The Shield Challenge Ends

Less than ten minutes after the indicator light above the lounge door turned on, another light flickered at the end of the hallway.

It was the screen of a mobile phone.

It was small, yet the eyes of everyone in the corridor were strangely drawn to that tiny display.

In the video, three temporary hunters were stripping off their protective gear. Elbow pads, knee pads, and even chest protectors were discarded onto the floor one by one. In the background, someone laughed as they counted down the time.

A makeshift poster was also plastered on one wall of the training area.

The entry fee, written in tiny print, was even smaller.

It was not a cheap amount for temporary hunters who were still in recovery. Yet, it seemed a few had already paid. They wore thin blue bands around their wrists. While they didn't flash like the fake priority bracelets, the way they pushed people to their limits was remarkably similar.

Only this time, they weren't selling the right to be treated first.

They were selling faces that refused to show pain.

"If you just endure for seven minutes, the views will explode. That's how Kang Tae-san blew up, too."

I couldn't take my eyes off the screen.

What they were copying wasn't Mungnoe (Silent Thunder).

It wasn't the duty of standing in front of others, either.

It was simply a face that kept its pain silent.

Cha Yu-ri pressed the back of my hand. It was the same hand that had been checking my bandages just moments ago. This time, her touch wasn't meant to restrain me. It was to make me realize that I was gripping the armrest of my chair.

"Don't get up," she said.

"That's inside the emergency wing," I replied.

"I know."

Her voice dropped lower.

"Which is exactly why you shouldn't get up."

The temporary training area across the hallway was just a glass door away. Originally, it was a space where recovering hunters could test their movements. Now, it was occupied by a phone tripod and a few folding chairs.

The mother who had just entered the lounge peered through the gap in the door with an anxious face. Kim Do-sik also set down his bag of medicine and tried to push himself up.

"Stay seated," Cha Yu-ri said, gently pressing him back down first.

Then, she looked at me.

"You too, Tae-san."

It was the first time my name had ever sounded so heavy.

Just then, one of the hunters inside the training area stumbled.

He had a young face. He looked like ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he had barely reached adulthood. The name tag on his chest read Han Jae-o. His left shin was already wrapped in bandages, and he had unbuckled the brace over it himself.

The man standing behind the camera clapped his hands.

"Jae-o, if you step down now, the video is ruined. Enduring pain is the basic duty of a shield, you know?"

Han Jae-o bit his lip.

"I'm fine."

It wasn't just the pain the boy was afraid of.

His face showed the terror of being left behind as the weak link the moment he stepped back. It was a look that closely resembled the laughter I had heard in that dark, low-rank Gate. The sentiment that you are useful if you endure, but a burden the moment you say it hurts.

Those words cut deeper and last longer than any blade.

I had heard them for a very long time myself.

I began to rise from my chair.

Or rather, I tried to.

Cha Yu-ri didn't try to hold me back this time.

Instead, she walked over to the hospital bed and unrolled a fresh bundle of bandages. The white cloth stretched long across the mattress. In front of it, she set up a small pain scale board.

"This is the place you need to return to," Cha Yu-ri said.

"That boy is watching."

I froze.

The camera inside the training ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠area was turning toward me.

If I ran in there, the title of the video would change instantly.

If that happened, Han Jae-o wouldn't be the only one collapsing today. Tomorrow, someone else would strip off their protective gear.

Unable to turn back, I stood right in front of the glass door.

Han Jae-o's knees trembled violently.

The organizer held up his phone and laughed.

"Did you see that? Even Hunter Kang Tae-san is here watching. Alright, three more minutes!"

Before he could finish his sentence, a white scabbard thrust itself between the phone and Han Jae-o.

It was Baek Ha-rin.

She didn't draw her sword.

Instead, she used her foot to slide a folding chair right in front of the camera. The metal legs scraped loudly against the floor, and the phone screen was suddenly filled with nothing but Baek Ha-rin's scabbard and the back of the chair.

