An Indescribable Existence
"That's peculiar."
The on-duty ER doctor tilted his head, glancing back and forth between the chart and my face. "We've run full-body CT, MRI, blood tests—everything. Not a bruise, not even a scratch. Your clothes are soaked in blood, but your body's as clean as if you just woke up from a nap."
"W-well, I guess I got lucky..."
"Luck doesn't let you walk away unscathed from a truck collision. Medically speaking, this is inexplicable."
The doctor looked utterly unconvinced. Anxiety started creeping in. If they decided on more tests, I'd be stuck here. Time to pull out my prepared excuse.
"Doctor, actually... right before the crash, this light came out of my body. I think I awakened."
"Awakened?" His eyes widened behind his glasses. "Hmm. In the early stages of awakening, physical abilities can surge dramatically, or strange phenomena can occur..."
He still seemed skeptical but didn't press further. Awakenings were inherently beyond medicine or science anyway.
"Alright, noted. Still, just in case, stay admitted for a day to monitor. Concussion symptoms can be delayed..."
"No, I'm really fine. My place is right around the corner—I'll rest there."
"Sir, going home in this condition could be risky."
The doctor tried to dissuade me, but I pushed past the payment counter and out of the ER. The bill was one thing, but lingering here risked someone noticing the anomaly in my body.
I was human. But dying and coming back? That was beyond ordinary humanity.
Back home, I stripped off the bloodied clothes and stood under the shower. My reflection in the mirror was unfamiliarly pristine. No—if anything, my skin looked better.
Ghost Story Merchant...
I finished showering and perched on the edge of my narrow studio bed. My mind was a whirlwind.
By Korean law, awakeners had to register with the Hunter Association. Unregistered ones were managed as potential criminals.
The problem was my power.
What do I even put for abilities on the form? 'Occupation: Ghost Story Merchant. Power: Sell ghost stories to monsters to ramp up dungeon difficulty, gain lifespan in return.' Yeah, that's the mark of a lunatic. No—a traitor to humanity.
If word got out, the Association would crucify me. I'd be branded a "monster collaborator" or "maniac" and plastered on wanted posters.
Hunters already despised monsters. Dealing with them? Instant enemy of the state.
Absolutely not. If they find out, I'm done.
I was just an average Joe. No hero fantasies, no desire to be humanity's public enemy. I just wanted to live quietly, long and thin.
But no registration means no hunter license. No license means no dungeons.
Dilemma. To gain lifespan, I needed dungeons and monsters. Legally entering required a license. License required revealing my power. Revealing it meant death.
"Ha... what the hell am I supposed to do?"
Clutching my head, my gaze drifted to one power in particular.
Language...
I swallowed hard. Comprehend and speak all languages.
Why reveal I'm a merchant? I could pass as a language-type awakener.
Rare, but not nonexistent. They decoded ancient dungeon scripts or runes. Low combat value, ignored by most, but valued in academia or government.
But they couldn't talk to monsters. No precedent in history.
That's why I have to hide it even more.
Hide the monster-talking part, pose as a gifted interpreter with sharp intuition.
Non-combat support. Specialty: language interpretation.
Perfect. No one would peg me as a dangerous ghost story peddler to monsters. Just a chatty, powerless supporter.
The truck accident's a snag, though...
Language awakeners don't shrug off trucks. But I'd left the hospital, and the scene was a mess anyway. Victim card.
"No idea? I just woke up fine?" Deny, deny. No one digs deep into freak accidents. Cops wouldn't bother.
Good. Decision made.
I clenched my fist. This power was an incomprehensible realm humans couldn't grasp. Hide it thoroughly.
Head to the Association at dawn. Register boldly, get my legal dungeon pass. Then, secretly deal with monsters on the side.
The double life began.
Hunter Association main lobby. A place I'd only seen on TV. Vaulted ceiling, polished marble floor mirror-smooth. Holographic news tickers and rankings floated in the air.
"Whoa..."
My jaw dropped involuntarily. Worlds away from scanning convenience store barcodes.
