Chapter 1
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: Recommended Resignation
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Recommended resignation.
A situation where a company recommends that an employee resign, and the employee accepts, thereby mutually terminating the employment relationship.
I thought it was a term that would never relate to me in my lifetime.
“...This is the best condition the Celestial Guild can offer. We know how much you've dedicated to our guild, Mr. Kim Jinwoo, but since the guild was newly acquired, we need structural improvements to move forward...”
Yet that horrific reality I thought would never come had been laid out before me.
The HR manager's words urging me to accept the recommended resignation didn't even register.
Recommended resignation, of all things.
I'd never once imagined it could happen to me.
After all, I was the one and only nationally certified Hunter Mental Coach in Korea, listening to hunters' troubles in the counseling room.
Sure, non-combat personnel weren't treated as well as before, but I never dreamed they'd push out the only person with this unique certification.
Especially not a founding member who'd been there since the guild's earliest days.
I thought I'd played a big enough role in helping the Celestial Guild rise to become Korea's top guild.
And the result was this: recommended resignation.
My thoughts wouldn't connect.
The news was so sudden, I didn't even know how to react.
Should I get angry?
Should I flip the desk and demand why they were treating me like this?
I picked up a piece of chocolate I'd kept for clients and popped it in my mouth.
“What happens if I don't agree?”
“Then you'll get a unilateral dismissal notice within a week. You'd receive severance pay, but it would be far less than the retirement package we're offering.”
His cold words left me speechless.
I'd always thought of the Celestial Guild as family.
Like family, I'd believed we'd stick together to the end.
That's why I'd signed an exclusive contract with the guild on purpose, prioritizing their hunters even when better offers came along.
I'd inked deals with them at lower rates to honor my loyalty, no matter how good the alternatives were.
A little personal loss meant nothing.
That's what I'd heard family was like—no calculating profits and losses.
But apparently, the guild didn't see it that way.
“You're pretty firm about this.”
“Getting sentimental about company matters is a problem.”
Sentimental is a problem, huh.
It felt like a direct shot at me.
Like calling me an idiot for treating the guild like family.
I'm the idiot here, right?
An orphan with no parents, feeling like the guild was family—I'm the fool, huh?
Anger boiled inside me.
The HR manager probably hadn't even thought that far.
He wasn't even in the category of 'family' as I'd imagined it, to begin with.
The previous guild master had retired and sold the guild's management rights to a massive corporation.
The HR manager handing me the resignation papers right now had been dispatched from the parent company alongside the current guild master.
He wasn't part of the 'family' I'd felt.
But to me, someone who'd felt abandoned by the Celestial Guild I'd long treated like family, that fact didn't matter.
Being discarded by the guild—by family.
That was all that mattered.
“It's more than enough money for a fresh start. As you know, the Celestial Guild...”
“Offers the best treatment in the industry, right?”
“Exactly. You know it well.”
I shut my mouth at his salesman's smile.
At this point, I knew there was no room for negotiation.
“Got it. I'll resign.”
“Thank you. I was worried you wouldn't accept.”
He slid the papers toward me.
“Don't take it too hard. It's not just you.”
“...”
“The Celestial Guild has too many non-combat personnel. We should limit it to hunters who actually raid dungeons. Going forward, we'll spin off a subsidiary to outsource all non-combat roles.”
“We hold your abilities in very high regard. You're the only Hunter Mental Coach in the country, after all. That's why we're requesting this resignation, but we hope you'll continue managing our headquarters' hunters on a regular basis. So...”
Chasing everyone out and now sprinkling some sweet talk, huh.
I shook my head.
“No need to worry about it.”
Hunters—monster slayers who raid gates and dungeons to take down beasts and claim the rewards.
Fifteen years ago, I'd have scolded anyone calling it anything but fantasy novel nonsense.
But now, hunters were just a fact of life.
One newspaper had reported that the number of hunters deployed for dungeon raids exceeded tens of thousands.
