Hunting Season
When he met the information broker again at the café, the man had done his homework thoroughly, just as expected.
Seong-min took the envelope the broker handed over, pulled out the note inside, and checked its contents before passing back an envelope containing a fitting sum in return. Once again the broker tucked it away without verifying what was inside. He simply trusted that Seong-min had prepared the proper amount. Of course Seong-min never cheated on things like this.
"Anything else you need done?"
"This is enough."
"If you have another job for me later, get in touch."
The man nodded, rose from his seat, and left the café at an unhurried pace. He asked no unnecessary questions and kept his dealings clean and decisive. After several transactions Seong-min had come to recognize that quality in him. He looked over the note inside the envelope once more.
It summarized each target’s important movements and daily routines—right down to roughly how many times a day they took a shit. The extra tasks Seong-min had requested were neatly organized as well. It was impressive work. With information like this, tracking and dealing with the targets would be far easier.
Seong-min took a sip of coffee through the straw.
No point dragging this out.
If he were still an ordinary human—even one who was simply very good at fighting—solving this problem quickly would not have been easy. But Seong-min was no ordinary human. He had become something beyond that: a Transcendent. The recent events had shown him just how overwhelming his abilities truly were. Now that the information was in hand, there was no reason to waste time.
Act boldly. Once the decision was made, the hunt could begin in earnest.
He folded the note, tucked it away, finished his coffee, and rose from his seat, leaving the café at the same unhurried pace.
Yonggolpa had been thrown into chaos after twelve executives and their boss were ambushed by an unknown assailant. The organization was left leaderless—a power vacuum. Aware of the situation, Gangilhoe dispatched people to stabilize and reorganize Yonggolpa so it would not collapse completely. Having lost its leadership overnight, Yonggolpa was in no condition to put its own house in order. The Gangilhoe personnel first mapped out the structure of the organization, then began the work of restoring order. Identifying the attacker could wait; securing Yonggolpa came first.
As they restored and restructured the group, stability gradually returned. In the process, Yonggolpa became little more than an extension of Gangilhoe. It was no longer merely affiliated—Gangilhoe executives had taken over its core positions and effectively absorbed the organization. There had been no other choice. Left alone, Yonggolpa would have fractured and fallen apart. Its members had no choice but to accept Gangilhoe’s measures; the shock of the attack still ran deep among them. Once the organization was stable again, a proper investigation into the assailant could begin.
The situation, however, was far from simple. The attacker had worn a hat, a mask, and leather gloves, leaving neither a clear face nor fingerprints. Tracking him through CCTV footage of his movements was proving difficult. That was the state of things—until the next day, when everything went sideways. Two of Gangilhoe’s top five executives were found collapsed in their own homes that morning. With two core leaders struck down, the organization erupted into crisis. An emergency meeting was called at once, and orders went out to identify the culprit.
Then more incidents followed. High-ranking civil servants and influential local figures in Cheonan and Asan—people who wielded real power in their communities—were discovered badly injured and unconscious in their homes or private villas. They were rushed to hospitals, but the severity of their injuries made it clear they would need long periods of recovery. The attacks continued without pause. Even a police executive was among the victims. The chaos was no longer confined to Gangilhoe; the entire regional society was thrown into turmoil.
Why was the attacker doing this? No one knew. Of course the police had to investigate after one of their own executives was assaulted by an unknown assailant and hospitalized, but chasing the man’s trail through CCTV alone was proving nearly impossible. Every time they thought they had a lead, he vanished without a trace. How he struck and how he escaped remained complete mysteries.
News outlets covering the string of incidents reported little more than vague descriptions of his build, the hat, and the mask. The attacker had thoroughly concealed his identity and left no trail. There was no evidence he had used a car or public transportation. Within a few days the attacks had claimed victims across Cheonan and Asan, plus two of Gangilhoe’s core executives, and the confusion only deepened. All that was known about the culprit was his general physique and the fact that he wore a hat, a mask, and leather gloves.
Seong-min made full use of his special skill—Teleportation. Hiding his appearance was important, but so was concealing how he moved and operated. Teleportation was perfect for erasing his tracks. Whether the targets were holed up at home or hiding in a villa made no difference. The Teleportation skill erased the constraints of distance and location entirely. It was a broken-tier movement ability.
The Gangilhoe executives had bodyguards and escorts with them, of course, but it made no difference. No matter how skilled those men might be, they were no match for Seong-min. After the first two attacks, Gangilhoe tightened security around the remaining executives. No further assaults on them followed. In the meantime, however, local power brokers and high-ranking officials in Cheonan and Asan—along with police executives and other influential regional figures—continued to fall. In the span of a few days the total number of victims reached ten.
All of this happened before the reorganization of Yonggolpa was even complete.
In the executive conference room of Gangil Construction in Yuseong-gu, Daejeon, Jang Yong-hwan sat at the head of the table. After Seo Gang-sik, the man who had built Gangilhoe, was defeated in last year’s war with the Central Association and forced to step down, Jang Yong-hwan—formerly in charge of the organization’s finances—had been elevated to chairman. The Central Association supported him, so the position had been his for the taking. The remaining executives had all agreed. Gangilhoe had suffered heavy losses in the previous war, and more than half the people now seated in the room were new faces who had risen to fill the vacancies.
