The Supporter Conceals His Skill

The attention of everyone in Test Site 1 was fixed on a single person. Examinee number 76, Cheon I-hwa. The only daughter of the Hunter Association President and the successor to the Great First Sword. After the overwhelming display of power she had shown and the perfect score of nine points, no one spared a glance for the next examinee, number 77.

Chae Mu-jin was no exception. Without waiting to be called, he stepped onto the testing platform and urged the supervisor.

“Aren’t we starting?”

“Ah, right. My apologies. Please begin the test.”

The supervisor moved behind Chae Mu-jin just as he had done with the other supporters. But Chae Mu-jin remained still.

“What are you doing?”

The supervisor spoke first, and Chae Mu-jin answered before he could continue.

“That’s what I should be asking. Aren’t you going to apply a buff?”

“I already did.”

“Excuse me? When exactly?”

In games, buffs announced themselves with flashy effects—an aurora wrapping around the target or fairies circling overhead. In reality, however, buffs left no visible trace. Neither on the surface nor in the status window. The only way to know was for the supporter to say so or for the recipient to sense it themselves.

“I applied it the moment you finished speaking, Supervisor.”

“You didn’t cast it before the test began? Predictive casting is against regulations.”

“Ask the control room. They’re watching with high-speed cameras.”

Words alone would achieve nothing, so the supervisor radioed the control room. When the reply came, he could hardly believe it. Chae Mu-jin had not cheated. The claim that he had applied the buff the instant the supervisor finished speaking was true. The real issue was the speed.

‘Faster reaction time than Cheon I-hwa, the Swift Sword…’

Science placed the human limit at 0.1 seconds. Anything faster was prediction. Yet Awakeners who had transcended humanity shattered that limit with ease. Cheon I-hwa’s draw had been so fast only an afterimage remained. Chae Mu-jin’s buff had left no afterimage at all.

The supervisor, himself a hunter, struggled to accept the reality before him.

‘He must have predicted the buff and got lucky. Yes, that has to be it.’

Having reached his own conclusion, the supervisor moved to the next step.

“What buff did you apply?”

“Physical attack power buff. Sixty seconds.”

“Hah. Your casting is fast, but your judgment leaves much to be desired. I am a skill dealer.”

“It doesn’t matter. Regardless of your class—”

“Why wouldn’t it matter? A skill dealer attacks exclusively with skills.”

“If a normal attack becomes as strong as a skill, there’s no need to use skills at all.”

Chae Mu-jin handed the supervisor the testing dagger meant for dealers and gestured toward the scarecrow. The supervisor looked incredulous.

‘A level-1 Awakener has roughly ten mana. A buff consumes one mana per ten seconds. In other words, this guy has already burned more than half his mana just on duration.’

Four mana remained. That equated to a mere four-point increase in physical attack power. The number was laughable, yet as a supervisor he had to demonstrate. He swung the dagger at the scarecrow’s neck.

Thud.

The scarecrow’s head came off as cleanly as paper sliced by scissors. The supervisor stared at the dagger and the severed head in stunned silence.

“What… what just happened?”

“I told you. Physical attack power buff.”

Only the numbers far exceeded anything the supervisor had imagined.

“Cutting steel with a knife! How much did you raise the physical attack power?”

“Nine hundred.”

“Nine hundred?! You gave it the attack power of an A-rank weapon through a buff?”

Chae Mu-jin answered with silence. Unlike in his previous life.

‘My buffs are special, after all.’

In his previous life he had foolishly revealed the trait to others, and chaos had followed.

‘The President of the United States teleported here and caused an uproar.’

The Governor-General of New Japan had been the second to arrive, and even the Korean President had flown in on a private jet, begging him to stay in Korea while clutching at his pant leg.

‘This time I’ll handle things properly.’

He had no aversion to attention itself. But look at Cheon I-hwa over there—surrounded by crowds, unable to rest properly, living under constant twenty-four-hour surveillance. It was no exaggeration.

‘At least Cheon I-hwa has the Association President’s protection. I’m just the youngest son of a gamjatang restaurant owner. No one to protect me.’

Yet hiding everything would only lead to being ignored. So he had decided to hint that his trait was specialized solely in “physical attack power.” He concealed the fact that every buff carried a ninety-nine-fold effect, just as in his previous life. This level of revelation should be enough to earn him a reputation as an exceptional supporter without drawing the President of the United States to his doorstep. That was the precise degree of attention he desired.

When he stepped down from the platform, attention shifted to him exactly as expected.

In a test where even Cheon I-hwa had received nine points, the gazes directed at the one who scored ten all carried the same message.

‘Who is that guy? What on earth do you have to do to get ten points?’

Among them, one person rushed over faster than the rest.

“Hyung-nim Chae Mu-jin! You worked hard!”

Kim Ji-woo, who had ditched him earlier by claiming he needed the restroom, now offered a cold bottle of water.

“Constipated?”

“Pardon?”

“Three hours in the bathroom. What were you doing?”

“Ah, haha. My stomach wasn’t feeling well.”

Chae Mu-jin placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled.

“Bullshit. You ran the moment I said I was a supporter.”

Compromise, consideration, mercy, forgiveness—none of it was necessary. People like Kim Ji-woo, the ungrateful sort, would see any concession as weakness and any forgiveness as permission to repeat the offense. In his previous life he had forgiven them with a generous “these things happen,” but not in this one.

“Want to party with me?”

“Yes! With your buff, I’m sure I can pass the exam. If you forgive me just this once, I’ll treat you as my lifelong benefactor.”

“Then go buy me some coffee.”

Kim Ji-woo’s expression brightened. Running errands was humiliating, but if one errand could make him an official hunter, it was worth any price.

