Misunderstanding on the First Floor

“Hoo... hoo...”

My ragged breathing filled the silence of the 1st Floor Grassland. Cold sweat trickled down my spine.

It wasn't that I felt fear or nerves from my first real combat in ages, exactly...

Stamina... that's the problem.

Maybe because I'd spent the last ten years as a white-collar worker, glued to a monitor under the refreshing blast of air conditioning — my mind was sharp, but my body simply wouldn't keep up after so long without real movement.

And yet... I didn't feel bad about it.

If anything, I felt refreshed.

It was as if senses that had always lain dormant and listless were waking up, keen and honed. The air of this battlefield — a mixture of sweat and the metallic tang of blood — seemed to prove that I was alive.

I looked down at the Horn Rabbit corpses sprawled across the ground.

Five of them.

Going by results alone, it was a perfect victory. The process, however, had been harder than I expected.

Dodging wasn't difficult. The problem... was catching them.

Reading attack trajectories drawn as red solid lines across the gray world and moving a step or two ahead to evade them was no trouble at all.

It was like solving a test with the answer sheet in front of me.

That gave me certainty.

A great deal of time had passed, and hunters had long since become fully corporatized and systematized in their explorations — but even within that system, I was certain I could demonstrate overwhelming prowess as a solo hunter.

The maturation of my ability over time. The endurance of a power cultivated by staring into dungeons on a monitor all day long. And my eyes — the sheer dominance that my field of vision itself provided.

Of course, it wasn't without problems.

Right now, my attack power falls short. Even if I dodge everything, if I can't bring my opponent down, I can never truly win.

But put the other way — if I could shore up my attack power, and my hardware's ability to keep perfect pace with my eyes...

I was certain that then, not just the 1st Floor but the very top of the Tower could become my playground.

The immediate problem, though, was this damn weapon.

The edge's already chipping a little, huh.

The two-million-won alloy blade for mana stone carving was missing teeth in a ghastly pattern. Fortunately, some edge remained, so it could be resharpened, but...

Since it wasn't a combat weapon to begin with, that wouldn't be easy.

For one thing, the reach was far too short. On top of that, the durability was abysmal — one wrong jab at a spot dense with bone or muscle and the blade looked liable to snap.

So in the end, I only managed to take them down thanks to prediction, not a straight fight.

The method was to read their movement trajectories in advance and quietly place the blade along their path.

A kind of counter — letting them charge in and cut themselves on my knife.

If it hadn't been for that, taking them down with this toy would have been impossible.

...It was confirmed, then.

For defense and evasion, my ability to see the red lines — the thing I used to call Crisis Perception — was more than enough. But attack power would need more thought.

Either find a new way to attack, or somehow get my hands on a new weapon.

I doubted I'd be in any ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠danger, but if I wanted to climb higher from here on, I figured I'd need a bit of training.

That was when it happened.

Rustle.

I sensed someone's presence and turned my head to see Team Leader Kim Han-na from earlier approaching.

Behind her, the trainee hunters shuffled along hesitantly. I remembered them — the ones who'd been chattering about concept-chongs and whatnot as they passed by.

...Mir, is it.

I could tell from the logo stamped on the trainees' equipment. But they were hesitating as if they had business with me — what business could that possibly be?

My outfit was odd, granted, but there was no reason for a major corporation's team leader to strike up conversation with some random solo hunter scrabbling around in a place like this.

“Excuse me — sorry to bother you for a moment.”

Kim Han-na addressed me politely.

“It seems some of our trainees spoke rudely to you earlier, so I've come to apologize. They're still green and haven't learned to watch their mouths. Boys! What do you say?”

At her glance, the trainees behind her fidgeted and bowed their heads.

“W-we're sorry...!”

“We spoke without knowing anything... we apologize.”

...?

Frankly, it was unexpected.

Since this industry ran on raw power, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hunters who seemed a bit unimpressive honestly weren't treated that kindly.

And yet they'd come all this way to apologize.

“It's fine. As you can see, I'm dressed in a way that invites misunderstanding.”

Even I had to admit I looked less like a hunter and more like some office worker who'd snapped from overtime and bolted out of his company, so...

Meanwhile, at my calm response, Kim Han-na's expression softened slightly. But she didn't turn to leave right away.

