The Only Path Left

I walked out of the executive director's office.

The white envelope in my hand, stamped with the words Recommended Resignation Agreement, felt strangely heavy.

But before I could even savor that weight, my phone buzzed briefly in my pocket.

Ziiing—.

The Age of Awakened Ones had brought countless rare diseases and incurable illnesses along with it, and my mother's condition was among the very worst of them.

I stared blankly at the number of zeroes printed on the bill for a moment. Fortunately, I didn't need to strain myself recalling my bank balance. Even on a decent salary, feeling the need for a larger income had simply been my daily reality.

"Haah..."

A sigh escaped me of its own accord.

Reflexively, I opened the Hunter Job app. Cheka, Midas... for a while, operator job postings from the country's top hunter-related companies filled my screen, but it was a pointless exercise.

...I'd completely forgotten.

A single clause from my employment contract drifted through my mind.

For an instant, my mind went white.

So that was that, then. Anything even remotely related to hunters was finished for me.

Even if I somehow managed to find work in an entirely different field—what employer would take an untrained, unprepared newcomer at my age? There was no way I'd land a job that could shoulder hospital bills of this magnitude.

And ignoring the non-compete clause to leverage my experience elsewhere wasn't realistic either...

This wasn't possible, that wasn't possible. Nothing but dead ends.

My thoughts had frozen solid in the face of that hopeless situation—until they weren't.

...What surfaced was the smiling face of my father, who had lived and died as a hunter. Life and death, quite literally. Maybe that's why—having spent every day walking a tightrope through some battleground or another.

"If there's no answer, then you find one, you fool. Open your eyes wide and look. Out of all the ways in this world, you're telling me not a single one will work?"

A method came to mind.

One that might have struck anyone listening as absurd. And yet—a method with real hope, one that made use of my abilities and experience.

Of course, Mother would fight it tooth and nail if she ever found out...

At the end of a dead-end road, only one path remained.

First, I returned to my desk and began emptying the drawers.

I had no intention of skipping out on my salary during the one-month grace period, but it was obvious there'd be nothing left for me to do here.

Meanwhile, at least one person seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the sight.

Park Jin-chul, who'd just fetched his coffee from the break room, was snickering with the teammate beside him—Lee Seok-hyun.

"Hear the Managing Director's finally getting around to a little 'restructuring.' A wise decision, even if it's late. Wouldn't you say, Assistant Manager Lee?"

Lee Seok-hyun caught his meaning and gave a low chuckle.

"Ah, you mean the 'operational efficiency measures' handed down from above? Certainly—cutting away unnecessary 'costs' is the trend in this industry these days."

"Costs, my ass. More like a dead weight, practically."

Park Jin-chul leaned deliberately against the entrance to the break room and tipped his chin toward me as I packed up my things.

"But hey, if they're fixing that... now we can finally do some real work. Right? You struggled plenty running errand-boy training, didn't you, Assistant Manager?"

At that, Lee Seok-hyun finally deigned to notice me, sauntering over with exaggerated gestures. Where he'd once kept his expression carefully managed, now his face carried not even the pretense of hiding his amusement.

"Oh? What's this. Team Leader Kim Doyoon. You're leaving us?"

I answered while silently stuffing odds and ends into a box.

"Yes. That's how it's turned out. Though I'll be staying on for about a month to handle the handover and wrap up my remaining work."

"Well... sure. Pretty diligent of you, for a man on his way out. Not like you'll have much to do anyway."

On the surface, it almost sounded like a kindly warning not to overwork himself. In truth, it was naked mockery.

"Ah, well, you did put in long years, so I suppose it's only right you take your time clearing out over the month and collect your paycheck while you're at it. You did earn it, after all."

I didn't bother responding and finished packing.

...At that moment, the company messenger blinked. The sender was Managing Director Han Tae-seok.

The handover.

There was no need to write a new system manual. I'd already made one, back in the days when the risk management team still had junior staff under it.

...Come to think of it.

Han Tae-seok was right, in a way. For the next month, I could do nothing but clock in and out and collect my pay, and that would be that.

I was leaving once the month was up anyway, and I'd been openly removed from party support duties.

So I could just leave the 'AI Crisis Perception System' to rot and walk away—but even so, that would look far too deliberate.

I'd feel bad for the other exploration teams, the ones who had nothing to do with any of this.

Of course, it wouldn't compensate for my absence, but I decided I'd at least tie up the loose ends properly before going.

The familiar admin page appeared on my screen.

The system I had designed—the very system that had stolen my credit. Within it, I navigated to the core module that linked my terminal to the system.

It couldn't be helped.

It's not as if I can keep feeding it my own senses in real time after I'm gone.

In place of that, I took the only measure available to me.

Nothing more than setting the reference values to loop endlessly over 'past data' that would never be updated again. Without me there, that was probably the best that could be done.

Through the partition, I could still see Park Jin-chul and Lee Seok-hyun giggling away, chatting pleasantly in their cozy little atmosphere.

...It was laughable.

Go ahead. Laugh all you want.

They were the kind of men who didn't even properly understand that the very foundation and lifeline of that system was its real-time link to my 'Crisis Perception' ability.

How an AI parroting outdated data like a trained bird would collapse in the middle of an ever-shifting dungeon—watching that unfold promised to be quite the spectacle.

Of course, they'd realize it eventually. But by then, I wouldn't be anywhere near this place.

I only hoped that because of the people who'd cast me out, the other exploration teams—the ones unconnected to any of this—wouldn't suffer too much.

I pressed the admin page's logout button and walked out.

The moment I passed through the revolving doors of the lobby, the cold night air cut deep into my lungs.

