We Show You Everything (2)

It had been a full thirty-eight hours since Go Seok-gu last laid eyes on the man in question.

Granted, the fact that this long-lost acquaintance had been the Vice-Chairman of his own Association thirty-eight hours ago was something of a complication — but even so, meeting him like this beat not being able to reach him at all.

KRA-BOOM!

"Whoa, my, my. Somebody's in a *mood* today."

After all, you could only punch a man if he was standing in front of you.

"You little punk! You think this is a game?! I sent you off because I figured you had some grand plan, and now you're suddenly founding an organization? In the middle of a crisis like this?!"

"Well, if you'd give me a chance to explain— and hey, you've dropped that goofy speech habit, I see. Good for you."

CRASH!

Lee Jun tilted his head just enough for the flying chair to sail past him.

That temper of his — you really did have to account for it.

"I've never exactly been the type to act without thinking, have I? So calm down and actually listen for a second."

"Right, you never acted without thinking. But the *thinking* was always some outlandish nonsense. Is that what this is too? You drag me along by the nose and make me dance to your tune?"

"Wasn't it the same when we built the Association? 'Absurd.' 'Outlandish.' 'Impossible.' Ring a bell?"

"……."

"And yet here we are. So tell me — what exactly *counts* as plausible these days? Gates are tearing open, dungeons are spawning, and monsters straight out of a nineties fantasy movie are crawling out of those holes. There is nothing on this earth more ridiculous than that."

"…God, you can *talk*."

At that, Go Seok-gu managed to choke down his anger.

For now, anyway.

That man was always like this.

His words carried a strange, slippery power, and he had a habit of kneading any situation into ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠whatever shape he wanted. Honestly, he'd have made a better politician than anything else.

"If you had even a shred of hunger for power, there'd be no limit to what you could do."

"Like what, exactly?"

"Like rallying every hunter on the planet under one banner."

"That's technically possible, sure. But even if I could, I've hardly got the capacity for it. All I want is to live a nice, safe, quiet life."

Lee Jun's operating principles were simple.

Humanity must not go extinct.

The threats pouring through the gates should be made, if not safe, then at least relatively manageable.

That was it. That was the whole list.

"And that's not exactly a small ask, is it."

"Of course it's hard. Where in the world do you find easy things? The real fools are the ones who expect something this hard to come free."

Lee Jun was one of the Initial Awakeners.

When hunters — those transcendent beings — first began to appear in the world, he'd had the fortune, or misfortune, of counting himself among the very first.

"Exactly one thousand of us. Of that tiny number, barely a hundred are still alive. You wonder why?"

The answer was simple.

Information.

Statistically, the Initial Awakeners outclassed everyone who came after — but the gap began in how they had to *use* those abilities, with no one ahead of them showing the way.

These days, the path was already carved. All you had to do was follow it.

But pioneers always paid the steepest price.

Roughly nine hundred of them died along the way.

"The hundred who made it, though? They're the real deal. Every last one of them is a master of their own field."

One hundred and three, to be exact.

The surviving Initial Awakeners were men and women you could only call geniuses — people who could hear a piece of music once and play it from memory, who could take a formula they'd never seen and turn it into a working machine.

No — geniuses among geniuses, beyond any such comparison.

"Some were granted a mind by the System. Some, a body. Some, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠supernatural powers."

Every one of them had been given something extraordinary.

Every one but a single man.

One human being, denied even mana, had clawed his way through that hell on nothing but his own two hands.

"And that's how we got here. That's how we survived to today. And yet… looking at them squabbling over their own petty interests while any one of us could drop dead at any moment, anywhere… you tell me that doesn't make your blood boil."

"……."

Go Seok-gu had nothing to offer in reply.

He, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠too, was not an Initial Awakener.

South Korea had been home to exactly eight Initial Awakeners.

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

And of those eight, only one still breathed.

Lee Jun.

That was what made the man's existence carry such weight — and why the burden settled on his shoulders was beyond imagining.

"…Still. This isn't something you can just bulldoze through on your own. That organization is effectively your creation, sure — but I'm still the Chairman of the Korean Hunter Association. I have my own duties to see to."

"I know. Why else would I show up with the paperwork already drafted?"

Only then did Go Seok-gu look down at the papers Lee Jun had slid across the desk.

The same contents as the fax he'd received earlier. He gave them a brisk once-over and set them back down.

"Already read it. Fine — the intent is good. But…"

"The guilds?"

"…Yeah. You think they'll sit still for this?"

"You think I don't know that? It's exactly why I'm holding a press conference."

Of course, even if the guilds objected, the objection would carry no legal weight. Final authority over matters like these rested with the Association — a government institution.

But making enemies of them would inevitably complicate every piece of business he intended to run. That much was only natural.

The guilds had simply grown too powerful in this arena.

"Which is exactly why I'm founding a separate company — to check that power."

If the guilds were too strong, you built a counterweight. And everyone would understand, without being told, that any company Lee Jun founded would walk a Association-friendly line.

"Won't that just tighten the guilds' unity instead?"

"Ideally, a nice juicy rumor about a falling-out between the Association and me would hit the papers first."

"And how exactly do you expect that to happen?"

"However it happens — you print the article first. Then the opportunists come sniffing around, testing the waters. I weigh my options, pick off whatever conditions look good, done."

Go Seok-gu studied Lee Jun's eyes. Serious eyes.

He'd seen those eyes before, more times than he could count. Over two-odd years, the two of them had navigated dozens of life-or-death situations side by side.

Battlefield or not, Lee Jun was an exceptional human being.

