“There was a time when things were good in Jeju. At one point, no less than four Over Level 10 Awakened were active there simultaneously. That was an unprecedented number. Even the United States couldn’t manage that many Alpha-level Awakened in a single zone. From an Awakened perspective, our country was truly blessed. No doubt about it.”

After the war began, Jeju’s upward trajectory matched exactly the downward curve that Seoul and the mainland had to endure at the same time.

That golden age.

Jeju was the very paradise imagined by those in Seoul and the rest of the mainland.

They had, so to speak, transplanted all the so-called "Seoul-style" infrastructure and tried to faithfully recreate pre-war life in nearly every sector.

Of course, the undesirable parts of Seoul—especially the elderly—were thoroughly excluded and, when unavoidable, minimized.

While the Paju Rift had to bear a population burden of over ten million, the Jeju Rift handled, at most, two million—counting even those from the closest mainland regions.

A conservative estimate placed the number under half a million. To match even this low burden, the government forcibly displaced people from nearby Jeollanam-do to Jeju, just like they’d done before.

As a result, the Jeju Rift ended up with very weak intensity compared to the Paju Rift.

Four Over Level 10 Awakened operating in such a low-intensity Rift?

That meant permanent safety.

With that kind of load and that level of power, the failed method of building an internal Rift fortress—like China had tried—might have actually succeeded.

But humanity had by then discovered that Rifts could be closed.

And closing a Rift was something entirely different from just holding off monsters.

The Jeju Committee, filled with those who had secured government positions through nothing but luck, inevitably desired achievements.

At the very least, to divert the dissatisfaction of the ministries and the public, they had to do something in Jeju.

But all of it—the plan, the vision—did not come from the Jeju Committee.

“It was Kang Han-min who orchestrated everything. He ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) was close to the president. No—‘worship’ might be the better word. That’s why so many resources and personnel could be poured into Jeju. The Jeju Committee alone could never have pulled that off.”

Even among the Over Level 10 Awakened, Kang Han-min was a veiled figure.

“Everyone knew—though no one said it aloud—that he knew more than the rest of us. Especially when we encountered him inside the Rift... I’m not sure how to put this, but he felt more like something belonging to the Rift than to Earth.”

Then Woo Min-hee said—

“Na Hye-in had been wary of Kang Han-min for a long time. Eventually, she feared him. He was clearly inferior to her at one point, but in the end, he consumed her. She’ll deny it fiercely, but Na-sunbae can’t defy him. Maybe she can run away. That’s all she could do—her only form of resistance.”

For a moment, deep disappointment flashed in Woo Min-hee’s eyes—then vanished.

It was soon replaced by a fierce glint of willpower or pride.

“I was different.”

Woo Min-hee nodded and added,

“I competed with him.”

It was true the Jeju Committee was selfish and despicable, but precisely because of that, they had a knack for protecting their power and interests better than anyone else.

And they knew too.

That the savior Kang Han-min was an obstacle to their dreams of permanent rule.

The rulers of Jeju needed no one but themselves.

Maybe even within the Committee, some dreamed of becoming kings by removing their fellow members. But their common enemy was Kang Han-min.

He already had nationwide fame and legitimacy, and countless regular Awakened followed him.

“Honestly, if Kang Han-min had decided to wipe out the Jeju Committee, he could’ve done it effortlessly. Back then, even the Jeju military wasn’t fully under control. If he had demanded power, they would’ve been forced to step down immediately.”

It was power that relied on the mercy of one man.

That dynamic hasn’t changed even now.

The Jeju Committee resorted to strategy.

They first tried to reach out to Na Hye-in, but when they realized she was far weaker than expected, they turned their attention to the one in her shadow—Woo Min-hee.

Though Woo Min-hee had a bad reputation due to her flashy dating history, arrogant demeanor, and easily misunderstood behavior, she was at least someone you could have a conversation with—unlike Na Hye-in.

With the Committee’s support, Woo Min-hee began building her own faction.

“Yeo Yerin. I got involved with her around that time.”

