After the Nemesis battle, I only heard about Gong Gyeong-min’s movements indirectly.

Apparently, Gong Gyeong-min has given up all real authority and is now secluded in an outer school building, accompanied only by a few loyal followers.

No one knows what he’s planning or thinking—but one thing’s for sure: he’s up to something.

“About Senior Gong. Why is he using so much electricity? I heard he’s guzzling power like a hippo even though there’s only five people over there. It got so bad that the power department begged me to do something about it. You pureblood Jeju line folks really do have some pull. Still, since you’re on good terms with him, can’t you say something? Just tell him to stop using so damn much electricity.”

That was a request Commissioner Kim Daram made to me about two weeks ago.

I ignored it.

I usually ignore Kim Daram’s requests.

And now, that very Gong Gyeong-min reached out to me directly.

Even though the outskirts were technically outside the city, the area was secured, so I went to meet Gong Gyeong-min alone.

The buildings standing gloomily on both sides of the neatly cleared road looked like abandoned ruins at first glance, but people like Defender had thoroughly combed through every room and cleared out all traces of danger.

In the distance, I spotted the school building.

Looked like a high school.

I didn’t realize it when I was here before, but according to Kim Daram, this place used to be part of what they called the “Gangnam 8 School District,” one of South Korea’s prestigious zones.

Even among the heavily war-damaged Gangnam districts, this particular area had suffered relatively little, so the school building still retained much of its prewar structure. Though there were some additions that hadn’t been there before the war.

Like the security post towering above the wall.

“Affiliation?”

As I approached, a speaker asked for identification.

I gave a vague answer and entered the building.

“This way.”

The moment I stepped inside, the first thing I felt was the cold.

The inside of the building was unnaturally chilly.

I looked up at the ceiling.

Newly installed central air conditioning units lined the long hallway from end to end, blasting cold air every 15 meters.

Just like before, Gong Gyeong-min was in the principal’s office.

The office was fairly spacious, but so crammed with furniture it felt cramped. Sitting at the principal’s desk with his back to the central wall, chin resting on his hand, mouth covered, Gong Gyeong-min stared at me with indifferent eyes.

“Park Gyu.”

He called my name.

Listless voice.

I plopped down carelessly into the guest chair in front of him.

Gong Gyeong-min got up and gestured, asking what I wanted to drink.

“Cold water’s fine.”

He opened the fridge, poured some cold water himself, and handed me a cup.

I felt mildly offended there was no tray, but—he’s a fellow classmate.

I accepted the glass without fuss and took a sip.

A faint taste of lemon.

“Alright then.”

Gong Gyeong-min sat across from me and started the conversation.

His sharp gaze pierced into my face.

“You’re looking good.”

“I try not to get stressed.”

“Staying stress-free. Yeah, stress is the root of all illness.”

I savored another sip of lemon water.

“Why’d you call me here?”

Gong Gyeong-min sighed.

“You know Jeon Si-hoon, right?”

“Of course. I was the one who brought him to Jeju.”

“...His head’s gotten too big. I expected some change, but he’s gone too far.”

I remembered Jeon Si-hoon entering the command center.

Also remembered the defiant look in his eyes when he looked at me.

People always change, but there are only a few key moments when that change takes root.

When they gain power—or when they’re ruined.

That’s when they stop being who they used to be.

Jeon Si-hoon, clearly, was the former.

I recalled the last time I saw him.

Back then, he acted like an outsider disillusioned by the state of things.

He was part of Kang Han-min’s honor guard, but didn’t seem to respect Kang Han-min at all.

“That guy wiped out the latest monster wave, apparently.”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to talk about.”

Gong Gyeong-min adjusted his posture.

There was no need to worry about eavesdropping, but out of habit, he looked around the room and then lowered his voice.

“That bastard’s got delusions of grandeur.”

Delusions, huh.

What, planning to reenact a time-honored Korean folk ritual? A power grab, maybe?

“So what exactly is going on?”

I asked calmly.

