Ah, thank you very much."

I gave the elderly guard a polite bow and made my way through the towering front doors.

Han Ho-seok, a retired veteran who had once made a name for himself as an A-rank hunter, quietly watched the young man's retreating back with sharp, narrowed eyes.

At first, he had genuinely thought an infiltrator from the villain syndicates was launching an assault. The leaking mana was clumsy, lacking any semblance of control or refinement, yet beneath that faint trace lingered something grotesque and spine-chilling that relentlessly prickled the head of security's instincts. Decades might have passed since his retirement, but years on the front lines had honed his danger sense into a razor's edge.

On the surface, the boy seemed entirely harmless. Ho-seok had seen the wide-eyed curiosity in his gaze, looking around like a country bumpkin laying eyes on hunters and beastfolk for the very first time.

Could that have been an act?

Han Ho-seok shook his head internally. Out of the question. He had fought mountains of monsters and crossed paths with just as many villains in his prime. Mental-type aberrations, illusion-weaving beasts, fraudsters who spun mana into intricate deceits—Ho-seok had suffered through their tricks and shattered them all. He knew without a doubt that the boy wasn't putting on an act.

Even so, a tiger cub was still a tiger. It was his duty to log the anomaly with the upper offices, if only as a cautionary note.

The boy's detected mana was minuscule, bearing every hallmark of a novice who had awakened only hours ago. But that bizarre, instinctive dread... that sickening sensation, like phantom tentacles worming deep into his ear canal, was undeniable. If it wasn't mana, what was it?

Unable to form a definitive conclusion, Ho-seok lightly pressed his earpiece and opened the internal channel.

"One new awakened entering for registration. Flag for observation."

Tension, caution, vigilance, danger. Though years had passed since he had used those operational codes, the words fell from his lips without hesitation. That unassuming young man had stirred an echo of raw dread in Ho-seok's gut—a feeling he hadn't experienced since his days on the front line.

If you transplanted a medieval fantasy adventurer's guild into a sleek modern skyscraper, would it look like this? Hunters strolled across the polished marble floor wearing tailored suits wrapped in faint blue auras. One burly man marched past carrying a massive greatsword, wearing a full-faced knight's helm that looked completely absurd paired with his three-piece suit.

Do all hunters dress in suits around here?

They clearly weren't ordinary business attire; faint mana currents constantly rippled across the fabric, making them look enchanted. As I stood marveling at the spectacle, a polite voice broke through my reverie.

"Hello there. How may I assist you today?"

Flowing black hair, hands folded neatly in front of her waist, and smiling, crescent-shaped squinty eyes. Unless an enemy spy had already breached the front desk, she was the quintessential fox-eyed corporate receptionist.

"Ah, yes... I awakened mana yesterday, so I came to register as a hunter."

"Here for registration? Wonderful. Please allow me to guide you. Right this way."

Click, clack.

Offering a pleasant smile, she turned and led the way. Those stiletto heels were impossibly high; it was a minor miracle she didn't lose her balance.

"We will conduct your measurement evaluation before completing the paperwork."

Her steps came to a halt before a massive, reinforced steel door bearing a plaque that read: Mana Measurement Room.

"Inside, we will verify your personal details, have you place your hand on the measurement device, and conduct a brief consultation to discuss your career preferences."

"Understood."

"Nothing in this procedure will harm you, so you may put your mind at ease."

With a gentle nod, she pulled open the blast door.

Screeech—

Judging by the heavy mechanical groaning, the slab of metal weighed several tons. Could a normal civilian even budge that thing? More importantly, another puzzle bothered me.

Why isn't anyone reacting to my tote bag?

Even now, a distinct aroma of pan-fried mackerel was wafting up into my nostrils. Outside was one thing, but for nobody indoors to wrinkle their nose or shoot me a side-eye felt deeply unnatural.

Are they just being polite?

It was strange enough that I glanced sideways at the receptionist. Catching my gaze, she tilted her head in an endearing manner and asked softly,

"Is something the matter, prospective hunter?"

Well, that was cute. She was slightly shorter than me, and leaning forward with her hands clasped behind her back gave her an innocent charm. It didn't feel like calculated ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠flirting; she just seemed naturally pleasant.

"...No, nothing. Just a little nervous."

"Ah! That is perfectly normal, so please do not worry. It really is a very simple process."

Her voice shed some of its corporate polish, revealing a warmer, more casual undertone. That was probably her real personality.

"Right. Thank you."

I gave her a polite nod and stepped across the threshold into the evaluation chamber.

Beyond the heavy door, chilled air hung low over the room. Behind a reinforced observation window sat an office desk equipped with a desktop computer, manned by a woman in a white lab coat. She wore a deadpan expression, cross-referencing on-screen data against a thick paper dossier.

"Mmh... Hm? Oh, welcome. Here for your evaluation?"

She pulled her eyes away from the paperwork to look at me. Bright blue eyes, messy blonde hair pulled into a haphazard bun, and underneath her white coat, a faded, stretched-collar t-shirt that screamed she had thrown on whatever was lying on her bedroom floor. She gave me a brief, uninterested once-over.

"Have a seat over there. We'll verify your identification before taking measurements."

