The President's Instinct

"You're hiding something, aren't you?"

My heart dropped. I had no idea how to answer, so I just kept my mouth shut.

Kang Chul-hoon looked at me for a moment, then smiled with unexpected ease.

"Never mind. I'm not trying to dig it out of you, so you don't need to tense up like that."

"…Sir?"

"People always have their reasons for keeping things to themselves. The ones who hide something out of malice and the ones who hide it out of caution — you can tell them apart from the look in their eyes alone."

Kang Chul-hoon rose from his seat and walked over to the window.

"Yours are the latter. Whatever you're keeping quiet, those aren't the eyes of someone about to do something rotten."

Still at a loss for words, I just offered an awkward smile.

"Which is why I'm saying this."

He turned and faced me square on.

"I have no intention of prying everything out of you today. However."

"…"

"Someday, the day will come when you decide to lay out what you've been hiding on your own. When that happens, just remember — the Association, no, I might stand on your side."

"…Thank you. But why go this far for me…"

"I'll tell you the reason later. That's enough for today — go take care of your business. Congratulations on your registration, rookie."

I said my goodbyes and stepped out the door, my legs still trembling.

We hadn't even talked about anything major, so why did I feel this drained? I kept turning it over as I walked down the hallway. That man. How much did he actually know? Or had he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠said all that on the assumption that he already knew something?

With my head still spinning, I stepped into the elevator.

Kang Chul-hoon stood where he was until the doors closed and the footsteps faded. Through the window, he watched a newly registered awakener leave the building.

"Mr. President."

The Association Secretary quietly opened the door and came in. In his hand was the measurement device's readout from just moments ago.

"Shall I file an official report to the upper office regarding the job-reading error? There's no precedent for a case like this, so covering it at our level might be…"

"No report."

Kang Chul-hoon returned to his seat and sat down.

"Sir? But a reading failure of this magnitude is unprecedented in Association history—"

"Which is exactly why we need to be more careful."

He skimmed the readout in his hand.

"You don't know what happens when something like this goes upstairs? Everyone will come running to tear that kid's life apart. The major guilds, the press — even the political operators inside the Association itself."

"…That may be true, but burying this on your judgment alone is a procedural—"

"You know how many years I've sat in this chair as Association President? In all that time, I've kept exactly one principle. We do not exploit people with information. The Association manages awakeners. It does not use them."

The secretary fell silent for a moment.

"That young man. His eyes were clear. Even while he was flustered, you could see him trying to hold onto his manners to the end. A kid like that isn't hiding anything dangerous."

"And if he really is hiding something dangerous?"

"Then I'll take responsibility when the time comes."

The firmness in his voice left the secretary with nothing more to say.

"Write the report as 'Reading error due to aging measurement equipment. Re-examination scheduled.' Don't put down a single word beyond that."

"…Understood."

The secretary bowed his head and started to leave, then turned back at the door.

"But Mr. President — are you truly that interested in the young man?"

Kang Chul-hoon looked out the window and smiled faintly.

"Spend a few decades grinding through this business and you develop a sense for it. The sense that says a kid like that is the real deal. Just watch. Within a few years, you'll be hearing those two syllables of his name everywhere."

The second I got off the elevator and left the building, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I checked my phone. Rin had messaged me.

I decided to leave the entire Kang Chul-hoon conversation out. Better to tell her once I'd sorted it out myself.

…That Association President guy was a total alpha type, though. Had me a little shook, whew.

My heart kicked once more. Sejong Academy — wasn't that the absolute pinnacle of this whole national-pride worldbuilding?

I slipped my phone into my pocket and looked up at the sky. Awakener registration, a meeting with an Association President I still couldn't quite figure out, and now an invitation to the academy. In a single day, the story had gotten a whole lot bigger — for better or worse.

But more than any of that, I needed to fill my stomach first.

The days after that flew by in a blur.

I'd awakened, but nothing about the work itself had changed. Taking customers, repairing weapons, crafting consumables — the next day and the day after that, opening the workshop door and lighting the forge was the same routine as always. The results, though, were different.

"Huh? Boss, this one's way better than last time?"

A regular low-rank hunter turned the repaired dagger over in his hands, eyes wide. It was a distinctly different reaction from a few days ago.

"Is it? I made it the same way."

I answered casually, but I was a little surprised myself. Same handwork as before awakening, same materials — and yet the finished quality had clearly jumped. Was this thanks to that trait? Grade Transcendence. It had claimed it could pull stats beyond the standard template, and apparently ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it was the real deal.

