Tanghulu Lips and the Gods' Barrier
The heavy bathroom door swung open, releasing a burst of trapped steam that tangled with the cool living room air and scattered in white wisps.
The fishy, rotten blood stench from inside the gate that the elf had guided her through, mixed with the damp earth smell clinging from the elf forest.
Only after scrubbing away every last trace of that grime with scalding water did fresh air finally fill her lungs.
She threw on a loose short-sleeved tee and gray sweatpants.
With a towel draped over her head, she roughly tousled her hair with both hands.
Droplets from her long, water-soaked silver hair plinked onto the tile floor.
She was just crossing the living room toward her room when—
"Oh my, puppy! You rubbing your hair like that with a towel again?!"
Mom, who had been watching a variety show on the sofa, rushed over.
Her mom's hands snatched the towel off her head with irritated precision.
"I've told you a million times, your hair's so fine—rubbing it when it's wet damages it! Come here!"
"Nah, it'll dry if I just towel it off and sleep…"
Her excuse didn't make it out fully.
Grabbed by the scruff, she was dragged to the vanity's round stool.
Whiiirrr!
The hairdryer's fierce motor roared to life, its hot blast slamming into her scalp.
Mom's touch was meticulous.
Fingers combing through the silver strands from the roots, drying every inch of her scalp thoroughly.
She stared blankly at the silver locks fluttering in the wind, reflected in the mirror.
No energy left to resist.
"There, all dry. Now, skincare time."
The dryer clicked off, and Mom grabbed a glass bottle from the vanity.
She poured a generous glob of clear liquid into her palm and rubbed her hands together vigorously.
Then, without warning, lunged at her cheeks.
Smack! Slap!
Sharp impacts echoed around the vanity.
The cold lotion forced deep into her pores felt like an invasion.
Mom's snapping slaps to work it in rivaled the strikes of a hunter rolling in battle.
"Mom, I could just pump some all-in-one lotion and call it a day. This is such a hassle."
She grumbled in protest.
"Your skin's so pale and delicate—if I don't take care of it, it'll dry out in no time. Sit still."
Mom's pinching fingers on her face grew even fiercer.
Essence, nourishing cream.
With each step done, her cheeks, forehead, and nose tip were slathered slick and sticky without a gap.
Any more fussing and it'd be sheet mask next—she clamped her mouth shut obediently.
"Final touch. Your lips are chapped."
Mom twisted open a stick and swiped it across her lips.
A sweet, artificial cherry scent stabbed her nose.
In the mirror, her lips glistened a vibrant red. Tinted lip balm.
A brutal reality check shot up her spine, but she'd long since accepted her fate.
"All done? I'm heading out."
She hopped off the stool, stepping toward her room, when her eyes met Ha-eun's—she'd come to the kitchen for water.
"Whoa, bro, what the hell with your lips?"
The brat cackled, shoving right up to her face.
"Straight-up tanghulu vibes? Did you mesmerize those elves with those lips, oppa?"
"Scram."
She glared with ice-cold killing intent.
Reading the sincerity in her eyes, Ha-eun threw up her hands and backed off fast.
"Whoops, scary tanghulu unnie~ Aye aye, backing off~"
Brushing off the brat's annoying nasal whine, she bolted to her room.
Behind her, Ha-eun's howling laughter echoed down the hall: "Mom! You put lip gloss on bro? Hilarious AF!"
Only after locking the door tight did she exhale deeply.
She stood before the full-length mirror.
Skin gleaming with cream. Lips painted red.
Idly, she poked her cheek with her right hand.
"Pretty squishy, huh."
The odd springy give as her finger sank in.
No time to dwell—she had to sort the intel from today's field op first.
She flopped onto the bed and fished out her smartphone from her pocket.
She opened the exclusive messenger group chat for Korea's S-rank hunters.
Thumbs flying across the keyboard.
Hit send, and the unread 5 vanished as notifications exploded.
3 months??? Crazy long-lived bastards talking comfy lololol
Ugh -_- Stuck in meetings again. Good job, kid.
