Why Aren't You Afraid of Me?

The convenience store in front of the Awakened Association.

The night-shift worker was waiting to go home. It was that in-between hour when night tipped over into morning, the shift-change, and he killed the power on the fryer, checked the discard times, and gave the rack beside the register a halfhearted straighten.

All he had to do now was wait for the next part-timer to show up.

He was scrolling through hunter livestreams, picking something to watch once he got home, when the automatic doors slid open and a customer walked in.

Aww, and I was just about to catch a break...

The part-timer looked up — and froze.

"Whoa..."

Holy shit. She's insanely pretty.

He swallowed the rest of that thought along with a dry gulp. For a second he wondered if he was so tired he was seeing things.

Hair so light it was nearly blonde, and a strangely urgent look in her eyes. Contacts or not, he couldn't tell — but those gold irises, matching her hair, stood out even under the convenience store's fluorescent lights.

Can a person even be this pretty...?

Her features were so sharply defined they occupied her small face without leaving a single gap. She was too symmetrical, too beautiful — like one of those AI models flooding every ad and social feed these days. The healthy tan, the voluptuous figure — there wasn't a single thing out of place.

The woman glanced around once, then headed straight for the refrigerators.

The part-timer pretended to straighten the wet-wipe box on the counter, lifting his heels just enough to steal a better look at her through the gaps in the shelves. He didn't want to get caught staring and have her hate him for it. But letting a face like that walk by without looking felt like a crime. Even as those two impulses warred in his head, his eyes never left her.

The clothes suited her, too. A tight grey dress that clung to every line of her body — the kind of thing the internet called a Dongtan Dress, the infamous one from all those spicy photo sets. Face, body, whatever she put on — nothing about her looks would ever make clothes sit wrong.

The way she wore them, though, was strangely clumsy. She kept tugging the hem down whenever it rode up even a little, as if the skirt felt too short. Walk a few steps, tug it down. Ride up again, tug it down again. She looked like someone who didn't normally wear this kind of thing, who'd pulled it on in a hurry.

Her hair wasn't properly done, either. She'd clearly run a comb through it, but a few spots were mussed, like someone unused to the motion had just swept it down any which way. Looking closer, she barely had any makeup on. Wait — was she wearing none at all?

The part-timer was a guy, so he didn't know much about makeup. But he could tell the difference between eyes with liner and skin that had been evened out with foundation. It was like a woman who didn't normally dress up or wear makeup had, for some reason, forced herself into this outfit today.

Not that it didn't suit her. If anything, those clumsy little details ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠made him look even harder. Despite being that beautiful, she seemed like someone who never paid attention to her looks — and yet here she was, throwing everything she had at it. He could almost feel the effort. Whether that guess was right or not, the part-timer found the whole picture oddly endearing. She looked so wholesome, so at odds with a face like that, that he felt a flicker of fondness for her on that alone.

It was only after thinking that far that something felt off.

Have I always paid this much attention to other people?

The things he usually cared about were internet streamers, game characters, 2D girls from anime. That was about it. He'd never spent this long studying a real person's clothes, hair, and makeup. And still, he couldn't look away.

Pretending to tidy the wet-wipe box again, he peeked over the shelves.

The woman pulled out a carton of white milk and came toward the register. Up close, there was a small mole under her eye. He couldn't tell if it was drawn on or real, but his heart kicked up another gear anyway. He scanned the barcode and spoke quickly, trying to hide the tremor in his voice.

"That'll be 1,800 won."

She hurriedly held out her card. Before he could even ask if she needed a receipt, she took the milk and turned toward the trash can. She popped the lid and drank straight from the carton, no straw.

For some reason, the part-timer found the sight of it indecent. He was just watching someone drink milk. And yet it felt like something he shouldn't keep looking at.

In that moment, a drop of milk ran from the corner of her mouth, fell past her chin, and spread in a small stain across the front of her dress.

He jerked his eyes away. He lasted a few seconds before looking back.