Word spread faster than I'd expected.

"Um, is this the forge everyone's been talking about lately? I heard the gear's good, so I came by."

I was a little thrown when ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a first-time customer walked through the door. It wasn't as if I'd never had customers before, but the number of unfamiliar faces had shot up over the past few days.

"Not sure about the rumors… but I do put in the work."

"It shows. A friend of mine who bought a dagger here last time couldn't stop raving about it. So I figured I'd come grab one myself — I actually bought one from you a while back."

"Ah. I see. So what can I do for you today?"

"Could you take a look at this? It's the one I bought back then, and the edge's been feeling a bit dull lately."

I examined the piece he handed over — a dagger I'd forged and sold myself, some time ago. Out of habit, I focused on appraising it.

Seeing a status window pop up for something I'd made myself was somehow both embarrassing and satisfying. I could understand why the customer had held onto this dagger for so long.

I resharpened the edge, touched up the handle fittings, and handed it back. He gave it a few satisfied swings and headed out.

The next customer didn't go nearly as smoothly.

"Hey, I bought this just a few days ago and the edge's already gone. Is this how you normally sell things?"

A middle-aged man shoved the door open and practically tossed a sword onto the counter. His voice was sharp from the first word.

I tensed for a second. Was there actually a defect, or was he just the impatient type?

"Let me take a look."

I picked up the sword and examined it, and the reason jumped out immediately. Scratches along the spine — not the kind of marks that come from a forge, but impact and scrape damage from somewhere else.

"Sir, did you happen to bang this against a wall or something inside a Gate?"

"Uh… well, I mean, I might have, but what's that got to do with this?"

"There are impact marks on the spine. This isn't a defect on our end — it's damage from use."

The man cleared his throat, looking sheepish.

"…Well, that could be. Anyway, you can still repair it, right?"

"Yes, that's no problem."

I almost laughed to myself. I'd taken him for a problem customer, but he was just the short-tempered type.

"Ahem. Look… sorry for jumping down your throat like that."

Once I'd finished the repair and handed it back, he left looking far more settled than when he'd come in.

Customers like this, customers like that. Business was just like that, I supposed.

At night, I set aside time to try making various things on my own.

Shields, daggers, pendant-type charms — starting with what my hands already knew, then gradually branching into new work. Some pieces failed, but things that would have been pure scrap before now came out at a usable level.

The one I liked best was a greatsword I'd spent several days locked onto. It was a weapon type my hands had never taken to before, but something made me want to try it once, so I just started hammering — and that turned into days of work.

When it was finished, I focused on the appraisal.

I let out a dry laugh at the numbers without meaning to. B-? After making a few daggers, something of this caliber just… appeared. It barely felt real. But how strong would you even need to be to swing something like this?

"I made this?"

The words came out on their own. I debated for a moment whether to sell it or keep it, then set it upright on one side of the display rack for now. Its rightful owner would show up eventually.

Beyond that, when I checked my status window, several entries had climbed without my noticing.

Modest but unmistakable growth. I hadn't become anything spectacular overnight, but the feeling of getting a little better every day wasn't half bad.

Rin kept sending messages in between all of it. The closer the event date got, the more her reminders piled up.

And so the days passed, and before I knew it, Tuesday had arrived.

I taped a notice to the workshop door saying we'd be closed for two days in advance, then followed Rin's directions to the shuttle bus stop bound for Sejong Academy.

From the moment I boarded the bus, something about the atmosphere felt off.

The girl in the seat next to me had silver hair. At first I thought it was dyed, but looking closer, the color ran naturally from the roots.

She flicked a finger toward the window, and a tiny spark popped from her fingertip and vanished. She didn't even seem aware of it — more like a habit than anything deliberate.

The friend beside her scolded her in some language I didn't recognize, and the silver-haired girl fired back in equally incomprehensible words, laughing.

That brief little exchange somehow deflated me. I still couldn't even spark a flame from my fingertips.

Every time the bus stopped, unfamiliar faces drifted past the window. Features I couldn't place to any country. All of them carried an air that was anything but ordinary, and they moved through this single bus stop as casually as if it were part of their daily commute. The idea that kids like these gathered here from all over the world was only just starting to feel real.

What was I even doing among these people? They were talents representing their own countries — and I was just some E-Rank blacksmith tagging along. Transcendence this, transcendence that, but for now it was still just numbers on a screen. Would I ever reach the point where I could carry myself with that kind of ease? Right now, I couldn't picture it.

The closer we got to the main gate, the stranger and faster my heart began to beat.