We Don't Want to Live Here Either

Shin Haneul was still setting his thoughts in order when Colonel Kim Yongun launched into everything he had been dying to say.

"Once you're out, it won't be easy. You know Captain Park's family. Now that you've made an enemy of him, they'll try to bury you for good. The press will tear you apart, and the public will be right there with them."

"……"

"You'll feel wronged. Of course you will. One day you're being praised as a hero of the Republic of Korea, and the next you're the trash who got his whole team killed out of greed."

If they meant to throw him out, they should throw him out. Why keep raking at the wound? Shin Haneul couldn't make sense of it—until the words that followed made everything plain.

"Still, however wronged you feel, don't go causing trouble. We were comrades once. I'd rather not have to kill you."

This was not a provocation. It was certainly not advice. It was a warning.

Colonel Kim Yongun was scrambling in every direction to expand the authority of the Awakened unit—no, to expand his own. He burned with the ambition to one day seize the power that would steer this country, and the greatest obstacle in his path was Awakened who trusted in their paltry strength and made trouble out in the world.

If Shin Haneul went out and ran wild, public wariness toward the Awakened would only deepen. He was strong, and a former soldier besides. Whatever he did would carry a different weight than the crimes of civilian Awakened. From the colonel's seat, it was a worry he could not ignore.

To the man himself, it was almost funny. Why would he ever do something that stupid?

"That won't happen."

"Good. Good. Better for both of us if we keep things pleasant, wouldn't you say?"

"……"

The chair scraped. He stood. He had no intention of wasting another moment. He had heard everything he wanted to hear—more precisely, he had recorded ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠all of it, and gathered more than enough evidence besides. It won't hold up. Not yet. Even so, he wanted the truth known far and wide someday. Above all, he refused to leave his parents or his son with so much as a shred of doubt.

He checked the recording.

The audio quality was excellent.

Kim Yongun. A man like you would already have considered the chance I was recording. He was no ordinary person. There was no way a thought like that had escaped him. So why had he allowed it? Because of the confidence underneath: Even if you have it, what can you do with it?

He was right. For now.

Shin Haneul's discharge was processed at a speed so startling he had to wonder whether the Korean military had ever moved this fast on paperwork. The process was infuriating, but at least I no longer have to be jerked around by the state's orders. Once he had resolved to fight alone, a soldier's rank was nothing but a shackle. They had undone it for him, and from where he stood he could almost be grateful.

His parents did not see it that way. A dishonorable discharge was the heaviest punishment the military prescribed by law, far more than the simple loss of a job. Severance and pension were gutted, and later employment suffered as well—so much so that, inside the service, people called it something close to an economic death sentence. Ugly rumors about him were already moving through the press. Worry was bound to pile up like a mountain.

Even so, when their son came home, the two of them let none of it show. They only drew him into a warm embrace.

"A job? You'll find one in your own time. Nothing to worry about. Your old man is still standing firm."

"That's right, that's right. So what if you left the army? Haneul, you'll do well at whatever you try."

"……"

For a moment something hot rose in Shin Haneul's chest. In his previous life, they had worried over him right up to the moment they closed their eyes. And what had he ever done for them? At the time he had told himself he'd managed this and that.

Looking back now, it was nothing of the sort—far too little beside everything he had received. And yet, right up to the moment I died, all I regretted was what I failed to do for Minwoo. There was no more unfilial son than that.

"I'm really all right. Please don't worry about me. Given time, everyone will know the truth."

"Of course. Of course. No one hides the sky behind a palm."

This life, too, he had laid a heavy grief on them the moment he returned. From now on he would have to do twice as well by them.

"What if the family took a trip abroad? Clear our heads a little."

"Out of nowhere?"

"I didn't get my severance, but we've got what we've saved. And it's been a while since any of us took time off work."

"Do you know what kind of money that is…? We ought to be more careful with it."

Well. He might not look it, but Shin Haneul was a regressor, and once upon a time the savior of the world. Money did not worry him. Even if he had never memorized lottery numbers, even if the future could still change, it made no difference.

"If it really bothers you, I'll earn some money first."

Most of what people in this era scrambled after in the hope of growing stronger was useless. Sometimes it was poison, the way a turbid mana stone was poison if you were rash enough to absorb it. It didn't even pay.

The military claimed nearly every good dungeon, and what trickled down to ordinary Awakened were small ones where a mana stone was almost never going to drop. On average, a person could make more money spending that time and effort on something else.

Not all of them, though. The slime dungeon, for instance, was as good as a hidden jackpot.

"Awakened Shin Haneul. You did apply to clear Dungeon KGT-1342, correct?"

"Yes."

"By yourself?"

"Yes."

"…Understood."

Whispers rose behind him.

"Money that tight?"

"They used to call him the nation's future hero. Look how far he's fallen."

"He deserves it. No—he ought to get worse. Piece of trash."

And so on. Most of the public, whipped along by opinion, pointed at him without a flicker of hesitation, and they felt a thrill watching him hunt slimes. That was how strongly slime hunting carried the stink of rock bottom.

For one thing, the mana-stone drop rate was abysmal. An unlucky hunter could clear a hundred dungeons and not come away with a single grain. There was nothing else worth money, either. The only byproduct was a slime core, and even that melted away the moment it was taken. The corpses reeked. The hunt itself was miserable, thanks to that distinctive stickiness.

