The Fan and the Hunter
I was left with a question mark hanging over my head at the sudden shift in Han Jiyoung’s attitude. Hwang Gyunam and Oh Junghwan seemed just as baffled, merely staring at each other’s faces.
“Senior! Please forgive my earlier rudeness!”
“Hey, what’s gotten into you? Get up.”
“I will absolutely not stand up until you forgive me!”
“I said I get it, so just get up.”
It was bewildering. In the Hunter training facility—or the “School,” as it was called—there was no such thing as a senior-junior hierarchy. With her being the 11th generation and me the 4th, we shouldn’t have even crossed paths during our training. I, too, knew nothing about the generations that came after me.
“No, I told you, firearms are not allowed!”
At that moment, the sentries guarding the auditorium doors rushed in, flustered. It was likely because of my revolver.
“Hey, Han Jiyoung! What are you doing, breaking the rules?”
“You guys, does this look like just a simple gun to you?”
“If it’s not a gun, what is it? A toy?”
“If you don’t know anything, just shut your traps.”
“W-what? Did you just say that to us?”
“I’ll handle it, so just leave already!”
The sentries, who had been trying to seize the revolver, hesitated at Han Jiyoung’s overbearing attitude. It was only after Oh Junghwan gestured for them to leave that they grumbled and exited the auditorium.
Han Jiyoung handed the revolver back to me and bowed her waist again.
“I am truly sorry. If I had known beforehand, this wouldn’t have happened… You don’t have to return it from now on.”
“I don’t have to return it?”
“Because I know exactly what this weapon means to you, Senior.”
Han Jiyoung seemed to know who I was. What I was curious about was *how* she knew.
Oh Junghwan, who had been silent until now, intervened.
“Han Jiyoung. I think an explanation is in order.”
“I’ve mentioned it a few times before. Codename: McGrey.”
“The Hunter you said was your idol?”
Han Jiyoung nodded. I couldn’t hold back my curiosity and asked.
“But how do you know who I am?”
“Because I’ve watched your footage dozens of times. All my peers trained using your videos as the gold standard.”
Ah… So they were using my training footage as teaching material. I roughly understood what she meant.
“Your handgun combat techniques were truly moving. Of course, your other subjects were excellent as well.”
“How did you manage to score over 900? At first, I thought the instructors were lying just to motivate us.”
“Honestly, I didn’t believe the rumors about the ‘Wildman.’ What kind of human could survive alone all this time? But if it’s you, Senior, I believe it unconditionally.”
Han Jiyoung chattered on like an excited child. I was a bit embarrassed by all the flattery, but having someone on my side was, at the very least, a fortunate thing.
“If you come to our shelter… Wow, just thinking about it makes me tremble. Gusan wouldn’t be able to touch us easily, right?”
“Just because of me?”
“There are many Hunters there, too. There isn’t a single Hunter who doesn’t know who you are.”
“Hmm…”
“If you have any conditions, just name them. I’ll make sure they’re met, no matter what.”
The shelter leader was Oh Junghwan. Han Jiyoung’s behavior was essentially overstepping her authority, but no one seemed to take issue with it. If anything, I could feel the way they looked at me changing.
“Jiyoung is right. If someone of that caliber joins us, we should treat them accordingly. Do you have any specific conditions?”
Once Oh Junghwan stepped in, Han Jiyoung stopped interjecting. It seemed this wasn’t a group entirely without structure.
“Before that, I’d like to know the rules here.”
“It’s simple. First, the search team must take turns standing guard for a week at a time. You’ll reside here and act as sentries.”
“That’s problematic.”
“Problematic… you say?”
I had to go home no matter what. I couldn’t leave Cheonsa alone all night. No matter what kind of treatment they offered, this was the one thing I couldn’t give up.
“I didn’t expect to hit a wall from the start.”
“I have to sleep at home.”
“……”
Oh Junghwan seemed at a loss for words. In a ruined world, a hideout is the safest place. Naturally, no one wants to leave such a space empty for a week at a time. Yet, the shelter could only function because people made small sacrifices and shared the burden. I understood that, but I had my own circumstances.
“I’ll do the Senior’s share for him.”
“What?”
Han Jiyoung raised her hand high, but Oh Junghwan narrowed his eyes, looking unconvinced.
“You’ll do it?”
“Then there’s no problem, right?”
“You, who complain even about standing guard for one week every two months?”
“Leader, you don’t seem to understand yet. The Senior is in a different league. He’s like an asymmetric asset.”
“Hmm…”
“You said we needed people, didn’t you? With Inbum out due to injury, who’s going to do the searching and who’s going to handle the pioneer team?”
Pioneer team? What was that? Han Jiyoung seemed to realize she’d made a slip of the tongue and quickly looked away.
“It seems there’s something I don’t know. What kind of plan do you have?”
“…I’ll tell you when the time comes.”
