Chapter 23
As she prepared for the operation, Lee Seoryul quietly checked the status of the message she'd sent. As expected... do I have no choice but to try direct contact?
One day passed, then two, then three, but her message remained unread and ignored. She'd written to the author tls123 with content that someone like her—a fellow traveler—would surely understand, but there was no reply. The lack of a read receipt meant he hadn't even opened it...
She considered leaving a comment, but decided against it; it could be risky. In truth, she'd once tried subtly communicating through a comment, only to get not a response from the author, but a barrage of dislikes from other readers: "We don't care about your predictions, stop with the spoiler-ish comments."
That hadn't been her intent, but the dislikes exploded anyway, burying her comment under a blindfold of negativity. Lee Seoryul couldn't hide her embarrassment. Readers had interpreted her words as trying to manipulate the story itself, sparking their fury. With things like that, what could she do?
In the end, she concluded her only option was to track down the author's location and make direct contact. To that end, she'd boldly requested an "investigation." It might just be coincidence, but in these times, she couldn't overlook even the smallest detail. She'd formally proposed to the newly joined Truth Investigation Team that they look into this author.
The team leader responded to her proposal with, "Seoryul-ssi... It's good to be serious, but, uh, a bit too enthusiastic isn't ideal. Take it easy, relax? You know?" He brushed it off gently, eyeing her like she might have a screw loose.
Of course, it was true that everything suspicious needed checking. There were signs of artificial interference in the gate breaks. But with no clear evidence or solid leads, even minor things couldn't be ignored.
Still, suggesting an investigation just because a novel depicted someone intentionally causing a break? That was a stretch.
She's the ace of Special Forces 1, right?
A novel has similar content, so the author seems suspicious? What kind of logic is that?
Ambition is fine, but this is overkill.
No matter how thin the clues... an incompetent but overly eager ally is the biggest headache.
The special investigation team members, upon hearing her pitch, were uniformly perplexed.
Under their gazes treating her like some weirdo, Lee Seoryul felt sweat beading on her brow. Sigh, so it's come to this.
If she'd had any real rank or authority, she could've pushed even a minor suspicion through. But that was tough. Honestly, her spot on this special team was more like a token addition for show.
The Association planned to heroize her for image-boosting, so they'd granted her a courtesy slot to rack up some plausible achievement. Thus, the vibe was "just sit tight and grab one result to take home." No wonder her words fell on deaf ears—especially when it was about investigating a webnovel author over similarities.
It was like climbing one mountain only to face two more. She'd thought joining the team would let her swiftly investigate tls123 and clarify everything... If it's come to this, no choice.
She'd have to switch up the order. First, produce results within the team. Then leverage those to push forward.
At the same time, she'd squeeze out the Association's pus—adjusting her plan to create justification for investigating Lebalheonda in the process.
As things stood, arguing for a civilian probe based on "similarities" wouldn't fly. So instead of mere resemblance, she'd make it so blatant that, while purging the Association's tumor anyway, she'd actively reference novel episodes to "fabricate" evidence.
She'd set the stage so even the other team members thought, "Huh? This is too similar to pass off as coincidence in a novel."
To that end, Lee Seoryul spent her rare time in the special investigation team munching on side-eye while reading the webnovel. Of course, it was analytical reading to stage events based on its content—not for fun.
"She's the ace of Squad 1, huh."
"Typical field operative type."
"Why's she so fixated on something weird?"
"Our newbie, haha... such zeal."
"But if she's going this far, maybe there's something to it? Checking it out wouldn't hurt."
"We already did. Total nonsense. Association insiders colluding with villain groups and covering for break-causing guilds? Come on."
"What? That's what it was? And she thinks that's credible enough to suspect? Jeez..."
To others, it didn't look that way—hence the problem. Lee Seoryul was increasingly seen as dead weight in the team, no, more like the ugly duckling.
But undeterred, she focused on her task. Using info on Association corruption she'd acquired before regressing, she fabricated "fake evidence" based on what she knew—prepping for surgery to excise the tumor before it spread to the marrow.
She tailored the operation to match novel episodes, meticulously forging evidence, too busy to care how others saw her. Once this is done, I'll not only normalize the Association but secure justification to investigate tls123.
With tangible proof absent but real corruption having occurred, she prepared materials to her taste. Now, it was time to find a sniper.
Lee Seoryul wasn't naive enough to just take this to the audit office. Higher-ups might bury it, nullifying self-correction—and even if it worked, she'd be branded a whistleblower.
For her, who needed to rise in the Association, "whistleblower" was no medal but a headache label. Society, humans, weren't mature enough to celebrate them.
Even if viewed positively, questions like "Where and how did you get all this? How did you know?" would corner her. Without rational grounds, even truth from fabricated evidence could backfire, potentially granting impunity to the corrupt brass.
