Livelihood Support Funds (3)
Just as Chae Mu-jin had predicted, Lee Min-ji was no rookie hunter. As a solo hunter with two years of experience, she had received recruitment offers from countless guilds. Despite her young age, she had sat through plenty of interviews. This situation, however, was a first.
Slurp. “Ah—this broth hits the spot no matter how many times I drink it.”
Crunch. “And this is the only place that serves kkakdugi with janchi guksu.”
“Excuse me, ahjussi.”
“Didn’t you call me oppa earlier?”
“Ahjussi feels more accurate. What kind of interview do you conduct at a janchi guksu restaurant?”
“Oh, my bad. Are you on team bibim guksu?”
“It’s not that…”
Gurgle. Maybe the tension had finally broken. Or perhaps the savory aroma of the anchovy broth was simply too tempting. Either way, an unbearable hunger drove her hand toward the chopsticks.
Slurp. “Huh?”
“Good, right?”
“It’s seriously delicious.”
“Try the kkakdugi too. Most places serve janchi guksu with napa cabbage kimchi, but this spot does something weird and gives you kkakdugi instead. That’s the real star here.”
As Chae Mu-jin suggested, the moment Lee Min-ji tasted the kkakdugi she felt like she had entered a new world.
It’s too good.
She had always skimped on food expenses, surviving on dry bread smeared with strawberry jam. And even then, only twice a day. After living like that, the rich umami of the janchi guksu paired with the sweet-and-sour crunch of kkakdugi awakened memories she had buried.
I used to love eating.
Whenever she went to baseball games with her father, they always followed it with a delicious meal. Her dad constantly told her that people needed good food to be happy. So when had she stopped…?
“I’ll be back, Minji.”
“Why does Dad have to go to Jeju Island? The internet says it’s extremely dangerous!”
“It’s dangerous, that’s exactly why I’m going. There will be lots of injured people. What’s Dad’s job?”
“You’re not even a doctor, Dad. You’re a nurse.”
“People might not need nurses, but doctors definitely do.”
“Still… why does it have to be you? There are so many other nurses!”
“Minji. If you’re thirsty, are you going to wait until Mom or I bring you water?”
“Just try leaving! I won’t speak to you for the rest of my life!”
Why had she said those words to her father? She should have begged him to return safely. Maybe then he would have come back alive.
Drip. Drip. Tears fell into the janchi guksu.
Chae Mu-jin watched her cry over her meal and raised a hand.
“Ma’am, another janchi guksu please.”
How delicious did the noodles have to be to make someone cry? Lee Min-ji shed tears the entire time yet still polished off two full bowls.
“Haa.”
“You eat well. I was worried you might not like it.”
“I’ve always been a big eater. Buy me tanghulu too.”
“Are we skipping the interview?”
“Whatever. Hunter management or whatever it’s called—I’ll check it out.”
“No, we still need to do the actual interview.”
“Why? I’m strong, pretty, and young. What else is there to check?”
“I’m not sure about the pretty part… Hey, put your fist down. There is one condition.”
His final words were so serious that Lee Min-ji answered in kind.
“Ahjussi, I pray every night before bed. To the devil. I beg him to take my soul and kill Bahamut. Do you need my soul too?”
“I’m greedier than any devil. I want everything you have.”
Chae Mu-jin deliberately kept it vague. Saying outright I’ll take all your skills would cause an uproar. But Lee Min-ji interpreted it differently; her face flushed bright red.
“M-my everything?”
“It could mean your life. Or it could mean your assets.”
“You really are direct.”
“Well, no point in sugarcoating it.”
“Hmm…”
Lee Min-ji looked him up and down.
I absolutely hate the type that’s popular with women… Wait, what am I even thinking? There’s no way he could actually defeat Bahamut.
Even if he somehow succeeded, she had no future left anyway.
Once my revenge is complete, I’ll die too.
It wasn’t an impulsive decision. It was a resolution she had made the day her whole family died. That same resolve had led to her awakening and carried her to this moment. So whether Chae Mu-jin wanted her body or her possessions, it didn’t matter. She was going to die regardless.
