The Disaster Is My Dinner Table
“Team Leader... do you have a moment?”
Choi Minwoo seized the split second while Park Jin-chul was huffing and puffing and spitting fire, grabbed my sleeve outright, and steered me toward the emergency stairwell. This was a guy who wouldn't normally have dared such a bold move for fear of who might be watching—yet for some reason, he looked absolutely desperate right now.
Creeeak—
The steel door closed, and the moment the cool air of the stairwell touched my skin, Minwoo blurted out in a rush.
“Team Leader. You already know, don't you?”
“Know what? I don't have a Joo-ah with me.”
“This accident... it wasn't just bad luck. The system. Something was wrong with the system.”
So he'd already caught on? The output values wouldn't look all that different on the surface, though.
Well, he had always been the one to follow my orders with the sharpest instincts on the field, so no surprise he'd instinctively sensed that the values being spat out by the AI operator—now with its sense-sync severed—weren't what they used to be.
Minwoo pressed on, his lips trembling.
“I was off-duty today, so I was just monitoring from the office. Up until the ground collapsed, the AI alert level was reading 'SAFE.' Now, sure, even I couldn't see any obvious warning signs... but the system has caught everything up until now, hasn't it? Is it... is it broken?”
Minwoo's eyes were pretty sharp.
Under normal circumstances, the system would have flagged the ground collapse before it happened—even invisible to the naked eye—probably through subtle vibration patterns or irregularities in the mana wavelengths.
'...That is, if my ability had still been synced to it, anyway.'
But all that remained in that server now was a hollow shell mechanically cranking out results by leaning on past data and the field team's logs. And when it came to making that kind of prediction, the field team would do a better job anyway.
Not that it mattered—look at the state Team Leader Park was in because of it.
I feigned ignorance and shrugged.
“Who knows. According to Team Leader Park, it's because you were negligent with your monitoring.”
“That's insane! Do you know how hard I was staring at those screens?!”
Minwoo's voice wavered with the sting of injustice.
...It really wasn't his fault. I knew that better than anyone.
But I couldn't tell him the truth. If yesterday's trial run on the 1st floor had flopped, fine, but now that I'd finally gotten back in the field, I could feel the potential again—and besides, I wasn't so charitable as to grovel and campaign for recognition from a company that had done this to me.
'And the moment my usefulness got acknowledged again, Han Tae-seok, that Managing Director, would find some way to strip my ability out of me and kick me to the curb.'
Instead, I decided to give Minwoo's curiosity at least an indirect answer.
Well... the whole thing was bound to come out sooner or later.
“Minwoo.”
“...Yes?”
“I'm resigning. I already finished talking it over with the Managing Director. One month from now, it'll be completely done.”
“······What?”
Minwoo's pupils shook as if an earthquake had hit them. His face said he hadn't even considered the possibility.
“You're joking, right? If you leave, what happens to us? No—wait, who's going to manage this system right now, and...”
There it was—the exact thing I'd wanted to say to the Managing Director, coming at me from Minwoo instead.
“The other teams are doing just fine with their AI operators. You'll all move that way now too. 'Operational efficiency' or whatever they're calling it. I don't have the authority to change it.”
“That... that's absurd...”
The shock must have hit harder than I'd expected—Minwoo clutched his head and sank down where he stood.
...Maybe he'd leaned on me more than I realized.
For a moment my resolve wavered. But a no was a no. Half-hearted pity at this point was poison. If I was leaving and he got caught clinging to me, it was obvious he'd be ground even harder under Park Jin-chul's boot. To survive here, he'd have to grow thick skin.
“Minwoo. Get a grip.”
“Team Leader... I can't do it. If you suddenly stop operating for us, I...”
“No—you can.”
I looked down at him with eyes gone cold and still.
“Don't waste your breath defending someone who's on his way out. Don't get marked down by Team Leader Park or the Director. Even if it's unfair, keep your head down. Even if they call you incompetent, keep quiet and ride it out.”
