The Bureau's Visit
I wordlessly took the wet towel she held out and wiped the sweat from the back of my neck.
She still watched me with that same calm expression. In her eyes there was no fear, no wariness—something else entirely. Pity? Or… understanding?
"Sitting around the house all day feels wrong… Might as well help with something."
I broke the awkward silence first, turning my gaze toward the weeds that had grown thick in one corner of the yard.
"I'll pull those, at least."
"What? Oh… all right."
Yoon Seoa hesitated a moment, then nodded.
I walked straight over to the overgrown patch and crouched down. Bare-handed, I grabbed a fistful of weeds. They looked ordinary enough, but the roots ran deep.
This much should be nothing.
I gave a light tug.
Crack—!
"…!"
What came up in my hand wasn't a few strands of weed. An entire clump of earth tore free along with them. Even a stone buried deep underground came along for the ride.
I had failed to control my strength. A simple pull might have snapped the weeds clean, but my innate power and speed had ripped the ground open instead, yanking up the surrounding grass as well.
This was the force that had spent ten years crushing the tough hides and hard bones of monsters. It had nothing in common with the strength needed to pull a fragile weed.
"Taejun-ssi! You can't pull up the grass!"
Yoon Seoa cried out in alarm as she rushed over. Panic was plain on her face.
I looked back and forth between the uprooted clump of turf and the gouged earth, utterly at a loss.
"…Sorry."
I muttered the word low and rose to my feet, brushing the dirt from my hands as I stepped back.
Of course.
My strength had no place in ordinary life. It was a power specialized for cutting down monsters and killing enemies. That was what I was now—a half-finished human who couldn't even pull a single blade of grass properly.
Bitterness welled up. Could I ever return to a normal life when I couldn't even manage something this basic?
"It's all right. I'll just plant it again."
Yoon Seoa spoke in a deliberately bright voice. She picked up the clump of grass and began carefully pressing it back into the soil. The way her small hands patted the earth was neat and sure.
There was no resentment or irritation on her face—only something like pity. The look one might give a child who couldn't control his own large body.
Her gentle scolding that wasn't really scolding, her careful care… it was uncomfortable. Unfamiliar. And yet, strangely, I didn't dislike it.
Rather, this sensation I was feeling for the first time in ten years brought a stability I couldn't quite name. As if I had finally remembered the meaning of the word "home" after so long forgetting it.
I simply stood at a distance and watched her back in silence as she, covered in dirt, replanted the grass.
Night had grown deep.
The nightmare came, as it always did.
A battlefield of blood and torn flesh. The screams of comrades. The hideous shapes of monsters pouring toward me. And… at the final moment, the cold, mocking smile of Han Sangjin, the man who had betrayed me.
"Hah—!"
I woke with a ragged gasp. My whole body was soaked in cold sweat. My heart hammered wildly; even breathing was hard.
This damned trauma. Ten years had passed, yet the memory of that day had not faded in the slightest. If anything, it only grew sharper with time.
I rose from the bed and staggered out of the room. Thinking a drink of cold water might help, I headed for the kitchen.
Just as I reached for the refrigerator door in the dark, I felt a presence behind me.
"…!"
I spun around on pure reflex, dropping into a defensive stance.
A figure stood in the faint moonlight. Yoon Seoa. Still in her nightclothes, she looked at me with worried eyes.
"……."
"……."
Another stretch of awkward silence. It wasn't my place to speak first.
She quietly passed me and set a small pot on the gas range. With practiced hands she began warming milk. The rich scent of it spread through the darkness.
A short while later she poured the warm milk into a cup and held it out to me.
"Can't sleep?"
Her voice was soft. There was no reproach in it, no surprise—only a calm question about my state, as if it were the most natural thing in the world that I would wake in the middle of the night and wander the living room.
I took the cup without a word. Warmth seeped into my palm. Some of the tension eased.
"…Thanks."
The second time I had said it today. I took a sip. The warm, smooth liquid slid down my throat. My insides settled a little.
Yoon Seoa sat at the table without a word and waited for me. We said nothing. In the quiet dark we simply let time pass, each lost in our own thoughts.