Dungeons, once objects of terror.
Now, they were blue oceans of opportunity for success.
Naturally, hunters had specialized into roles.
Not just in-dungeon positions like vanguards, rearguards, healers, and dealers, but diverse out-of-dungeon roles too.
Blacksmiths, alchemists, healers, scroll makers—anyone who supported raids without fighting directly was classified as non-combat personnel.
Anyone entering dungeons was combat personnel; everyone else was non-combat.
I knew the world had grown peaceful, and non-combat treatment wasn't what it used to be.
Dungeon raids were possible without their support now.
That's why guilds were increasingly composed solely of combat personnel, I'd heard.
And separate guilds just for non-combat folks had popped up too.
Just the results of changing times, I suppose.
I was non-combat personnel myself, after all.
“Guess that's why I had no clients today.”
I'd thought it was because of yesterday's massive expedition.
It felt empty.
But what could I do?
Powerless as I was, there was nothing I could change.
“I hope we don't cross paths again.”
I felt betrayed by family, after all.
“Celestial Guild hunters will never get my care again.”
That was the only revenge I could manage.
“Jinwoo! What the hell is this? Quitting?!”
I was back home, packing my things, when an unwelcome guest showed up.
Lee Na-eun, my guild and fellow founding member who'd always pestered me.
“You're here.”
“I heard. You're quitting? What the hell! Why would the guild kick you out like this?!”
She burst into the house and exploded in anger.
Just having someone rage like it was their own problem eased my mind a bit.
It meant I hadn't been wasting my time at the guild.
“This can't happen. Do you know how vital you've been? We've cleared countless dungeons as the vanguard, shrugging off mental contamination and stress—who do we owe that to?!”
“Mental contamination isn't a big deal anymore.”
Raids used to be limited by mental contamination and excessive stress from dungeons.
No hunter, no matter how strong, could shrug off corrupted mana and brutal monsters easily.
But now, with everything standardized—from layouts to strategies—mental breakdowns were rare.
That was the biggest reason Celestial wanted me gone.
Outdated care they no longer needed.
“How is it not important? Look at Hyunsu Sister on Reconnaissance Team 1—she was barely deployable due to mental contamination not long ago. She got care from you last time, and that's why she's still active.”
“Cheolsu Uncle on Subjugation Team 2 is the same. Low rank, but as the breadwinner, he works twice as hard. His magi contamination hits critical levels all the time.”
“That B-Rank Tank and A-Rank Dealer duo on Subjugation Team 3 would've caused an incident without your ability activation care. Who do you think is keeping accidents at zero on-site...”
Na-eun was far angrier about my job than I was.
She had a point.
There were still plenty at Celestial who needed care.
Gates and dungeons weren't as deadly as before, but the magi pouring out still harmed hunters—that much was certain.
“Guild says leave, so what can I do?”
They probably figured magi contamination like addiction could be handled by healers with some effort.
“Gotta adapt to the changing times.”
Like how AI wiped out jobs as it advanced, my profession was losing ground as the world changed.
It might not vanish entirely, but big guilds like this no longer saw the need.
'The only job no other guild has.'
-Other guilds run fine without it, though?
That's the thinking, so this decision made sense.
A bit disappointing, but if it's the flow of the era...
'Nothing for it.'
Na-eun grabbed my wrist as I packed.
“Don't go. I'll talk to Uncle Yun-gu...”
“The guild master's already retired. He took the money and stepped away. He can't help.”
“But...”
She looked ready to cry any second.
I'd never seen that expression on her.
The Na-eun I knew was always smiling.
Lee Na-eun was one of only seven S-Rank Hunters in Korea.
Out of tens of thousands, just seven.
Each one powerful enough to wipe average dungeons in seconds.
Once symbols of salvation, now everyone's aspiration—she held the top status.
Along with the now-retired Guild Master Choi Yun-gu, she'd been one of Celestial's twin pillars.
“If you go, I'll leave Celestial too.”