The organizer shouted.

"Don't interfere! This is a public challenge!"

"If it's public, then this will make it even easier to see," Baek Ha-rin replied coolly.

She tapped the discarded protective gear on the floor with the tip of her scabbard.

"Why did you make him take those off?"

"It's a shield-style endurance challenge. If he wears protective gear, there's no point—"

"Since when is a shield something that takes hits without armor?"

The organizer couldn't find an answer.

Just then, Cha Yu-ri opened the door to the training area. She didn't run. Instead, she walked in holding the pain scale board with both hands. The white board stood out much more clearly than the bright screen of the phone.

"Hunter Han Jae-o," she called out.

Han Jae-o looked up at her with trembling knees.

"Your current pain level."

The organizer cut in.

"We are filming. If medical staff interfere—"

Cha Yu-ri didn't even look at him.

"Your pain level."

Han Jae-o's lips parted slightly.

"...I'm fine."

Cha Yu-ri slid her finger down the board.

"That is not a number."

Baek Ha-rin chimed in from the side.

"You'd better listen to her. She's much scarier when you don't give her a number."

"Ms. Ha-rin."

"Hey, I'm just helping."

Cha Yu-ri closed her eyes for a brief second, took a breath, and looked back at Han Jae-o.

"From zero to ten."

Han Jae-o's eyes drifted toward me.

I didn't move. I didn't reach for Mungnoe. I simply stood there, making sure the pain scale board in front of the bed and the white bandages beside me were clearly visible.

What I needed to show him wasn't how to endure.

It was the place he could return to.

Han Jae-o finally managed to speak.

"Eight."

A collective gasp echoed from the people waiting in the hallway.

Cha Yu-ri answered immediately.

"Stop."

"N-no. Just a little more—"

"An eight means an immediate stop."

She picked up Han Jae-o's brace. Baek Ha-rin kicked the chair aside and stepped back. As Han Jae-o slumped forward, looking as if he might collapse, Kim Do-sik tried to stand up from the lounge doorway to help.

I raised my hand first.

"Stay seated," I said.

Kim Do-sik froze.

Meanwhile, Cha Yu-ri refitted the brace onto Han Jae-o's shin. Every time the straps tightened, Han Jae-o winced and caught his breath, but he didn't say he was fine this time.

"If it's an eight, it really hurts, right?" he asked quietly.

Cha Yu-ri's hands paused.

"Yes, it does."

"Then... it's okay for me to step down?"

"You aren't stepping down. You are receiving treatment."

At those words, Han Jae-o's shoulders completely relaxed.

The organizer hastily grabbed his phone.

"This is a misunderstanding! The participation was entirely voluntary, and Hunter Kang Tae-san was right here witnessing it—"

Right then, Mungnoe let out a low rumble from beside the bed.

Thud.

The entire corridor didn't shake. However, the stand holding the timer in the training area slid forward. The numbers 03:12 flickering on the screen wobbled, and a thin magnetic strip attached to the bottom of the stand peeled off and fell.

On the back of the magnetic strip, there was text written in tiny print.

Han Mi-rae stared at it from the doorway.

"Ah, this is exactly the kind of thing I love."

"Please don't love it," Cha Yu-ri said immediately.

"I mean the kind of thing I despise but know all too well."

Han Mi-rae turned on her tablet.

"The entry fee payment window, the sponsor coupon ads, the video upload requirements... they're all linked. And no refunds upon cancellation? You certainly found a beautiful way to make money off of people in pain."

The organizer shrank back.

"The challenge was a voluntary participation—"

Baek Ha-rin placed the tip of her scabbard right in front of his feet.

"Say 'voluntary' one more time."

She didn't draw her sword, but the organizer shut his mouth instantly.

Lee Na-gyeong arrived just then. She didn't ask long questions about the commotion. She simply took photos of the fallen magnetic strip, the number eight on the pain scale board, the refitted brace, and the phone screen in turn.