“B-but Team Leader...”
Still at it, huh.
“And look—if you hold out and it gets truly unbearable, you quit. What else is there to do?”
Frankly, I thought it would be best for Minwoo to judge the situation quickly and move to a hunter party at another company. But he'd grown up entirely on my operating support from day one, so his crisis-response instincts were bound to be a bit dull. Honestly, I wasn't sure he'd manage a decent transfer on good terms.
“Anyway, keep your head down and stay careful from here on. Yeah, there are all kinds of safety measures, but hunters die in the blink of an eye. No matter what Park Jin-chul says—watch yourself.”
I intended to keep working as a hunter myself now, so someday, if the chance came, we'd probably cross paths in the field again. When that day came, I hoped we could be somewhere other than Arc Industry—and able to smile at each other.
“...And while I'm still here, if it gets really rough, reach out. I'll run operating support for you personally, at least.”
“Hyungnim...”
I peeled Minwoo off me where he'd been clinging like a burr and stepped out through the fire exit.
I hadn't planned on any of this, but it turned out that face-to-face with an actual person, going soft-hearted was harder to resist than I'd thought. Well, Minwoo had done nothing wrong, after all—getting treated like this and played against by company politics on his way out.
When I got back to the office, the storm had already passed.
Park Jin-chul and several of the badly injured had been rushed off to the medical center, their wounds apparently serious, leaving the desolate office to a single familiar face still hunched over her incident report.
Assistant Manager Lee Seo-yeon.
A career hunter who had worked the field at other guilds before transferring here just a few months ago. With the field exploration team laid up and injured, she alone was bizarrely untouched.
'As expected—good instincts, that one.'
She knew nothing about my ability, but her gut feel and her sense for trouble were top-notch. That was why, whenever I said something like “It'll be dangerous if we go this way,” the others might ignore me, but she always followed without a word of complaint.
The moment I took my seat, Lee Seo-yeon heaved a long sigh over the mountain of paperwork.
“You're back, Team Leader? The mood in here's been absolutely murderous, huh?”
“Where's Team Leader Park?”
“Ugh, don't even get me started. He's stomping around shrieking with his head all wrapped in bandages—refuses painkillers, says it still hurts, carrying on like a lunatic. Honestly, it's pathetic enough to kill a person.”
She clicked her tongue.
“Anyway... if you'd been running the operator, Team Leader, it never would've come to this. The system was a total brick the whole time you were out. Not that your usual orders don't feel a little stifling at times... but at least they don't turn people into cripples.”
Lee Seo-yeon was sharp. She wasn't saying it outright, but you could tell from her manner that she'd experienced it firsthand in the field—my 'intuition,' when her senses were synced to it, was more accurate and faster than the AI system.
I played dumb in response.
“Well... even systems glitch sometimes.”
“Funny timing for a glitch, though. Right when you're packing up your desk.”
My hand paused for just a beat.
Lee Seo-yeon rested her chin on her hand and studied me with an odd look in her eyes.
“You're leaving for real, aren't you? Going by the vibes in here... looks like a forced resignation.”
“...Quick on the uptake, aren't you.”
“You'd be dead already in this industry without eyes in the back of your head. But you know what...? Good for you. Honestly, I always thought it made no sense for someone like you to be getting treated the way you are in a place like this.”
She didn't worry over my resignation or try to talk me out of it. If anything, her tone suggested she'd already seen it coming.
Cool as ice. Comes with being a career hire, I suppose.
The silence stretched only a moment longer before she turned back to her exploration report, fingers clattering across the keyboard, and tossed out a remark with studied casualness.
“So—what are you planning to do after? Got a decent position lined up? Or... taking a break and playing unemployed for a while?”
Maybe because she'd always lived life at such a punishing pace. A small smile settled in her eyes, the kind that said she'd earned a rest by now, if anyone had.
“Hard to say. Even if a good opening comes up, there's the non-compete restriction within the industry. For now, I'll just have to suck my thumb.”
