How Many Died Today?
"How many dead today?"
Kim Woocheol, head of the Hunter Crime Investigation Division at the Hunter Management Bureau, was receiving the report.
"Five."
Kang Yeji reported.
"And how many were supposed to die today?"
"Nine in total."
"So did he spare four? Or did he only kill five? I can't tell anymore, and it's driving me crazy."
"In my assessment, he spared three."
Kang Yeji handed over the report and began her explanation.
"Yesterday, we identified fifteen potential victims. Three of them had hunters attached to them around the clock—not apart for even a second. The rest refused the detail for the sake of their privacy."
Kang Yeji's eyes glittered as she spoke, her voice gathering strength.
"All three with hunters survived. The victims all came from the other twelve."
"Hmm."
Kim Woocheol tilted his head.
There were too many variables. It could have been pure coincidence that those three hadn't been targeted—or sd1234 had simply chosen to kill only five.
"Doesn't that leave it ambiguous?"
"No, it doesn't. Only five died, didn't they? His body count has climbed every single day. Even though he was fully capable of killing nine, he managed only five."
"I get that, but maybe he just didn't feel like killing more than five."
"And what reason would he have to do that?"
"Throwing off the investigation."
"Then that actually makes me *more* certain. If he'd caught on that we were investigating, he would have spared the people with hunters attached—no. More accurately, he couldn't have killed them."
There was logic in what she said.
Either way, the crucial fact was the same: every potential victim who'd spent the entire day under a hunter's watch had survived.
Whether that was luck or not didn't matter.
"If we gather tonight's remaining victims into a single protected location, we can confirm it beyond doubt."
Seo Gichan, who had been listening silently, spoke up.
If Kang Yeji's hypothesis held, then no one would die tonight at all.
"Wait—shouldn't it be six who die, not five?"
Park Kwangdo asked.
If three had been spared, then six should have died. Today's projected death toll had been nine.
"Hmm."
Kang Yeji had no explanation for that part.
"Let's shelve that for now. Work with what we've concluded. The five victims who died—all in their bathrooms, correct?"
"Yes."
"And the three he spared had hunters on them all day yesterday?"
"That's right. While they slept, while they used the bathroom—constant close protection. Airtight."
Kim Woocheol fell into thought for a moment.
The five who died had been under the Bureau's protective watch, but they'd rejected constant hunter detail, unwilling to have their private lives invaded. The result: all five dead.
"Then we can frame it this way. sd1234 only targets people who are alone."
The hunters nodded.
"Just as planned, the bastard went after public figures now that the checkpoints are gone."
The operation had worked. It had cost five lives, but there had been no way around it.
"He's not an inside man on the police side, then."
Kang Yeji offered, since she'd been the one to raise that theory in the first place.
"He's not one of theirs. Odds are overwhelming that he's getting his information from the internet alone."
Seo Gichan's analysis was razor-sharp—and accurate, though none of them knew it. Lee Hocheon had, in fact, relied entirely on the internet for information on his targets.
"So we've figured out how to keep people alive, at least. But how the hell is he *killing* them? I've got zero feel for his method."
Kim Woocheol felt a familiar frustration. The pace of the investigation was absurdly slow compared to the killer's body of work. All they'd learned was that victims with attached hunters didn't die, and that his sources of information were limited. As for the method itself—the technique, the traces—nothing. Not one piece of direct evidence.
"Division Chief."
Kang Yeji stepped out briefly to take a phone call, then returned.
"What is it?"
"The count of nine was correct. Lando Guild just called in. Their bodyguard detail stopped idol Seo Arin from attempting suicide last night—while she was alone."
"What!?"
Kim Woocheol's eyes went wide.
The three under constant hunter protection hadn't died—but none of them had *attempted* anything either. This new victim had tried to kill herself, and been stopped.
"Get a cooperation request over there immediately. No—forget it, I should go myself. Lando, you said?"
"Yes, sir."
This was an incident that could mark a turning point. They might finally uncover the method—and the traces.
Lee Hocheon was staring at the message from KMS. Summarized, the content was simple: what are you planning to do from here?
Doesn't look like an attempt at investigation.
There were no questions fishing for his whereabouts.
From my position, using the media would be convenient... but.
The ability to convey his will without killing anyone held enormous value. Yet, just as he'd agonized over before, there was a real risk of his identity leaking out through conversations with the press.
He closed the message without a word. Unless it became truly necessary, he would not be tipping off the media again for the time being.
Which leaves the problem.
The news had been crowing all day that the death toll had dropped to five.
I definitely used the skill on nine people.
They had survived, which meant some countermeasure had been taken.
If the target does not die within 1 minute, the skill will be cancelled.
In other words, four of them hadn't died within that minute. Or else—
They weren't alone.
He had engineered the deaths for the dead of night, when each victim would be by themselves. So which of the two had saved them?
Most likely the latter. They were with family, or police, or hunters—probably even followed them into the bathroom. But then why did five die?
