Chapter 5

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Translator: MadScientist

Chapter: 5

Chapter Title: Herb Gatherer Han Seo-ah

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4:30 a.m.

The city lay in shallow slumber.

This hour, the streets belonged only to taxis, cleaning trucks, and stumbling drunks.

Yet at this time, the South Korea Hunter Association's database hummed at peak activity.

In an era where 0.5% of the population were classified as Awakeners.

Half of them were the dregs labeled F-Rank.

The 25th of every month.

The day when 'basic Hunter subsistence funds' hit the accounts of 120,000 F-Rank Hunters nationwide.

Essentially ability users on par with civilians.

400,000 won a month.

Pocket change to some, vital unearned income to others.

'I made it that way.'

Despite public backlash calling it a waste of taxes, the government stayed silent and kept the payments flowing.

The reason was simple.

They were the 'keys.'

Gates could only be entered by Awakened Hunters.

Even if that key was the frail body of Han Seo-ah, who would crumple at a mere touch.

The sole chosen of humanity able to unlock otherworldly doors.

Or porters. Bait. Cannon fodder in emergencies.

Their value as conscriptable reserves far exceeded 400,000 won a month.

Of course, lofty societal agreements meant nothing to Han Seo-ah.

Bzzz-.

Her smartphone vibrated briefly by the bedside.

[Deposit: 400,000 won (Hunter Association)]

A slender hand snatched the phone from under the covers.

The screen's glow flashed in the darkness.

The blankets rustled, and a tousled silver head popped up.

"...It's in."

A husky, sleep-laced voice.

Han Seo-ah rubbed her eyes and scooted to the edge of the bed.

"Yawn..."

So sleepy.

The linoleum floor chilled her soles.

Four months into possession.

Three months since the Association confirmed her abilities and sent her home.

The seasons had crept from winter's tail end into early spring.

But the dawn air still made her shiver.

"Don't wanna work..."

After possessing this body, she'd keenly felt how high-spec her previous 'male' form had been.

Han Seo-ah glanced down at her own arm.

A wrist thin enough to grasp in one hand.

No trace remained of the sturdy bones from her past life's male physique.

'Awakened, and still this pathetic.'

The original Han Seo-ah probably couldn't have managed daily life.

She let out a self-deprecating sigh and opened the wardrobe.

The clothes visible through the crack were sparse.

No lacy frills or princessy frippery.

Faded cargo pants, fleece-lined black turtleneck, waterproof windbreaker.

Pure pragmatism.

She layered up like onion skins.

Pulled the neck gaiter high to cover half her face. Yanked a beanie low.

The mirror showed less Hunter, more fugitive prepping a midnight escape.

'This should do.'

She bundled up for a reason.

The world had changed; elves, dwarves, beastkin roamed Seoul streets freely.

But ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Han Seo-ah's looks stood out even among them.

Silver hair gleaming like it drank moonlight.

Golden eyes sharp as crafted gems.

Plus a 149cm frame that screamed "protect me."

Stares followed everywhere.

Curious glances, leering intent, or zoo-animal gawking.

For a powerless F-Rank Hunter, attention was poison.

'Until I gain strength, live like I'm dead.'

Seo-ah tied her laces tight.

Grabbed the hoe and small backpack by the door.

Click.

The front door opened, dawn's chill slapping her cheek.

"Ugh... Dangun was nuts. Why plant a flag in this frozen hell..."

She unlocked the electric bike propped by the door.

A beat-up used model bought for 700,000 won from a secondhand shop.

Battery sucked on hills—had to pedal like mad—but better than walking.

Couldn't cab it daily.

Plus, exercise.

'Think positive~'

Han Seo-ah forced a hum.

Hot breath steamed through the gaiter.

—

"Huff... haah... haah..."

Whirr-.

The motor's whine filled the quiet alley.

Seo-ah pedaled hard along the Han River bank.

The eastern sky blushed purple.

Red dawn smeared oil-slick across the water.

Gusts pierced her goggles, stinging her eyes.

Tears welled physiologically. Not sadness—her eyes were overly sensitive.

'Body's so damn weak.'

About 30 minutes in.

A massive dome structure loomed ahead.

A blue wavy portal sprouting absurdly in the park's center.

Chain-link fence around it, armed soldiers at the outpost.

Prime capital real estate—this Gate should've been cleared or handed to a big guild long ago.

But it remained one of the rare state-managed 'public Gates.'

Simple reason.

Vast meadow field. Only slimes and goblins.

Low risk, abundant resources.

Better for the budget if many Hunters entered freely than monopolized.

Thus, newbie training ground and lifeline for paupers like Seo-ah.

Screech-.

She braked at the outpost.

A sentry swallowed a yawn and dashed out.

"Oh, you're here? Kinda late today."

He recognized her. Three months of daily visits.

Not her face, though.

A Hunter lugging a backpack her size on a kid's bike.

One-of-a-kind oddity at Jamsil Gate.

His gaze swept from high above down.

Stark height gap.

Seo-ah's eyelids fluttered. Reading his blatant pity and curiosity was easy.

'...Fucking tiny.'

Curse bubbled inside, but she nodded coolly instead.

Pulled a card from her pocket.

Face obscured with stickers.

Sentry swiped it on the terminal.

"Heard reports of goblins spotted in the inner swamp lately. I'd recommend not going too deep."