As if other people's gazes didn't exist, the woman caught her breath for a moment and drained the rest of the milk.

He started jabbing at the empty POS screen for no reason. Who was she? Did she have a boyfriend? Was she an Awakened who'd come to the Association? The thoughts chased each other in a tail, but asking for her number never even occurred to him. Not because she was ugly or intimidating. She was so beautiful that someone like him didn't feel like he had the right to speak to her.

After finishing the milk, she turned her head toward the register on her way out. She gave a small bow.

"Have a good night."

The unexpected greeting made the part-timer snap upright, his voice cracking.

"Y-yes! You too...!"

Pretty face, pretty voice, and a kind heart on top of it. She'd only said goodbye once, and that was all it took. That was the conclusion he reached.

Once she was outside, he stared blankly through the glass doors at her receding figure. Her walk was awkward, too — like someone unused to heels, though not quite enough to fall. The doors closed. The convenience store went quiet again.

The part-timer stood there for a long time, hands on the counter. Then he looked at the payment that had just gone through.

One carton of white milk.

That, at least, brought a little reality back.

"Fuck, she's so goddamn pretty..."

Muttering that, he opened the internet, ready to tell this story the moment his replacement arrived.

Of course, not a single person believed a word of it.

So, I went to the Awakened Association. Wasn't much to it, honestly.

I'd expected the process to be complicated and the place to be packed. Senior Awakened hazing the newbies, getting up on a machine to measure combat power and skills — I'd been hoping for a little of that tired old hunter-novel plot, if I'm being honest.

What I actually did was take a number, fill out a medical questionnaire, sit through an aptitude test, pay a million won, and get a single shot. That was it.

The "aptitude test" didn't measure any special abilities, either. It was closer to a psych eval — checking whether you could kill a monster once you became a hunter, whether you could make sound decisions in a dangerous situation.

In most worlds that have Awakened, the awakening cliché splits into roughly three types. The system hands it to you. You just awaken out of nowhere, no explanation. Or you earn the power through training, study, or coming back from another world.

Awakening in this world was a little different. Awakening itself, apparently, was a vaccine side effect.

Saying it like that makes me sound like some anti-vax conspiracy nut, but that's genuinely how awakening works here. They discovered it during clinical trials for a Hair Loss Vaccine — a handful of people who got the shot developed superhuman abilities within two days as a side effect. And they still couldn't fix hair loss. Just how badly does this disease want to torment humanity?

The inoculation fee was a million won. So paying a million won, getting the vaccine, and coming home — that was the whole of today's work. They said you'd know within two days whether you'd awakened. If you did, you reported it to the Association yourself, got your abilities and combat aptitude assessed, and applied for a hunter activity permit.

A million won for a gacha with less than a 1% success rate is a bit steep. The only reason it's even this cheap is because the government subsidizes it. The company that made the vaccine jacked the price up like crazy. They're treated as humanity's hope for creating the Awakened, and at the same time as traitors who'd locked awakening behind a paywall.

Well, they claimed they'd merely raised the price of a hair loss vaccine that happened to have side effects... and that kind of bluff seemed to work, seeing as the company was a great American corporation. People said that vaccine monopoly was one of the reasons the United States still got to push around weaker nations in this world, too.

Anyway. I'd gone in expecting hazing from senior Awakened, a combat-power measurement, a skill assessment — all that — and I'd come back perfectly intact. If anything, the harder part had been pretending not to notice ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the blatant stares from the convenience store clerk I'd stopped in on, the taxi driver I'd ridden with, and the people I passed on the street.

Not that I didn't get it. I was pretty. A blonde beauty in a body-hugging Dongtan Dress, no less. If I passed someone like that on the street, I'd probably look twice myself.

But I've got an excuse for this one. The original owner of this body, Choi Hyejeong, was an island country girl — or maybe she was just born without a fashion bone in her body — and a certified fashion terrorist either way. That fashion sense had probably played its part in her lookbook content flopping. Thanks to that, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠her closet was nothing but comfy sweats or clothes used for ad shoots.