“Kang Han-min, at this point, is presumed missing. Nothing’s confirmed, but he’s out of contact. He vanished around the time you went to see Jeong Dae-kyung.”

“He’s the one who sent me to Gyeongju.”

“Kang Han-min’s faction is based on this weird belief that just being near him makes you safe. It’s practically a cult.”

“I’ve thought the same.”

“Well, that illusion of safety—Kang Han-min—is gone. You wouldn’t know, but that so-called ‘Kang Han-min cult’ isn’t all that cohesive. There are true believers, but also plenty who just stuck around because they had no better options. You were in that team; you know Kang Han-min’s not exactly leadership material.”

The faces of Moon Yang-gyeong, who’s now out of contact, and the others left behind in Shangri-La flashed across my mind.

It didn’t look like a particularly tight-knit group.

There were probably zealots like Yoo Yang-seo, who worshiped Kang Han-min, but others—just like Gong Gyeong-min said—might’ve stayed simply because they had nowhere else to go.

“Jeon Si-hoon was kind of the de facto leader of the outsiders. He never showed ambition and always acted like he didn’t want to be involved, so we just let him be—but ever since you took down that Nemesis type, he’s started changing.”

“By ‘his head’s gotten big,’ is that what you mean?”

Gong Gyeong-min shook his head.

“No. He’s going around saying weird shit.”

“Like what?”

Gong Gyeong-min pulled up his phone and showed me the screen.

It was footage—apparently secretly recorded—of an indoor facility I couldn’t identify.

A group of people, dozens of them in Gore-Tex uniforms, were facing forward with their backs to the camera, watching a man in the spotlight standing at a podium, speaking calmly.

“Why should we be treated like monsters? Why should we bow our heads to these half-awakened failures who can’t even trigger a ripple? Haven’t you all thought that something’s wrong?”

The video quality was fuzzy, so I couldn’t make out the man’s face—but the voice was unmistakably Jeon Si-hoon’s.

“All this time, we put our own collars around our necks. How stupid is that? Korean culture, obsessed with reading the room, gaslighted us. You all know by now that once Moon Yang-gyeong went to Gyeongju, she’s been treated like a slave by that tin can.”

Jeon Si-hoon’s voice began to rise.

“What’s the difference between us and those poor kids now? We’re the Awakened—the ones with the power to protect the world. So why are all the good things hoarded by the tin cans and the half-finished flops? The ones with no power, no contribution, no will to fight?”

The audience began murmuring.

Jeon Si-hoon glared at them and growled.

“You have to protect your own damn plate. No one else is going to do it for you.”

The video ended there.

With a hardened expression, Gong Gyeong-min said:

“That bastard’s inciting them. He’s stoking elitism, trying to break the political neutrality that’s existed among Awakened since Kang Han-min’s time—and make a power grab.”

“...That’s horrifying.”

Ever since the Awakened pushed out us Old-School Hunters, they’ve always been treated as national heroes—but at the same time, they’ve been under even harsher government surveillance than we ever were.

And for good reason: unlike us, who are basically just enhanced civilians, the Awakened possess real power.

Power that transcends race and borders. Power that makes them fundamentally different from us.

If the Awakened start acting as a group, it’d send chills down the spine of any government.

Especially now, with the state’s power weakened—the impact would be far worse than those old work slowdowns by a few elite Awakened in the Seoul government.

“...So why did you call me?”

I stared at Gong Gyeong-min and asked.

He let out a deep sigh.

“You’re kind of familiar with the guy, aren’t you?”

What, he wants me to sit down and hash things out with Jeon Si-hoon?

I don’t know about that.

I wasn’t convinced it would work.

As I stayed silent, Gong Gyeong-min added one more thing.

“You’re close with Min-hee, too.”

I looked him straight in the eye and said flatly:

“Leave her out of it.”

Not like me—but I said it with real emotion.

Like a longtime comrade, Gong Gyeong-min picked up on it and held his tongue.

I stood up.

“...I’ll think about it, but I don’t have any way to deal with this.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Gong Gyeong-min slowly walked back to his desk.

