Chapter 2
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: Returned, and My Deposit's Gone
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The hush that had fallen over the Hunter Association's registration office exploded just as the text message described.
Ten years.
A declaration that he'd pierced through the end of another world—one others might spend their entire lives chasing—in a mere ten years.
At that one statement, the scouts from major guilds, who had been dozing in the corners of the waiting room, charged forward like a zombie horde.
Business cards fluttered like a blizzard.
From Heavenly Guild, Korea's number one, to Taesung, backed by a massive conglomerate.
They shoved blank checks right under Han Jaewoo's nose, clamoring over one another.
"Hunter Han Jaewoo! Heavenly Guild guarantees you the best treatment! Write whatever you want for the signing bonus!"
"Taesung here! We'll provide a dedicated training ground just for you and a penthouse in the heart of Seoul immediately!"
"Come to us right now! If you want, we can even make you vice master of the guild!"
Spit flew, veins bulged—an utter madhouse.
In the midst of that heated courtship, Han Jaewoo sat with his legs crossed, elegantly stroking the rim of his teacup.
Even if that teacup was just a crumpled paper cup from the vending machine, filled with sugary instant coffee.
Before his overwhelming visuals, even that instant coffee looked like premium black tea grown in the finest tea gardens.
On the surface, the leisure of an absolute ruler with the world at his feet.
But inside, his thoughts were rollercoastering wildly.
'Wait, no. Stay back! Don't come closer!'
Blank checks? Penthouse?
He wanted to stamp his seal on them right then and there.
But as a ten-year veteran of romance fantasy worlds, Han Jaewoo saw right through the poisoned apple dangling before him.
Joining a guild meant strength tests.
Physical exams, mana measurements, mock battles.
On that grand stage of verification, all he could show was the Imperial Knight Order Swordsmanship: Honest Downward Slash (B)—a single, pathetic swing.
The moment he revealed that worthless clubbing motion, his legend of clearing ten years would crumble into a scam.
A monumental fraudster before the entire nation.
Jail time, or beaten to a pulp by enraged guild members.
Either way, a bad end.
He had to escape this place somehow, right now.
He rose slowly from his seat.
The hem of his luxury frock coat swayed heavily.
Under his black hair, ice-cold blue eyes indifferently swept over the scouts.
"How noisy."
Just one word.
He hadn't even raised his voice, yet the room fell silent as if doused with cold water.
The Northern Grand Duke's signature arrogance crushed the air.
"Do you think money or fame can bind me?"
"Th-that's not..."
"No more words. I have no intention of serving under anyone right now. Play your guild games among yourselves."
He waved them off lightly, like swatting a pesky insect.
A perfect rejection.
But even that arrogant demeanor appeared to the scouts as the leisure of an overwhelming powerhouse.
As Han Jaewoo parted the crowd and headed for the exit.
A quick-witted reporter thrust a microphone forward and shouted.
"Hunter Han Jaewoo! You've declared you'll go solo, but what are your thoughts on Heavenly Demon Baek Seorin, currently ranked the top fighter?"
The question drew all eyes.
The so-called returnee debut.
How the new powerhouse evaluated the existing pinnacle—the Heavenly Demon—was always prime gossip fodder.
Han Jaewoo's steps halted abruptly.
Heavenly Demon Baek Seorin.
Before being dragged to another world, he'd been her avid fan, slurping ramen in his semi-basement room while following her exploits.
How cool she'd been, smashing gates solo without belonging to any guild—a lone wolf.
Han Jaewoo inwardly cheered.
Great question.
Praise her to the skies here, then bow out humbly.
Heavenly Demon sis is the best! I respect you! Keep handling everything solo!
He assembled a heartfelt compliment in his mind, brimming with pure fandom.
And opened his mouth.
But he'd overlooked one thing.
The automatic defense mechanism of the Northern Grand Duke, deeply ingrained in his brain and facial muscles over ten years of life-or-death survival.
Even intentions to praise an opponent got filtered through extreme arrogance and hubris by the time they left his mouth.
His lips curled into a smirk.
A languid, icy voice echoed through the lobby.
"A lone wolf standing at the peak... I respect that much."
Good—so far, perfect.
But the next line was the problem.
His tongue seized control on its own.
"However, that stubborn isolation born of fear of shallow betrayal."
No, wait. What am I saying?
"Quite pitiful."
Stop, you crazy mouth!
"And laughable."
Having finished, Han Jaewoo's eyes trembled faintly.
Silence swept the lobby.
Reporters gaped in disbelief; scouts stared pale-faced.