It started out as a business relationship.

Though they’d been at the same school, how could she possibly remember hundreds of juniors?

Besides, Woo Min-hee was the type who didn’t even glance at people she wasn’t interested in—she didn’t even remember most of her own classmates' names.

Maybe that’s why.

She soon realized a serious problem.

“Come to think of it, I’d never actually been a team leader, let alone led an organization. Was it Jung Hee-jin? That female committee member handed me a batch of new Awakened and defectors from Kang Han-min’s faction, but what was I supposed to do with them? I didn’t even know how to lead people.”

Leading people isn’t easy.

The ‘me’ that manages people and the ‘me’ that lives day-to-day are completely different people.

Woo Min-hee, who had always operated as a skilled team member under Na Hye-in’s shadow, quickly hit her limits.

That’s when Yeo Yerin appeared.

“She didn’t stand out. Her face was pretty, sure. But she was always expressionless and never showed emotions. Still, she was interesting. Not just cold—she had this firm, eccentric perspective. Most of all, she knew how to handle people.”

Neither I nor Woo Min-hee had known, but Yeo Yerin had a unique background—she was the eldest daughter of a daycare center director.

She also had experience as a class president and student council member during school—taking on all the bothersome administrative roles.

As a Hunter, though, she wasn’t particularly remarkable.

Before her Awakening, she was rated so poorly that she might’ve retired without ever setting foot on a battlefield.

The person who gave her that poor evaluation?

None other than my mentor, Jang Ki-young.

“If you’re going to keep your mouth shut all the time, then you’d better be as skilled as the Professor, at the very least. Huh? Our Professor might be a little strange, but he’s competent, so everyone respects him, right? The silent type only works if you’ve got the skill to back it up.”

Jang Ki-young gave her the call sign “TICO.”

People from his generation assumed it was based on the name of a compact car that was once popular in Korea—but the real reason? Only Jang Ki-young knows.

That TICO later bloomed into a full-fledged Awakened and began to shine beside the senior who hadn’t even recognized her.

“She built everything. The organization, the structure, the operations—none of it would’ve been possible without Yerin. Without her, I probably wouldn’t have formed anything solid and would’ve just gone back to being a subordinate under Na Hye-in.”

Yeo Yerin, who had caught Woo Min-hee’s eye purely through competence, grew into an irreplaceable person.

“She always supported me. When I found out my family had died in the war, it was Yerin who comforted me. She didn’t say any cliché lines—but she stayed by my side in silence. Her family probably died too, but while everyone else was lashing out or falling apart, she stayed calm and kept me grounded.”

Woo Min-hee looked off into the distance and nodded slowly.

“...I was spoiled. Even though I was two years older.”

She turned to me.

“You probably don’t know who she was.”

Most likely not.

There were very few people who could’ve caught my eye when I was always first in my class, living above the clouds.

Even someone like Kim Daram would never have crossed my radar if not for her exceptional physical abilities.

It was probably Jang Ki-young’s doing.

“Oh, she talked about you a lot.”

“About me?”

“Yeah. She used to say, ‘What would the Professor do?’—like a habit.”

“Why?”

“Because Jang Ki-young always compared her to you when he chewed her out.”

“That’s brutal.”

“You’re the only one who likes that guy.”

“I don’t really like him either.”

I could feel it clearly.

Every time she spoke about that junior I never knew, pale Woo Min-hee’s face gained a faint flush of color, like life returning.

She had a reputation for scandal and flamboyance in her student days. Compared to me—stoic and ascetic—she seemed like a completely different kind of person.

But I understand now.

She wasn’t the type to give her heart to people easily.

She had many lovers, but what she needed from them wasn’t their hearts. It was probably just a fleeting distraction—something to escape boredom or stress.

“She had a weird side too.”

Woo Min-hee wore a smile from her school days—the bright, yet somehow lonely one I remembered.

“She liked to dance.”

“Dance?”

“Yeah. She’d do these silly dances sometimes, but only around people she was close to.”

“Really?”

