The Limit of a White Badge

It was September 10, 2031 — dawn on the day the Hunter Auction opened.

Eunha had combed through every Hunter Auction write-up on the NEVER blogs until her advance research was airtight, and on one blogger's advice she had been on site since three in the morning. Ignore that advice, the warning had gone, and badge issuance alone would swallow an entire day.

She managed to receive her badge before noon. Then she ran straight into the next obstacle, one she had not seen coming.

"I'd like to exchange some chips."

What met her was capitalism, cold and sharp.

The moment she was inside, Eunha had gone looking for the exchange counter.

"Welcome. How much would you like to convert?"

Before the attendant's polished, customer-service smile, Eunha hesitated. Her thorough preparation had taught her that the auction ran on chips, and that the counter would take coins, cash, even a credit card — but she had no sense at all of how many she ought to hold. The person ahead of her had just converted several thousand. If she meant to win something on the order of a relic, more was surely safer.

She finished the thought and spoke evenly.

"Ten thousand."

She had heard that exchanging into chips carried a considerable fee. She did not care.

Unlike the boldness of the request, the attendant looked faintly troubled while taking in the state of her, and spoke with care.

"...I'm sorry, but may I see your badge for a moment?"

Eunha held out the badge issued to her that morning. Its color was white: the mark of a hunter at C-rank or below.

"Thank you for confirming. I'm afraid the maximum a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠white badge can exchange is one thousand five hundred chips."

"One thousand five hundred?"

"Yes. That's correct."

Eunha went rigid. The attendant smiled, bright and neat.

"If you'd like the maximum, I'll be glad to process it. Should you need more chips, you can earn them yourself by selling items to other hunters at the flea market before the auction proper begins. Shall I also direct you to the stall-rental desk?"

"..."

Eunha came out of the information counter and stood where she was, blank. Of all things — even the number of chips one could exchange changed with rank. Once again she felt, down to the bone, just how much a hunter's rank mattered in this age.

Did I even have anything worth selling?

Better to check first.

She tapped lightly at the empty air. Several ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠icons lit in front of her, and after a moment's hesitation she touched the bag icon at the lower right.

A chime.

How long had it been since she last opened her item window?

In the days when she tore into monster meat and slept with their hides for blankets, she had opened it without end. Since escaping the Unknown Gate, she had not once properly checked her inventory.

A loading window popped up out of nowhere. Did calling up a single inventory really call for a load screen?

She waited without a word, and only after about five minutes did the window finally open. And then—

"......?"

The inventory hanging before her eyes was anything but ordinary. Narrow in width, and yet so long it looked ready to touch the ground.

Eunha drew the window slowly downward, checking what it held.

She soon gave up counting and flicked her finger swiftly downward.

This time—

She skipped again.

As one would expect from a body long shut inside the Unknown Gate, the window was packed with items taken from beast-type monsters.

And aside from those—

Junk whose when and where she could barely recall, heaped up in piles. The longer Eunha looked, the tighter her brow drew. She had been sure there would be at least one or two things someone might buy.

This is all?

Her gaze wavered, just slightly, where it rested on the window.

There is one way. The fastest, and the most effective.

A voice grazed the shell of her ear. Eunha, who had been standing without so much as a twitch, slowly bit her lower lip.

Ten in the morning. Around her the grounds were already growing busy, hunters unfolding their stalls one after another.

In the end, she could not go back empty-handed.

"I mean, even so..."

The two of them had finished lunch and come back to the park. Ahyeon muttered as if her soul had left her.

"I've never in my life seen someone walking around with tens of thousands of junk items."

And this unnie — just how much inventory space did she have? To hold all of this, she would have to be at least A-rank, or possess some related trait. Ahyeon's own Treasure Vault, for instance. Ah. Maybe this unnie had contracted the same divine beast she had. For some reason, that was the feeling Ahyeon got.

"So you're planning to sell all of it off?"

"Yeah."

"You need that many chips? What are you even trying to buy? What, you gunning for a relic or something?"

"..."

"..."

Silence.

"...For real?"

Instead of answering, Eunha started setting the stall in order. Ahyeon blinked at her back, then clutched her stomach and rolled.

"Pfft! No way! Unnie, you are actually incredible."

An F-rank hunter throwing herself into an Unknown Gate. Hauling around tens of thousands of utterly useless items. Showing up at the Hunter Auction with her eye on a relic. Ahyeon had thought the strange clothes were the only odd thing about her, but the more she learned, the more entertaining this unnie became.