His mind, especially his cunning — and his silver tongue. Those two things were, in all honesty, first-rate. Even his combat power, while low for an Initial Awakener, was far from the washed-up has-been people whispered he was.

Go Seok-gu still remembered the look on Lee Jun's face the day the Association was founded.

An expression somehow anxious and relieved at once — complicated, unreadable. He could picture it now as clearly as if it were yesterday.

What had unsettled him back then?

Was today's decision just an extension of it?

Go Seok-gu spoke heavily.

"Jun."

"Ugh, don't do the dramatic atmosphere thing."

"…What do *you* actually think? That's all I want to know."

Go Seok-gu had always wondered.

Lee Jun always seemed to be running from something. Always busy, always in motion. He clearly possessed extraordinary ability — and yet he was always chasing something greater than that ability.

"I don't buy that it's just high standards for yourself. And this retirement of yours smells off too. What is it that's really driving you?"

He was right.

What had happened before the regression was only one piece of evidence.

Even before that, Lee Jun had never once stopped being afraid.

And how could he not be?

With nobody knowing what might come crawling through those gates next, who could sleep with both eyes closed?

"Honestly? I don't know how much longer we can keep holding the line."

"Holding the line?"

"We're patching the leaks for now, sure. But most people have no idea how much sacrifice goes into every single patch. And that's only natural — the number of people left who *could* tell them is down to about a hundred."

The government hushed everything up, muttering about not spreading needless panic.

The guilds deliberately controlled information for their own profit.

And the Association, at its core, simply lacked the muscle.

"I'll never understand how everyone stays so comfortable. The monsters crawling out of the gates are getting stronger *right now*, as we speak."

And they were. Over the past three years, the monsters had grown visibly, undeniably stronger.

But the hunters?

No new Initial Awakeners — no new S-Class hunters — had emerged since the beginning. Not one.

"So I'm going to manufacture as many S-Class hunters as I possibly can. And I won't spare a single method to do it."

In five years, the power inflation would reach the point where even a full-scale defense couldn't hold the monsters back. To keep pace, the average hunter had to rise with it.

Right now, there is exactly one field in which I can claim to be the best in the world.

Experience.

Thanks to the anomaly called regression, Lee Jun carried thirteen years of it — in a world where the gates had only been open for three.

"Give me three years and a minimum of five. I'll personally produce five S-Class hunters."

"……."

Lee Jun's eyes were resolute.

Go Seok-gu turned his gaze back to the papers on the desk.

The contract Lee Jun had drafted.

Go Seok-gu read through the contract again. Sure enough, on closer inspection, the 'three years, five hunters' clause Lee Jun had just announced had been added in.

And there was something else — a provision stating that, should he fail, Lee Jun himself would submit to the Association's authority.

From the man who'd sworn he'd rather die than be tied down to any single organization, because organizations could always rot from within.

"…The man who won't even sign a one-year contract with the Association."

Muttering that, Go Seok-gu signed at the bottom of the contract.

"You do realize what an absurd condition three years for five is?"

"Only one way to find out."

"The world is *littered* with people who found out."

"And yet not one of them was an Initial Awakener."

"…God, you always do have the words."

Still — Go Seok-gu couldn't deny the flicker of hope rising in his chest.

That man — when he was *that* certain, he always delivered. Always.

"I trust you."

"How touching, out of nowhere."

"I mean it. You're dead last — number 103 of 103 S-Class — but you're also the only S-Class hunter the Republic of Korea has."

"And the moment some bill capping S-Class at a hundred passes, I'm getting axed anyway."

"But not yet."

What Go Seok-gu meant went deeper than ranks and numbers, deeper than any measure of raw power.

Lee Jun carried experience that no amount of money could ever buy.

"I'm your senior in life, sure — but you're my senior as a hunter. In everything that touches this world, I trust you to make the better call."

With that, Go Seok-gu signed his name along the bottom of the contract.

One copy for the Association's records. One for Go Seok-gu's personal keeping. And one more for Lee Jun's.

Three signed copies in all. Go Seok-gu handed one across the desk.

The moment Lee Jun took it, the very first thing he did was check that the signature had gone down properly. Then, papers swept up in a flash, he was on his feet and heading for the door.

"Leaving already?"

"Nothing good comes from lingering. I've got a falling-out article to go write."

"Your work ethic is genuinely terrifying, you know that?"

Right — the faster you move, the faster the results come. Besides, there was one more reason to hurry.

About time I let you in on it, don't you think?

Still standing, Lee Jun held the contract out again — that same paper fluttering in the air, an all-around smile plastered across his face.

And as far as Go Seok-gu knew, that particular smile meant only one thing: something very, very bad had just happened to whoever was on the receiving end.

"But hey — you're totally fine with this, right?"

Flutter — flutter—

Lee Jun waved the contract back and forth. Go Seok-gu pushed his superhuman dynamic vision to its absolute limit, straining to read the single line of tiny print tucked away at the very bottom of the page.

— The effect of this contract may be unilaterally suspended at the discretion of Party B.

"……!"

"Well! Thank you kindly for your business. Do read your contracts *carefully* next time!"

"Y-you—you—you…!"

Steam began to rise off Go Seok-gu's body.

Whoa. Okay, that aura thing is a bit much.

"YOU LITTLE PUNK, GET BACK HEEEERE!"

KRA-KOOOOOM!

It took less than ten seconds for the desk to come crashing through the door.

And that very night, every major media outlet ran stories on the fracture between the Association and Lee Jun.

Their single biggest piece of evidence?

One desk, smashed clean through a door.