My World Collapsed (1)
"Well. You don't see this every day."
"You really don't."
The office belonged to National Assemblyman Do Minjun of the Grand National Party — presently the opposition in the Republic of Korea. Barely into his early thirties and already wearing a lawmaker's badge, Do Minjun sat with his aides and turned over the incident that had the entire country in an uproar.
The raid on the Shanghai S-Rank Gate had been halted. The man catching hell for it was Strike Team leader Lee Dohyun. Public condemnation had not been the end of it. A presidential national petition calling for his punishment had gathered nearly two million signatures.
"They're not actually going to take this up in the National Assembly, are they? From where I'm sitting, this looks like a flash of public anger that'll burn itself out."
"I've been taking the temperature around here, sir. The mood doesn't feel right."
"I'm sorry — the mood?"
Do Minjun, already buried under the coming primaries, frowned at his aide. What, exactly, didn't feel right?
The People's Equality Party held a majority in the National Assembly. If the petition regarding Lee Dohyun actually reached a floor vote, they would be the ones driving it through. But there was no reason they should. Ruling party, opposition, the presidential office — it did not matter how loudly the public boiled. Disciplining Lee Dohyun, an S-Rank Hunter and a national strategic asset, was unthinkable.
One of the aides spoke up as Do Minjun sat there, still puzzled.
"Word is the ruling party is looking to sink their teeth into this."
"Why on earth would they?"
"The election, most likely."
"Good lord..."
What Do Minjun had briefly forgotten was a simple, ugly truth: during election season, even the most irrational things could happen. The ruling party held a majority now, but the prevailing forecast for the coming general election was a mass peeling-away of votes — enough to cost them that majority for certain. And ruling-party lawmakers whose seats were looking shaky in the primaries had already started bringing it up on their personal social media. They were going to put Lee Dohyun's disciplinary case on the Assembly floor. No question about it.
He had written it off as the usual lawmaker theatrics. But the fever was not breaking. That was how hard the press and the YouTube channels had hyped the Shanghai raid as potentially the greatest moment since the founding of the nation. The backlash was vicious.
"So the ruling party wants to discipline Lee Dohyun just to scrape together votes? If that actually happens, the country takes a massive loss..."
"We've had it too good for too long, sir. People have forgotten how precious an S-Rank Hunter really is."
Do Minjun's expression darkened. He bit his lip. There would be people inside the ruling party who knew that disciplining Lee Dohyun was absurd. But in a moment this politically charged, if the party line tilted one way — what could anyone do about it?
"We'll keep watching for now. Hah..."
"Yes, sir."
"I just hope the public mood around Lee Dohyun turns around. Even a little."
If the outrage kept boiling and the ruling party rammed through a disciplinary resolution, the presidential office — whose candidate had come from that same party — would go along with it. And it was not as if the opposition was going to stick its neck out to defend Lee Dohyun, vote or no vote.
Do Minjun wanted this insanity not to happen.
But...
Exactly one hour later, the national petition demanding disciplinary action against S-Rank Hunter Lee Dohyun broke two million signatures, and the whole country lost its mind.
The mere fact that the National Assembly was putting it to a vote had already become a story in itself. Lee Dohyun had spent years as a capable S-Rank Hunter, raising the country's standing in the process. The fact that a disciplinary case against him had reached the Assembly floor at all was enough for a thin countercurrent of opposition to start forming.
But the fire already roaring had no intention of going out.
"Is everyone out of their minds?"
"K-keep your voice down."
"Hah. I'm going to lose it."
A bar in Cheongdam-dong, Seoul. In a private room, two National Assemblymen sat with drinks arranged between them like decoration, talking in a fever that had nothing to do with the alcohol.
The one whose face was flushed, who looked ready to come apart, was Do Minjun of the Grand National Party. The one trying to talk him down was Ahn Gibeom of the People's Equality Party.
Inside a ruling party whose support among young men had all but collapsed, Ahn Gibeom was one of the few who still pulled votes from that demographic. Party lines aside, he and Do Minjun had been friends for a long time.
"The party line already tilted? How is that even possible?"
"A poll we commissioned separately showed the party's approval twitching upward. It's probably because they've been moving on the Lee Dohyun case. They want to harvest the votes off it."
"We saw the same thing in our polling. But Gibeom. Anyone with eyes can see this is madness. If Lee Dohyun actually gets disciplined and there's a hole in the hunter roster, the backlash is going to be brutal."
"I know. I think so too. I even raised it."
Only then did Ahn Gibeom reach for the bottle beside him and pour. Looked at over any real stretch of time, the Lee Dohyun disciplinary case was a poisoned apple. How long would the public keep hating him? Ahn Gibeom believed it would flip the moment the national-team hunters cleared a few raids and it came out that the gate in Shanghai was even more powerful than anyone had guessed.
"Just drink. What are first-term nobodies like us supposed to do about it?"
"We didn't get into politics to feel like this."
"No. We didn't..."
Ahn Gibeom drank in silence, leaving the agitated Do Minjun where he was. Watching him, Do Minjun knew he needed to settle himself as well. There's nothing we can do. That much, at least, was true.