“Hmm. You've got the skills—you won't starve, at least.”
Without lifting her eyes from her monitor, she swiveled one screen in my direction.
“If you're bored, here's a bit of info so you can at least earn yourself some pocket money. It's still under embargo.”
“...Information?”
On the monitor was a classified directive issued by the Hunter Management Bureau (HMB).
Dimensional Phase Forecast: Sector A-2, 2nd Floor.
Phase Name: “Blade Wind Graveyard”
Connection expected within 36 hours.
My eyes narrowed.
“This is...”
“It connects to the 2nd floor tomorrow. And the Hunter Management Bureau circulated a public notice to civilians about it? Very unusual of them. Those are the guys who normally strip-mine every honey pot themselves before anyone else gets a taste.”
“You're telling me it's dangerous.”
“Bingo. Last cycle, a Bureau-affiliated 1st Rank party went in and had to retreat within ten minutes. No casualties, but I hear every single piece of equipment they carried in came out as scrap.”
Their gear reduced to rags?
Now that was interesting. I leaned in and studied the monitor more closely.
“What's the cause?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. The whole dungeon is a canyon-type, and invisible vacuum blades whip through it at random—so fast, and in mana so dense, that they can't be seen with the naked eye and are nearly impossible to identify even by mana detection.”
Lee Seo-yeon shuddered like the very thought disgusted her.
“When the Bureau went in before, even with defensive artifacts they watched their durability shave away like paper and gave up partway through. And if another chance comes, they have no intention of breaching it themselves. Factor in the repair costs and run the numbers on the odds of success, and the math just doesn't work out.”
So they'd opened it up to the private sector.
Anyone with the right ability, or the right equipment, or the chops to break through—here's your one shot. Too hard for them to chew, and apparently unacceptable to let it slip into some unknown elsewhere.
Lee Seo-yeon shook her head and nudged the monitor back into place.
“Our company's field special response team won't be deploying for it... and our team's the best we've got, and look at the state we're in. Obviously we're passing. I wonder if [Midas] or [Dokkaebi] will send in some experimental drones to scout it? Can't say whether the other major guilds will enter either, but either way—it's a disaster of a place.”
She tilted her head, weighing something, evidently unsure—then quickly made up her mind, winked, and dropped a pointed hint.
“Team Leader, if you ever find yourself with time on your hands—if you end up collaborating with a solo hunter, say—absolutely do not take a job there. Even with your ability, that place would chew you up.”
Since I was on my way out, she seemed to want to spoon-feed me the warning in case anyone might be watching.
Meanwhile, I was grateful she trusted me that much—and, frankly, her little briefing had been rather entertaining.
...A disaster, huh.
I felt the corner of my mouth twitch despite myself. No doubt the rumors calling it a calamity weren't exaggerating.
A disaster? Well, a disaster it might be.
But... somehow, for some reason, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was a table set just for me.
Invisible blades?
Maybe to everyone else—but for me, it might as well have been a wide-open highway, laid clear in every direction.
The one thing I was more confident in than anything else, the thing I believed I'd never lose to anyone at—that was seeing.
'Well... I suppose for hunters going in clad in expensive safety gear and equipment, staying alive in there would be its own circle of hell. But with nothing decent required of me equipment-wise, no cost to speak of—if that's a perk, it's a perk.'
Swallowing the laugh that threatened to burst out of me, I solemnly nodded along to Lee Seo-yeon, wearing my most worried face.
“Good grief... that's a terrifying place. And those Hunter Management Bureau folks—dropping intel like this just praying somebody bites. Really something.”
“Right? That's exactly why I'm going to spread the word all around the company that nobody should go within a mile of it.”
But if the data the Hunter Management Bureau had leaked was accurate, then at the heart of that 'invisible blade storm,' a considerable artifact had to be slumbering.
'And I'm not about to leave that for someone else to swallow.'
Lee Seo-yeon answered with a bright smile, and I returned her smile in kind.
Days Until Resignation: D-29