There are exceptions like Dies_Irae, Dongtanmom, and Kim Daram, but humans are generally altruistic creatures.

Fairy tales and folklore are full of symbolic embodiments of this altruism.

The Seven Dwarfs from Snow White, the toad that blocked the hole in the jar for Kongjwi, Cinderella’s fairy godmother, and Puss in Boots, to name a few.

Today, I will join the ranks of those avatars of altruism.

Not out of pure goodwill.

I simply don’t want to see the boards I frequent devolve into something worse.

The sense of emptiness and loss I felt when our board, once teeming with life after the war, began to quiet day by day... I still feel it deep in my chest.

I won’t deny that a bit of arrogance is mixed in.

To be honest, someone like me—someone of my level—might be able to guide the life of a random, average individual onto a slightly better path.

That’s what I thought, anyway.

But the fairy life of Skelton hit a wall from the very beginning.

Foxgames: No, even I can’t identify users.

Turns out, it’s impossible to trace Jjinsangchi.

At first, I thought Foxgames was still holding a grudge and just being petty. But after hearing the explanation, I nodded in agreement.

Foxgames: It’s based on Necropolis, so there’s no helping it. Even I don’t fully understand how Necropolis works—it’s more of a mystery than a system. Trying to reverse-engineer it isn’t something you can just brute-force.

In the end, I’d have to put in the legwork myself.

Sure, I could try reaching out and talking directly, but that’s not how I envision a fairy’s role.

I’m not looking for anything in return. I don’t want recognition either.

I just want to improve the quality of life for a user I genuinely like.

So the problem returns to square one.

Observation—my favorite pastime.

First, I searched all of Jjinsangchi’s posts and compiled them to track his activities.

It wasn’t particularly difficult—I’ve done this plenty of times before.

It’s just time-consuming. But Cheon Young-jae had once taught me how to streamline data collection using A.I., and that came in handy.

After about four hours of investigation, I managed to gather solid intel on Jjinsangchi.

He was likely working in a light industrial complex near a river and living in a nearby two-story dormitory for single laborers.

The most decisive clue was a photo he posted of his meal.

Jjinsangchi: Today’s lunchhhhhh... (32)

He posted a photo of a pizza.

Well, “pizza,” technically.

It was one of those pre-war frozen pizzas with over half the cheese scraped off, all toppings removed, and in their place—some unidentifiable synthetic meat and frozen pineapple chips. The low-tier kind they used to hand out as special rations in the poorest sectors of Jeju—and which are now being served as special meals even in New Seoul.

According to other boards, that pizza is called “Birthday Pizza.”

As the name implies, it’s only handed out on birthdays.

With that, I’d identified about 90% of his trail.

He’s a laborer in an industrial zone.

And he recently had a birthday.

In the reflection of the stainless steel spoon next to that sorry excuse for a birthday pizza, I could tell he was wearing a long-sleeved gray shirt.

With that much information, finding him was trivial.

Thanks to Defender’s help, we narrowed it down to two possible individuals. Not long after, I found the real Jjinsangchi.

Name: Lee Jong-gyu.

Age: 28.

Jeju native.

Low-level Awakened.

His ability? “No Ability.”

Surprising, but that’s an actual classification within the low-tier Awakened.

Externally, the signs of awakening appear—but functionally, they exhibit no supernatural traits at all. That’s what defines “No Ability.”

Back when people knew even less about Rifts and waves, there were all sorts of theories that these people held some hidden secret—so they were treated as special even among the low-tier Awakened.

They were also rare in number.

But over the years, their evaluation plummeted.

Now they’re seen as just regular folks with a glint in their eyes.

“Oh. Yeah. Right. I’ll do it.”

Jjinsangchi—Lee Jong-gyu—works at a factory called Samil Precision, operating a forklift.

He gets the job done without complaint, but he tends to space out, and doesn’t get along well with others. He gives off the impression of someone out of sync with his surroundings.

We got that intel from an informant Defender planted inside the factory.

“He did go to the hospital—but it was for an anal fissure.”

“A fissure?”

“It’s a tear in the anus. He got a prescription. Even had surgery. It was performed by none other than Dr. Heo Jong-chul himself, the top surgeon at Capital Hospital.”

