“It’s finally finished.”

The gear was finally complete.

The exoskeleton I had commissioned from Seven.

It was based on U.S. military equipment and an Israeli model, modified to meet three specific objectives.

The design philosophy was lightweight and simplified, but with emphasis on delivering a single, powerful burst of destructive force.

Of course, reusability was a basic prerequisite.

I put it on.

The fit wasn’t bad.

The weight was acceptable.

My new custom gear was composed of two parts.

One was a lower-body exoskeleton, covering from the soles up to the knees and pelvis. It absorbed shock from high-altitude landings and enabled one-time hydraulic-assisted jumps.

The weight was just over 8 kg.

Compared to the original Israeli model, which weighed 12 kg, it had shed around 4 kg.

All unnecessary armor plating and electronic systems had been stripped out. Only the bare minimum remained—just the functions I needed.

That’s why it looked like a few metal rods strapped together and overlaid on my legs.

This time, I tested it like in actual combat—jumping down from a 10-meter height while holding a rifle.

“Here we go!”

A moment of tension.

Honestly, this kind of test pilot stunt wasn’t my style.

But it was gear made only for me.

A little risk was acceptable.

I gritted my teeth and jumped.

Thud!

A hard impact.

But—

Creak—creeaak—

The shock-absorbing gear that wrapped around the soles, the artificial joints at the knees connected to the shock system, the harness that ran organically along my thighs and wrapped around my waist, all distributed the force evenly. It mitigated what would otherwise have been a catastrophic impact that could have broken my legs, knees, or lower back.

“How is it?”

Seven and the engineer came over to ask.

I nodded.

“It’s excellent.”

I operated the console attached to the pipe running along my left thigh.

Whirrr—

The hoof-shaped shock absorbers retracted into the interior, and I could feel the soles of my boots making direct contact with the ground.

Exactly.

The shock-absorption system could be deployed only when needed.

You could walk or run with the system extended, but it dulled ground feedback and made balance worse compared to using my bare soles.

It was a difficult request, but Seven and his team had matched it perfectly.

Next was the jump test.

This time, I placed a large fire department mattress up front for safety.

The console was mounted on the left thigh, positioned so I could operate it anytime with my left hand.

I pressed the button.

Click—

From inside, came a metallic shriek like a crying heron.

Click—

This was a sound-based feedback mechanism, informing me of the machine’s state instead of electronics.

Click—

After the third sound—

Thud!

The retracted hoof-shaped shock absorbers shot out like blades and struck the ground, while the built-in hydraulic pistons exploded upward, launching my body into the air.

Boom!

Even before the metallic echo faded, I realized—

The scenery around me had changed in an instant.

I was up in the sky.

Flying through the air.

About 7 meters high.

Compared to the masterpieces of mankind, it might seem modest.

But this height let me do a lot more.

Especially when it came to killing monsters.

Of course, for this leap to be fully effective, another piece of gear was required.

“Next item.”

Seven smacked his lips.

“Ah, U.S. military gear. That was a masterpiece in itself. Honestly, I feel a bit guilty. Breaking that beauty apart just to make this pile of bones.”

The demand for lightweight and simplified design spared no part of the system. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

5 kilograms.

That was my maximum allowed weight.

No more.

I’d be carrying a lot.

Even if I wasn’t, weapons needed to be light.

Heavy weapons like machine guns were heavy by mechanical necessity—but not my weapons. Mine needed to feel light as a feather.

Some friends complain that if a weapon doesn’t have weight, it doesn’t feel like a weapon—but weight increases the chance of failure at critical moments.

I tried on the new weapon.

More like a brace than a weapon.

The key was—

Bang!

An explosive force from a pneumatic cylinder.

The moment I activated it, my right arm tore through the air with such force that the rest of my body couldn’t keep up.

In that instant, I understood.

The potential of this device.

A monster’s outer shell is like tree bark.

It can be destroyed or severed with brute force—but human strength has limits. And on the first strike, the hide tends to absorb part of the blow.

Especially for mid-sized monsters and larger, their durability far exceeds that of smaller ones. You have to strike the same spot multiple times.