“Don't.”
“Why?”
“You have a contract. They won't let an S-Rank go easily.”
Her contract value was immense.
They'd pushed my resignation, but they'd never release her.
With Choi Yun-gu gone, she was Celestial's sole remaining S-Rank—their symbol.
Breaking it unilaterally would mean massive penalties.
Sure, guilds would line up to recruit her even paying those, but it'd cost her dearly.
I didn't want her hurting herself for me.
“...”
“Just sit back while a teammate gets unfairly booted?”
I nodded.
“Yeah. Just watch.”
“...”
“Having a teammate this worried actually feels kinda nice.”
“What's so great you're smiling? Aren't you pissed?”
“I got mad earlier. No need now.”
Looking back just brings sighs.
Revenge that hurts your own side isn't smart.
If Na-eun left, Celestial wouldn't maintain its prestige.
She'd suffer too.
That kind of revenge means little.
Forcing those around me to lose out for my payback? No.
Na-eun had been family once too.
No one wants their family sacrificing for them.
“I'll handle it. Don't worry.”
“...Come re-contract season, I'm out. Can't work with them anymore.”
She was resolute too.
Her anger touched me.
Knowing I had one ally lifted my spirits.
“So, what now?”
“Leaving Seoul.”
“Seoul? Wait, where to? Not overseas, right?”
“No, back to the orphanage.”
“Ah.”
“Feels like home.”
The perfect spot for a fresh start.
“Sticking with Hunter care?”
“Yeah. Guilds and hunters there too.”
“...If things get tough, can I come by?”
I'd said no care for Celestial hunters.
But one exception couldn't hurt.
“Sure. You're the exception.”
“Thanks.”
She finished and took my hand.
“Hey! It's Jinwoo hyung!”
“Jinwoo hyung!”
“Uncle Jinu~!”
The kids spotted me and came running with big smiles.
“Whoa, pizza?”
“Pizza! And chicken!”
“Uncle's the best!”
They beamed at the pizza and chicken in my hands.
The orphanage for kids who'd lost parents like I had, for various reasons.
A small place in Pyeongtaek, Gyeonggi Province.
Where I'd grown up.
Built to shelter orphans who'd lost parents to gate-spawned monsters.
Now a haven for kids orphaned in all sorts of ways.
“Oh my, Jinwoo! You're here?”
The Orphanage Director greeted me with a smile, arms full of laundry.
My rock who'd helped me become a proper adult.
“I am.”
“What's all that?”
“Gifts for the kids. First visit in a month—had to bring something good.”
“Just you coming is thanks enough...”
“Gonna be relying on you a lot more soon. Figured I'd say hi early.”
“Relying on us?”
“Moved nearby.”
“Really? What about your job?”
The director's eyes went wide.
“Quit. Burned out after pouring everything into work for so long.”
She didn't pry further.
“The kids'll love it. They've always adored you.”
“Oh, right. Know any Hunter guilds around?”
“Hunter guilds? Why?”
“Settling down here, wanna line up clients before opening my clinic.”
“You're really putting down roots, huh.”
“Yup.”
No shop yet, but building ties with future clients couldn't hurt.
Connections via acquaintances make business smoother.
The director was well-connected in the village.
Since I'd decided to settle, I was going all in.
Half-measures just waste time and money.
“A hunter visits our orphanage twice a week to help. Ask him.”
“Got it. When does he come?”
“Right now, actually.”
She pointed.
A rattling truck was pulling into the orphanage.
“Director, hello!”
“Back again. Thanks as always.”
“Haha, any heavy lifting, I'm your man.”
A friendly-looking middle-aged man was driving.
Over 40, he hopped out with a bright smile.
But exhaustion etched his face.
Dark circles.
Dull skin.
Split ends.
Trembling lips.
Bandages hiding wounds everywhere.
I scanned him.
Yang Deok-chun looked like your average D-Rank hunter on the surface.
But he urgently needed treatment.