Even so.
Do Minjun thought it was wretched. Humanly, it was too much. From such a young age, Lee Dohyun had been raid leader of the Republic of Korea's finest Strike Team, and he had cleared raid after raid. And this was how they were treating him?
The recommendation the National Assembly had put to the government was processed with remarkable speed.
After the penalty was announced, inside the Korea Hunter Association building.
"In all the years since I started this work, I have never faced a moment this wretched."
"..."
Association President Kim Mansoo was sitting across from me, saying something, but none of it was landing.
This is real?
If it was a dream, it was a nightmare so ugly I wanted to wake up. I knew perfectly well that it wasn't.
Where had it gone wrong?
Fine. I had been prepared to take the blame. I had been taught that that was what a leader's seat was for. But my seat itself was gone?
I had given them five years, and they wanted me off the field for the same stretch of time? They didn't need me?
I had been born with an uncommon power, and I had believed that meant I owed a higher responsibility than anyone else. Until now, I had thought I was doing that job well.
This was the result. It felt as if my entire existence had been denied — as if the values I had lived by had been smashed to pieces.
"It won't go the full five years. If public opinion cools enough during the term, the length can be adjusted, and even now the calls keep coming in from people who want to meet with you. Ruling-party lawmakers, opposition lawmakers, the mayor of Seoul, the presidential office — they're all asking you to hold on just a little longer..."
"..."
I couldn't even manage the gesture of looking like I was listening. I stared at the floor.
Transparent. Painfully transparent. These were people far older than I was, and I barely understood politics, but did it have to be this obvious?
This had been unavoidable. That was what it came down to, wasn't it? While they went out in front of the public and crowed that they had slain the villain named Lee Dohyun.
It wouldn't go the full five years? What difference did that make?
"Association President."
"Hm? Yes."
"Please tell them I don't want to see anyone. And for the time being, I'll be at home. Alone."
"R-right. Dohyun. There's a growing sense that the penalty is far too harsh, so just... rest for a bit."
I didn't answer. I stood up.
I knew. I knew the Association had had no choice. But I couldn't stay calm in this either.
The door scraped open. Someone was waiting on the other side — in a hurry, sweating, as if they had only just arrived.
"...Yewon?"
"Dohyun."
Han Yewon. In a twenties packed with duty and responsibility, she had been the one person who felt, even a little, like something else.
"Why didn't you answer me..."
She asked it with worried eyes. I had put my phone on silent. Before I had even walked into this room, the texts and messages had already numbered in the hundreds. I hadn't had the strength to look at them.
"Dohyun, let's talk for a minute. In the break room."
"Say it here."
"Huh?"
She hesitated at that, then opened her mouth.
"What are you going to do now?"
"I don't know."
"You're still going to stay, though, right?"
"..."
I couldn't understand what she was asking. Stay? Where?
"Dohyun, if you're not the raid leader, I don't have the confidence to take part in raids of that level."
"It's fine. Regardless of my penalty, you're an S-Rank Healer."
"But... hah. Why did this even happen?"
Han Yewon covered her face with her hands and dropped her head.
A woman who, for all her ability, had never had much confidence, and who had shown more than her share of mental fragility. Every time, I had tried to encourage her, soothe her, hold her in place.
She had cut ties with her parents since, but it was those same parents who had forced her into hunter work, demanding she bring money home. Most hunters felt nothing about killing monsters and ran hot by temperament. Han Yewon had been born the exact opposite. Maybe that was what made an S-Rank strange.
I had never pressed her on the family history. The fact that, before her dramatic awakening, her parents had tried to send her into the adult entertainment industry had been enough. There had been no need to ask further.
"Dohyun, isn't there anything I can do to help?"
"..."
I didn't answer. I only blinked. A thought had caught me without warning.
Working alongside her, I had fallen in love with her. Then she had turned down my confession, and we had remained colleagues. I can't be that with you. That was what she had said.
I didn't know why that moment had surfaced now. We had gotten along well enough as colleagues after that.
Because we wouldn't, anymore?
"Hah. Yewon, I'm tired. I'm going to go."
"Dohyun."
"..."
"You'll keep staying by my side and helping me, right?"
She said it with those wide, pleading deer eyes.
Help her. What was that even supposed to mean?
Please.
For the first time, being near this woman irritated me.
She had always talked in that vague way, and I had always smiled and asked her to say it again, and pieced it together for both of us. I understood that she was anxious right now. Every other time, I had treated it as a given that I would talk her down.
I didn't want to. Not now.
I had never once asked myself this. Why did I have to? When had this become the default?
Han Yewon, and everyone else — I had always been the one who was supposed to endure. Why had I never thought of that as a problem until now?
It felt as if I had been under a spell, and had only just opened my eyes.
"Dohyun?"
"I don't have anything to say right now. I'm leaving. Don't stop me."
I turned away without waiting for an answer.
"Hah..."
I glanced at my phone for a second. In that second, more messages had stacked up.
My head felt like it was going to split. My chest was so tight I could barely breathe. And still, nobody would leave me alone.