The Unfolded Termination Agreement

The paper Yoon Seo-ah held out—his discarded partner to the abandoned tanker—didn't even crease. It was a pristine Partner Contract Termination Agreement.

"Kang Tae-san. Sign here."

The air in the Waiting Room froze for a moment. They were about to head out. Hunters bustled around in front of the Black Low-Grade Gate, checking their gear, while the wall speakers droned on with the entry order.

Right in the middle of it all, Yoon Seo-ah's hand didn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tremble in the slightest. An S-rank ace from a prestigious family. The guild's prized face. And until yesterday, his partner.

He stared down at the paper.

The reason field was blank. It didn't need filling. Everyone knew why.

A trash-grade tanker with sky-high defense. A porter with attack power near zero. Great to shove in front inside the dungeon, but an embarrassment on the broadcast screen.

"Can't we talk after the gate?"

Her eyebrow twitched ever so slightly at his question.

"It'll be too late then."

"For what?"

"You leeching off my name any longer."

Her words were ice-cold. And not wrong. Lately, her party had sponsors piling on—gear companies, broadcasters, folks from the prestigious families. He didn't fit in that picture.

Someone snickered from behind.

"Tae-san, just sign it. Stop being a burden to Seo-ah."

It was party leader Oh Min-hyeok. Black leather armor sporting a fresh guild mark, he clapped Tae-san on the shoulder.

"You know it too. We acknowledge your defense. But you can't do jack besides hold a shield."

He picked up the pen. Seo-ah watched his hand. Eyes waiting for the signature, clearly. But oddly, deep in those eyes lurked a tiny hesitation.

He pretended not to notice. She was the one who'd shoved this paper at him. He didn't need to own her second thoughts too.

He signed and slid it back.

"Done."

Seo-ah took the contract.

"Yeah."

Short reply. She turned away. Her black straight hair flowed coldly over her shoulders.

Then, light applause from near the Waiting Room door.

"Wow. Dumping him right before entry? Prestigious family folks move fast."

Han Mi-rae. Heir to the Mirae Group's guild. Smiling, but her sharp eyes flicked like they were tallying numbers.

She held out a black business card to him, gold lettering gleaming.

"Kang Tae-san. Call ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me if you make it out alive."

Oh Min-hyeok snorted.

"Investing in a trash-grade tanker?"

Han Mi-rae didn't drop her smile.

"If someone's throwing away treasure, someone's gotta pick it up."

He didn't take the card. The entry signal blared. The red lamp at the gate shifted to yellow.

"Later."

"Sure. If you can take it later."

Han Mi-rae slipped the card into the gap in his wrist guard. A single thin sheet felt weirdly heavy.

Oh Min-hyeok clicked his tongue.

"Filming a drama? Let's go."

The Black Low-Grade Gate lived up to its name—pitch dark. Low ceiling. Damp floor. Black mana trickling down the walls. Called low-grade, but the air shifted the moment they stepped in. Mana pressed down heavy.

Habit had him at the front. Oh Min-hyeok called from behind.

"Tae-san, pull aggro. If support slips, it's on you."

"Get back."

The party snickered at his words. They always did. Taking hits was his job. Surviving was too.

The first monsters lunged—three black wolf-type mana beasts. No shield; he just raised his arm.

Crunch. Fangs pierced his forearm guard. Blood flowed. Bones held.

"Tanky's reliable, huh."

Arrows and spells flew from behind. Beasts dropped. He took the hits; they got the kills. Same routine.

Trouble hit in the third room. Ceiling cracked. Black mana cascaded like a waterfall. The gate shuddered.

Oh Min-hyeok's grin vanished.

"What the hell? This isn't the intel."

A massive hand erupted from the floor center. No wolf, no goblin. A core guardian clad in black carapace. Way too big for a low-grade gate.

One party member collapsed.

"We gotta run!"

Oh Min-hyeok looked at him. That glance said it all.

"Tae-san."

No reply.

"You hold it. We'll call for backup."

Lie. Backup needed a signal stone left behind. Oh Min-hyeok pocketed that too. He saw the hand.

"Leaving people behind?"

"Your defense is high anyway!"

The guardian swung. He spun, shielding the fallen support. Impact slammed his chest. Breath cut off. Body smashed into the wall.

Meanwhile, Oh Min-hyeok and the rest bolted down the passage. Footsteps faded. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠No one looked back. Not even Seo-ah.

The contract was done.

He spat blood-mixed breath.

"Injured first."

The support whimpered.

