Reporting to the Agency (1)

Welcome to the Hunter Channel.

A rest stop inside the internet, where lonely hunters—or hunters who weren't quite so lonely, and would-be hunters still training for the job—lingered whenever they had nothing better to do.

In truth, plenty of ordinary civilians with no ties to hunters or awakeners passed through here as well.

What the Hunter Channel usually made public was information relating to awakeners.

Interior details of dungeons, peculiarities of gates, clearing strategies.

And all manner of photos, images, and reference material on dungeons and monsters.

To ordinary civilians, though, those images and videos from inside dungeons were stranger and more spectacular than any movie.

Not the shoddy CG monsters of a film, but genuine beasts, fiends, aberrations, and apparitions appearing in reality—of course people craved ever more vivid and dangerous footage. Ordinarily the danger meant you'd almost never witness such things firsthand, but since all kinds of data circulated on the Hunter Channel daily, a considerable number of civilians came to gawk, and the influx of outsiders only kept growing.

Naturally, the share of nonsense and shitposts far outweighed all of that on any given day.

Awakeners and hunters were people too.

Besides, it had been twenty years since the Great Cataclysm. It was hardly strange that a young, hot-blooded generation was pouring in like a wave, and the user base brimmed with youth, adrenaline, and every strain of slang imaginable.

And so the Hunter Channel overflowed today as always with useful information and shitposts, lewd images, nonsense, baseball stream links, authors' names, and countless other data.

But today, a few strange users got caught.

In the modern age, with mental contamination terrorism, memetic pollution, and the ability users tied to them all proliferating, most cybernet firewalls were inscribed with spells to neutralize or dispel mental contamination.

Granted, you'd be billed for it later—but that beat having your brain flatline while the contamination was left to fester.

To be honest, these 'strange people' showed up all the time even on ordinary days.

Since the Great Cataclysm, the internet had seen AIs declaring themselves awakeners, runaway and frenzy memes spreading like wildfire, and worse. The internet remained a lawless wilderness where no safety net existed—so it was only natural, really.

But today, the numbers were unnaturally high.

Praising and glorifying a woman whose name they didn't even know, spending the whole day scouring the internet for her like the brainwashed.

But Jaehee wasn't one to surf the internet with any enthusiasm. She didn't even know the Hunter Channel existed.

In the end, those ensnared by Jaehee's pure charm, her looks, her aura, suffered like philosophers in search of a utopia that could never be found—until the Hunter Channel's mental contamination detector caught them, and only after a mind cleanse did they come back to themselves.

Needless to say, Jaehee hadn't deployed a scrap of allure.

She had simply played her violin. But to anyone who had seen her even once, the scene carved itself so deeply into their hearts that they etched and re-etched the image of her in their minds until they developed a mild—though contamination-grade all the same—psychological affliction.

It would be no exaggeration to call it the old-fashioned lovesickness, revived in the modern age.

"There's no such chicken, I'm afraid."

Of course, Jaehee was utterly indifferent to the small pandemonium raging across the internet.

She didn't even know it had happened, and even if she had, she wouldn't have spared it a glance.

Oh, you say it's because I'm simply too beautiful, you say? she might mumble to herself. What an obvious thing to say.Ah, am I not just lovely—flaunting myself like some princess stricken with princess syndrome?

...or words to that effect.

'And yet lately, sleep hasn't been coming easily.'

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Jaehee's average sleep was eight hours.

In truth, she had no need to sleep whatsoever, but out of habit from her human days—and out of the conviction that 'me, sleeping soundly, eyes gently closed, breathing in soft, even rhythm. Isn't that beautiful?'—she maintained a regular sleep schedule.

Truthfully, she rather liked sleep itself.

It made her feel as though she were still human. And the one thing the Succubus Empress could never regulate or control was her own dream.

Much as a surgeon cannot slice open her own abdomen and operate upon it with her own two hands.

Granted, it was precisely this that had once allowed the Ego Violin to invade her dreams and raise mayhem there—but dreams were unpredictable, which made them fun and sudden, and the amusement and intrigue to be harvested from them weren't bad either.

'Could this be because of that?'

The moment Jaehee closed her eyes, faint currents of life-force—visible only to a succubus's eyes—began to register.

Arriving from who knew where.

But threads of life-force, irregular, drifting in from every direction.

A succubus who had formed a deep connection with a partner even once could continuously siphon that person's vitality and life-force, no matter the distance between them.

The so-called 'straw,' or 'thread.' Succubi generally preferred to feed through direct contact, but when pressed for time or sensing a threat to their lives, they activated these connections to replenish their strength and vitality.

Of course, leaning too heavily on such threads would get you branded a terrorist or a criminal—and Jaehee in particular, as the Succubus Empress, despised the very idea of clinging to other humans' life-force.

Me, down on my knees, begging humans for their life-force and vitality?

Not beautiful at all.

Me, taking life-force without permission, like some thief or mosquito?

Not beautiful at all!—and so her reasoning ran.

So while Jaehee generally didn't bar the life-force that came drifting her way, neither did she favor it.

Life-force freely offered by humans who had fallen for her beauty of their own accord was one thing; life-force of unknown provenance was deeply distasteful.

'And lately there's been so much more of it...'

Jaehee did spin these 'threads' every time she so much as stepped outside.

Even through the suit ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and the veil, the threads overflowed—calories and heat came flooding in as if someone were force-feeding chicken into her mouth.