Jang Yong-hwan looked around at the assembled executives.
"Before we even finished cleaning up Yonggolpa, this mess happens. You all understand how humiliating this is, don’t you?"
No one in the room needed the reminder. The two empty seats belonged to the men who had been attacked and hospitalized.
"The bastard isn’t just hitting Gangilhoe. He’s striking in Cheonan and Asan as well. And still we have nothing—no idea who he is or why he’s doing this. How much more of a disgrace can we take?"
"B-but… it’s not just us. Even the police—"
"You call that an excuse?!"
The executive who had spoken flinched and fell silent under the chairman’s glare.
"If the police can’t find him, that means we shouldn’t be able to either? Is that what you’re saying?"
That would be a blow to their pride they could not accept.
"The people above us are watching this situation."
Everyone swallowed hard at those words.
"The fact that they haven’t moved yet is a sign of respect for us."
Heads nodded around the table. The Central Association. Every executive present knew exactly what that name meant—the largest organization in the country, the one that controlled Seoul and the capital region. In last year’s war, Gangilhoe, which had dominated Daejeon and the Chungcheong region, had been defeated by the Central Association. Not in two weeks, not in a month—in a mere ten days. In ten days Gangilhoe had been forced to submit. Seo Gang-sik, who had conquered Daejeon and expanded into Chungcheong to turn Gangilpa into Gangilhoe, had been forced out of the organization after that defeat, taking his loyal executives with him. The men in this room were those who had remained for the sake of Gangilhoe, plus the newly elevated replacements.
Jang Yong-hwan was no exception. He had once been Seo Gang-sik’s close aide in charge of finances, yet now he sat as chairman. Without the Central Association’s backing he would never have reached this seat, and he knew it. That knowledge made the current crisis pound in his skull. Even at the monthly executive meetings at Central Association headquarters he had been forced to read the room carefully.
"We have to find out who this attacker is. That’s the only way we save face."
Exercising his authority as chairman, Jang Yong-hwan issued a formal order: investigate the culprit thoroughly and bring him in. The executives present knew how difficult that would be. The man had completely hidden his appearance and left no trail of his movements. How he traveled and how he escaped remained a complete mystery—enough to make a ghost weep.
In the span of a few days Seong-min had hunted down every single one of the ten VIPs whose names Yoo Ji-ah had written for him. A police executive had been among them, but that posed no problem at all.
While Seong-min was out operating, Yoo Ji-ah did not spend her days alone in the house the way she had before. A-reum continued to visit. She never arrived empty-handed; she always brought groceries. How had A-reum found the place? Min-hyeok had driven his older sister there in his Avante. They stopped at the market together on the way, and on the return trip he waited nearby in the car until she came back out. That was how A-reum was able to visit even when Seong-min was away. Min-hyeok already knew the full situation and had willingly offered to help. So while Seong-min was busy, A-reum could go shopping and make her visits thanks to her brother’s rides.
On the first day Yoo Ji-ah felt awkward around A-reum. That was only natural—an unexpected visitor would make anyone uneasy. But with each day they spent together, she felt that awkwardness melt away.
"Unnie… where did you learn to cook like this?"
After dinner, over coffee and dessert, Yoo Ji-ah asked the question with genuine curiosity. From the spicy braised chicken to the stews, soups, and side dishes A-reum prepared, everything was surprisingly delicious.
"At the community center… they have cooking classes… I signed up…"
"Free cooking classes?"
"…Yes… they teach really well… I took notes… and practiced hard…"
"You must have been interested in cooking, then?"
A-reum shook her head at Yoo Ji-ah’s question.
"I wanted… to make good food… for Min-hyeok… Min-hyeok… worked so hard… he suffered so much… so I… wanted to do something for him… I wanted to make him… delicious food…"
"……"
Having already heard the story from Seong-min, Yoo Ji-ah felt a heavy ache in her chest. This woman and the boy named Min-hyeok had clearly not lived easy lives. Domestic violence from their father, gambling, their mother’s tragic suicide, and the mountain of gambling debt on top of it all. In that hell the two siblings had clung to each other to survive. And this woman…
"Does Min-hyeok like the food you make for him?"
"…Yes… he eats a lot… Min-hyeok… eats the meals I cook… with real appetite…"
"I see…"
Just looking at her expression was enough to understand. And the food truly was good—not bland or unskilled at all.
A-reum lifted her chocolate bongbong drink and sipped through the straw, then broke into a happy little smile. It must have been that sweet and delicious.
This unnie really loves chocolate…
If she hadn’t bought something at a café, she would drink cocoa instead. She had even said cocoa was her favorite.
Yoo Ji-ah watched her quietly. After a moment A-reum set the drink down and stood up.
"Going to the bathroom?"
"…Yes…"
At that, Ji-ah spoke again.
"You never say a word in front of Seong-min, but you answer me right away?"
A-reum’s face flushed red as she hurried toward the bathroom. The sight was so endearing that Yoo Ji-ah couldn’t help laughing out loud.