Gawking up at the massive chandelier, lost in it—
"Pfft. Check it out. Total country bumpkin."
"Fresh off the farm? Look at that gaping mouth."
Giggling from behind. A couple hunters in flashy gear passed, smirking openly.
Ah...
Face burning. Mortified. I'm from Seoul, damn it. Just first time here.
But no guts to snap back. They were pros; I was a rookie registrant.
I snapped my mouth shut, ducked my head. Fussed with my clothes as cover, scurried to the reception and testing area.
"Next! Number 13!"
The waiting room buzzed with tension and grumbles. I sat in a corner, watching entrants emerge.
The door burst open. A mountain of a man stormed out, face twisted.
"This has to be a glitch! Retest! Retest, I said!"
"Results are accurate. Please leave."
"Hey! How am I F-rank? Something's wrong!"
He ranted at the attendant, dragged off by security.
Others followed suit—disappointed, protesting.
All dreaming big.
Awakening meant reversal, but most were F or E grunts. S-rank? Tougher than lotto jackpot.
Calmed me. No ambitions for combat rank. Low was better—invisible.
"Han Suho? Han Suho, come in."
My name jolted me. "Yes! Coming!"
I shot up. Eyes flicked over, dismissed as nobody. Gulped, entered the testing room.
All white. Like an SF lab. Center: massive cylindrical machine, glass-and-metal pod taller than me.
"Step inside."
White-coated tech pointed. I shuffled forward.
"Just... stand?"
"Yes. Auto mana scan. Don't move."
Glass door hissed open. Tight fit for one. Claustrophobic.
Coffin vibes.
Sinister thought it'd seal me forever. No choice. Stepped in gingerly.
Whirr. Door sealed. Silence. Heart raced in the enclosure.
Won't detect my true nature, right? Ghost Story Merchant? Died and revived?
Anxiety bubbled. Could tech pierce supernatural ghost stories?
Red light? Alarm?
Hum. Vibration. Blue laser rained from above, sweeping head to toe.
In progress...
Mechanical voice in my ear. Froze rigid, breath held. Please, just normal.
Hiss. Door opened.
"Measurement complete. Exit."
Exhaled explosively. Legs wobbled out.
Tech ripped a sheet from the printer, handed it over.
"Results."
Trembling hands took it.
All Fs. Like a report card that'd earn a spanking. Laughed bitterly at my awakener rank.
...As expected.
Mulled it over. Regular hunters used mana. Machine measured that.
But mine? Ghost stories—alien power source. No mana? Just a normie to it.
Lucky break.
High rank would've drawn eyes. F: useless, overlooked. Perfect camouflage.
"Hey, got your results? Move along—line's backing up."
Tech snapped me out. "Head to reception for ID. Have a good one."
"Ah, yes. You too."
Bowed lightly, exited to lobby reception. Took a number, waited. My turn.
"New registration? Fill this out."
Awakener Registration Form. Pen in hand: name, ID, address... Key field.
Abilities
Specialty: Language Interpretation
Details: Can understand and speak languages.
Pause, swallow, wrote my cover.
"Done."
Attendant skimmed. Saw "language interpretation," shrugged indifferently, stamped.
"Non-combat. Processed."
"Uh... license right away?"
"No. Background check and admin: 2-3 days. Text notification. Bring ID then."
"Got it. Thanks."
Bowed, left. Anticlimactic. No suspicions, machine blind to truth.
Official Korean F-rank Hunter.
Outside, afternoon sun dazzled. Shaded eyes, scanned the street. Bustling crowds, ordinary buildings. Peaceful Seoul facade.
2-3 days...
License in hand, move fast. Six days left. No time to waste.
Pulled out smartphone. Hunter app on. First search: dungeon locations.
Open dungeons I could hit. Crucial: ones with talkative customers.
No brute muscleheads. Intelligent, dungeon-weary, hunter-harassed clients.
Thumb flew across screen. Hunting my lifeline's first deal.