I couldn't exactly show up at the Awakened Association in a stretched-out t-shirt and sweatpants. So I'd picked this grey dress as the most presentable thing among the shoot clothes. The problem was, once I put it on and stepped outside, it was not presentable at all.

It clung to my body. The skirt was short. The hem rode up if I so much as walked, and I had to tug it down every few steps.

"This is so uncomfortable!"

Damn it. How do other women even walk around in this stuff?

At least it had been over quickly. When the apartment building came into view, I picked up my pace a little. I wanted to get inside and get this thing off first thing.

That was when my phone buzzed.

A text from the Agency Manager.

I checked the messages without breaking stride. Today was a day off, and it wasn't urgent, so I could reply tomorrow. What mattered right now wasn't the agency schedule. It was whether I'd awaken in two days.

If I actually became an Awakened in two days, I'd have options. Demand a contract revision from the agency, or hunt on the sly without those bastards knowing and pay off the debt first.

And if I didn't awaken? I'd... figure that out when I got there.

If this were a web novel's worst-case route, I'd fail to awaken, the debt would keep piling up, and eventually they'd tell me to pay with my body. Awaken, and it's a hunter story. Fail, and it's porn, or something like that...

So I'd think about it later. Worrying now wouldn't change anything.

I stuffed my phone back in my bag, pulled out the Association pamphlet instead, and stepped through the first-floor entrance of the apartment building. The pamphlet's contents weren't particularly complicated. It listed inoculation side effects like fever, indigestion, and nausea, along with the Awakened registration process and how to obtain a hunter activity permit.

All of which only meant anything if I awakened in the first place.

I hit the elevator call button and was about halfway through the pamphlet when a girl's voice came from beside me.

"Unnie, did you go to the Association?"

She was an adorable girl. A schoolgirl with a beautiful face, wearing such a warm, affectionate expression that it made your heart go soft all by itself.

Someone I know? This is exactly why I didn't want to go outside until I had a proper handle on things.

I turned my head and rifled through my memory. But when I'd checked the messengers and contacts, there hadn't been anyone who called Choi Hyejeong unnie. Running into her in the first-floor lobby, she was most likely a neighbor in the building. I smiled as naturally as I could.

"I just had something to take care of, so I stopped by for a bit."

The schoolgirl glanced down at the pamphlet in my hand. Then she smiled again.

"Unnie's an amazing hunter, so I guess you're always busy."

"Ahaha, yeah."

It was only after I'd answered that something felt off. The schoolgirl tilted her head slightly and stared up at me.

Why is she looking at me like that?

I kept the smile plastered on, for no good reason, and asked.

"Huh? Wh-what's wrong?"

In that instant, the schoolgirl's expression hardened.

One step.

She came toward me.

"Unnie, you're not really a hunter. Why would you answer like that?"

A chill ran down my spine.

What? What did I say wrong?

Choi Hyejeong barely knew anyone in Seoul. She hadn't even been in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the city half a year, and she'd never gone to any social gatherings. She wasn't the sociable type to begin with, so aside from people she was tied to through work, she hardly had anything you'd call a personal relationship.

And yet the schoolgirl in front of me had clocked that I was different from usual from a single reply. On top of that, she knew I wasn't really a hunter. There was nobody like this in the call logs, the texts, the messengers — not anywhere. So what the hell was going on!?

I had to salvage this, first.

"W-well, I am a hunter-lifestyle influencer, so..."

I smiled as warmly as I could. They say you can't spit in a smiling face, right?

But the schoolgirl didn't smile. She took another step closer and asked, in a low voice.

I didn't even know how I was supposed to respond anymore. What's this girl's problem? That look in her eyes isn't normal. What the hell does she want from me!?

"I-it's me. Choi Hyejeong. Why are you acting like this all of a sudden?"

The schoolgirl's eyes narrowed.

Oh, fuck.

I'm screwed.

So she wasn't a friend — she was an enemy?