An invisible wall still stood between us—the ten-year gap, the old wounds, the misunderstandings still unresolved. Yet the small things that had happened today… the awkward consideration at the breakfast table, the mishap in the yard when I failed to control my strength, and this moment right now, a cup of warm milk offered in silence—perhaps these ordinary fragments were slowly thawing what had frozen between us.
The process of understanding and accepting each other was beginning this way: very slowly, very carefully.
I finished the rest of the milk at an unhurried pace. Setting the empty cup on the table, I met Yoon Seoa's eyes properly for the first time.
Her gaze was still deep and calm, yet I found neither resentment nor fear directed at me. I gave a short nod and rose.
Back in my room I sat on the edge of the bed. The look in her eyes lingered like an afterimage. Not resentment. Not fear. Just deep, quiet eyes like a lake. They reflected me, yet held no judgment, no evaluation—simply existed, calm and clear.
Where had the shock and sorrow gone from ten years ago, when I had unilaterally broken off the engagement? Or had she buried it so deep that it no longer showed on the surface?
A faint blue light of approaching dawn seeped through the window. Fragments of the nightmare that had tormented me all night still drifted through my mind, yet whether from the lingering warmth of the milk in my hands or from her presence, the heart that had been racing like mad was gradually finding its calm.
Yes. Little by little.
Damn it. I still wasn't used to this—this feeling called peace.
I scrubbed my face dry. The rough scrape of stubble against my palms reminded me that I was alive, and that I had returned once more to this wretched reality.
Ten years. In that time I had struggled for nothing but survival. Emotion had been a luxury; humanity, a cumbersome burden. The only goal had been to cut down monsters, kill, and stay alive.
The monster forged that way—that was who I was now. Kang Taejun.
What could someone like me even do now, in this peaceful countryside village, beside that woman? The ghosts of the past never stopped chasing me, and the power of Cheok Jun-gyeong sleeping inside me twisted even the smallest moments of daily life.
A monster who couldn't pull a single blade of grass. A contradictory being who found momentary comfort in a cup of warm milk.
…Should I go back?
Back to the battlefield? No. That wasn't it. My war was over—the endless fighting, the betrayal, the death. Now I truly wanted to rest. To live quietly as someone who was nothing at all.
But would the world leave me alone? The name Sword Demon was soaked in far too much blood.
That was when it began.
From far off, a familiar yet unpleasant sound started to reach me. At first it was faint, like the buzz of insect wings, but it grew steadily clearer and more grating.
The engines of several vehicles. Not ordinary passenger cars—heavy, powerful exhaust notes that spoke of serious output. A sound that had no place in this quiet, secluded country village.
I frowned. Already the bothersome business was starting. My instincts were almost never wrong, especially the bad ones.
I looked out the window. In the dim light of a dawn not yet fully broken, black shapes were filing along the narrow road at the village entrance. Luxury sedans. And not ordinary models—top-tier vehicles with thick ballistic plating and special modifications, the kind only government agencies or major guilds would operate. At least three or four of them.
When the lead car stopped near our front yard, the ones behind it halted in perfect unison, like well-trained soldiers. The quiet dawn air filled with tension in an instant. A faint cloud of dust rose; half-asleep birds startled and took flight with a flurry of wings.
…The Administration Bureau.
Tch. Annoying bastards. Sending back those half-baked watchers last time hadn't been enough, it seemed. Bureau people had come regularly into the Gate to resupply me. This time they had come in person instead of the usual proxy.
I stood and straightened my clothes. If it couldn't be avoided, better to deal with it quickly and be done.
When I stepped into the living room, my parents and Yoon Seoa had already come out, sensing the commotion. Mother peered outside with an anxious face; Father stared toward the front door in silence, his expression hard. Yoon Seoa came to stand quietly beside me. A faint tension showed on her face as well, but worry outweighed fear.
"W-who is it, Taejun?"
Mother asked in a trembling voice.
I answered briefly.
"Guests. Don't worry, Mother."
Even to my own ears the words sounded stiff. But this was not the moment for soft comfort. The fact that they had come all the way out here meant it was no ordinary matter.
A moment later the rear door of the lead vehicle opened, and a familiar face appeared.
An immaculately pressed black suit of the highest quality. Black hair parted in a precise seven-three ratio without a single strand out of place. Cool, rational brown eyes.
Kim Minseok, high-ranking official of the Hunter Administration Bureau.