So, having loaded this bullet diligently, she needed someone to pull the trigger. A collaborator to perform the surgery before the Association patient collapsed. And fortunately, she knew just the person.
"...Guild Master Seo Dami? Do you remember me? This is Lee Seoryul from the break incident before."
Crimson Guild's Seo Dami—newly S-rank, her authority could lead the major surgery to normalize the Association.
Late at night. In a quiet bar, two women sat side by side, savoring cocktails. Crimson Guild's Seo Dami and Hunter Association's Lee Seoryul.
While Lee Seoryul silently gauged her companion's reaction, Seo Dami chuckled amusedly at something. It was the Association corruption dossier Lee Seoryul had fabricated based on her knowledge.
Normally, such backroom dealings would be unknown to outsiders, with no evidence. Seo Dami's mouth smiled at the sight, but her eyes didn't—far from it; they were downright murderous.
"If this is real, the Association's rotten to the core."
She'd half-expected it. A massive organization like the Association couldn't be spotless, no matter the efforts. But this exceeded imagination.
"Does Kang Sora—er, the President—know?"
Seo Dami caught herself almost saying "old hag" out of habit and corrected.
"Yes, it's being done secretly behind the President's back. She's being used without knowing."
"They say watch your step the higher you climb. Ha! For that to happen, the ringleader must be way up high... Vice President, maybe?"
Lee Seoryul nodded lightly, swirling her glass at Seo Dami's guess.
Vice President Kim Seongho. The face of Korea's hunters, handling operations while Kang Sora flew around for international diplomacy. If he harbored dark ambitions, no wonder pus was building in the Association.
"I figured he wasn't squeaky clean, but our Vice President... what a massively corrupt, filthy bastard."
Sneering, Seo Dami flipped through the pages, scanning the corruption docs with a smirk.
"Whoa, you've done quite a bit. Oh? Even covering for drug cartels? Ha!"
Using Kang Sora up front while hiding in her shadow for dirty work.
"The recent lightning kids hype is his doing too? Keeps tarnishing Sora sunbae's image... probably prepping for when he's exposed."
Spot on. Seo Dami's eyes darkened further as Lee Seoryul nodded.
They say looks are science, that rat bastard. Planted by politicians to curb hunter power—who'd believe he's not a parachute doing this crap?
Watching Seo Dami grind her teeth, Lee Seoryul recalled the past—no, a future that mustn't repeat.
Hiding behind Kang Sora, Vice President Kim Seongho corrupted the Association irreversibly, turning it into his private cabal. When exposed, he scapegoated her.
Kang Sora took all blame and stepped down. Ironically, Kim Seongho then ascended, tasked with normalization—but how could it work when he was the cause? The Korean Hunter Association stagnated and crumbled.
Without it functioning, no oversight; talent got scouted abroad en masse, gate security tanked. Breaks surged, the nation declined palpably.
A few guilds like Crimson propped it up, but a vital institution off-kilter... Better it collapsed outright than linger uselessly.
How many preventable accidents and incidents were bungled because of that sham Association? People dying while they quibbled over authority and foreign ties—
Even now, recalling that frustration and rage, Lee Seoryul gripped her glass tighter unconsciously.
Thus, she needed to excise the malignant tumor early this time. Honestly, it was still precarious.
"This calls for major surgery. Fixing it'll stir chaos and noise."
If legitimate means failed, Lee Seoryul was prepared for "extreme measures"—physical removal via assassination, bypassing law.
She knew such acts weren't broadly positive for society, so she preferred righteous paths.
"But it's absolutely necessary."
"True that."
For that, she needed Seo Dami's help—and "Got it, I'll help," Seo Dami agreed coolly.
No way her personality would ignore this evidence. "I've got an idea. Tie up loose ends, right? Hand these docs to Kang—huh?"
Seo Dami's hand halted mid-flip. She'd felt an odd déjà vu earlier...
"...What the hell is this?"
Eyes widening, she reviewed from the start. And her gaze filled with growing shock.
No wonder. Looking again, this matches the Association corruption in Lebalheonda exactly...?
Reviewing Lee Seoryul's evidence, Lebalheonda sprang to mind unbidden. How could this be?
Naturally startled, Seo Dami pored over the pages repeatedly. Of course—the evidence was fabricated by Lee Seoryul precisely to justify novel investigation.
To counter "Why spy on a civilian without reason?", she'd based it on the novel. So Seo Dami recalling Lebalheonda was intended.
But unaware of the ploy, Seo Dami rubbed her eyes, staring anew. What is this...? No way Lebalheonda is based on real events?
Innocently, Lee Seoryul's actions deepened the misunderstanding, piling on misconceptions.