“Fine. When does the consulting start?”
“It already did.”
Chae Mu-jin pointed at the two empty bowls. Lee Min-ji looked utterly bewildered.
“What do two bowls of janchi guksu have to do with anything?”
“You were dieting, weren’t you? Because of that large-and-beautiful weapon trait of yours.”
“…Creepy. How did you know? That trait is set to private.”
“I figured it out watching you swing that heavy hammer like it weighed nothing.”
“There are plenty of traits that reduce weapon weight.”
“But only one that reduces it to exactly one kilogram.”
“How can you tell it feels like one kilo just by watching me swing it? That’s impossible.”
“If I didn’t have that level of eye, I couldn’t do this job.”
Of course, the real reason was the Seizure skill. Even Chae Mu-jin couldn’t accurately guess someone’s traits and skills from sight alone.
There are hundreds of thousands of skills. How could anyone memorize them all?
Since he couldn’t reveal the Seizure skill, brazen confidence was the best approach.
“Then you already know. My damage only increases when my body weight decreases. Eating like this will raise my weight and lower my attack power. Looks like your consulting already slipped up.”
“You’ve become obsessed with attack power.”
“Isn’t higher attack power always better?”
“It is. But remember our spar. No matter how powerful the strike, it’s meaningless if it doesn’t land. Giving flesh to take bone? That worked so far because monsters are simple. In our spar, running away would have been too embarrassing.”
“Where are you going mid-conversation?”
“You asked me to buy tanghulu, didn’t you? Let’s go. I suddenly feel like having some too.”
As she followed behind Chae Mu-jin, she felt the stares of passersby. The gazes that normally locked onto her had all shifted to him. Yet the looks in their eyes were completely different from the ones she usually received—filled with reverence and envy.
Now that I think about it, this ahjussi was the supporter Cheon I-hwa had marked.
Perfect score on the first test, perfect on the second, and eight points on the third after forfeiting once, landing him second place overall.
He could have beaten me but chose to forfeit. If he hadn’t, he would have taken first place ahead of Cheon I-hwa. And he doesn’t even look the slightest bit regretful.
He possessed the strongest physical attack buff in history and outstanding personal combat ability. A supporter like that didn’t exist anywhere in the world, let alone Korea. Without exaggeration, Chae Mu-jin was the supporter everyone desired. He knew his own worth perfectly. Yet he never boasted. He never looked down on others.
He felt like a friendly uncle.
Her father had once said: It is natural for the weak to bow to the strong, but unnatural for the strong to bow to the weak. Therefore, if you see a strong person who bows to the weak, that is someone worthy of respect.
Still, respecting this ahjussi feels impossible.
It would never happen.
“Um… what is all this…?”
Kim Yeo-ul stared at the mountain of skewers covering the table.
“It’s called tanghulu. I bought every fruit variety, so eat whatever you like.”
“The tangerine is mine!”
Lee Min-ji snatched the tangerine skewer. Kim Yeo-ul cautiously pointed at her.
“Who is this person…?”
“Livelihood Support Funds. Shorten it to Minji. You two look about the same age, so just speak casually with each other~”
“Uh, uh? Okay.”
“By the way, Minji. Why do you always mention livelihood support funds?”
“Mom said she never would have been able to have me without the livelihood support grant, so she named me Minji. When I heard that, it made sense. Plus when I introduce myself this way, people never forget my name.”
“That makes sense. Mm!”
Kim Yeo-ul, who understood absolutely none of the situation, could only blink in confusion.
Ah. Strawberry.
He spotted the strawberry tanghulu and reached out—only for it to vanish.
“The strawberry is mine~”
Kim Yeo-ul’s hand froze in midair.
“So, Minji. You need to start exercising.”
“I am exercising. Breathing exercises, stomach exercises!”
The reply was clearly a joke, but Chae Mu-jin ignored it and continued.
“Some people think they don’t need to exercise because they have stamina stats. That’s because they don’t understand how stats actually work. Stats are a multiplier. Your real physical condition gets multiplied by the stat value. Ten stamina means something completely different for an ordinary person versus an athlete.”
