Threat Assessment (1)

Confirming risk factors.

Sorry. Dragging you into this side of things again.

"...You don't have to feel that bad about it."

I heaved a long, heavy sigh, the last expression I'd seen on the old man's face still lingering in my mind.

Compared to everything he'd been through, what I'd dealt with barely even counted as hardship. Information gathering, rear support — it was all backline work in the end.

"Still, gotta say — latest-gen phones really are nice~"

Having lost my old one, I'd taken the opportunity to upgrade to a brand-new model. Supposedly it could even maintain a signal inside gates, or something like that.

Not that I'd ever have a reason to set foot in a gate, but the thrill of holding a cutting-edge device in my hands was pleasant enough on its own.

"Ah, right — I should check the comments."

I was in desperate need of a community recharge right about now. Having gone the entire previous afternoon without it, my tank was running on empty.

Logging into the gallery on my brand-new phone felt strangely moving.

"...Haaah."

Ah, these absolute lunatics.

Surely they were all cosplaying as functional members of society out in the real world, right? I could have looked into it if I wanted to, but I deliberately chose not to. Separating your community persona from your real-world self was the healthy way to do things.

"This guy again."

It might have sounded loaded out of context, but there was nothing shady about it. He was just asking which stock I was currently invested in.

I did wonder whether it was wise to discuss that kind of thing on a public community board, but honestly, only the people who already trusted you would ever take that sort of tip seriously anyway.

It was an old connection — from way back, before the Hunter Gallery even existed. A bond forged in the Stock Gallery.

Though calling it a "bond" was a stretch when I'd never seen his face and didn't even know his real name.

"Oh, a precious newbie."

The sudden whiff of fresh meat sent the upvote button into overdrive. Even with a large user base, most of them were ancient fossils. Anyone asking a question like that was unmistakably a true newbie.

"I'll write you a 5,700-character welcome essay, you little punk."

Why call the users of a Hunter Gallery "Gakbing" instead of "Heonbung"? Simple story, really.

The Hunter Gallery's predecessor had been the Awakened Gallery. After a string of controversies led to that gallery's shutdown, the Hunter Gallery rose from its ashes — and the mass migration of former Awakened Gallery regulars brought their old nicknames along with them, used exactly as they always had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠been.

What started as "Gakbung" had warped slightly over time into "Gakbing," and that was where we were now.

Having thoroughly educated the newbie on the Hunter Gallery's storied history, I stretched with deep satisfaction.

"Ughdddddaaahhh — whew..."

But that wasn't the end of it. There was a mountain of recommended posts piled up, and a mountain of posts I wanted to write myself.

Same old gallery as always. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠My heart pounded of its own accord, the way it does when you come home.

Recommended posts stuffed full of nonsense and pure desire. And nestled among them, a single aggro post blooming like a weed.

"..."

What is this, some plotline out of an old anime? A death game or something?

And this was the account's very first post, too. I wanted to write it off as pure aggro bait — but one detail snagged on me.

Trial of the Tower. That's the game Eunseo asked me to play with her.

What if that post was real, and Eunseo fell into a coma while playing Trial of the Tower?

That was absolutely not allowed to happen.

There was no such thing as "what are the odds" in this world. The Gate Crisis itself had erupted under circumstances nobody saw coming.

"...Maybe I should look into this."

As it happened, a Trial of the Tower ad was sitting right there on the gallery's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠banner. Something about a 30% sale if you bought now.

I stared at that ad for a long moment — then finally clicked through the link and purchased a terminal device.

"Because it could become a risk factor for Eunseo."

Anything that might threaten my bias gets cleared out early!

I'd investigated Kim Ye-eun for the same reason, but... ugh, no. Don't think about that.

Ding—

"Uegh, what are you, my dad?"

I'd already told him I'd replaced my phone, and apparently he'd fired off a text the second he clocked out. With content that sounded like something you'd say to your own kid, no less.

Ugh, I had a mountain of things to do. Community time, verifying whether the Trial of the Tower rumors were real, handling Uncle Haseong's work...

The truly remarkable part was that every last bit of it was unpaid. Back in the day, I would have refused point-blank to do anything that didn't make me money.

"I was so young back then, seriously..."

Nosebleeds at the desk, clocking into work late at night — the whole deal. Looking back on those memories, only one thought stood out clearly.

Achieving financial freedom had been the single greatest stroke of luck in my entire life.

"Thank you, Minjeongie-hyung!"

There was a man bowing deeply at the waist toward someone on the other side of his monitor. His name: Namgung Min.

A B-rank hunter with power rivaling an A-rank. His ability: strength proportional to the wealth he possessed.

"I really made the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠right call trusting him."

To Namgung Min, CivilianInformantA — better known as Minjeongie-hyung — was the most trustworthy person in the world. Maybe even more than his own parents.

"Gateway Assailant this time, huh..."

There was no hesitation. He liquidated every stock he currently held, dumped in all his emergency cash reserves, and went all-in on Gateway Assailant.

You might ask why he'd place that much faith in the words of a mere internet acquaintance — no, someone who couldn't even properly be called an acquaintance. But to Namgung Min, Minjeongie-hyung's word was scripture.

Invest as he said, and you would never lose. No — not merely avoid losses, but walk away with double, sometimes even triple returns.

There's even a rumor he was one of the first Awakened...

This was someone who had prophesied the opening of the gates before the gates ever opened. Namgung Min had been a fool back then and hadn't believed a word of it — but the moment the gates actually tore open and the entire world descended into chaos, he made a decision: from that day forward, he would trust Minjeongie-hyung absolutely.

And that had turned out to be the best choice of his life, the very foundation of his rise as a promising hunter.

"Gotta keep up the daily routine..."

Step one of Namgung Min's life routine: every morning upon waking, make a pilgrimage to Minjeongie-hyung's very first prophecy. For a man who regarded him as the Messiah, it was only natural.

You could have dismissed it as the delusion of an ordinary doomsday crank. Namgung Min did not. Because two days after that post went up, the gates had opened for real.

"I worship thee, O GOAT..."

Messi? Ronaldo? For Namgung Min, the greatest of all time was no one other than CivilianInformantA.

Ding—

"Hm?"

Just as he was wrapping up his pilgrimage to the Messiah, an alert chimed from his computer, and Namgung Min turned his head.

"Of course I do."

It was a message from someone in the voice-chat app where gaming addicts gathered — someone he regularly played games with. Not that they'd ever actually voice-chatted while playing.

And with that, the conversation ended. Namgung Min stared at the thank-you on the last line, the corner of his mouth slowly curling upward.

Ah, the joyous hour of new-player hunting is upon us.

Namgung Min was confident. Confident that he could make RichHikineet fall head over heels for everything Trial of the Tower had to offer.