Seo-ah just nodded.

Speaking would give away her girly—young—voice.

She hurriedly locked the bike and headed for the Gate.

The rippling blue membrane.

Standing before it raised the fine hairs on her skin.

Mana density pressure.

'Hoo.'

Deep breath in.

White exhale scattered.

Once the vapor tail vanished—

She plunged into the waves without hesitation.

Wooong-.

Ears rang dully.

Vision warped like mixed paints, then snapped back.

Twinpling her nostrils wasn't Seoul smog.

Damp earth scented with rain.

Fresh grass whiff.

The world inside the Gate.

—

Seo-ah readjusted her goggles.

Thick green filled her view. Endless meadow field.

Knee-high grass rasped in the wind.

'Always feels unreal.'

Just one Gate crossed.

This wilderness hidden in Seoul by a single step? Unreal every time.

No time to gawk.

Time was money.

She drew gear from her belt.

Right hand: sharp dagger.

Left: dirt-caked hoe.

Unbalanced, but optimal here.

'Let's go.'

She pushed familiarly through the brush.

Today's target: remote hillside untouched by others.

'Spotted it yesterday. Hopefully no one's poached it.'

She narrowed her eyes.

'Status Window.'

The world shifted from scenery to text and frames.

Boxy panels floated everywhere.

Like forced AR game UI.

Her gaze swept the weeds at her feet.

Blue translucent tags hovered over each blade.

"Dizzying."

Text overload made her nauseous.

Info overload.

But to earn, she endured the unfriendly interface.

She bent low, rolling her eyes for non-zero value tags.

No flowers.

2k wasn't nothing, but needed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠intact for value.

Poor cost-performance.

She aimed higher.

Retracing yesterday's spot, she parted brush.

'Around here...'

Then.

A chill blue info window popped from weed gaps.

Ding-

Alert straight to the brain, not ears.

Her eyes raced over the text.

'Found it.'

Value based on Auction House prices.

Meaning, sell to the right buyer? 50k easy!

Her lips twitched up.

Normal herb gatherers ID'd by leaf shape, smell, vein patterns.

Years of expertise needed.

But Seo-ah had the answer key: her Status Window.

She gripped the hoe.

Slice.

Crude blade cut soil.

Veins bulged on her small hand. Weak grip meant body-weight thrust.

Shook dirt off roots intact—lustrous fluid at tip gleamed.

"Heh heh heh... 35,000 won."

Silly grin leaked out.

Cheeks flushed, she tenderly stowed the muddy herb in small hands.

One tiny sprig: two chickens.

Twenty triangle kimbaps.

Week's groceries secured. Eyes crinkled under goggles.

"Hup!"

She bent again.

Unstoppable now.

Rock crevices, mossy stumps others ignored.

Blue tags popped everywhere her gaze hit.

149cm frame bobbed through brush.

To others, lost kid playing in grass—but

She followed the scent of sure cash.

Crawling dirt like treasure hunt, stuffing spoils into her pack.

Backpack weighed heavy on slim shoulders.

Balance tipped back—no matter.

Cash piling made steps feather-light.

'This is why they say a sharp mind spares the body!'

Porters risking life wouldn't match this haul.

F-Ranks varied wildly in earnings!

To her, this was a vast treasure vault with every secret exposed.

About three hours later.

Rustle-.

Odd noise from beyond the grass.

Not wind-swayed blades.

Something sticky, heavy dragging on ground.

Seo-ah's hands froze.

Set hoe aside, gripped belt dagger firmly.

Slender fingers trembled—from weak grip? Or tension?

Golden eyes pierced the sound's source through goggles.

Bushes parted.

Emerging: translucent wobbly jelly blob.

A red status popped above it.

Soccer-ball-sized slime shuddered, rolling at Seo-ah.

Roll roll roll-

A bone floating inside showed it'd just digested something.

'Slow.'

Seo-ah didn't back off.

She read its moves.

'I've slain tens of thousands of slimes!'

Well, dozens in reality.

But patterns? Mastered.

Solvable.

'Now... jump!'

Perfect timing—slime leaped at her face.

Whoosh-!

Simultaneously, her body tilted right lightly.

Splat!

Slime smashed empty ground.

Impact flattened its jelly body.

Opening.

Compressed form exposed the core.

"Die!"

She stabbed without mercy.

Pfshk.

Unpleasant water-balloon burst traveled up her arm.

Dagger tip pierced the hard nucleus dead-on.

Gurgle gurgle...

Hiss and tremble, then melt.

Clear goo soaked earth, leaving a pea-sized Mana Stone.

Seo-ah scooped it, rubbed clean on her collar.

First hunt harvest today—not gathering.

"...Pathetic as expected. Neighborhood kids could kill it knowing the pattern."

Dry assessment slipped out.

F-Rank body handled it easy.

But complacency was suicide. She scanned surroundings.

Maxed field of view, pushed Status Window detection to limit.

No threats.

No aggro traces.

Safety confirmed, she resumed with the hoe.

Palm sticky with slime goo.

Cold slime feel.

That gross tactility reminded her this text-plastered world was real.

She wiped on pants, dug again.

Backpack far from full.

Hours of dust-covered gathering.

Then.

Crack.

Dry twig snapped distant.

"..."

Followed by uneven footsteps.

'Not slime.'

And muffled breathing.

Not far.