They Want to Talk

Staring intently at the laptop screen by the bedside, an unknown intelligent being desires conversation. The scenery of Osaka on the display was eerily serene, almost unreal. It had been a full hour since the timer hit zero, yet not a single monster had emerged—no shadow, nothing. Picking up her smartphone, she hit the shortcut for the top contact.

The line connected after just two rings.

"Old man. You watching this?"

Park Jin-cheol's voice from the receiver sounded even more subdued than usual. In the background, the clamor of equipment and frantic shouts from researchers filtered through.

"No sign of it blowing at all. The mana density is actually stabilizing. This is what I think it is, right?"

The association president paused, then added as if he'd made up his mind.

"Got it. I'll loop in the others."

She ended the call and opened the group chat. The S-rank room was already flooded with hundreds of unread messages. She typed a single line.

The message switched to read almost instantly. She closed the laptop and gazed blankly at Seoul's nightscape out the window. Tomorrow would be far more exhausting than today, no doubt.

The air in the Blue House underground bunker felt much sharper than a few days ago upon her return. Security was ironclad from the entrance, and the agents bustling about had a razor-edged tension in their eyes. Pushing open the conference room door, she found the assembled S-ranks already seated in a heavy silence.

A stranger was organizing documents near the head of the table. No sign of the obsequious Choi Director from before.

"Hey, suit. Where's Choi Director? What's with you standing there?"

Baek Ho-young grumbled around a massive chunk of jerky.

The new government agent bowed deeply.

"Former Director Choi was dismissed yesterday after evidence surfaced of him receiving improper promises from the Japanese side and coercing the dispatch. Starting today, I'll be handling the briefing. Kim Manager."

"Dismissed? Hmm, smells like scapegoating. Minister okay?"

Kim Manager's face stiffened slightly at Baek Ho-young's jab. As the tension thickened, Baek Ho-young let out a booming laugh and clapped his shoulder.

"Hahaha! Minister's high up, so yeah. Just kidding, kidding. Why so serious? Chill out, man. Let's get to the briefing."

Kim Manager cleared his throat and fired up the screen. Precise analysis data from last night's Osaka Gate filled it entirely.

"Official government assessment: The Osaka Gate is confirmed as a permanent gate. Not a dungeon—a fixed passage linking our world to another."

"Japan doesn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠know yet. They still think it's a ticking time bomb and are quaking in fear. Thanks to suffering less damage during Gate Shock, Korea has amassed overwhelming data on monsters and gate structures compared to other nations. We've digitized it in a stable environment."

National self-interest and the information gap. Japan preps for doom while we eye the opportunities beyond.

"That's enough briefing. We need to talk among ourselves, so if you could step out."

Kim Manager bowed reluctantly with his agents and left as soon as she spoke. The heavy door thudded shut, and she extended thin threads of mana across her body—probing wall cracks, ceiling vents, under the table. Needle-sharp mana scoured for bugs.

"Clean. We can talk."

She crossed her arms, glancing at Park So-jin.

"Should we go? Or just sit tight?"

Seo Ji-hoon spoke first.

"I'm against. Permanent gate means even riskier. Their army could pour out anytime. No need to crawl in first and play bait. Japan gets eaten or not, we just shore up our defenses, right?"

Park So-jin shook her head too.

"Too little intel. Even from the footage, they're no pushovers. Charging in blind is suicide. No reason to bleed first on foreign soil."

The association president, who'd been listening silently, toyed with his teacup and spoke.

"I'm leaning yes. We can't make it vanish by ignoring it. Focus on them taking prisoners alive—means they're likely sentient, open to talk. First and maybe last chance to learn gate origins. We initiate contact, seize the initiative."

Pros and cons deadlocked, each argument ironclad. Voices rose in heated debate with no give, until the door burst open. Kim Manager rushed back in, pale as a ghost.

"Emergency! One of the Japanese vanguard hunters who vanished into the gate just walked out!"

The next morning, the survivor testimony—obtained through close negotiations with Japan and tightly held by the association and government—lay scattered before them as documents.