"M-me...?"

"Crawl to the passage. Hug the left wall."

"What about you, hunter?"

"I'll block from here."

The guardian moved again. Fist dropped. He didn't dodge. Couldn't—back would die.

Boom. Ground cratered. Knees smashed into floor.

The status window shook before his eyes. He gritted his teeth. The more he took, the hotter his core burned. Pain piled up. Rage too.

Oh Min-hyeok's laugh. Seo-ah's contract. Han Mi-rae's card. All compressed into one spot.

The guardian's black foot crushed his shoulder. Bones creaked. Then, the status window flared red.

The air sank. Literally. Shadow coalesced under his palm. A black iron mass emerged.

A hammer. Long handle, crude head. Black lightning patterns etched inside pulsed slowly.

The guardian raised its arm again. He gripped the handle. Heavy. But it fit perfectly. Like it belonged there from the start.

Fist dropped. He took it again. Shock surged through his body into the hammer. Muk-roe thrummed—a low, deep tone.

He stood. The guardian's red eyes wavered.

"That all you got?"

No answer—just a roar. He stepped forward. Dragging the hammer cracked the floor.

Two steps. Guardian charged with its torso. He met it shoulder-first. Ribs burned inside. But he held.

Three steps. The core gleamed. Deep in the guardian's chest, between black shells—a pulsing red mass. Smash that, and it ends.

He hefted Muk-roe. Air sucked toward the hammer. Final strike from the guardian. Hit. World went white.

But his feet stayed planted. He pulled in every bit of that shock. Muk-roe glowed black.

Then he slammed down.

Kwaaaang!

Ground screamed first. Guardian's legs buckled next. Chest core shattered. Gate exhaled last.

He leaned on the hammer handle, catching breath. Rescue team's footsteps echoed from the passage. Light poured in. A camera lens caught it first.

"Wait—he's still alive!"

Cha Yu-ri. No broadcast smile. True to her popular healer rep, a mini emergency camera perched on her shoulder. Lens caught his bloodied face.

Yu-ri slapped her hand over it.

"Camera off. Treatment first."

He looked up. Outside the gate entrance, amid the crowd—Yoon Seo-ah stood. The termination agreement still in her hand, uncreased. But the edge was crumpled.

Seo-ah started to call his name, then stopped. Han Mi-rae slipped in beside her. Spotting her own card in his wrist guard, she smiled—not lightly this time.

"You made it out."

Cha Yu-ri grabbed his arm.

"Don't talk. Too much blood."

Han Mi-rae flanked the other side.

"I'll cover treatment."

"If you're pitching contracts first, step back."

"It's an investment, not a contract."

"Both are distractions right now."

Their gazes clashed briefly. He swallowed blood and rose between them. Legs wobbled. Yu-ri gasped, grabbing his shoulder. Han Mi-rae's hand shot out too.

Seo-ah was a beat late.

He pushed past all three, pointing to the collapsed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠support on the floor.

"Her first."

Cha Yu-ri's eyes shook. Then she spun.

"Got it. Injured first."

Han Mi-rae chuckled low.

"No wonder they say don't discard guys like this."

Yoon Seo-ah's face hardened. He didn't look her way.

Outside the gate, Oh Min-hyeok lurked behind the rescue team. Eyes met; he turned away.

He set Muk-roe down. Thud. Silence fell.

"Oh Min-hyeok."

He froze.

"Your mistake wasn't weakness."

Bloody hand gripped the hammer again.

"It was abandoning people."

No one laughed. The tanker once called trash had smashed the gate core and walked out.

Han Mi-rae's card wedged in his wrist. Cha Yu-ri's heal settled over his wounds. And behind him—the partner termination Seo-ah couldn't tear.

A rescue worker knelt before him.

"Hunter Kang Tae-san, consciousness check. Can you say your name?"

Instead of answering, he unwrapped his wrist guard. The blood- and dust-caked card fluttered down.

Han Mi-rae snatched it first.

"Mind if I hold onto it?"

"It's mine."

"Exactly. Can't have you losing it."

Cha Yu-ri narrowed her eyes.

"Why take a patient's stuff?"

"He didn't refuse."

Weird silence bloomed between them. He found it more exhausting than monster howls.

Then Seo-ah stepped forward.

"Tae-san."

He finally looked. The termination in her hand was soaked—one drop of his blood.

Her lips parted. No words came.

He turned first.

"Talk after treatment."

That day, he lost one thing. A partner.

Three attached in its place. A contract. A camera. And Muk-roe.