When it came to the drunk drivers, his targets had possessed vastly more information than he did. Meaning: if enough manpower were thrown at it, not a single one needed to die. And on top of that—
From now on, he couldn't even tell which victims had died.
That's genuinely irritating.
An individual going up against the state was no easy thing—clearly—even with power this close to divinity.
The Hunter Management Bureau's investigative capability was formidable. He'd assumed they'd be helpless against him. He had been completely wrong.
Is there really no way to find out whether they're dead?
No matter how tightly the government sealed things, if someone of Seo Arin's stature died, the rumor would spread sooner or later. The problem was he couldn't predict *when*—if internal leaks were policed ruthlessly, it could take a month. It could take a year.
As yet, there'd been no word about her.
The skill shouldn't work on the dead, at least.
He pulled up the list of skills he'd used the day before. He had used the skill on Seo Arin.
[You will die of cardiac arrest, right now.]
His mana had drained away, and the skill had taken effect.
Immediately afterward, he had targeted Kim Jaejin, a five-term National Assembly member.
[The target does not exist.]
This time, the skill had not activated.
Which meant: Kim Jaejin was dead.
And if that was true, then Seo Arin was still alive.
Or... maybe she's dead by now.
He had killed her by cardiac arrest just moments ago. To be certain, he intended to try the skill on her again in an hour.
The news aired the drunk driving accident. It had happened today. CCTV footage soon followed, capturing the car plowing into the restaurant. The tinted windows were dark enough that the perpetrator's face couldn't be made out.
They're airing *this* right now?
It made no sense, even by common sense. This was the same government that, minutes ago, had sworn it wouldn't reveal anything about potential victims.
A trap?
It was the only conclusion he could draw. But wasn't it too brazen? Too obvious?
I need to understand the intent.
Lee Hocheon's mind churned at full speed.
MegaSquare.
South Korea's largest and most prominent all-in-one community portal, drawing five million visitors a day. It was a place where every conceivable topic found a home—but for the past week, it had been different. One single subject ruled everything: the Judgment Seat. Every post on the front page was about him.
Today's hottest debate was none other than the fact that he had killed five people—or, phrased another way, that he had failed to kill more than five. The two camps were locked in fierce combat.
The Crime Investigation Division's arrest rate really did exceed ninety percent. They'd lost the public's trust at first, but with every life they saved, that trust was being rebuilt.
Caught or not caught—opinion was sharply divided, and quite a few threads had devolved into outright flame wars.
The argument was that if the Judgment Seat's life were ever threatened, he would kill hunter-criminals in response. Apparently, a great many people couldn't bring themselves to agree.
And yet—
Even the extreme voices existed. The heated debate raged on, and within MegaSquare, new spin-off communities were springing up by the day.
"So you're saying that while you stepped out for the shift change, someone strangled her in that window?"
Kang Yeji looked at Seo Arin. Faint finger-shaped bruises marked the slender line of her throat. Bruises like that only formed when someone had been strangled with everything they had.
"Yes, ma'am. The relieving guard heard her scream and rushed in, and we pinned the attacker down together. The strength was unreal. If I hadn't been a hunter, I don't think I could have stopped it."
Park Hayun answered. She had saved Seo Arin's life and reported the incident to her guild master, who had immediately ordered her to hand the matter over to the Management Bureau. No compensation for Seo Arin was necessary, the master said—if the girl actually died, the guild's image would suffer.
"And why did you try to kill yourself, Miss Arin?"
Kang Yeji asked in a calm, gentle voice.
Seo Arin was not well. She stared into the middle distance, her face faintly vacant—which was only natural. Against her own will, she had tried to strangle herself to death.
"..."
"Miss Arin. I know this is hard, but I need you to answer. Something like this could happen again. From this moment on, the Management Bureau will do everything in its power to protect you. Please, talk to me."
Seo Arin looked at Kang Yeji, and then a small voice found its way out.
"I don't know why it happened. I was just sleeping, and suddenly I wanted to die. Desperately. The urge was so intense, so... I'd never felt a desire that overwhelming in my entire life."
She looked down at her own two hands, then slowly began to raise them toward her throat. Park Hayun, beside her, caught them and held them still.
"She keeps doing that—bringing her hands up to her neck. Ever since this morning."
Kang Yeji's brow furrowed.
"Don't tell me you still want to die right now?"
Seo Arin hesitated, then shook her head.
"No. I want to live... more than anyone. But I can't forget that urge. Wanting to die felt so... good."
"Hmm..."
This was extremely serious. Kang Yeji realized that this could not be resolved with words alone. She would need psychological treatment—and the help of another hunter.
"Understood. For now, I'm going to restrain your hands a little, so you can't attempt it again."
Seo Arin nodded meekly.
Kang Yeji bound her hands and led her out of the room, where Kim Woocheol and his team were waiting.
"Why are her hands tied?"
"Ah—this?"
At that very moment, Seo Arin suddenly lunged forward, trying to slam her bound hands against her own chest.
"Ugh—aargh... guh...!"
Her heart was about to stop.