"Intel secured via tight negotiations with Japan. The returned survivor was unscathed, perfectly fine. Per his account, those long-eared beings... the elves are fundamentally unlike the monsters we know."

Kim Manager flipped pages rapidly.

"They didn't kill the hunters. Treated them with utmost care, housed them comfortably. Even info on Earthlings—long missing—living in villages there."

The room buzzed. Monsters healing and protecting humans? Park So-jin furrowed her brow at the absurdity.

"No way. So all the missing people are alive there?"

"They want dialogue, not invasion. With the path between worlds open, they seek official talks. They've messaged for Earth's representative to come to their forest."

A disbelieving chuckle escaped her.

"Brainwashing? Magic control? Maybe he ate weird ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠herbs and hallucinated."

Kim Manager adjusted his glasses calmly.

"Japanese appraisers confirmed—no mental interference traces. High chance it's genuine. Or that world really is paradise."

Silence fell. The gate's hell might actually be peaceful paradise. The association president pierced the core in a low voice.

"So, their 'Earth representative' criteria? UN Secretary-General?"

Kim Manager fumbled desperately through the pile, then stopped. His gaze shifted cautiously to her.

"They... the elves were clear. Send Earth's strongest. It's their civilization's courtesy."

Every eye in the room locked onto her. Park So-jin's worried gaze, Baek Ho-young's intrigued grin, the president's heavy stare.

"Hoo..."

A deep sigh scraped her lungs. The dream of a normal life felt distant. She pressed her throbbing brow hard with her fingers.

"This is straight-up exhausting. No alternatives but me, huh. Okay, got it—let's take a beat to think. My head hurts."

She hadn't expected "Earth's strongest" to weigh so heavy and annoying. Sinking into her chair, she closed her eyes. The situation was barreling down a set track.

"Hoo... From the info so far, elves don't seem dangerous, but..."

Opening her eyes, she scanned the room. All stared at her lips.

"First, head to Japan, talk direct to that 'survivor' or whatever. Ji-hoon's appraisal eye might pull more details."

Enlistment confirmed. Now, how to break it to the family.

"Gotta figure out what to tell the fam..."

Arriving late at the penthouse, she punched in the code. News blared from the living room as she entered. The family huddled on the sofa, glued to breaking coverage of the Osaka Gate survivor.

Sensing her, Mother turned—her eyes red-rimmed.

"You're going after all? You promised you wouldn't."

Her choked voice stabbed her chest. Striding over, she sat and wrapped an arm around Mother's shoulders. Her small frame made it look like Mother was holding her, but now wasn't the time to nitpick.

"No, Mom. Not going in yet. Just to Japan to hear out the guy who came back. Zero danger."

"News says everyone who goes in gets captured!"

"That's old info. Actually, they treated our people, cared for them well. No brainwashing—genuinely friendly."

Weaving in classified details sparingly, she reassured them as best she could. The family clung to her every word.

"For real? Oppa not lying?"

Ha-eun eyed her suspiciously. Nodding firmly, she finally drew deep relief sighs from them all. Exhaustion from worry etched their faces.

"Tonight... we all sleep together? Like old times, blankets in the living room, all four of us."

Father chuckled heartily at her sudden pitch and headed to the linen closet. Ignoring the penthouse master bedroom, they spread thick blankets in the living room and lay side by side. Mother gripped her left hand, Father her right. Ha-eun grumbled but settled near her feet.

"My puppy, no scary dreams—sleep deep."

Mother gently stroked her hair. Staring at the ceiling in the dark, she whispered low.

"Mom, you know I'm really strong. So don't worry. I'll be back quick."

"I know, our son's the best. But parents' hearts don't work that way."

Father patted her hand with his heavy palm. They chatted softly like before school trips—silly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tales of stealing Ha-eun's snacks as kids, to the time Mother tried dressing her new body in doll clothes calling it cute.

In her chronic-fatigue life, this was the most alien, warmest night. Tomorrow meant the front lines again, but for now, the silver-haired hero faded into a family's spoiled son, drifting into deep sleep.