A Three-Million-Won Mission and a Blind Man's Delusion
The 5th floor of the Tower. The zone where the dungeon entrance was predicted to emerge through the Dimensional Phase Shift was, quite literally, a sea of humanity.
"Whoa... isn't that Director Park from Ohsung over there? A senior executive showed up at the site himself."
"That's Mir's elite over there, and, wow—Cheka's basically brought an entire army with them?"
Not only the country's top guilds but even the foreign capital of Cheka. Every major power was strutting their stuff and digging in with full bravado.
And right in front of the spot where the gate was expected to open, the Hunter Administration Bureau's director-level heavyweights and their agents were standing by.
It seemed Choi Minwoo had finally realized this was a far bigger deal than he'd imagined—the suffocating pressure of the place, heavier than any site we'd visited before, had frozen him solid, leaving him fidgeting in place.
"...Um, boss. Are you sure we're actually allowed to be here? There's only three of us, and frankly, neither I nor the two of you look like we'd be much help in a fight."
Choi Minwoo grabbed my sleeve with a face drained of all color.
"This doesn't feel like a place for small fry like me..."
The bravado with which he'd once hurled his resignation letter at Park Jin-chul was nowhere to be found. He'd reverted to his familiar, henpecked self.
Well, it was understandable that he felt intimidated. It was true that Park Jin-chul, his old team leader, was here, but with Ohsung sending out an executive in person and so many companies dispatching their very best, Choi Minwoo—the former rookie and mere assistant manager of Ark's exploration team—was hopelessly outclassed.
The hunters surrounding us were decked out in gleaming state-of-the-art artifacts and support gear stacked layer upon layer.
Meanwhile, this side of things had me—sure, Corporate Slave Life had some fame to its name—wearing nothing but a suit and carrying a briefcase. And Choi Minwoo had only his signature wire equipment and a few auxiliary items.
But I simply shrugged, unbothered.
"No need to panic. The real treasure's going home with us anyway."
They say half a hunter's strength comes from his equipment, but when you consider that all that gear exists for the sake of exploration—and for responding appropriately to threats...
I never once felt like we were the ones at a disadvantage.
That was a conclusion built on ten years of analysis, hammered into shape through countless operations. It was confidence in my own abilities, plain and simple.
Field testing had wrapped up long ago, too. So I figured I should be worrying about something else entirely...
"No, seriously, where does that baseless confidence even come from—"
Just as Choi Minwoo's whining was about to continue, a frivolous shout struck our eardrums.
"Alright! It's live! Roulette mission! [Punch a 5th-Floor Trash Mob to Death with Your Bare Hands] Thank you, Chairman!"
It was Kim Pildu of Midas.
And here I'd thought we had a somewhat solemn, grimly determined atmosphere going.
Just my luck—nothing involving Midas ever goes smoothly. Having a guy like that in the party would certainly explain why Choi Minwoo was so rattled...
Kim Pildu was flailing about solo, selfie stick in hand, dancing something like a tap routine.
Even the hunters around us were shooting him 'what is wrong with that lunatic?' looks—which proved it wasn't just because he was from Midas.
"Okay, folks! Here we go!"
Apparently he was being paid for these roulette missions or whatever. And he's actually going to do it...
I can't see anything special about him at a glance. So this is the Midas broadcaster Na Heera foisted on us? Still, going bare-fisted against a 5th-floor monster?
Choi Minwoo looked aghast that such a clown even existed, while I watched on with a measure of genuine curiosity.
Against the cavernous, shadowy terrain of the 5th floor, Kim Pildu had lured out a giant lizard-like creature—easily several meters long—dragging it out from some secluded corner to draw its aggro...
Ohh...
Even the hunters who'd set up camp near the dungeon entrance were watching with rapt attention as something astonishing unfolded.
"S-somebody save me!!"
So that's why he'd lured it out. He hadn't been drawing it in at all.
"......"
"BWAHAHAHA!"
Watching Kim Pildu sprint for his life after apparently trying to accomplish something with his fists, I was left speechless.
He'd failed the mission anyway, so he could've just grabbed a weapon and finished the job. But seeing him bolt outright, maybe his combat ability was even more hopeless than I'd imagined...
