121. Yeah, This is Makyung.

A rundown bar at the end of a dingy alley.

A lone customer pushed open the creaky door and stepped into the place, where not even the sign hung straight. He sat at the long bar where the bartender stood, drawing the attention of a man who had already been nursing his drink since midday.

"Hey, buddy, you're not from around here, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠are ya? The way you're eyeing the booze, you scream outsider."

"Who the hell would claim this shithole as home? Everyone in Sinuiju's just passing through anyway."

"Damn, touchy much? No dialect either—must be from Seoul, huh?"

"And you, speaking standard Korean like that? Sounds like you're not local either."

"Half the folks in Sinuiju came from somewhere else. Running from trouble, mostly."

"I'm not running from shit. Just back in my hometown after a long time."

"Hometown? You just said you're not from here."

"Not really. My parents had me here while they were evacuating. We left pretty quick after. Just saying where I was born."

"Still counts as coming home, though. Nobody around here ever comes back, even if they make it big. Not like salmon swimming upstream. Impressive. Here, lemme buy you one. Hey, waiter! Whiskey for my friend."

Like handing over a shot in an old Western saloon, the man slammed a glass onto the table, filling it with brown liquid.

"On the rocks."

"Nah, real men drink it straight."

"On the rocks."

"Jesus, what's with that? Can't wrap my head around guys who ice their whiskey."

The man eyed the customer as he finally added ice to his whiskey and took a sip.

"We met in a dump like this—fate or whatever. Name's Park Dae-man. You?"

"No Goo-sim."

"Old-school name. Peak hick vibes."

"You gonna keep yapping? Ruining my drink."

"Sorry, sorry. Just gets boring watching folks day-drink from this stool."

"Bored guy checking his watch every two seconds? Got a date? Just go. You're annoying."

"Just stuff I gotta confirm."

"What, waiting for the drugs to kick in?"

"!!"

No Goo-sim turned to stare at the man. A chill ran down the man's spine. Those weren't the eyes of the dazed guy from moments ago.

"Think nobody'd notice the Mabi-san in my drink? Thought this was an info broker joint. Human trafficking in broad daylight, in a bar no less. Selling captured hunters to the Chinese? Heard they got psychos over there dissecting 'em."

"You fuck—!"

The man reached for the dagger at his waist, but No Goo-sim was faster. He grabbed the man's head and smashed it face-first into the bar top.

Hammer-like thuds echoed as he pounded the head repeatedly, splintering the bar surface. The man's nose crumpled, front teeth shattering and flying into the air.

"Gahk!"

No Goo-sim yanked the man by the collar, dragging him into the empty hall before kneeing him in the gut. The man collapsed, vomiting up every drop of booze on his empty stomach.

"Been playing nice under the boss lately, and now every lowlife thinks they can fuck with me?"

No Goo-sim glared at the armed bartender. A passerby from outside had locked the door. The guy dozing at a hall table woke with cold eyes. More emerged from the bathroom, storeroom, and stairs—encircling No Goo-sim.

"Whew, that's more like it. Not even midsummer in the dead of winter. Been too long since I cracked some bastard skulls. You punks think you can take me? Hundred years too early."

"W-wait. Cough—hold on! N-not human trafficking. We are info brokers. Guys, drop the blades! Unless you wanna die."

The moment No Goo-sim drew a small knife that fit perfectly in his grip from his pocket, the man rolling in his own puke yelled desperately. The encircling hunters lowered their weapons and backed off.

No Goo-sim smirked.

"Quick on the uptake."

"You put that knife away too."

"For real, though? Info brokers. After drugging me?"

"An outsider hunter walks straight in? This ain't exactly prime real estate. Even with directions, folks get lost. Had to test you first, then question."

"Torture?"

"N-no! Just tie you up, check ID..."

"Whatever. Don't care if it's real or not. Wasn't here for blood anyway. Just buying info."

No ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Goo-sim grabbed a glass from the bar, dumped the booze on the floor, and shoved it at the awkward bartender.

"On the rocks."

The bartender hesitated. The man on the floor nodded at him. The bartender grabbed a different bottle from before, filling it with ice and liquor.

No Goo-sim downed the whiskey in one go.

"Got a job for you."

"Step into the back, sir."

"Nah. Who knows what's waiting."

"We don't pull that on customers."

"Didn't you just try?"

"Well, that was just..."

He tried to explain again, but swallowed his words amid the looping tension.

'Spotted the Mabi-san, faked drinking the whiskey, swung without thinking... Seasoned bastard. Moves like a high-rank hunter.'

The man realized No Goo-sim was cut from the same cloth—living by illegality and lawlessness as habit. Just a higher caliber.

"No Goo-sim your real name?"

"Said buy info, not dig into me."

"What info you need?"

"Sinuiju vibes, odds and ends."

"Gotta be more specific..."

"'Grand reopening' my ass—zero street smarts. That's why I came here, though."

Felt like a diss, but no room to snap back. No Goo-sim was spot-on.

'Targeted us on purpose. Knows we're new. Not riding opening hype—bad luck from jump.'

Meant he picked a weak info broker to avoid blowback. New shops had thin networks, no deep lines. No tailing this guy either, skill-wise.

'Using newbies means the info ain't top-tier.'

Stuff you could dig up with legwork. Saves time, sure.

Green as he was, the man could read that much.

"More precise terms, sir."

"Guilds running Sinuiju, hunter power plays, key players, recent drama. All rumors, incidents in the hunter scene. Local civvie sentiment too. Oh, and broker shit. Especially this Hyeon Jeong-geon guy. Runs a hole-in-the-wall called 'Anything You Order.' Stack his file thick. You get me?"

"Payment?"

"Know the drill—no cards, no transfers."