Among small monsters, the Executioner-type, for example, is as tough as a mid-sized or larger monster, in my experience.

They’re not unbeatable with my axe—but ideally, I want to kill them with minimal strikes.

That’s what this gear is for.

The original U.S. and Israeli military exoskeletons had high-performance A.I., adaptive function based on biometric vitals, armor plating for hand-to-hand combat, and even firepower support like mini-rockets.

Mine stripped all that away—no defense systems, no fluff.

What I wanted was one perfect strike.

That’s it.

To achieve that, I made extreme sacrifices in design and function.

The arm gear worn on my right arm, and the lower-body brace that functioned like a medical walking support system.

These two pieces of equipment would be what I relied on for survival if everything else fell apart.

Seven scratched his chin as he stared at my rather bare-looking gear and asked flatly,

“What should we call it? I can laser-etch a name in as a freebie.”

I thought for a moment.

Not for long.

“Jang Ki-young Mark II.”

Yeah.

This futuristic gear was exactly the kind of thing my mentor Jang Ki-young might have dreamed up.

If not for him, I, being a pretty conservative and rigid thinker, would never have considered using something like this.

It was a tribute to him.

But the reaction was lukewarm.

“...Huh?”

Seven and the engineers stared blankly at me.

“That’s my mentor’s name.”

“Oh, okay. But why ‘Mark II’?”

“Because there was a Mark I.”

“You don’t mean...”

Seven glanced at me sideways and asked carefully,

“That rocket axe?”

“Yeah.”

And so, my new gear—Jang Ki-young Mark II—was now officially added to my weapons list.

Seven said he’d handle the final tweaks and inspections and have the gear delivered to my office.

I gladly accepted and left the workshop, intending to head back.

Screee—

A familiar noise grated in my ears.

I turned my head.

Wearing a white coat even in the middle of a heatwave, looking even thinner because of it, my junior was staring at me with that usual far-off gaze.

“Senpai. Can we talk?”

My junior, Woo Min-hee, spoke while staring at the tip of her sharp, hook-like finger.

As always, her face was expressionless, but the hesitation in her eyes didn’t give me a good feeling.

She must have a purpose.

One that benefits her, not me.

Even so.

“...”

I nodded.

*

The place Woo Min-hee led me to was unexpected.

[Heavenly Oracle]

A fortune-teller’s shop.

A sign under some bamboo and paper lanterns of dubious origin stood out.

[Served the President, Prime Minister, Members of Parliament, and Chaebols]

[Predicted World War III]

[Predicted the Fall of Wonju]

[Helped many shelters by predicting ideal evacuation sites]

[Predicted Seoul’s capital transfer and re-transfer]

[Predicted the closure of Jeju’s Rift]

[Currently predicting Paju Rift’s closure!]

Predicted this, predicted that.

I’d never heard of “Heavenly Oracle” before.

More importantly, how could a shop like this still exist in this era?

Still, seeing the shop situated right in the middle of a residential area with a well-decorated exterior suggested they had real clients.

“She’s supposedly a pretty skilled shaman. Said to have read fortunes for presidents and conglomerates before the war.”

“It’s written right there.”

I held my tongue, but honestly, I could do this too.

I could log onto the message board right now under my Skelton handle and say the reason I fight so well, crack jokes, and am genetically hilarious is because I received divine revelation.

I have no religion and don’t believe in superstition.

I wouldn’t go so far as to say I hate it, but I consider it worthless.

But Woo Min-hee is different.

She lives by emotion rather than logic—by impulse rather than structure—making her the type to easily fall for this kind of low-grade superstition.

At least in this regard, Kim Daram is superior to Woo Min-hee.

Still, this place must be reputable. There’s a line.

“Please wait a moment.”

They even had a staff member.

We stood under the summer eaves for thirty minutes without speaking.

Every time a breeze blew, Woo Min-hee’s hair fluttered, giving me a glimpse of her profile—but her expression remained sealed in blankness.

I could’ve cracked a joke, but didn’t.

Dragging out time under heavy silence suited me in a way.

As Professor, I was popular professionally, not personally.