On any other day, the walk home would have been a pleasure. Tonight, only grim resolve hung over it. From now on, I would have to earn my mother's hospital bills and our living expenses alone, with no company behind me.

I've got the one-month grace period and what's left in my bank account... but naturally, it isn't much.

And was that all? Even the money ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that remained was earmarked for spending today...

Once I'd taken stock of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reality, my resolve hardened fast.

In the end, with no way to get hired, there was exactly one way to get my hands on serious money.

Running in the Tower myself.

Naturally, entering the Tower required a license issued by a government agency—but that was no problem.

Buried deep in my desk drawer, sleeping alongside a faded photograph among my father's belongings, there still remained the license I'd made the very first time—over ten years ago—when my father and I had entered the Tower's lower floors together.

But that's not where it ends.

Next: a weapon.

To survive as a hunter, a proper weapon was non-negotiable.

I'd supported field exploration teams countless times, so I knew that better than anyone.

Weapons made from ordinary materials could barely scratch a monster's hide, which meant one had no choice but to use special alloy equipment refined from, or infused with, magic stones.

The problem was the price. It defied imagination.

The cheapest dagger ran into the millions of won. A serviceable longsword was easily quoted in the hundreds of millions.

You might call those prices outrageous, but they weren't entirely unjustified.

Just as the world's finest violinists play instruments worth billions, it was only natural when you accounted for the craftsmanship of artisans who could work magic stone and the value of the materials themselves.

Decisively, the income a hunter with proper equipment brought in dwarfed those costs many times over.

That's precisely why I'm approaching this as a business—because I can't shoulder equipment costs, maintenance, and medical bills alone...

Either way, the problem was money.

Aside from a few months of my mother's hospital bills, I had barely a few million won to my name.

In any case, it wasn't long before I reached the Tower. Across the plaza—effectively a waiting room—the artifacts of a 24-hour hunter equipment shop glowed blue through the display windows in a long, gleaming row.

"Welcome, sir. What sort of equipment are you looking for?"

Even at this late hour, the clerk greeted me with a warm voice, but I let it wash past me.

Given my budget, there were almost no options to consider in the first place.

I headed for the section of small implements—the least cumbersome gear in the shop—specifically toward whatever bladed tools offered some modicum of offensive capability.

I browsed for a short while. Equipment that fit a reasonable price, regrettably, came down to exactly one item.

A sleek silver body. A comfortable size to grip... Yes. At a glance, it was indistinguishable from an ordinary box cutter.

...Except for the price tag stuck to the bottom.

"Ah, I see. You're looking for magic-stone-crafting equipment."

My gaze had stopped, and the clerk, as if he'd been waiting for exactly that, launched into his pitch.

"As you may know, when crafting or repairing magic stone equipment, you have to use tools made of the same magic stone material so the stone's properties don't degrade. That's why only the blade is made of budget-grade magic stone alloy—so while it has almost no durability for combat, it's quite a popular item as a consumable in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the field."

I held the box cutter for a moment, weighing it in my hand.

A hunter strutting through a dungeon with a box cutter. Honestly, it was a little ridiculous...

But there's no choice.

There had never been money for anything better. I pulled the card from my wallet and handed it to the clerk.

"I'll take this one."

I'd just finished paying and was about to step out of the shop when an old man seated on a worn chair behind the counter, reading a newspaper, called out to me.

His eyes were sharp—nothing like the clerk's. Apparently, this was the shop's owner.

"Young man."

"Yes?"

"You're not buying any armor? Even the cheapest stuff—a leather vest or something—would serve you better than nothing."

The clerk, who'd assumed I was buying the tool for crafting purposes, tilted his head in confusion at those words. But the old man had seen right through me.

Seen the possibility that I might attempt something absurd and reckless.

Still, I shook my head.

"I don't need it."

The old man's eyebrows twitched.

"If money's tight, I could extend you a little credit."

He studied me up and down for a long moment, then reached into a drawer and drew out a single sheet of paper. Just as he moved to hand it over, a stretcher hurried past the doorway.

Three people in blood-soaked protective suits. Trailing behind them, a party manager, sobbing.

...

"All three of them... can't move under their own power."

I glanced aside.

The Tower had always been that kind of place.

Perhaps the old man took the scene as his opening. With a thin smile, the paper he'd produced looked to be something like an insurance policy.

A strange kind of 'safeguard'—a means of recovering the cost of credit-extended equipment upon the customer's death.

"Sign this before you buy anything on credit. If you die in there... well, I suppose your next of kin can pay it back, one way or another."

I hadn't even said I wanted credit, yet the old man spoke with the flat calm of a man doing me a kindness.

But there was conviction woven into that tone. The certainty that someone like me was absolutely going to die.

I looked down at the document for a moment.

...It's funny, actually.

Not the idea that a person might die and therefore ought to be stopped.

What got me was the old man's attitude—that his first thought upon seeing someone walk toward death was how to squeeze money out of the corpse.

"I'm fine, thank you."

I pushed the paper back.

The old man's eyebrows twitched again.

"Suit yourself. I'm sure... you know what you're doing."

He gave me one last look over, and in his expression there lingered something hard to name—a strange sense of déjà vu.

"...A strange one, aren't you."

I didn't answer and started walking toward the Tower.

And that was when it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠happened.

The quiet surface of the Tower's entrance seemed to ripple—ever so faintly, in time with my approach.

Neither metal nor stone. As if some vast something were drawing in a very slow, very deep breath.

The old man recoiled instinctively.

"...What the hell is with that guy?"

The once-cold breeze grew heavy for a moment, like held breath, like absolute stillness.

And he—knowing nothing at all—stepped into the shadows of the Tower with nothing but a box cutter in hand.