Packing Up
I immediately pull out my smartphone and log into Hunter Net, Korea's largest hunter community. Unlike usual, the board's atmosphere is far from normal.
Every thread is buzzing about anomalies. I click on the one with the highest views, labeled [Quality Post].
Guys, got the facts straight from a connection at the Association. Here's the summary on the spatial distortions popping up nationwide.
The Association Chairman called an emergency meeting and finalized the name and response manual.
1. Official Name: Ghost Story. Up until now, we've lumped them under 'anomalies,' but from here on out, the official term is Ghost Story. Those scary urban legends we've all heard about? They're manifesting for real.
2. Dedicated Department Created. Old methods aren't cutting it, so they've set up the Anomaly Management Team directly under the Association. Not picking brute-force types, going for quick thinkers with guts.
3. ★Most Important★ The key to conquering them is 'rules.' Don't go charging in relying on raw power like always. Ghost stories aren't like monsters. Try to smash them with half-assed force, and you're just dead meat. The strategy is simple: follow the 'rules.' Stuff like 'don't look back' or 'don't respond.' Ignore them and rush in? You'll be begging for death. Those things don't kill us easily.
After reading the post, I scroll down. The comments section is already a warzone.
Browsing the community further, I can really feel how much the world has changed.
"......Hah."
A hollow laugh escapes me. Steel Tiger's one of the top five tankers out there. The guy who could tank A-rank monster hits barehanded is dead.
But no news of S-rank hunters dying. Instead, the headlines are all about S-ranks smashing ghost stories with pure force.
S-ranks, as expected.
Monsters who can take on armies solo. In front of human nukes, even ghost stories can't flex.
[Hmph. No matter how strong S-rank hunters are.]
A mocking voice scrapes in my ear.
[That's just because it was a 'small fry' ghost story. If it was high-grade? Even an S-rank wouldn't stand a chance. Rules are a higher concept than 'strength.']
Not a lie. A D-rank ghost story already mulched a B-rank hunter squad—who knows how strong higher ones are.
And crucially, S-ranks are rare. Only about 30 worldwide, kings of their nations. Korea has just one, so unless it's a real crisis, they won't step in.
Lure in some hunters, reel 'em in bit by bit to fill my lifespan quota, farm high-grade ghost stories too...
I pause mid-thought.
"......Huh?"
Why am I defaulting to killing hunters? Murder's wrong, yet I've already concluded it'll happen.
Why?
As the question hits, the voice rumbles low.
[Humans are selfish beasts by nature. No room for morals when your lifespan's on the line. You're on the right track.]
...Is that so. Not sure. But yeah, my life matters more than strangers'. I'm no saint sacrificing for randos.
"My nose is numb—ain't worrying about others."
First, survive. That's the only truth.
I stare past the roadblock. About thirty hunters head toward the shimmering spatial distortion.
"Woooah!"
"Hunters! Fighting!"
"Please solve it!"
Crowds behind the line cheer them on like heroes. The hunters wave back, striding into the rift like triumphant generals.
I lean against a streetlamp, checking the time.
Wonder how long they'll last.
1 hour.
2 hours.
No sign of the rift fading. Then, at 2 hours 20 minutes, the haze clears like a lie, space normalizing.
"Huh? They came out!"
Someone in the crowd yells. But cheers die in a second.
"Gaaahhh!"
"H-help... my leg! Where's my leg?!"
The emerging hunters are no heroes. Blood-soaked is standard; some missing arms, others half their faces.
"Kyaaak!"
"I-is that guts?!"
"Don't look! Cover the kids' eyes!"
The street fills with screams and vomit. Half the entry team vanished without a trace. Survivors crawl in terror, babbling nonsense.
In the chaos, I spot those shamans from earlier. Their vibrant robes are rags; the right arm clutching the fan is torn off at the shoulder.
Pathetic.
I click my tongue.
High-rank hunters might handle it, but mid-tiers? Ghost stories are a disaster.
[Don't freak out. The 'stories' instinctively like you.]
[Unless you flip their table first, they'll treat you like a 'guest.']
Good to know.
[Don't get cocky, though. Some like you too much.]
What's wrong with liking me?
[Some love you so much they wanna peel off your human skin and rebirth you like them. To be together forever, y'know.]
"......"
Chills run up my arm at that. Love by flaying? No thanks.
Really don't wanna enter ghost stories.
Can't I just live normally? No choice—skip 'em, and my lifespan hits zero.
[Wasting time on pity? How about something productive?]
Right. Study up on hunters, hit the gym, build this body.
Awakened hunter bodies differ from normals. Even F-rank, mana circuits supercharge metabolism. One hour running equals a normal's two; muscle gains like on steroids.
Max out gains short-term.
I stand still, gazing at the wreckage, lost in thought.
Wonder if I'll pass the exam...
Applied, but no guarantees. Better a quick rejection notice if not.
Then, my pocket buzzes wildly with a ringtone.
Who?
Screen says 'Landlady.' I clear my throat and answer cautiously.
"Yes, ma'am. Hello."
"Oh, Suho. Where are you now?"
"Outside. What's up?"
"Perfect. Grab some boxes on your way back."
"Boxes?"
"Gotta pack. You're moving out."
I doubt my ears. Eviction?
"Wait, what? Contract's got half a year left."
"Ugh, my son's business tanked—building's up for auction! I'm broke! Deposit later—just get out!"
One-sided. I speak calmly.
"Ma'am. Sounds like you're planning to skip town."
"W-what? Skip?!"
"Report you as bad debt to Hunter Association? Accounts freeze, travel ban instant. F-rank hunter here—I can file."
"......!"
A gasp over the line.
"Giving you 5 minutes. Deposit 5 mil to my account, or straight to legal team."
"Y-you little snake... Fine! Sending it!"
Click. Line dead.
Then, the alert.
5,000,000 won (Kim Mal-ja)
"Ha......"
I laugh emptily, staring at the sky.
Boss, lost my place.
[Gonna get revenge?]
Revenge? I'm no psycho.
I shake my head, pocket the phone.
Actually, worked out fine.
[Oh?]
Merchant gig means wandering anyway. Why tie up cash in rent? Barely any stuff—feels freeing.
Thinking positive.
5 mil cash? Buy gear and consumables now. Not bad.
As I step off, a thought hits.
Hey boss, speaking of...
[What.]
Any stories on my building?
[......None. Why ask?]
Just curious.
Silence. Then, an incredulous voice.
[Heh, crazy bastard.]
......Outta nowhere?
Wanna argue, but smells like another fact-slap. I shut up and head home.
Anyway, gotta pack.