The Bureau Chief's Intervention
The Seoul Hunter Management Bureau, which had been thrown into uproar by the commotion, returned to its usual calm before evening fell. The bureau had issued an official statement blaming it on a "malfunction in the gate detection system" to smooth things over. The hunters who had been inside at the time grumbled about the false alarm, but relief that nothing had actually happened outweighed their anger. It stung a bit that they'd lost some trust, but since no one really wanted to dig into the "truth" of the incident, it was a net gain for the bureau in the end.
Like a swan gliding effortlessly on the water while paddling furiously beneath, the bureau—ever laid-back on the surface—was holding an emergency meeting to uncover the truth behind this unresolved incident. In the solemn atmosphere, everyone focused intently on the data projected on the screen.
"Heh heh, if my stocks shot up like that, I'd have no regrets in life."
"That can't be a measurement error, right?"
The graph formed a perfect vertical line without a single deviation. It was so abnormally precise that someone half-jokingly suspected deliberate tampering. Most people in the room were awakeners from research or field divisions, and they couldn't hide their shock at the readings.
The man standing in front of the screen pulled up additional data. Unlike the previous vertical spike, this graph rose gradually at a slant. He explained, "This is the mana level we measured last year when America's S-rank hunter 'John Tucker' visited Korea."
"......That's a stark difference. Makes it even more suspicious."
"Hmm...... Shouldn't we suspect a fault in the mana measuring device? Even the world's strongest mage doesn't hit numbers like that, so some random awakener we don't know from Adam showing those readings? That's weird."
"The mana measuring device is critical equipment for key inspections, so our department treats it with special care. The weekly precision checks... you department heads know all about that, don't you?"
The man was the director of the Otherworld Research Institute, and his sharp retort silenced the heads of every department. The numbers were genuine, without a shred of falsehood. Everyone had secretly hoped for a twist, but there was none. In the now-quiet conference room, someone broke the silence.
"So, who the hell recorded those insane numbers?"
The moment every department head's ears perked up, the host of this emergency meeting—the director of the Ability Research Division—responded as if he'd been waiting for it.
"That's actually the biggest problem. By the time we sorted out the situation and rushed to search, they'd already left the bureau......"
"Why make it so complicated? Can't we just contact them?"
From the prior briefing, the culprit behind this mess was an awakener hoping to register as a hunter. Hunter registration involved filling out basic personal info, followed immediately by an ability test. Since the incident happened during the ability check, they must have collected the personal details already. That meant they had contact info, so tracking them down should be as simple as a call. The department heads gave the Ability Research director strange looks for not thinking of something so obvious.
The director scratched his head—his signature nervous tic—and let out a deep sigh. "......They registered under 'anonymous.'"
"Ah......"
"That damn anonymous system...... I knew something like this would happen someday!"
"......Our subordinate reported it while they were making their escape, so we didn't even issue a hunter terminal... or a 'license'......"
"Aigoo......"
Someone flung their ballpoint pen across the table, and the sound triggered a chorus of complaints from everyone.
The 'Hunter Anonymity Policy' was a law created by the International Hunter Organization to protect hunters' personal information—a relatively recent measure. Its purpose was to safeguard hunters' privacy and prevent secondary harm from hunter activities. Conflicts between hunters often escalated beyond amicable resolutions. While intra-awakener disputes were manageable, threats to family or associates weren't uncommon. Plus, with the high earnings from the profession, money-grubbers latched on too. It wasn't much help for famous hunters, but it was invaluable for newcomers.
The bureau, boasting security tighter than any global agency, classified anonymous hunters' data with the highest encryption on the main server. Even top executives couldn't access it casually; anonymity was ironclad. Original documents were shredded upon submission, stored only digitally.
But even laws had loopholes. Amid the noisy room, a woman raised her hand. As the newest department head, her bold move drew all eyes. The Ability Research director, acting as facilitator, nodded silently, granting her the floor. Under the weight of expectant stares, she spoke up haltingly.
"Isn't there a clause allowing access to an anonymous hunter's info with the director's approval if they commit illegal acts?"
Her unexpected remark stirred the room.
"Ah! Right, there is! This is exactly that situation, isn't it?"