“Either way, I brought it up out of desperation. The real point is, this is something you needed to know.”

“...”

The cold air pressing in around us suddenly felt sharper against my skin.

“By the way, why the hell is it so cold in here?”

Gong Gyeong-min gave a dry chuckle.

“I’m sensitive to heat.”

That’s probably not it.

This is the same guy who used to walk around the humid Chinese mainland wearing long sleeves like it was nothing.

There’s likely another reason for the cold.

But that’s not something to dwell on now.

Once again, I felt the unbridgeable gap between us—and left the room.

*

I accessed the internet.

The first place I logged into was Viva! Apocalypse!.

As of now, Viva! Apocalypse! has degenerated into a military network solely for the U.S. government’s internal communication, but I still have it set as my main portal.

Inconvenient as it is, it’s still my hometown.

I skimmed over the deserted, graveyard-like message board, then switched to a different site.

[ Welcome to Viva! Fox! ]

Unlike the ghost-town that Viva! Apocalypse! had become, Viva! Fox! was bustling with posts and users.

I felt a sudden urge to check the popular threads—but instead, I first visited the “Old Board,” a replica of our original message board.

I checked the number of lanterns.

Still 52.

So far, looks like everyone’s still alive.

Next, I clicked on user search.

I typed in a familiar nickname.

[ CrunchRoll ]

There it was.

King’s nickname.

I clicked it, and several menu options popped up.

From them, I selected the "Send Message" function and typed:

SKELTON: King. Mind if I ask you something?

I sent the message and waited for a reply.

Though we’re close internet friends, he’s also the ruler of a city.

He could be tied up in meetings, inspections, or other political affairs, which might delay his response.

It’s true that King’s city is stabilizing and growing by absorbing those the Seoul government couldn’t take in—but sudden population surges always carry the risk of sudden collapse, too.

Word is, a large number of fanatics from around Seoul have swarmed in over there as well.

With no way to know when he’ll respond, I returned to the main board.

Might as well kill some time and pick up some info by browsing the popular threads.

“...Hmph.”

The first post already annoyed me.

CharismaHamster: (Discussion) SKELTON VS Jeon Si-hoon

Another damn “VS match” thread.

No matter how much of a mythic user I might be, I’ll never understand why my name ends up in so many of these dumb “who’s the strongest” debates.

I’m a legendary Hunter, sure—but at the end of the day, I’m still just a regular human.

Constantly pitting me against Awakened like it’s a fair fight—how shameless can people be?

Still, I clicked the offending post, once again cast as the sacrificial lamb of another VS showdown.

The content wasn’t much.

CharismaHamster: Skelton, the savior of Seoul. And now Jeon Si-hoon, who saved it again. Who’s really a step above?

According to Hong Da-jeong, this type of post doesn’t require any writing skill, originality, or talent.

She says losers with nothing better to say just toss out a VS match and ride it straight to the top of the popular board.

In the end, it’s the flood of comments that keeps garbage like this alive.

This one had already racked up hundreds of replies.

“...”

The opinions were split fifty-fifty.

Some defended Skelton. Others insisted Jeon Si-hoon was better. Each camp argued from its own perspective.

Surprisingly, the discussion quality was high.

Maybe the idiots all got killed off in the last battle?

But one particular bastard’s comment really got under my skin.

ㅁㅁ: Skelton’s only highly rated because of sheer luck. Sure, Kang Han-min’s faction didn’t join the fight, but that was for a specific reason. Turns out there was another wave coming from a different direction we didn’t know about. And there were five monsters just like the one Skelton killed.

Some clown with a garbage nickname, “ㅁㅁ,” was spouting nonsense.

If you’re gonna wear the mask of anonymity, at least go with “ㅇㅇ” like a proper shitposter. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

The bastard posted again.

ㅁㅁ: If Jeon Si-hoon had gotten into the fight earlier, there wouldn’t have been any room for Skelton. Jeon Si-hoon’s an over-level-10 Awakened. Skelton’s just a tin can. How’s that even a comparison?