“Next, please.”

It was our turn.

The door opened, and the previous clients—a bright young couple—stepped out.

They looked five to ten years younger than us. Holding hands and smiling during the apocalypse—it was a beautiful sight.

Our turn came.

The smell of incense was the first sensory confirmation of where we were.

Then came the vivid folk paintings, shamanic images, mysterious Chinese characters, and illegible symbols that filled the room.

The person who would read our fortunes sat at a small floor desk, waiting.

Rainbow hanbok.

Black hat adorned with two pheasant feathers.

A textbook shaman.

Her eyes were fierce, and her lips looked stiff, as if numbed with a dermatology cream.

I disrespected superstition, but this woman—

She definitely had presence.

The kind of aura that could deceive the ignorant.

Woo Min-hee laid out two cushions.

Uncharacteristic of her.

I sat silently.

She was the one who booked this session.

I just watched quietly.

Woo Min-hee whispered something in the shaman’s ear.

The shaman nodded.

Then her gaze snapped to my face like a flash of lightning.

I met her eyes calmly.

I acknowledged her unique vibe and that it was her sales gimmick—but that didn’t mean I believed in fortune-telling, face reading, or any of this pseudoscientific garbage.

I still considered it all worthless.

The shaman said curtly,

“You’re going on a journey, aren’t you?”

She must’ve overheard something.

I {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} nodded.

“Yes.”

The shaman shook her head.

“No. No.”

I didn’t reply. Didn’t even feign interest.

My cold reaction made the shaman stare harder, waiting for a response—but she was barking up the wrong tree.

Even I knew I wasn’t exactly polite.

I held back from storming out, only because Woo Min-hee had brought me here.

She was the first to speak, trying to ease the mood.

“Why not? What’s the reason?”

The shaman replied, rolling only her eyes toward her.

“There’s a curse. A bad omen. Danger is everywhere. Enemies are plenty. Spirits are rampant. The timing is wrong.”

Still, I didn’t react.

There was no need.

What convinces me are facts and rational arguments based on facts.

I’m stubborn and opinionated, but if someone presents a more logical view, I’ll follow it.

But this wasn’t that.

This was a complete waste of time.

That said, people in this line of work do have some real-world skills.

Like reading expressions and tone statistically.

They know how to deal with hostile customers like me.

I call it “fortune-teller statistics.”

The shaman stared me down and said,

“You’re going to lose something big.”

That was my limit.

I’d tolerated this long only because Woo Min-hee had asked.

I stood up.

She looked at me like she wanted to protest, but I didn’t stop.

I left the room of the Heavenly Disciple without another word.

We walked for a while afterward.

More precisely, I led and she followed.

“Senpai.”

She eventually called out.

“What.”

I stopped walking but didn’t turn around.

“I know you’re upset, but wasn’t that too much?”

“Sorry. But I really hate that stuff.”

“I spent good money to bring you there.”

“I appreciate the gesture, but...”

I sighed and looked at her.

And felt surprised.

There were intense emotions on Woo Min-hee’s pale face—ones I hadn’t seen in a long time.

Anxiety. Frustration. Irritation.

Emotions from her girlhood that hadn’t shown since she became “Director Woo.”

Did she really expect something from that fortune-teller?

“...”

I had a guess.

Was it that?

She must’ve known.

Then why now?

As that question swelled inside me, she finally spoke—not with her usual brightness, but with a hollow tone.

“I heard... you’re going into the Rift.”

I didn’t ask from whom.

No need.

She was one of the few who knew everything about my situation in Gyeongju.

That knowledge was likely what led her to bring me to the fortune-teller.

Before she could ask, I confirmed.

“Yeah. I am.”

I looked at her directly.

With a faint trace of desperation she rarely showed, she pleaded.

“Can’t you... not go?”

If human relationships were roads, some would be smooth, some rough, some dead ends, and some would be mist-shrouded cliffs you couldn’t return from.

Fortune-tellers and horoscopes call those things bad omens.

I call it something else.

“Sorry. I have to go.”

Destiny.

Something inevitable. Something that eventually arrives.