"Think I do this once? Here."

No Goo-sim tossed a thick envelope from his chest pocket.

Inside: spot-on price, no more, no less. Knew the street rates cold.

'Tricky amount—can't gouge. Banged-up vet, alright. Pro at this.'

No Goo-sim turned without looking back. He glared at the man blocking the door; the guy stepped aside. Halfway out, he said,

"Files on a computer. Address on the envelope. By tonight."

"Yes, sir. 9 PM delivery."

"Never thought I'd set foot in Sinuiju again in this lifetime. Writing Grandpa's name and all—what a mess."

Cheap motel on Sinuiju's outskirts.

No Goo-sim—no, No Song-rin—lay on the bed with its rusty springs squeaking, staring at the ceiling. In this sorry excuse for lodging, he pondered Sinuiju.

No memories, but his birthplace. Impression? One word: shit. Rough and wrecked, just like Grandpa and Dad described. Wondered why Kang Moo-hyuk sent him to scout info and vibes.

'Worse than back then. At least monsters made everyone equal.'

Now?

Hunters vs. civilians. Class gaps lingered ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like old caste systems. Even on the peninsula, South vs. North Koreans.

'Sinuiju bottles all that discrimination raw.'

Not just bias—worst in every way.

Roads cracked everywhere, sidewalks crumbling. Lights flipped randomly or dead. Cars over people; hunter accidents buried. Lampposts snapped or uprooted.

Infrastructure aside: beggars everywhere, pickpockets per block. Muggers bold with blades. Lawless hell. En route to the motel, No Song-rin dodged five wallet-grabbers.

Muggers stole people too. Slaves traded openly. Treated like livestock.

No decent schools or hospitals here. The one big hospital? Greedier than any hag. Most Sinuiju folk missed Korea's universal health coverage.

Rumors nailed it: Sinuiju was Korea's 'Agbogbloshie.' Ghana's infamous hellhole. Post-Great War, a top lawless death-trap. Not that bad, but irredeemable all the same.

Outsiders hushed it up. Easier to ignore.

Even the Korean gov washed hands. As long as rot stayed inside.

'Good thing they passed early. Seeing this'd depress 'em. Decent memories from evacuation days.'

No Song-rin's grandpa was ethnic Korean from Liaoning. Fled monsters south with family during the Great War.

No Song-rin born post-war in Sinuiju, brief childhood there. Never set foot in China, felt fully Korean.

But war stories from youth made Yalu River lands, Sinuiju, feel familiar.

Kang ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Moo-hyuk sniffed it out somehow, shipped him here like a ghost.

'Nah, would've sent me anyway. That's the boss.'

Prime pick for Sinuiju: no past to probe, fits perfect.

Realization hit: pierced through the nose again.

"Why do I feel like the boss's errand boy more every day?"

Grumbling to himself.

Knock knock!

No Song-rin's guard spiked to the ceiling. Leaning against the wall by the door, he murmured,

"Who's there."

No answer. Presence gone. Right hand gathering mana away from door, he eased the knob.

Empty hall. White envelope by his foot.

Recipient: the daytime info broker. Peek inside: USB drive.

"Punks had me worried as newbies. Decent kit, though."

Back inside, locked door. Pulled laptop from backpack, plugged in USB. Folders packed with files.

Opened a few, zipped docs, emailed Kang Moo-hyuk with a short note.

Post-send, something extra hit him; grabbed his smartphone.

"What? No signal?"

Antenna dead. Knew Sinuiju's wireless sucked—tried room phone: dead. Laptop internet cut too.

"Cliché as hell."

Karambit from pocket—

BAM!

Door exploded; masked thugs poured in. No Song-rin charged.

Lead thug faltered at the counterattack. No Song-rin palm-struck his face, blinding, then slit his neck artery.

Grabbed collapsing body by collar, hurled at followers. Charge slowed, lines broke. No Song-rin dove in: slashing, snapping arms, twisting necks.

Dozens down in seconds, but more flooded.

"Fuckin' human wave. Chinese?"

Backing up amid growing corpses narrowing space. No room fight left.

Mana surged; rammed windowless wall like a dump truck.

CRASH!

Concrete crumbled like sand. Outside, midair twist—5 stories, landed light.

Waiting:

"Groooar!"

"Yeah, now this is Makyung. Letting monsters roam the streets?"

Ogres—B-rank nightmare. Five of 'em.

'Korean monster tamers? Heard China has some.'

Not all. Presences in alleys. Some matching his rank.

"Some hometown hospitality. Can't take two rounds or I'm bone meal."

No Song-rin's face twisted fierce.

Kang Moo-hyuk left early for a Sinuiju day trip. Joo Se-ah, briefed, tagged along insisting.

"Sinuiju ain't a playground. Dangerous. I'm coming."

"Meet outside. Korean guilds watching—city forces won't exit. Contact's safe. No Song-rin's ahead; he'll link up. No worries."

Polite refusal, but Joo Se-ah shook head firm.

"Still sketchy outside borders. Sinuiju's Korean in name only—lawless inside. Who calls that Korea? Nope. I'll bodyguard. S-rank escort—be grateful."

Kang Moo-hyuk stared piercing.

"W-what?"

"Avoiding desk work?"

Caught.

"Paperwork's work too. Guildmaster dipping out now? Shit stops. Wanna stay, but gotta go."

"Not hating work. Just worried 'bout you. Sigh—fine. I'll hold the fort."

"Mind the guest hunters while I'm gone."

Handed off Seo Su-ji's crew, Yi Suk-young, etc. Threat unclear; lodged 'em in guild building on standby.

Thus rid of Joo Se-ah, Kang Moo-hyuk drove out North Pocheon freely, phoned somewhere.