“Son of a bitch...?”

[ Would you like to log out? ]

One of Viva! Fox!’s features.

Even if you log out, it assigns a temporary IP so you can post anonymously.

In other words, you can go full anonymous mode.

“...”

Tatatatatatatatatatatak—

My godlike fingers, capable of nearly 1,000 keystrokes per minute, smashed the keyboard like a weapon.

ㅇㅇ: ? How would Jeon Si-hoon even get deployed? Nemesis—

“!”

Almost slipped up.

Better change that to “General-type.”

People still use the term “General-type” for Nemesis-class monsters, and the term “Nemesis” is mostly just used between us.

One wrong word could be all it takes to get traced—attention to detail is what makes a true internet veteran.

ㅇㅇ: ? How would Jeon Si-hoon even get deployed? There are tons of testimonies that Regular Awakened freeze up just being near a General-type.

Tatatatatak—

ㅇㅇ: Don’t you even know that the General-type’s resonance field causes psychological suppression in Regular Awakened? Writing bullshit like this without even knowing that?

I’m not bragging, but I’ve got a solid record in keyboard warfare.

Especially with my unrivaled typing speed—this is why I’m the undefeated keyboard warrior.

ㅁㅁ: Proof? Where’s your proof? Got anything official?

Of course. The classic demand for “facts.”

ㅇㅇ: Look it up yourself.

ㅁㅁ: So you think Skelton could beat Jeon Si-hoon?

ㅇㅇ: ?

ㅁㅁ: If they fought one-on-one, Jeon Si-hoon would splatter Skelton in one second. He’s over-level-10, Skelton’s a tin can. What’s to compare?

ㅇㅇ: Running out of arguments so now you’re just spewing nonsense? That’s hilarious.

I should’ve stopped there.

That would’ve been the mature move—but in this world, some insults just can’t be ignored.

ㅁㅁ: “That’s hilarious” my ass. What are you, some thirty-something loser?

“?”

ㅁㅁ: Middle-aged and still doing this crap? Wait, are you Skelton himself?

Now that—that couldn’t be ignored.

“...”

Tak tak

Time for some punishment.

ㅇㅇ: Your mom.

Normally, that’s enough.

People usually get the message and back off.

But...

ㅁㅁ: Scratch?

“...”

ㅇㅇ: Scratch?

An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth.

A flawless solution handed down from antiquity.

ㅁㅁ: Scratch?

Tak—

ㅇㅇ: Scratch?

Back then, I didn’t know.

That this would mark the beginning of a brutal war lasting until midnight.

ㅁㅁ: Scratch?

ㅇㅇ: Scratch?

ㅁㅁ: Scratch?

ㅇㅇ: Scratch?

ㅁㅁ: Scratch?

ㅇㅇ: Scratch?

ㅁㅁ: Scratch?

ㅇㅇ: Scratch?

...

...

As dawn approached, I logged in and checked my message inbox.

CrunchRoll: Oh, Skelton. Long time no see. So, what’s this thing you wanted to ask me about?

King had answered my call.

I guess all that keyboard-honor dueling wasn’t for nothing.

I went back to the infamous “Scratch?” battle post to check its status.

ㅁㅁ: Scratch?

Another one. He posted again.

“...”

Tak tak

SKELTON: Scratch?

“?!”

I felt the blood drain from my face and slammed the delete button.

[ Delete this post? ]

[ Your post has been deleted. ]

Heart pounding, I checked the thread for signs of fallout.

Thank god.

Looks like no one saw it.

“...Whew.”

I got triggered when he called me an old man, but I really can’t keep up like I used to.

Better get some proper sleep.

I’ve got to talk with King soon.

He might not know much about Jeon Si-hoon—but that cult girl he’s keeping around does.

She and Jeon Si-hoon go way back.

I’m hoping the answer lies ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) there.

ㅁㅁ: ?

I’ll ignore that final taunt from my rival, “ㅁㅁ.”