Special Public Contest

…What’s gotten into the Head Mod all of a sudden?

When she had first lifted the ban, she acted stubborn as hell, brushing it off as a simple misclick. Now, that same petty moderator was prostrating herself and personally rewriting community policy. I clicked on the attached image.

Kneeling meekly on the floor was a blue-haired angel girl, sniffling back tears. Her eyes were peculiar, shimmering with a surreal light beneath a luminous halo hovering over her head. Dressed in what looked like a kindergarten apron, she held an expression of sheer, agonized injustice as tears welled in the corners of her eyes.

The dozens of detached eyeballs strewn across the floor… I decided to politely ignore.

I zoomed in slightly on the photo before closing it. Had she been deeply moved by the walkthrough guide I wrote? Whatever the reason, it was undoubtedly good news ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for me.

In the comment section, anomalies were furiously bickering over my rank, debating whether I was at least Disaster-Rank or easily surpassed Catastrophe-Rank. There was no earthly reason for me to step in and volunteer the truth that I was just an F-rank human.

Let them keep deluding themselves.

At this rate, whatever I typed under the anonymous tag would be revered like sacred scripture. It might become slightly tedious to feign omniscience until I figured out what I actually needed to ask, but it was a massive advantage nonetheless. Come to think of it, I had unlocked the ability to create a registered account as well.

I can just use the registered account whenever I need to ask questions about things I don't know.

Suppressing the urge to smirk, I locked my phone and shut the browser.

When I returned to the office, Senior Seungjun greeted me with a paper cup in hand, sweet instant mix coffee steaming into the air.

"Oh, rookie! You made it back in one piece? I was half-expecting you to get chewed out." Noting the brand-new badge pinned to my chest, Seungjun patted my shoulder. "Those blacksmiths have nasty tempers, so I was worried sick. But you came back with the badge intact? Look at you go."

"Not only that, I managed to sign a contract."

"A contract? For what?"

"As an exclusive tester. If I test her artifacts in the field and give her feedback, she promised to craft whatever gear I ask for."

Seungjun nearly burned his tongue on the scorching coffee. "Ah, damn it—!" Hissing in pain, he slammed the paper cup down on his desk. "Who did? The blacksmith?"

"Yes. She brought it up first."

His gaze drifted from the silver badge on my chest right up to my face.

"I even locked in a permanent discount," I added, miming rapid chatter with my hand. "You know how good I am with my mouth."

Seungjun burst into a hearty chuckle, nodding in surrender. "Pfft! Hahaha! Yeah, alright, I gotta hand it to you—your silver tongue is the real deal!"

The problem, however, was that even with a discount, my pockets were completely barren. Taking my seat, I opened the Arcana corporate welfare portal. There, stamped vividly in the upper-right corner of the screen, was my miserable point balance.

Hah……

Two hundred and fifty points. Exactly enough to buy one more Low-grade Silver badge, and then I would be flat broke.

And I'm supposed to replace this every two or three expeditions?

Topaz had mentioned that against standard F-rank anomalies, the badge would last a considerable time. But glancing down at the two markings etched into my wrists, I didn't share her optimism. Just yesterday, Carmilla had abducted me the very second my badge shattered.

Seo Dahee's woven flower bracelet. Carmilla's crimson chain.

Bearing the overlapping brandings of two high-ranking anomalies, my body was a walking beacon. There was no telling when I might take the brunt of a C-rank psychic contamination shockwave again.

How much do the higher-grade protection badges even cost?

Hoping against hope, I clicked into the Welfare Mall's [Protective Artifacts] catalog.

"……Are you insane?"

The price tag on the Intermediate Silver badge suffocated me on the spot.

One thousand points. In ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠raw cash, that was ten million won.

To safely navigate everyday reality while reeking of high-tier anomalies, an Intermediate Silver badge was the absolute baseline I needed pinned to my chest. Forget scraping together ten million won for an Intermediate badge—if my current Low-grade silver pin cracked again, I barely had enough loose change to replace it.

I'm thoroughly screwed.