The informant added as if something else came to mind.

“Oh, and he doesn’t get along too well with his coworkers. Apparently, he’s being ostracized.”

“Ostracized?”

“Seems people found out he’s from Jeju. That industrial zone’s mostly filled with mainlanders, and when a Jeju guy shows up, there’s always this wariness and dislike. And once you’re assigned a job, the labor department doesn’t really help you transfer out—they don’t want more work on their plate.”

For just a regular informant, this guy had impressive spycraft.

It’s no wonder the urban cultists have been completely wiped out.

I found myself once again admiring my friend Defender’s capabilities as I watched Lee Jong-gyu from a distance.

A broad-shouldered man with patchy facial hair.

Sideburns—rare for a Korean—framed his face as he sat alone on a bench, eating his multi-grain rice ration while staring blankly up at the sky.

Across from him, his coworkers were chatting and enjoying their meal together.

He was clearly isolated.

Having confirmed this, I walked away.

*

There was an unexpected visitor at the office.

“Oh. Sunbae?”

It was Kim Daram.

I took a deep breath and composed my face.

When this woman shows up, it’s never for something good.

She only ever comes when she needs a favor.

“I brought rice cakes.”

“Rice cakes?”

“Yeah. You’re a citizen representative now, right? Bit late, I know, but I suddenly had a surplus of rice. And, well, you’ve... sort of tried your best, so I thought of you.”

“...Do you need something?”

“Nope. No favors. I’m not even doing monster hunting anymore, so why would I?”

I glanced at the cardboard box she’d placed on my desk.

Sure enough, steam was rising, carrying the sweet scent of glutinous rice cakes.

Cheon Young-jae was already scarfing them down, totally unbothered.

I signaled Cheon with my eyes, then turned back to Kim Daram.

“Why?”

She looked puzzled.

“...You really don’t need anything?”

“No! I just thought of you and dropped by. What do you take me for?”

I got a minor scolding.

“...”

Even while being lectured, I didn’t let go of my suspicions.

But what could I do?

She insisted she meant no harm.

If she does reveal her true intentions later, I’ll just collect interest on the favor.

“Seriously. Ever since you locked yourself up in that bunker, you’ve become so damn negative. That internet stuff must be messing with your head.”

“You use the internet too.”

“Huh?”

“The internet.”

“Oh? That? I only use it occasionally.”

“You don’t use it now?”

“I just post a thing or two. Doesn’t even take ten minutes a day.”

So you’re telling me the ten minutes of online activity you do manage to squeeze in just happen to be filled with posts that make my skin crawl?

Very on-brand behavior for Kim Daram—the school’s top sharpshooter.

Anyway, we smoothed things over, and since she’d once been my best partner, I asked about what she was up to lately.

“Well, I go around the district gathering citizen feedback, bring up complaints in meetings, and secure funding. Jeju folks still hold the purse strings for now, but they said they’d gradually start transferring control over to us.”

Then, in a lowered voice after glancing around, she added:

“You know they’re planning to leave the city, right?”

“I know.”

There was a time when Kim Daram had more intel than me, but those days seem to be over.

I picked up a rice cake and popped it into my mouth.

“Oh.”

It was good.

Chewy, with just the right amount of sweetness.

“How is it? Good?”

“Yeah. Thanks. But...”

“I told you, I don’t need anything.”

“Then I’m relieved.”

As Kim Daram’s face started showing signs of irritation, I finally let out a small sigh and asked:

“What do you think of Jeon Si-hoon?”

“Jeon Si-hoon? Oh, that Alpha Awakener everyone’s talking about?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s supposed to be the next Kang Han-min, right?”

I stared directly at her.

Her expression changed.

We may resent each other, but we’ve crossed death’s threshold together.

She asked with her eyes: What are you really trying to say? 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

“That guy. You’d better be careful around him.”

That’s the most serious warning I can give.

And Kim Daram is one of the few people who can understand my full intent from a single sentence.

“...Good thing I ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) brought the rice cakes.”

She was clearly shaken.

She didn’t even try to leave, just sat there quietly eating the rice cakes she’d brought.