She scrolled past the S-ranks' rowdy reactions indifferently.
With that farewell, she flicked off the screen.
Tossed it by the pillow and yanked the blanket up to her chin.
Shoving the dimensional mysteries to her 3-months-from-now self, she closed her eyes and plunged into deep, sweet sleep.
The next day.
She rubbed her eyes awake to blinding sunlight, stretching to loosen stiff joints.
Grabbed the smartphone by her pillow.
Familiar logo in the notifications—alert for a new upload on her brat sister's YouTube channel.
A smirk tugged at her lips the instant she saw the thumbnail.
"Sucking up those views nice and sweet."
Views had blown past hundreds of thousands in hours.
She quietly sneered and opened the comments.
Confirmed her burner account login and popped up the keyboard.
Ha-eun would spot it was her instantly and flip out, of course.
Petty revenge done, she pocketed the phone and left her room.
Mom sat in the living room watching TV.
"Mom, heading out for a bit."
"Oh, up already? Eat first."
"Association meeting. I'll eat when I get back."
Unlocked the door and stepped out.
A cool breeze rushed in.
She wrapped her body in a thick mana barrier, gathered mana at her toes, and kicked off the air hard.
Flying across the city skyline of skyscrapers.
Destination: Hunter Association HQ.
Top floor. Association President's office.
Skipped the knock and pushed open the heavy soundproof door with mana.
Cigarette smoke and coffee stench hit her like a wall.
The lounge sofas were packed with Park Jin-cheol and all of Korea's S-rank hunters.
"Well, well! Our baby maknae showing up late for once!"
Baek Ho-young spotted her, stroking his bushy beard and guffawing.
His booming voice rattled the wide room.
"Sorry. Overslept."
Apologizing, she plopped into the empty one-seater next to Park So-jin.
The high seat left her feet dangling helplessly.
Park Jin-cheol at the head cleared his throat.
"Alright, everyone's here—down to business. Tae-ho, that stuff you posted in the chat yesterday."
The old man's bloodshot eyes flashed at her.
"Tell us more details on those 'gods' and the monsters slipping through the gaps."
She dove into the details from yesterday's cleanup with the elf captain inside the flesh blob gate.
"Not your standard monsters. Made of rotting meat chunks and tentacles, and their blood rapidly corrupts the ground. The real issue is their numbers."
She tapped the table with a finger to continue.
"Elves say their world's gods are reinforcing the dimensional rifts to block the main force. What's leaking out now is just low-tier scraps."
"So even those gods can't seal the gaps perfectly. Like a time bomb waiting to blow."
Seo Ji-hoon adjusted his glasses, adding his analysis.
"Alliance meeting in 3 months—we've got clear key questions: the barrier principles the gods are using, tech for dimensional repairs, and why they need Earth's knowledge and system."
Ryu Ji-hwan leaned back, his low voice chiming in.
"And whether those 'gods' are truly friendly to us. Can't blindly trust 'em."
Park So-jin crossed her arms irritably.
"Ugh, what a pain. Three months from now, politicians from every country will be stirring shit to get their spoons in. Can already picture the circus."
"Eh, whatever. Let the suits handle the brainwork—we smash heads of anyone in the way, and they'll fall in line."
Everyone let out small chuckles at Baek Ho-young's brute logic.
The meeting dragged an hour, nailing down response guidelines and a question list for three months out.
Heavy topics, but no urgent sword-drawing in the next few days.
"Eh, the headaches can wait for the tie-wearers."
She hopped down, stretching languidly.
Glancing around casually, she tossed out:
"You've all been grinding lately. How about drinks?"
The hunters' tense faces lit up at once.
"Hell yeah!"
Baek Ho-young laughed heartily, first to stand.
"Maknae's buying?"
"Yep. My treat—let's hit somewhere pricey."
Park So-jin and Ryu Ji-hwan rose too, faces eased of fatigue.
Dimensional crises and doomsday countdowns? Shoved into the booze for now.
Right now, only cool alcohol downing a parched throat mattered—the peaceful afterparty bliss.