At the level Awakened have reached now, a weapon soaked in mana is no better than a club. Laying a true edge along a blade was a technique that existed only in theory. Even Park Gyeongtae, treated as the strongest man in Korea, was no exception. To kill a single slime you had to beat it over and over, and in the process you got drenched in filthy fluids. It took a disgustingly long time.

Civilian Awakened avoided the work, saying they would rather swing a pickaxe. The dungeons sat on a list until they turned dangerous, and then the military's newest recruits were sent in to clean up the mess.

But all of that was a misunderstanding, born of the simple fact that no one could preserve a slime core. Wrap it delicately in mana the instant you extracted it, and it became something they could not keep in stock—the raw material of an artificial mana stone.

What was the going rate per gram again? In the Age of Discovery, pepper in Europe was said to be worth its weight in gold. Mana stones were the same. The supply was a trickle, offered only by Awakened who had already given up on growing stronger, while demand overflowed. Right now, the labor was more than worth it.

For Shin Haneul, even more so. He was already capable of wrapping mana along a blade in a keen edge. Hunting slimes was neither hard nor filthy, and the money was far better than anything he had made in the army. Part of that is just how small a soldier's pay is. Nor was he hunting them for money alone. These sticky monsters were an excellent way to prove an Awakened's skill.

A faint crackle of static. He checked the bodycam he had worn on the day's hunt. One slime split crosswise. The second cut lengthwise. The next, a circle. The boss, a star. He had shown off in plenty of other ways besides.

"Good. It ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠came out perfectly."

The footage caught him slicing slimes clean through—proof that he had wrapped his mana sharper than the steel itself. Why film something like that? To prepare for leaving this country, of course.

Departure itself would have been simple enough. But this was still a time when demand for the Awakened was not particularly high, and the gaps between individuals had not yet been sharply drawn.

Even an Awakened who had done fairly well in Korea could hardly expect remarkable treatment. I don't mind being looked down on. Later he could prove himself with skill and take the regard he was due. But if his family were the ones being slighted? No. He would not let them suffer even a little indignity.

Wait just a little longer and the Tower would appear. He did not even need to wait that long. Soon the dungeons would surge in difficulty, and rifts would begin to open. Then every nation would be in an uproar, unable to secure enough Awakened—and in exchange, exit screening for the Awakened would become filthily strict. The government would very likely use every means it had to keep him from going abroad. I don't want to watch that ugly spectacle.

To avoid it, he edited the footage he had shot that day, searched the internet for a name he remembered, and sent an email to the address on record. AARC—the Awakened Ability Research Center, a place devoted to studying the potential of the Awakened, and backed by a line of funding that never ran dry.

Once they see my data, they'll lose their minds. The moment the institute's people read that email, they would not be able to rest until they had met Shin Haneul. They would offer money and convenience. He would offer ability on a different level from anyone else. He was certain it could be a win-win.

A click. One press of the mouse, and it was sent. While he waited, he played with Minwoo, helped his parents sort out their move, and spent the spare hours running slime dungeons.

The reply from AARC came a few days later. The message was padded with every kind of florid courtesy. He could skip all of it and read only the final line. Everything they meant to say was there.

He had confidence to spare when it came to proving what he could do. A reply like this was enough. Once they saw him, not one researcher there would be able to let him go. A visa? Permanent residency? Nothing to worry about. They would use any means necessary to keep him.

So the only people he needed to think about now were his parents. They had lived their whole lives in Korea. Of course the decision to abandon everything and set out for a completely foreign land would be a hard one.

Honestly, even making the suggestion felt terribly sorry. But if he wanted to keep them from the accident that would take their lives, going abroad was best. He told himself it would be the last unfilial thing he ever did, shut his eyes, and made the offer.

Fortunately, both of them accepted without hesitation.

"Yes. We've wanted to try living in America at least once, you know."

"Haneul, how is it you understand our hearts so well?"

Of course it was not what they truly felt. It was only a white lie, spoken so their son's heart might rest a little easier. All of it came from the news the press had been running about him lately. The entire nation was cursing their son. If they themselves were this miserable, how must he feel? And later, when their grandson grew up and learned that his own father was being reviled?

"Not a single person ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠believes him, even when he shows them the evidence. We don't want to live in a country like this either."

They had lives in Korea, too. But nothing was more precious to them than their own child. Shin Haneul was not unaware of what the two of them felt. From today on, I'll make sure you never have to think anything this sad again. He set that resolve and set out for the airport.

And yet—several reporters were waiting there.

"Second Lieutenant Shin Haneul—no, Mr. Shin? So the rumor that you're fleeing the country was true?"

"Is there actually somewhere calling for you? Go over there and you'll probably end up as some local's errand boy before they throw you away. I suppose you've decided that's better than wandering slime dungeons?"

"You wiped out a squad that boasted the finest record there was. A disaster for the ages. You don't imagine a discharge is enough to settle that responsibility, do you?"

Had they been worried he might still have some lingering attachment to the country called the Republic of Korea?

They seemed determined to help him shake off even the affection he didn't have.