"Yes, there is such a clause. We already reported it to the director via the deputy, but...... he decided to treat this as a 'light reprimand.'"
"Wh-what?! What does that......?!"
"Light reprimand? They turned the entire bureau into a warzone, and we're letting it slide?"
"Agreed. A verbal warning is too lenient—and they didn't even stick around for that."
The room heated up again. Some department heads reacted strongly: "They trashed bureau property; punish accordingly," or "They skipped registration procedures; summon them back." A third party overhearing might call it excessive. But no one here truly wanted punishment or accountability.
They all craved one thing: the identity of the being with mana vast enough to mimic a gate outbreak. A powerful hunter's emergence bolstered national strength. From the bureau's view, it was cause for celebration. With rampant gates and ability-fueled crimes, they needed strong hunters—especially now, when S-rank numbers gauged a nation's defense.
Today's visitor might rival or surpass existing S-ranks. They'd normally arrange an official evaluation, but that ship had sailed.
"Anyway, we need to convince the director somehow. We can't let someone like that slip away......"
"My stance hasn't changed."
A low, thunderous voice reverberated through the air. Everyone turned toward it. Towering over 180 cm with a sturdy build and weathered features evoking a tiger—yet silver hair and beard suited "White Tiger" better. His sudden appearance threw the room into chaos; all shot to their feet.
"D-Director!! When did you arrive?!"
"Hm? Is this a meeting I shouldn't be at?"
"N-no, sir!! It's just... so sudden......"
The Ability Research director, who'd been pushing hard for persuasion moments ago, now mumbled meekly, utterly cowed.
Jeong Tae-san, director of the Seoul Hunter Management Bureau Korea branch. A first-generation awakener who ended the Dimension Break crisis 46 years ago, Korea's first S-rank hunter. His unmatched prowess among peers made his directorship unquestioned. Retired from active duty due to age, his S-rank aura remained; even fellow awakeners wilted before him.
Jeong Tae-san placed a hand on the trembling Ability Research director's shoulder, who felt his breath catch.
"Mind if I borrow your seat for a bit?"
"Y-yes, sir!!"
"Everyone, stop standing and sit down. You too, Research Director."
The director scurried to sit with the heads. Jeong Tae-san, now at the screen's center, clasped hands behind his back and smiled like a kindly grandfather.
"Everyone seems pretty upset about this commotion."
His guileless smile filled the room with tension; even the shouting heads held their breath, hanging on his words.
"I heard this was just a minor mishap during an ability test."
"......Minor......mishap?"
Someone echoed blankly at calling a building-shaking disaster "minor." Realizing it slipped out, they clapped a hand over their mouth. Jeong Tae-san continued unfazed.
"It happened while following our procedures, so it's our fault, not 'hers.' Honestly, even the 'light reprimand' feels too harsh to me...... What do you all think?"
"Y-yes, sir!!"
"Exactly as you say, Director!"
Several heads barked in crisp unison. Jeong Tae-san nodded approvingly.
"And stop prying into her identity. Isn't that the whole point of the anonymity policy?"
"Um...... Director......?"
His natural flow swept most along, but one woman raised her hand. Young among the heads, her move paled her neighbors' faces; they tried to hush her too late—Jeong Tae-san had seen.
"Hm? You're...... Kim Ji-yeon, the new head of Resource Management from last month, right?"
"Ah! Thank you for remembering...... I mean! Director? Shouldn't we at least contact her? From what the director said, she hasn't gotten a hunter terminal or license yet, right?"
Her words made Jeong Tae-san's ever-calm eyes widen briefly—like someone caught off-guard by an unforeseen variable. He'd only considered protecting her anonymity so far, not how the bureau would reach her later. A hands-off advocate for hunter freedom, he knew emergencies demanded contact. Without a license proving hunter status, proper activities were impossible.
Jeong Tae-san stroked his trimmed beard in thought, then paused as an idea struck.
"The clause says the director can access anonymous hunters' info, right?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Then I'll contact her myself."
"“““““““…………???””””””””
"Well, I'll be off then. Good work, everyone."
He raised a hand in brief farewell and exited. The room stared blankly at the door, his parting words echoing in their minds like:
'If you don't like it, become director yourself.'