It made me question Na Heera's judgment in putting a guy like this in the party.
And yet, even as he screamed his head off, milking every last drop of reaction and voice for the cameras while teetering between life and death, one thing stood out: he never once looked like he was actually in danger.
Is he staging this on purpose to collect donations?
Then he really would be insane.
But my observations were interrupted almost immediately.
"B-boss! This time there's a mission donation for... for you!"
For me?
My bewilderment lasted only a moment. Remembering how he'd knelt before me like a piggy bank back in the Crystal Cave, wearing those pixel sunglasses, I had to admit a mission donation wasn't out of the question.
That said, I had no intention of playing along with everything just because I'd indulged him last time.
I was in a considerably more comfortable financial position these days, after all.
"I don't move for anything less than a pretty serious sum these days. If you think money solves everything, think again. Go ahead and tell Midas's viewers."
I flashed my most confident smile.
"The mission amount is 3 million won!"
"......"
Maybe once upon a time, but that's pocket change now.
...And yet.
Wait. If I move for a moment and that money lands in our account, is there any reason not to move?
My eyes lit up with a surge of customer-service spirit.
Someone's burning 3 million won on a single mission? Then I deliver, obviously.
Come to think of it, I'd heard Midas's audience—including the overseas side—was absolutely massive. So that's how big it really was.
"So. What's the mission?"
Flipping my expression and slipping into sales mode took no time at all.
As the comments piled up at breakneck speed, I checked the mission details.
That's not hard at all.
What was actually harder was keeping a careful eye on Kim Pildu's comment section, since he was still ducking and weaving for his life from the giant lizard.
And the mission was—
Slick—!
'Slice a monster clean in two with the box cutter, then—'
That was it. Incredibly simple. And they're really paying 3 million won for this?
"Ooooooh!"
Cheers erupted from the crowd of hunters watching from behind.
Why are you all surprised?
The live chat exploded, donation notification chimes firing off one after another.
It struck me yet again that for a hunter, making money was absurdly easy in every conceivable avenue.
My expression read what even is this..., but honestly, I wasn't thinking much of it. Maybe I was more cut out for broadcasting than I realized.
It looked like Choi Minwoo's morale was sinking to new depths beside me, but whatever. Not my problem.
Meanwhile, perhaps our party's little performance struck someone as amusing.
The dungeon entrance was slowly grinding open and the hunters had begun to move, when a familiar voice sliced past us.
"Tch. Midas? You people are clowns in every possible way. Did the company look like a joke to you? Thought you'd amount to something after walking out, and just look at you now. Absolutely pathetic, eh?"
Park Jin-chul, evidently having received proper backing from Ark this time, was sneering at Choi Minwoo.
Behind him stood Kang Muhyeok of Ark's Special Response Team and several other hunters, arrayed in formation.
Lee Seo-yeon shot Choi Minwoo a look mixing fondness and pity, shouting a half-hearted 'Fighting...'—
But judging by the way Choi Minwoo's shoulders flinched, the jab had landed.
He really didn't need to do that.
"Tch... if you'd just kept your head down and endured, you'd be exploring this dungeon inside Ark right now, with a Managing Director himself backing the operation. Instead you're off gallivanting with a bunch of clowns. You've trampled your own fortune, that's what."
With a derisive snort, Park Jin-chul disappeared into the freshly opening gate.
Still. Han Tae-seok himself stepping up to support the operation, was it?
As I wrapped up the mission and headed toward the gate with Kim Pildu in tow, the thought crossed my mind.
'I'm sure he's made his own preparations... but is that really fortune?'
At the same moment, inside Ark Industry's main control room.
Only dozens of monitors glowed in the darkness, spilling cold bluish light across the room.
Bathed in that light, Managing Director Han Tae-seok's face looked more relaxed than it had in months.
'Yes. Now it all finally adds up.'
Nothing had gone right for him lately. The field exploration teams that had once run themselves were tripping over their own feet, and his ambitious Star Hunter project had ended as nothing more than a clown act.
When even the AI Operating System he'd trusted turned out to be an empty shell, he'd genuinely believed the world had abandoned him.
But only after summoning Kim the Assistant Manager, and then Manager Jeong as well, had he finally recognized the blind spot he'd been missing.