"Whew. I really laughed for a while there. So what item are you looking for?"

Rustle, rustle...

Without pausing the hands that were laying items out across the stall, Eunha moved her lips, barely.

"...Pixie Powder."

"Pixie ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Powder... that relic-grade recovery item? That one's going to be tough."

Eunha lifted her head a little.

"Is it that precious?"

"Precious, sure. But there's also a group that sweeps up every recovery item of hero grade or higher at the auction every single year. And they pay prices that are honestly absurd."

Having said that much, Ahyeon slid in close and dropped her voice to a whisper.

"You've heard the rumor, right? That White Night is under the Eternal Curse."

White Night — White Night, master of Wolf. She added that, then drew back from Eunha and shrugged.

"Well, the bidding's closed, so it's only the most reasonable kind of suspicion."

In any case, the point was not to even dream of it. Relic-grade items were fiercely contested to begin with. The number of chips burned on a pre-bid alone was enormous, and—

"Even if you sell all this junk and scrape the chips together, without coins you'll be out in the opening round."

Ahyeon took a candy from her pocket and popped it into her mouth. Eunha, who had been listening in silence, slowly moved her lips.

"I still need the Pixie Powder."

"..."

Ahyeon rolled the candy over her tongue and shot her a glance. Unnie, had she even been listening?

"Pixie Powder did come up the year before last. If my memory's right, the winning bid back then was a hundred and fifty-seven thousand coins."

Some 1.4 million dollars — roughly sixteen billion won.

"I don't care."

Eunha's answer was short.

"I have to get it."

Whatever it cost. There was no trace of a joke or a bluff in that quiet voice. For an instant her face was serious enough that Ahyeon could almost believe she truly had that many coins.

"..."

"..."

A breeze passed between them.

Crunch. Ahyeon broke the candy between her molars. Her lashes cast a faint shadow across her cheek.

"...Hm. Is that so?"

Slowly, she began to rummage through her pockets.

"Then you'll be needing this."

What she suddenly held out was a thin booklet.

"A special pamphlet issued only to hunters of B-rank and above. If you have this, you can tell what comes out, when, and where, for most of the lots."

If there was a lot you truly could not afford to miss, checking ahead was essential. Ahyeon added that much.

"Which is why low-rank hunters who want a specific item go after these with their eyes on fire."

"How much is it?"

Eunha asked. If Ahyeon was telling the truth, somewhere in that pamphlet there might be something written about Pixie Powder.

"Last year a copy went for about thirty million won. There are more people this year, so at least forty to fifty million, I'd guess? Depends on the seller."

Fifty million...

Eunha's eyes wavered. Careful that Ahyeon would not notice, she turned partway around, dug through her clothes, and checked the penguin wallet.

Click.

She opened the penguin's beak. One crumpled bill, and a few coins. She had taken a taxi on the way, and this was all that remained.

Of course there's money in the account...

Eunha sank into thought. The passbook that had been lying on the dining table at the officetel held a sum she could not bring herself to count. Siwoo had given it to her when the contract was broken. But when it came to actually spending the money, she hesitated. It was a lump sum she had accepted all at once, without ever properly carrying the contract out. Paying tens of millions in a single stroke for one pamphlet was even harder to justify.

"..."

Beside her, Ahyeon quietly watched Eunha, who had gone suddenly still.

"I never said I was selling it."

Tap. Tap.

Ahyeon lightly tapped her lips with the pamphlet a couple of times, then grinned.

"I was just going to give it to you."

Eunha blinked.

...Just give it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to her?

"I memorized the whole thing anyway."

A pamphlet worth fifty million won, held out without a second thought. Eunha stared at it, and her lips parted.

"...But."

"It's fine. Take it before I change my mind."

Sorry again for getting in the way of business. Ahyeon smiled, soft, and spun on her heel.

Ack — my fifty million. She would be lying if she said it didn't sting.

Might as well do a good deed for once.

She lifted her head and looked at the sky. Sunset was going down. Ahyeon gazed into the empty air for a moment, then glanced lightly back.

"I don't know who it is, but I hope they get better."

"See you again, unnie."

Ahyeon waved, the motion loose, as she drew away. Eunha watched that retreating back, then slowly lowered her eyes.

When she looked up again, the bob-haired girl had already vanished into the crowd.