Watching two school alumni munch rice cakes in silence felt ridiculous, so I decided to change the subject.

“Have you ever sponsored someone?”

“Sponsor?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course. What do you take me for? Artists, musicians—people like that. I support one guy in the arts with Dongtak’s dad.”

“I’m thinking of sponsoring a regular person.”

“Regular?”

She eyed me suspiciously.

“A woman?”

“No, a man.”

Her eyes narrowed even more, so I clarified:

“A board friend. Seems like he’s struggling.”

“Oh god, this again—with the internet.”

“It’s a refuge for me.”

“What kind of friend is he?”

I told her the truth.

A guy in his late twenties who works at a factory.

Nothing to boast about, nothing especially flawed.

Just a young man who’s having a tough time because the job doesn’t suit him and because of some interpersonal issues.

“...So, I’m thinking of helping him switch jobs. He’s really having a hard time. It’s not like he can help where he was born.”

Kim Daram, who’d been quietly listening, asked bluntly:

“Is he going to die if he doesn’t quit immediately?”

“No. Just... seems like he’s struggling? But who really knows what people are feeling inside.”

“You said he’s an internet friend. Have you ever seen his face? Do you actually know him?”

I shook my head.

“Then leave it alone. You’re just being nosy.”

“Nosy?”

“Did he ask for help?”

“Well, no. But he did post about how hard things are.”

Kim Daram stood up.

“You say that now, but...”

She turned around and smirked.

“I’d bet 100,000 credits you don’t actually help him.”

At the time, I did shoot her a disgruntled glare.

I really wasn’t in the mood.

I just chewed my rice cake in silence.

But in the end, Kim Daram proved to still be my partner.

I didn’t help Jjinsangchi.

There were many reasons, but the conclusion wasn’t too different from what she predicted.

Let’s say I went up to him, revealed that I’m the myth-tier Skelton, offered kind words and a way out of his current job.

Sure, it would feel great at first.

A surprise appearance from a legend.

But what about tomorrow? The day after?

A week later? A month?

No one knows what the future holds.

Even if he moved to a new job, there’s no guarantee Jjinsangchi would adjust well.

Later, I found out the factory assignments were voluntary.

He applied to be placed somewhere with fewer Jeju-born workers. That’s how he ended up there.

So yeah.

What I know is just one fragment of Jjinsangchi.

I know almost nothing about the man behind the screen—Lee Jong-gyu.

“It’s arrogance,”

Kim Daram said over the phone when I told her what I’d learned.

“Helping someone is often dressed up as altruism, but I think it’s a little different. If someone’s in desperate need and asking for help, then sure—help them. No one will argue with that. But deciding to help someone who’s doing just fine, pushing in and doing things your way? That’s definitely arrogance.”

I never really sat down to sort it out in my head, but I think I stopped interfering with Jjinsangchi for similar reasons.

Because I actually met him.

Yes, he was lonely and isolated—but that’s it.

That’s just one side of him.

The reason I was even drawn there was because of his other side—his online persona as Jjinsangchi.

I check the internet.

I look at a post from one of my favorite users.

Jjinsangchi: UwU... I did a feel-good thing again.... (7)

He wrote again today.

Same as always.

A harmless, NPC-like presence, quietly breathing a calm but vibrant energy into the board.

Never revealing any burdens or pain.

“...”

Yeah. That’s enough.

Let him stay a likeable user.

This is the perfect distance.

You know what they say—flowers are beautiful because you observe them from afar.

Whether he’s a scruffy old guy in real life doesn’t matter at all.

He’s already a beautiful flower on the board.

I was just about to close the tab with a faint smile when—

“Anyway, sunbae. Are you close with that guy?”

Kim Daram, still on the call, suddenly asked.

“That guy? You mean Jjinsangchi?”

“No. Jeon Si-hoon.”

“Jeon Si-hoon...?”

“Put in a word for me. I did bring you rice cakes.”

“?”

“Come on. You promised to talk to Kang Han-min about Dongtak, but you didn’t do anything. And I followed you into that damn fight—what was I supposed to believe in? Huh? These rice cakes are about to come back up.”

“...”

For once, the “likeable user” landed a clean hit on me.