“What kind would you like?”

“Americano.”

“I’ll be right back.”

“If you’re not back soon, I’ll party with someone else.”

Kim Ji-woo dashed off and returned panting, holding out a hot Americano.

“You’ve never heard of iced coffee?”

“Ah, right, of course. Haha.”

He ran off again and came back with an iced Americano. Chae Mu-jin took a sip and frowned.

“Two pumps of syrup. Why didn’t you ask for that?”

“You didn’t say anything about it.”

“You should have asked. Go get another one.”

“…Understood.”

Watching Kim Ji-woo smile while his veins bulged from irritation was deeply satisfying. After sending him off once more, a strange notification appeared.

‘Why is there an unidentified skill?’

Upon awakening, a person received one trait and one skill. As a supporter, he should have received only the fixed buff skill. There should have been no unidentified skill. Status and skill windows opened with a thought, so a hologram appeared before his eyes at once.

There really was one unidentified skill. New skills were learned every fifty levels, and he was still level one. Why did an unidentified skill exist?

‘Might as well check.’

Personal system windows could never be viewed by others, so he examined the skill without concern.

“……?”

He rubbed his eyes. An EX-rank skill? Only three hunters in the entire world possessed EX-rank skills. And now he suddenly had one? At level one?!

Kim Ji-woo, who had returned, noticed his expression and asked cautiously.

“Is there something else you don’t like?”

The moment he looked at Kim Ji-woo’s face to answer, a red system window appeared above the man’s head.

The whole world had turned red. Kim Ji-woo was not the only levy target. Nearly half the people present had been designated. Yet none carried as many points as Kim Ji-woo. Most hovered around one thousand.

‘Why does only Kim Ji-woo have three million?’

A brief moment of thought provided the answer.

‘It includes the previous life.’

That explained everything—why Kim Ji-woo’s Grace Points reached three million and why other hunters each carried at least a thousand.

‘I do tend to meddle quite a bit.’

Many hunters had received either minor or decisive help from him in his previous life. He had participated in boss raids consistently, so it was no exaggeration to say nearly every hunter owed him their life.

A fundamental question arose. Would the targets realize he had taken something through Levy? Curiosity would not wait.

‘Yes.’

The moment he decided, the system displayed a notification.

An Awakener’s inventory had nine slots, each holding one item. Originally he should have possessed nothing.

‘It really appeared.’

He looked at Kim Ji-woo sitting beside him. The man stood awkwardly, still holding the coffee, completely unaware that an item had vanished from his inventory.

‘Should I just take his trait and skill too?’

It was impossible. The presence or absence of items could only be confirmed by checking the inventory, but traits and skills were different. Especially traits that remained constantly active—once removed, the target would notice immediately. Of course, they would be unlikely to deduce that he had taken them, but…

‘If that guy starts making a scene about losing his trait and skill, I’ll get dragged into it too.’

There was no need to rush. The official hunter exam lasted three days, not one.

“Heh heh heh.”

He could no longer hold back his laughter.

“W-why are you laughing, Hyung-nim?”

“Because I’m happy.”

“About… what?”

“Because I have such a reliable little brother.”

He had been deeply troubled. He could never forgive Kim Ji-woo for betraying him in his previous life, yet killing him felt excessive. Perhaps turning him into a half-cripple would suffice. But this newly acquired skill had solved the dilemma.

‘I’ll take everything except your life.’

A hunter without traits or skills was nothing more than an ordinary person with a sturdy body. Kim Ji-woo was not the calm type either. Once he realized his trait and skill were gone, he would surely go mad.

“You can drink the coffee.”

“Huh……”

Ignoring the man’s reluctant expression, as if he had been spat on, Chae Mu-jin checked his status window. His lips curved upward of their own accord.

‘As expected!’

A trait that had not existed before had appeared. Another EX-rank, just like the skill.

At first glance the description did not seem to justify EX-rank status. Then realization struck.

‘This ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠is why I remember my previous life.’

If so, it was worthy of EX-rank. Without the memory of his previous life, the past him and the present him would be entirely different people.

‘EX-rank trait, EX-rank skill, and regression. Insane rewards.’

He could not suppress his smile. All of these rewards existed for his sake.

Until now, no matter how exceptional a supporter he was, he could never become the protagonist. He could only ever be the supporting character who made the protagonist shine. But not anymore.

‘Besides, with the Levy skill, I no longer need to fear betrayal.’

He could simply take their skills away using the Grace Points they had accumulated before betraying him. That was the correct answer. What was the point of raising them to S-rank if he could never be certain they would follow his orders or risk their lives for him? It would be better to fight himself—by levying the power they possessed.

‘I won’t end as a Kingmaker like last time. This life, I can be the protagonist.’

Yet raising innocent people only to steal their traits and skills would weigh on his conscience. So who should he raise? He simply needed to choose someone it was acceptable to take from. And that person had just stepped onto the testing platform.

This was the decisive reason he had stayed behind instead of leaving the exam site.

—Examinee 266, please begin.

A man with curly hair and thick glasses, holding a mage’s robe and staff, looked like the very embodiment of the word “timid.”

“C-can I start? Is it okay to start?”

“Yes, you may begin.”

The man cast Fireball, a standard offensive spell. His score was two points—far too low for a mage. His casting time had been excessively long. Yet this was exactly the man Chae Mu-jin had been looking for. Someone he could raise without any guilt.

On the surface he appeared to be a mediocre mage, but that was a deception. In three years he would become the worst villain in Korea, known as the Murder Association President—Kim Yeo-ul.

Just as Chae Mu-jin ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠moved toward the dejected man who had received a low score, an unexpected person blocked his path.

“Could we talk for a moment?”