Baek Seorin, the Heavenly Demon—Korea's top fighter, the walking disaster.
To call her solitary path pitiful and laughable.
This wasn't mere provocation. It was a declaration of war.
Flashes erupted madly.
Reporters swarmed like hyenas, but Han Jaewoo was already out of it.
'I'm screwed.'
He inwardly wept tears of blood.
But outwardly, with an arrogantly cold sneer, he exited the association with graceful steps unmatched by anyone.
To survive, he had no choice but to run.
Shaking off the reporters, he arrived at a familiar, musty alley.
Before his semi-basement room, where a year ago he'd stumbled home kicking soju bottles every night.
No suffocating palace splendor here, but this was his one true sanctuary where he could stretch out both legs and sleep.
Even if the Heavenly Demon sent assassins, they'd never find this tucked-away hole.
With trembling hands, he lifted the cover on the door lock.
Beep, beep.
"Huh?"
The warning for wrong password blared.
Han Jaewoo tilted his head and tried again.
Same result.
Panicking, he dug out the battered smartphone charged at the office.
Fortunately, it powered on.
He called the landlady.
After a few rings, a sharp voice answered.
"Hello!"
"Ma'am, it's Han Jaewoo from 101. Did you change the door lock password by any chance?"
A brief silence, then an explosion.
"What? Han Jaewoo? You shameless jerk! You ghosted for a year without paying a dime in rent and now you call acting all brazen?!"
"Pardon? Oh, that... I had unavoidable circumstances..."
"Circumstances my foot! I took all your back rent from the deposit, and two months ago I sold off all your junk to the scrap dealer! Someone else moved in already, so don't call again!"
Click.
Call ended.
Han Jaewoo stared blankly at the screen.
Ten years in another world, one year on Earth.
While flirting with the emperor and dancing at balls in the romance fantasy realm, he'd failed to pay Earth's rent.
Korea's history-shaking top returnee.
Clad in premium silk shirt and frock coat, exuding noble elegance just by standing—the Northern Grand Duke.
Now, in an instant, he was a homeless bum plopped by a utility pole in the alley.
"...Haha."
A hollow laugh escaped.
Deposit gone; in his pockets, just a few coins and thousand-won bills.
The blank checks from guild scouts tantalized him, but he couldn't go back now.
The brutal wall of reality.
The man who'd nearly become the emperor's husband finally bent his last shred of pride and compromised: become a kangaroo kid heading to his parents' place.
The subway ride there was ordeal from the start.
Premium silk cravat, jet-black frock coat.
Plus the decadent looks forged by SSS Plausibility.
The moment he stepped into the Line 2 car, the noisy train fell eerily silent.
All eyes locked on him.
Girls covered their mouths, faces flushing; weary office ladies' eyes sparkled awake.
Brawny hunter hopefuls and male college students wilted under inexplicable pressure, averting gazes.
Click, click.
Shutter sounds burst openly, not even silent mode.
'Ugh, please stop staring.'
Sweating bullets inside, he maintained the Northern Grand Duke's default: minus-forty-degree impassive glare.
Arms crossed, leaning crookedly against the doors.
Just standing there, he was a luxury perfume ad.
But reality: a post-paid transit card rider sweating whether the balance would hold at the gates.
After several transfers, he reached the rundown apartment complex.
With resolve, he pressed the intercom.
Ding-dong.
Thumping footsteps inside, then the door clicked open.
His younger sister Han Yujin peeked out—stretched gray tracksuit, massive hair roller on her bangs.
Her cute face after a year apart.
Han Jaewoo felt his nose tingle, mustering a brotherly warm smile.
"I'm back."
But Han Yujin's reaction was nothing like he'd expected.
Eyes wide, she gasped and froze like a statue.
What she saw wasn't her slovenly, potbellied job-hunting brother missing for a year.
Jet-black hair. Razor-sharp jawline veiled in shadow.
Above all, those deep, dark blue eyes that ensnared souls.
A man straight off a romance fantasy novel cover, overflowing with decadent beauty and aristocratic poise.
Before the violent visuals of SSS Plausibility, Han Yujin's brain short-circuited.
"Uh... wh-what...?"
Her cheeks flushed tomato-red in an instant.
She clutched them, eyes sparkling, shyly twisting her body.
The moment he witnessed that horrific sight.
Han Jaewoo's Northern Grand Duke act—unbroken for ten years—shattered spectacularly.
'Urk, uweeeek!'
A surge of vomit rose with acidic stomach bile from his solar plexus.
Real siblings.
No matter the changed looks, his blood-related little sister making googly eyes at him.