Languid eyes, professional administrative phrasing delivered with absolute monotony. The overwhelming aura of fatigue rolling off her practically screamed that she was a seasoned, underpaid veteran. I obediently sat in the chair across from her and recited my name and citizen registration number. Fortunately, the number format matched my previous life's resident ID, so I didn't have to fumble awkwardly with my wallet.

"All right, Baek Chan-ssi. Identity confirmed. What class did you awaken as?"

Here it came. Taking a quiet breath, I kept my face as neutral as possible.

"Grimoire Mage."

It wasn't like I had committed a felony, but declaring an unregistered magic class felt uncomfortably taboo.

"Grimoire Mage... Okay, logged. If you're a Grimoire Mage, do you have your grimoire with you?"

Wait. Was the class not as alarming as I'd feared? Seeing how utterly unbothered she looked, I nodded and lifted my canvas bag.

"It's in here."

"..."

It ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was an ultra-durable tote bag I had bought from a discount mart for two thousand won. Inside rested an eldritch tome still radiating the scent of pan-fried fish. Curiously enough, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠even after a full day, the stench hadn't faded in the slightest. But the examiner's reaction was odd.

"..."

I had only lifted the bag, expecting her to ask me to pull the book out for inspection, but she simply froze, staring fixedly at the canvas without uttering a single word.

"Um... Examiner-nim?"

"...Pardon?"

"Should I take the grimoire out?"

"Hm? No. Grimoire verified. There are no issues."

Had she used some kind of appraisal skill in that brief pause? Concluding there were no issues without even looking inside felt a bit suspicious, but since she'd cleared it, there was no reason for me to press the matter. I gave a light nod.

The examiner continued briskly,

"Then let us proceed to your mana measurement, Baek Chan-ssi. Step inside that testing chamber, and you'll see a black orb mounted before the apparatus. All you need to do is rest your hand upon it."

I turned toward the adjacent isolation chamber. Inside sat a massive mana-measuring engine, humming with a low, intimidating vibration.

"Why is that chamber isolated behind blast glass?"

"Ah. Every so often, an awakened possesses a mana volume that overloads the equipment. It is installed purely for safety precautions."

I didn't bother asking whose safety she meant. If an awakened possessed enough raw power to detonate testing machinery, it was obvious who needed shielding.

Stepping inside the chamber, I approached the black sphere. It rested on a pedestal roughly level with my solar plexus. Only when I stood directly before it did I realize the deep humming wasn't coming from the machinery—it was emanating directly from the orb itself. This was my first direct contact with an enchanted artifact in this new world.

Bracing myself with a sliver of nervous tension, I gently lowered my palm onto the sphere's surface. The examiner's voice crackled through the overhead intercom.

Hummmmm—

A faint vibration surged through my palm, rippling across my entire nervous system. It felt ticklish, almost like tiny worms squirming beneath my skin.

Is this mana?

It had no distinct temperature, nor did it feel invasive. What it carried was an undeniable, absolute presence. Coming from a world devoid of magic, a degree of instinctive revulsion was unavoidable, but the feeling faded rapidly. In fact—as strange as it sounded—it felt as though the mana held genuine affection for me.

Hands clasped.

Over the hand I had rested on the orb, foreign fingers began to intertwine. There were thirteen of them, blossoming from a single palm like fleshy petals, wrapping tightly around my wrist to circulate mana deep into my core.

"..."

Hearing her voice, an irrational wave of disappointment washed over me. Pulling my hand away felt almost painful. The thirteen fingers and their petal-like grasp peeled slowly away from my skin, leaving behind a lingering craving to sink back into that touch.

A dark desire to feel just a little more began to coil in my chest, until—

...Holy shit.

What the hell was that? Had I just been enchanted by raw mana like some possessed lunatic? I definitely needed to be careful whenever handling mana in the future. Without Mental Protection, there was no telling what I might have done just now.

Should I mention this to the examiner? I decided to play it by ear.

Exiting the testing chamber, I reclaimed my seat across from the desk.

"All right, measurements are processed. Let's see... Your total mana pool isn't particularly high. Somewhere between D-rank and C-rank, I'd say."

"Uh... is that considered bad?"

"It's awkward. We categorize hunters into combat field operatives and non-combat production specialists. Frankly, looking at your mana volume alone, I wouldn't recommend field combat. D-rank is the absolute bare minimum for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠active raid deployment."

"There are... production hunters?"

"Of course. The equipment manufactured by hunter corporations and subsidized by the state is almost entirely crafted by production hunters. However... your mana receptivity is remarkably high."

Mana receptivity? What did that even mean? Specialized jargon flew back and forth, most of it entirely over my head. In my old life, I would have dismissed it as chuunibyou nonsense, but here, it was hard reality.

"To put it simply, your mana recovery rate is extraordinary. For a mage-type class, as long as ambient mana is sufficient, you could theoretically cast basic spells almost indefinitely without exhausting yourself."

So that was why the mana had clung to me like that.

I paused to weigh my options. Money? The more, the better. My scrawny frame was physically incapable of doing grueling construction labor, and I desperately needed a lucrative income right now. Hunters allegedly made obscene fortunes pulling magic stones out of gates. The more I thought about it, despite the undeniable hazards, field hunting was the obvious choice.

"What would you like to do? There's no need to decide immediately. You can take your time, think it over carefully, and—"

"No, I'll do it. Register me as a combat hunter."

And just like that, my new profession was locked in.