"Cease of hazardous challenge within the recovery zone. Refund of entry fees. Invalidation of video upload requirements. Temporary suspension of sponsor accounts."

Her words were brief.

But the true conclusion of this incident wasn't what was shown on the screen.

It was the number Han Jae-o had spoken with his own mouth.

Eight.

That single digit brought the challenge to an end.

The organizer's phone could no longer capture anyone's face. It was completely blocked by the back of the folding chair Baek Ha-rin had set up, and on it, a small piece of paper attached by Cha Yu-ri was visible.

I let out a slow breath in front of the glass door.

Cha Yu-ri walked back over, holding a fresh roll of bandages in her hand.

"You did well," she said.

"I didn't even do anything this time," I replied.

"No, you did."

She looked down at the back of my hand. The faint red marks from where I had gripped the armrest and then let go were still visible.

"Today, you did the act of not running in."

Baek Ha-rin spoke up from the side.

"I pushed the chair. Where's my praise?"

Cha Yu-ri replied as she checked Han Jae-o's brace one last time.

"I'll praise you for not drawing your sword."

"And the chair?"

"The chair too."

Baek Ha-rin pretended to be unsatisfied, but the hand resting her scabbard over her shoulder relaxed slightly.

Han Jae-o sat in front of the pain scale board. He didn't look at the phone screen anymore. He looked at his own knees, then at the straps of his brace, and finally, he looked toward me.

"Hunter Kang Tae-san."

I raised my head.

"I... didn't endure like a shield, did I?"

The answer wasn't difficult.

"No."

His face stiffened slightly for a moment.

I continued.

"You came back."

Han Jae-o didn't cry. Instead, he picked up a pen and wrote his name right under the number eight on the pain scale board.

That written sentence lasted much longer than any video.

Cha Yu-ri gave Han Jae-o's brace strap one final tug. She didn't pull it too tight. Just enough so it wouldn't slip, but loose enough that it could be undone again.

"This strap is just like the numbers," she said.

Han Jae-o blinked.

"Huh?"

"If you tie it too tight, you end up pretending to endure. If it's too loose, you get hurt. You have to speak the truth about how it fits."

"Then... next time, if it's a six, can I say it's a six?"

"If it's a six, you must show it to a healer."

"What about a five?"

"If it's a five, Yu-ri will give you a terrifying glare," Baek Ha-rin chimed in.

"Ms. Ha-rin."

"It's the truth, isn't it?"

Cha Yu-ri couldn't argue with that. Instead, she placed another pen in the holder next to the pain scale board.

"From now on, if you can't say it out loud, write it down. Use numbers instead of saying you're fine."

Han Jae-o nodded.

Watching them, I slowly walked back to my chair. My knees gave out slightly as I sat. Cha Yu-ri noticed instantly.

"You too," she said.

"I didn't run," I replied.

"But you endured just to keep yourself from running."

Her words hit the mark perfectly.

I looked at the pain scale board. I used to think those numbers belonged to other people, but before I knew it, they were sitting right in front of me too.

"Four."

Cha Yu-ri paused.

"Before I even asked?"

"Practice."

Baek Ha-rin let out a dry chuckle.

"My, you're busy raising two patients."

"Three," Cha Yu-ri replied as she checked my bandages. "You were waiting for praise just now too, Ms. Ha-rin."

Baek Ha-rin was left speechless. Han Mi-rae was about to give a small round of applause, but she quickly lowered her hands when she caught Ha-rin's glare.

Amidst the quiet bickering, the lights in the training area turned off one by one. The phone tripod was folded, and the payment terminal was sealed away.

The poster that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠read "Shield Challenge" wasn't torn down.

Cha Yu-ri had simply pasted a new sheet of paper over it.

That sentence lasted much longer than the poster itself.

The Shield Challenge was over.

What remained wasn't a high view count, but a refitted brace and the pain scale numbers spoken aloud for the very ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠first time.