Instead, she fixed her gaze on me with eyes full of curiosity — no, something a shade deeper than that.

“...If it isn't presumptuous of me, may I ask just one thing?”

“What is it?”

“You don't seem like someone who belongs down here. Why would you hunt monsters on the 1st Floor of all places — with equipment like that, no less — and deliberately not kill them in one strike? Is there some particular reason...?”

She'd hit a sore spot.

It wasn't as if I could say I was flailing around without proper weapons because I had no money.

How was I supposed to explain this one?

As the silence stretched on, Kim Han-na's gaze only grew more intense.

Apparently my behavior — which must have looked like sheer eccentricity — had genuinely fascinated her.

Finally, I let out a short sigh and offered the most innocuous excuse I could.

“...There are personal circumstances involved.”

A short answer. One that meant don't ask any more.

But at those words, Kim Han-na's expression shifted strangely.

First puzzlement — then, as if she'd realized something, her eyes went wide — and in the end, she gazed at me with a complicated look of pity mixed with respect.

“I see... so that's the reason after all...”

...?

No, what exactly did she think she understood?

Having convinced herself of something all on her own, she looked at me with compassionate eyes and said,

“...I wish you strength. Though the dead cannot return, you can still honor their spirits.”

“...???”

Her voice carried an almost solemn resolve. Then she bowed her head once more, courteously, and departed.

“Let's go. Don't disturb him.”

Kim Han-na hurried her team members away, as though she were someone who had accidentally brushed against a wound too tender to be touched.

...What was that.

Watching their retreating backs, I stood there blankly for a moment, dumbfounded.

I had no idea what misunderstanding she'd formed, but there was no particular need to correct her.

I shrugged, gathered the mana stones in my hand, and got to my feet.

Time to settle up, I suppose.

The unmanned settlement terminal in a corner of the 1st Floor lobby.

I pulled the five freshly harvested mana stones from my pocket.

How much will these fetch...

Frankly, I had no great expectations. Horn Rabbits might be dangerous, but the mana stones they produced weren't expensive.

Small in size and low in mana content, they usually went for around 20,000 to 30,000 won apiece. All five together would barely clear 100,000 won.

A paltry return for investing in a two-million-won piece of equipment and fighting with my life on the line — but there was nothing to be done about it.

Mana stone prices scaled exponentially with size and purity, so the common wisdom was that to make real money, you had to go higher, where things were more dangerous.

Still, the harvest hadn't been entirely without reward.

I clenched my fist as I shaved the mana stones down with the carving knife.

Certainty.

I could feel it — the certainty that my ability worked in real combat, no, worked even better in real combat.

Whatever the enemy, whatever the attack — I could sense the flow of it, the way it displaced the air. The thought of being injured never even crossed my mind.

If I can just solve the attack power problem... this is worth pursuing.

Whether it was money or revenge, everything started now.

Or was that all?

I'd whittled down the mana stones I'd pried out of the roughly butchered Horn Rabbits and dropped them into the intake slot — and an unexpected results window appeared on the screen.

It had struck me as oddly smooth while I was extracting and processing them — and now the unexpected grade had my eyes ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠going wide.

The mana stones most hunters brought in usually suffered internal cracks from the shocks of combat. But my approach — slicing down enemies positioned right along the trajectory without ever striking them directly — must have had a positive effect on the stones' condition.

Then came the final purchase price.

“...Hah.”

Beginner's luck, perhaps. Or maybe, in the end, the fruits of my ability.

Either way, I'd struck gold on my very first day as a hunter.

Making money... might not be as hard as I thought.

Along with a sense of absurdity, something hot welled up from deep in my chest.

Either way, this was only the beginning. Higher places, pricier monsters. After all, with their every movement laid bare before my eyes, perhaps the entire Tower was nothing but a treasure vault.

That was the thought that struck me.

With a considerably lighter step, I made my way out of the lobby. Unlike when I'd arrived, I felt a touch unburdened.

The next morning.

I woke to my alarm, same as any other day.

A little stiff, but I wasn't in bad shape. After all, it wasn't as if I'd overdone it yesterday.

Rather than gear, I was back in my suit, loading my body onto the commute from hell as Team Leader Kim once more.

The grace period is one month...