"So you're telling me... this system was never used on its own. It was always paired with manual operating? Like a semi-automatic setup?"
Stroking his chin, Han Tae-seok stared hard at the monitor.
Manager Jeong's explanation had made the problem crystal clear. All along, an operator had been manually correcting the AI's predictions—that was the heart of it. Since none of that ever showed up in the program logs, the strategy planning office had simply chalked it up to the AI's independent judgment and standard operating.
In short: the AI sketched the outline, and Kim Doyun took a red pen to the algorithm—adding, revising, and polishing it into a finished masterpiece...
Han Tae-seok's brow furrowed.
'I was played.'
That sly bastard, Kim Doyun.
He'd said with his own mouth that the system was perfect—and all the while he was doing this behind the scenes?
Granted, those words had come from the strategy planning office, and Doyun had actually argued for the continued necessity of manual operating even as the system improved—but memories like that no longer held any place in Han Tae-seok's mind.
"Right. Got it, Manager Jeong. So what you needed was 'high-level data-entry grunt work.' That's all it was."
Han Tae-seok let out a hollow laugh.
So this wasn't even an unsolvable problem.
Granted, the need for one operator would knock a bit of value off their bargaining position with Cheka...
But add one grunt worker and gain an operating system of absurd, near-mythical capability. That was still, without question, a game-changer for the entire hunter industry.
'Honestly... it was nothing after all.'
Now that he knew the cause, he almost felt deflated.
It wasn't that Kim Doyun possessed some genius ability that made the system run. And Kang Minho's failure had simply been a matter of putting an unlicensed driver behind the wheel.
The answer was simple.
"Manager Jeong. How long were you under Team Leader Kim, back in the day?"
"...About five years."
"That's plenty. I don't need to find anyone else. You're perfect—perfect, I say. Manager Jeong, I'm counting on you and you alone. Anything Team Leader Kim could do, you can do too, right? All you have to do is watch what pops up on the screen and do the grunt work of feeding in the relevant information. That's it, no?"
At Han Tae-seok's words, Manager Jeong's expression twisted—but Han Tae-seok, oblivious, kept right on talking.
"...I'll do my best."
Taking that as a yes, Han Tae-seok chuckled and gave the order.
"Get ready. Patch me through to Cheka."
Straightening his clothes, Han Tae-seok fixed his gaze on the screen.
On it, he could see the hunters of Ark and Cheka arrayed before the entrance to Hydra's Ruin.
And behind them...
"...Hm?"
Han Tae-seok's brow creased.
A deeply irritating figure.
A masked man in a suit—Corporate Slave Life. And...
"Isn't that our company's kid?"
"...Yes. That's Assistant Manager Choi Minwoo."
A long, deflating hiss escaped Han Tae-seok's lips.
Why was that worthless paper-tosser who'd thrown his resignation in the company's face attached to that party?
"Ha! Birds of a feather, I suppose. What a circus."
But the thought lasted only a moment. Dungeons that Corporate Slave Life wormed his way into had a history of bad outcomes for Ark, so Han Tae-seok briefly wondered whether this could be a variable...
"Doesn't matter."
Han Tae-seok waved a hand as if to say it wasn't worth the attention.
"If anything, this works out fine. A properly functioning system needs a control group for comparison."
"All team members, prepare for entry. No mistakes this time. Show them perfection."
> [Understood, Managing Director.]
As Han Tae-seok smiled with certainty, Manager Jeong—who had been silently tapping away at his keyboard—stared at the monitor with bitter eyes and sank into thought.
'You haven't grown at all, have you. Managing Director Han Tae-seok.'
He still hadn't grasped what the real problem was. He still didn't understand that Kim Doyun was not a man who could be replaced.
Kim Doyun had forged paths where none existed, and found a way out even where the sky itself was collapsing. The AI Operating System had merely been the instrument of his delivery—not the engine that gave Ark's explorations their staggering safety record.
Why couldn't he see that?
Or perhaps—it was something he simply couldn't bear to face.
Manager Jeong had no lingering loyalty left anyway. His plan was to fill the seat for this project, collect his pay, and walk away.
So he simply watched Han Tae-seok's back, with nothing but pity in his eyes.