“And since your weapon only weighs one kilo, you probably think strength isn’t important. But you’re wrong. Even at one kilo, you need strength. A lot more than you think. Have you ever held that giant hammer for more than ten minutes? Probably not. You keep it in your inventory normally and only take it out during fights. Before battle you rest it on your shoulder.”
“How did you know I rest it on my shoulder? Are you watching me?”
“People’s shoulders are naturally slightly asymmetrical. Right-handers usually have a slightly lower left shoulder. But even though you’re right-handed, your right shoulder sits lower. That means something heavy has been consistently pressing down on it.”
“…Ahjussi. Who exactly are you?”
“This is just the beginning, so keep listening.”
Lee Min-ji set down her tanghulu and straightened her posture. She might fool around normally, but she knew when to get serious.
“Your one-hit-kill, give-flesh-to-take-bone strategy has always worked, so you never felt the importance of strength and stamina. But as you hunt more, you’ll eventually realize it. The problem is most hunters realize their shortcomings at the exact moment they die. Monsters don’t show mercy. If you’re lucky, you grow. If not, you die.”
“In our spar, I showed you your future. You got exhausted after just ten minutes of running around. You still had the strength to swing your weapon, but your depleted stamina made your already slow attacks even slower.”
“First solution: Eat plenty and train your stamina and strength. That alone will let you grow two full stages from where you are now.”
Even after he finished speaking, both Lee Min-ji and Kim Yeo-ul simply stared at him in a daze.
“Any questions?”
“Yes. What kind of exercise should I do?”
“Why ask me? Go to a hunter-exclusive gym and ask there. Get a PT and they’ll teach you properly according to your weapon and combat style.”
“Ah, so there are things you don’t know.”
“I don’t know everything, you know.”
It was a lie. He did know. But there was no reason to waste his valuable time teaching something others could explain just as well.
“Yeo-ul, why are you making that ‘this has nothing to do with me’ face? You’re coming to the gym too.”
“But I’m a mage…”
“Mages and healers need to exercise too. You’re way too skinny.”
“Yeo-ul. Let’s get gym memberships together.”
Only ten minutes after meeting him, Lee Min-ji was already cozying up to Kim Yeo-ul. Yet every time she approached, he drifted away like opposite magnets.
“Why~? It’ll motivate us and be more fun. It’s boring to go alone.”
“…I’ll go to the bathroom real quick.”
Kim Yeo-ul fled to the restroom. Chae Mu-jin couldn’t help but laugh.
It wasn’t on purpose, but their personalities are complete opposites.
After exchanging numbers with Lee Min-ji, he sent her back to her lodging. He returned to his own room and turned on the computer. There was something he needed to check.
> Bahamut
While scrolling through countless search results, he roughly gauged and imagined Bahamut’s strength. In his previous life the creature had stayed locked away in Jeju Island, giving him no reason to raid it. In this life, however, he had two clear reasons.
It’s the perfect sacrifice to push Min-ji to S-rank.
One of the other ways to reach S-rank without hitting level 500 was to consume the heart of a Monarch-class boss monster. Min-ji would successfully complete her revenge and enjoy a wealthy retirement, while he would obtain all her skills—including her Authority. Wasn’t this a world where everyone could be happy?
And when I consider the battle against the moon, Monarch-class monsters must be defeated.
No matter how many times he thought about it, the moon had been an absurd boss. An Apocalypse-class threat that even a nation throwing everything at it couldn’t guarantee victory against.
The moon is definitely not Apocalypse-class. It’s something beyond that.
The fourth tier—something not even revealed to ordinary hunters, known only to a tiny handful of people. Ten years from now, there had been over a hundred S-ranks. But one day a being suddenly appeared and slaughtered most of them. Fortunately that entity vanished on its own, sparing humanity. Yet the surviving S-ranks still trembled with terror from the trauma.
Thus, the boss classification that had previously ended at the third tier secretly gained a fourth. The name of that fourth tier was taken directly from the name the being had announced.
Keter-class.
Chae Mu-jin was certain the moon was a Keter-class boss monster.