Grace period in name only, really — the subtext was, if you've got any damage control left to do, sit at your desk until you're shown the door.

But today, I was looking forward to coming in for a slightly different ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reason.

I'd deactivated the sensory synchronization module when I left work yesterday, and honestly, I was curious whether anything would change.

How will it turn out...

Frankly, I was hoping it would be a little rough for them. That's what I'd been thinking, anyway...

And the atmosphere of the office I walked into was, plain and simple, a funeral parlor.

“No, you son of a bitch! You said it was safe! You SAID it was safe!!”

Park Jin-chul's bellowing rang out loud and clear from the office entrance itself.

Frankly, I was a little startled. Ours was a capable team, all things considered, and seeing him in that level of absolute fury meant something serious had happened.

I slipped in carefully, minding my step, and took in Park Jin-chul's state. It was a disaster.

His head was wrapped in thick bandages, and he was groaning along with one arm in a cast.

Not a single member of the team standing behind him was unscathed either. Every one of them had something broken or burst somewhere — apparently they'd stepped on a minefield properly during my absence.

If I'd been operating them directly, I would have issued the order: “The right passage is dangerous. If you really won't follow my route, that's a loss for Team Leader Park, not me — do as you please.”

...But with me gone, there was apparently no one left to talk sense into him, even if it meant raising their voice.

The company always wanted cost-efficiency and speed.

Ever since I'd joined as an operator, the safer our runs became, the more they pushed: “Oh, we cleared this one without a hitch? Then let's go deeper.” Less support, fewer resources, deeper into ever more dangerous territory.

Thanks to me, the injury rate dropped and stability soared, which improved efficiency — but instead, they went back to treating the hunters as consumables, tapping away at their calculators on the fantasy that shoving injured bodies back in would clear dungeons even faster.

The cause and effect are backwards. And they can't even understand that.

That was why I'd fought them the whole way.

I had a sick family member myself. Getting those men — each of them someone's breadwinner, someone's family — home with all their limbs intact. That was the only responsibility and the only conviction I, the one sitting behind the monitor, could hold.

But now even I, the last operator remaining, had been cut. The AI would just parrot past data like a broken record...

Whether the orders were even given properly, who knows.

Frankly, it was a somewhat satisfying sight.

I felt a little sorry for the team members who'd endured it all and relied on me — but Park Jin-chul, Managing Director Han Tae-seok and all. I'd fought as long as I could fight, I was tired, and I'd been thrown away outright.

A car with the brake pedal ripped out, driven like a racehorse gone mad with nothing but the accelerator stomped down, careening out of control — and in that situation, the only way to prevent a bigger catastrophe was for the crash to happen before it gained any more speed.

I was holding back the bitter smile that kept creeping onto my lips and heading for my desk, when —

“...Team Leader.”

As I quietly ducked in, reading the room, someone gently tugged at my sleeve.

I turned to find the youngest of Field Exploration Team 1. Choi Min-woo.

He couldn't be openly friendly with Park Jin-chul watching, but he was the one who trusted and followed my orders most faithfully.

Given that he was completely unscathed in contrast to Team Leader Park, it seemed he hadn't joined the expedition, but...

“What is it?”

At my question, Choi Min-woo glanced around, then whispered in a choked, tearful voice.

“Um... yesterday the Crisis Perception system was acting a little strange, and I was wondering if... if you knew anything about it?”

He'd always followed me so faithfully that apparently he'd sensed the system's change far faster than anyone else.

But on the other hand, something struck me as odd.

“Doesn't look like you're hurt anywhere... weren't you off yesterday?”

In response, Choi Min-woo hunched his shoulders to stay out of Park Jin-chul's line of sight and continued.

“Well... yes, yesterday was a field-rest day for me, but it was my day off rotation, so I was manning the exploration team monitoring. But I didn't see anything, and then the incident happened, and well... as you can see...”

Choi Min-woo's gaze drifted toward Team Leader Park.

...So that's how it happened.

Park Jin-chul and Han Tae-seok had schemed me out the door, and the sparks from that had landed square on Choi Min-woo, destroying him instead.

It was genuinely pitiable — but at the same time, watching him rage at entirely the wrong target without even grasping the true cause, all I could think was how absurdly comical the whole thing was.