She didn't dislike it.

As a succubus, a rising tide of life-force was, by all rights, a good thing.

It merely ran slightly counter to Jaehee's personal tastes.

Except that recently, the volume had begun increasing geometrically.

"...Mm. Have I been going out too often lately?"

Whether four outings in a mere two weeks truly counted as frequent was debatable, but her performance at Konkuk University Station seemed to have had quite a substantial effect.

Jaehee did enjoy the gazes and attention of the crowd, but confronted with threads multiplying by geometric degrees, she felt a touch of strain, it was true.

Not that a swelling chorus of those praising her beauty could exactly be called a bad thing...

-Brrriiing!

"Ah. There it is."

Unfortunately, South Korea was home to plenty of souls who kept a wary eye on all this.

Some in particular feared Jaehee acquiring what one might call 'followers.'

Not mere fans. Followers.

The government agency.

The so-called higher-ups.

"Haaah."

Before she knew it, Jaehee had let out a sigh.

Really, there was nothing to sigh about.

Her actions had their reasons, she would extend them no hesitation or courtesy, and should any trouble arise, she had unwavering faith that it would all be resolved.

And yet the sigh... well. Yes.

"Meeting with beautiful-less old men is always such a displeasure, you see."

It felt as though her eyes were rotting.

In truth, Jaehee's 'disgust for the elderly' was a recent development.

The Sweet Grandfathers who so often accosted her the moment she set foot on the street were part of the reason, but the more fundamental cause was that the overwhelming majority of the higher-ups scheming to suppress and manage her were, well, old.

Michelson, on the other hand—aging as gracefully as he did—she actually rather liked.

But humans, alas, so rarely aged 'gracefully.'

It was merely that those beautiful in youth remained beautiful in age.

"J-Jaehee, ma'am!"

"Ah, Officer Dan~"

The moment Jaehee arrived at the agency by wing, Officer Dan was there to greet her.

Though her expression looked as though the words I'm sorry had been physically sculpted into it.

"I'm so sorry. I tried—I really did try my best—but the people above were so hard-line, there was just no..."

Dan Ahyeon bowed her head again and again, as if about to drive her forehead straight into the floor.

She even seemed so wretchedly sorry that tears had welled up in her eyes.

"I truly am sorry. I know everything there is to know about your situation, ma'am, and yet every single time I manage only to disappoint you... I exist to speak for your position, and yet every time I can't even do that much properly..."

"This is none of your doing, Officer Dan."

Perhaps Officer Dan's words had soothed her somewhat, for Jaehee even graced her with a soft, gentle smile.

"Oh—oh, you've come, have you?"

But at another voice cutting in between them, the faces of both Dan Ahyeon and Jaehee stiffened, if only for an instant.

"Hahaha, Miss Jaehee. It really has been far too long."

"Oho, so this is the famous..."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am the newly appointed Director of the Returnee Management Department."

"And this is the ruling party's Crisis Management Committee member..."

Ordinarily, a consultation with a single agency head would have sufficed—yet somehow, all these people had come.

'It seems you've brought along more fine gentlemen to pass me around like a catalog from some distant corner again.'

Her mood soured in an instant, but Jaehee smiled.

Ah, desire.

Ah, adoration.

My sustenance, my life-force, my vitality.

My loathed and despised love.

My prey and my food, the very foundation of my existence—yet oh, what a repulsive flavor you are.

I want to kill those hideous old men this very instant.

And yet here I am, swayed by a moment's desire, unable to hold back my killing intent.

Not beautiful at all.

Me, enduring?

That's human.

Beautiful.

Magnificent.

And Officer Dan is watching from right beside me, you know.

How about it?

Me, holding back.

Me, enduring.

Beautiful, isn't it?

"Yes, it has been a while, Director."

"Haha, Miss Jaehee, don't you worry! It's really not such a big affair. You know we needn't be so stiff and formal with one another, don't you? These people are merely here to observe the management process for a Special Returnee, so don't feel too burdened."

"......"

But at the repulsive lust and affection pressing in from every direction, Jaehee only smiled more deeply still.

Ah.

Greasy.

Then she turned her gaze toward Officer Dan.

The one clean, clear-spring affection in an ocean of disgust and grease.

"Shall we go in, then? I'll escort you myself."

"Officer Dan will be escorting me."

At Jaehee's words, the Director's eyebrow twitched at once.

He was halfway to thinking, I am the one extending my kindness here, and this returnee chit dares— when his eyes met Jaehee's, and every such impure thought slid clean out of his head.

"Hm? Ah—well. She... is Miss Jaehee's assigned case officer, so I suppose it can't be helped... can it."

"…."

Of course, no matter how brazenly they flaunted their desires at Jaehee, the fundamental hierarchy never inverted.

It was always Jaehee who stood above.

There would simply always be those who didn't know it—or who mistook it.

"Er, well then... Miss Jaehee. This way, please. Ah—would you care for some coffee?"

"Officer Dan."

"Y-yes?"

"Keep this evening free."

"...Sorry?"

Dan Ahyeon, on the verge of protesting—what, why?—felt goosebumps race across her entire body at the voice sliding into her ear like a serpent.

"Fail to clear it, and you had best prepare yourself."

"……"

When one has dined on something greasy, one must rinse the palate with something clean. That was simply how it went.