It wasn't like I could simply waltz back into Seo Dahee's Heart-Throbbing Summer File to farm points, either. Carmilla was currently gnashing her fangs, obsessively determined to rip apart whichever anomaly had dared brand me before her. Relying on an F-rank badge to fend off Carmilla was laughable suicide.

"Senior," I spoke up, "is there any way I can earn more points?"

"Didn't you just finish an expedition yesterday? You've already met your weekly quota."

"I'd rather build up a safety net while I still can."

Seungjun glanced at the badge prices displayed on my screen and scratched his jaw, bewildered as to why a wet-behind-the-ears rookie was already eyeing Intermediate-grade gear.

"Well, I was actually going to ask you about this anyway... How do you feel about entering a public contest?"

"A public contest?"

Seungjun rolled his chair back to his desk and clicked his mouse a few times. Within seconds, a formal notification popped up on my company intranet messenger.

"Wait... this has my name on it?"

"Of course it does. It's yours."

"I never applied ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for anything like this."

"The Planning Department drafted you directly. If you agree to participate, you're locked in immediately."

I scrolled up to double-check the sender: Field Exploration Planning Department. Right beneath my name, my corporate employee ID was typed out with meticulous accuracy. Opening the attached file revealed the identification code for Heart-Throbbing Summer File alongside my total logged exploration time.

It was the official report I had submitted before heading down to the Artifact Management Office—detailing the temporal loop structure, the paradox of the twenty-first day, and how I had escaped by confessing my real identity instead of returning the anomaly's romantic advances. I had omitted only the details concerning the red cellophane paper.

They already reviewed it this fast?

"Seems the Planning Department was thoroughly impressed," Seungjun murmured. "They reached out specifically asking to send you on this one."

"Just based on that single report?"

"Because you're the only rookie in this intake who pulled off something like that." Seungjun tapped a finger against the rim of my monitor. "Standard assignments are open to anyone who submits an application. A Special Public Contest, however, is reserved strictly for handpicked personnel. It's for anomalies with minimal reconnaissance data, or sectors containing high-priority artifacts that must be secured at all costs. The company pays an exorbitant premium, so naturally, they filter who gets through the door."

The company specifically wanted me—a fresh recruit who had barely warmed his office chair.

I made sure to rein in my expression, resting my chin on my hand as I scrolled down the document.

"So, where are they sending us?"

Holy crap……

Two thousand five hundred points. Converted directly to Korean won, that was twenty-five million.

I could buy the Intermediate Silver badge and still walk away with fifteen million won in spare cash. And if I recovered an uncatalogued relic from inside, there were recovery bounties stacked on top of it. But as my eyes drank in the numbers, another name at the bottom caught my attention.

"Baek Sajin is leading the team?"

"Strictly for this operation," Seungjun clarified. "Her pre-employment evaluations were stellar, and word is she's exceptionally well-prepared. The Planning Department appointed her personally."

The valedictorian of the 27th recruit class. The poised, aloof woman who had commanded a tight circle of admirers since orientation.

"So if I accept, I have to follow her orders?"

"Naturally. You can't just run around acting on impulse. She's the one spearheading the team on-site, and she holds ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the operational authority to call an emergency withdrawal."

Unlike my previous deployment, where I was thrown in alone and had to deduce every rule from scratch, this time I would have a team around me. Everyone else was bound to be physically superior and far better at navigating terrain than I was, which was a relief. Even so, being thrown into a squad entirely composed of strangers posed its own risks.

That could get ugly fast.

If I tried to voice a dissenting observation, they could easily dismiss me. If opinions clashed, I would be steamrolled by sheer numbers. At the very least, I needed one person by my side who would genuinely listen to what I had to say.

Glancing toward the far side of the office by the window, I addressed Seungjun.

"I'm in. But you said there was still an empty slot on the roster, right?"

"Yeah. Why, got someone in mind you'd like to bring along?"

Across the room, Yoo Hana was hunched over her desk, tapping earnestly away at her keyboard.

"Yes."