This was a biological catastrophe, a horror show.
As Han Jaewoo paled, dry-heaving, Han Yujin stammered in a nasally voice.
"Um... who are you, looking so cool in front of our house...?"
"Hey. It's me. Han Jaewoo."
"Huh? Who... Mom! Moooom!"
Half-closing the door, she bellowed inside.
"Some crazy guy... no, super hot foreign model knocking on our doorrr!"
Soon, Mother rushed out in her apron.
She too gasped, hand over mouth at his face.
"Oh my goodness... who might you be...?"
Finally, Han Jaewoo desperately suppressed his retching and pulled out his most surefire, humiliating black history to prove himself.
"Mom! It's me, Jaewoo! And you, Yujin!"
He jabbed a finger through the door crack.
"Your sophomore year in high school—I snuck your Dyson hairdryer from your room, sold it on Carrot Market for unlimited PC bang time, remember?!"
"...!"
"Caught that day, Dad beat me bloody with his golf club—I laid on my stomach for two days! Me! Your arch-nemesis brother Han Jaewoo!"
Silence fell.
Shy flush drained from Han Yujin's face; a chill settled in.
"...Getting beat by Dad back then? That was for selling my limited idol photocard."
"Huh?"
"You were the Dyson thief, you bastard? Thought it was a burglar—called the cops?!"
Oh no.
In haste, he'd blurted without thinking.
Confessing a perfect crime straight from his own mouth—one still undetected.
Han Yujin's face twisted into demonic fury.
"Open the door! This nemesis dies by my hand today!"
At last, the firmly shut door flew open.
A moment later.
Seated on the living room sofa, Han Jaewoo sweated bullets before Mother peeling him an apple and his sister sneakily snapping his face pics while grumbling.
His own home, yet he felt like an awkward guest of honor.
"But Jaewoo, what did you eat wandering for a year to come back with a whole new face? Got a nose job? Eye work too?"
"Ugh, Mom. Hunters awaken and looks change sometimes. But this jerk hit the jackpot. Opening the door earlier, I thought my heart stopped."
At his sister's words, Han Jaewoo swallowed another wave of nausea.
Bombarded by family questions, he brushed it off as awakening aftereffects and sank into the sofa.
Tension released, exhaustion crashed in.
He wanted to shower and crash, but nagging anxiety lingered.
The interview.
That laughable slur against the Heavenly Demon.
'Please, let that video get buried.'
But his desperate wish was shattering.
At the same time.
The Heavenly Demon Baek Seorin—martial world returnee and Korea's top fighter—was polishing her beloved sword alone.
In a dingy single room unbelievable for an S-Rank Hunter, the martial world returnee and Korea's top fighter, Heavenly Demon Baek Seorin, polished her beloved sword alone.
Thirty years in blood-soaked hellscapes.
Betrayed by trusted seniors with knives in the back; subordinates she'd pledged loyalty to poisoned her.
Surviving that swamp of treachery and intrigue to reach the peak, her heart had frozen solid.
A virulent distrust of humans.
So post-return, she joined no guilds, isolating herself.
All who approached looked like scum after her power or ready to stab her back.
On her smartphone beside her played the interview video of today's rookie sensation.
"A lone wolf standing at the peak... I respect that much."
The black-haired man on screen smirked arrogantly.
Baek Seorin watched impassively.
"However, that stubborn isolation born of fear of shallow betrayal. Quite pitiful, and laughable."
That instant.
Her polishing hand froze.
Her pupils quivered wildly, narrowing.
Chilling killing intent frosted the training floor.
Fear of betrayal.
Stubborn self-isolation.
Her deepest wound, unspoken to any—her lifelong heart demon.
And this nobody rookie pierced her essence from a mere video?
Baek Seorin's lips twisted coldly.
No, impossible.
After claiming the top returnee title, countless arrogant returnees had sought her out.
Provocateurs chasing fame.
Fraudsters feigning understanding with clumsy advice.
This guy was the same.
Stabbing at her psyche cleverly to draw eyes, then cozy up for scraps pretending insight.
"Insolent rookie bastard."
Her low, icy voice cut the air.
"Playing like you know my heart, daring to climb over my name?"
Baek Seorin rose slowly.
Her beloved sword resonated with its master's rage, emitting a chilling ring as it slid free.
One way to handle provocateurs.
Before the adoring masses, snap that cheeky neck mercilessly.
Show him the price of uttering the Heavenly Demon's name.
She flung open the training room door and strode out.
The most brutal, public death debut for history's greatest rookie approached.