“Well, alright. Anyway, that’s the only condition I have. Other than that, I’ll follow the rules here.”
Oh Junghwan looked at Hwang Gyunam. When he nodded, Oh Junghwan seemed to have made up his mind and gestured his agreement.
“Fine. We can talk more later; for now, take a look around the shelter. The grounds are quite large.”
“Let’s do that.”
“Hwang, take care of it.”
“No, Leader. I’ll be the guide.”
Just as he was about to delegate the task to Hwang Gyunam, Han Jiyoung intercepted. She looked ecstatic. I was grateful for her kindness, but the way she had been growling earlier kept overlapping with her current face, giving me the creeps.
“Let’s go, Senior!”
“…Uh, sure.”
Han Jiyoung led me out of the auditorium and up to the building’s rooftop. She chattered so much while we moved that I felt like my energy was being drained.
“You live long enough, and you see everything. It’s truly amazing how I happened to run into you, Senior.”
“Your name is Han Jiyoung, right?”
“Yes! May I ask for your name, Senior?”
I wondered where she’d picked up that sudden military-style speech. The more I knew, the more fascinating she was. She had seemed so rude, yet at times like this, she was so respectful.
“Lee Cheonil.”
“Ah! I see. I’d only ever heard your codename, so I was curious about your real name.”
“I get it, so stop overdoing it.”
“Yes!”
From the 6th-floor rooftop, the entire shelter grounds came into view. Two teams of two sentries were guarding the front and back gates, while only one team was stationed on the east and west sides where there were no entrances.
“That building over there is used as the guard dormitory. It’s one person per classroom, so there’s plenty of space. The basement floor is the cafeteria, and the second basement level houses the oil and generators.”
“Do they provide meals, too?”
“Of course. That’s why quite a few people give up their hideouts to work here full-time.”
Come to think of it, this place seemed much better than some ambiguous hideout. Being together meant they weren’t lonely, and they were provided with food and a place to sleep.
“Do you see the small building on the other side? That’s where the Leader lives; you shouldn’t go in there. When you need to call the Leader, you ring the bell installed by the door.”
“Privacy, I suppose.”
“He’s a bit sensitive. The main auditorium is usually used for meetings, and there’s a small space across from it that’s used for training.”
Han Jiyoung finished her brief explanation and told me about the rest of the rules. In short, the supplies gathered each day were divided according to the number of participants. However, half of that went to the guard team—and judging by her tone, she didn’t seem too happy about it.
“Then there must be a lot of people who move individually. They’d think it’s a loss if they have to provide for the guard team as well.”
“There are many who think half is too much. But if the shelter is to be maintained, we have no choice. And it’s dangerous to act alone anyway.”
“I see.”
Listening to Han Jiyoung, I could understand their way of survival. Cooperating with each other, even if it meant taking a loss. It was only possible because they had acknowledged that this was a world where it was hard to survive alone.
“Do you have any more questions?”
“No, that’s enough. By the way, are you a ‘Cut-line’ generation?”
Hunters were divided into two categories: those who received training before the zombie outbreak, and those who received it afterward. The former received high-level training over a two-year period. However, the latter were trained in a rush, with the period reduced to three months and the quality being abysmal. The three-month Hunters were called the Cut-line generation.
“Was my skill that lackluster…?”
Han Jiyoung looked shocked. She looked like she was about to cry, so I quickly waved my hands.
“No, that’s not it. I was just suddenly curious. It’s been so long since I heard news from the School.”
“…The Cut-line generation starts from the 13th. I’m not one of them.”
“Aha.”
“You’re really too much.”
“I told you, that’s not what I meant when I asked!”
Han Jiyoung pressed her lips together, genuinely upset. I understood, of course. Being asked if you were a Cut-line generation was one of the most insulting things you could say to a Hunter. Think about it—if you asked a Marine who had finished his full service if he was a public service worker, it would be natural for him to blow his top.
‘I really didn’t mean it like that…’
I changed the subject, not realizing it was like rubbing salt in a wound.
“Just looking at you, I could tell you’re a Senior Hunter, right? Am I right?”
“……”
“No? You didn’t get a Master Key?”
“No. I was three points short.”
“W-well, that’s basically the same as being a Senior Hunter.”
“No, it’s not. I don’t have the Master Key.”
“Ah.”
What kind of bad luck was this? Why exactly three points? I started sweating for no reason.
“I’m sorry. I just asked without thinking. Truly.”
“It’s fine. What can I do if I’m lacking? I’ll be going now.”
Han Jiyoung turned on her heel and quickly headed down the stairs. She didn’t look like it on the outside, but she had a surprisingly fragile side. Well, she had worked herself to the bone for two years; if she couldn’t become a Senior Hunter because of a mere three points, it would be a lifelong regret for me, too.
‘What do I do now…?’
Perhaps it was because it had been so long since I’d formed a human relationship. Dealing with people felt strange and clumsy.