“They were goofy, but she was really good at them. Kinda like Bollywood? You two might’ve been a good pair.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you with your terrible beatboxing and her with her goofy dancing—don’t you think that’d make a funny combo?”

Terrible beatboxing?

I’m not some clueless art critic tearing into modern art.

I wanted to object, but Woo Min-hee’s story—rooted in the past—was now reaching its core.

“Thanks to Yerin, I built a strong organization. One strong enough to threaten even Kang Han-min’s faction. That girl, Yang Seo—that fox of a woman—she even came to confront me. Can you imagine that lunatic acting like a venomous toad, saying what? That she’d challenge me or something?”

Rather than hatred, Woo Min-hee’s softly glowing eyes held ridicule as they gazed deeper into the past.

“We started a real competition to close the Rift. Kang Han-min had more numbers, but we had the upper hand. Our method was simply better.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

At that moment, Woo Min-hee’s face showed deep-rooted contempt.

“Kang Han-min only cared about mechanical efficiency. He acted all mysterious, but he never once tried to understand that vast neural system. He forced people into his methods and bent results to match his hypotheses. Treated people like disposable tools. At the worst, five people would die or get summoned in a single week. They were kids brought in from China and North Korea—but they were trying to adapt, trying to live as Koreans. He just threw them away.”

She scoffed bitterly.

“Eventually, even our kids became his targets.”

That’s just like Kang Han-min.

I won’t deny it. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

I’ve seen and experienced it myself in China.

But I don’t think he’s cruel.

That’s not to say his actions are less cruel or more humane.

It’s just a difference in expression.

Kang Han-min lacks something a person should have.

He was like that even in school.

We both lost loved ones to monsters and had the seed of the Hunter planted in us—but the results that sprouted were completely different.

The goal was the same.

But I and Kang Han-min are branches that split from the same seed in completely opposite directions.

“We were different.”

Woo Min-hee looked far off and nodded firmly.

“We tried to understand it. Even if it was dangerous, I tried to connect with it directly. It wasn’t easy. Without Yerin, even I might’ve been summoned.”

Her lashes trembled deeply.

“You... is that why...?”

Woo Min-hee nodded.

But that was another topic.

She returned to her story.

“It was our side that made real progress.”

The Rift rippled.

The distortion caused by Woo Min-hee and her allies could be seen even from the observation post on Hallasan.

“It proved we were ahead of Kang Han-min’s group. But.”

A shadow, as if predestined, fell over Woo Min-hee’s face.

“That led to tragedy.”

Just as the story was veering toward an inevitable ruin—

Slide—

The door opened.

It was the shaman, dressed in colorful robes.

“What are you doing out here? The rain stopped.”

We tried to get up.

“Just stay seated, Mister Grumpy.”

Mister—what?

“Looks like it’s gonna pour again. I’ll bring something to drink. Stay put.”

“...”

She meant well, so I didn’t respond with irritation.

Before the shaman slid the door shut, she looked at the two of us for a moment.

“You there.”

Woo Min-hee and I looked at her at the same time.

The shaman tilted her head, glancing between us.

“You two—how about a compatibility reading?”

I cleared my throat.

Woo Min-hee covered her mouth and laughed silently.

“What? You’re both good-looking. I usually don’t bother, but I’m intrigued. And with this rain, no other customers are coming. If you’re leaving anyway, stop by on your way out. I’ll read you for free. If you look at the sign outside, I’m the one who read the fortune for Chairman Je Pung-ho, the great one.”

Compatibility, huh.

That kind of thing had nothing to do with Park Gyu, Professor, or Skelton.

But my junior might think differently.

Woo Min-hee poked my side with her hook-shaped finger.

“!”

You can’t just jab someone with a weapon that could kill.

I gave her a glance of protest, and she gave me a sly, smiling whisper.

“Let’s get one.”

She looked like she’d hold a grudge if I didn’t.

“...Just a quick one.”

I replied as fast as Professor would.

“Ma’am. We’ll do it.”

Woo Min-hee spoke sweetly, and the shaman smiled with satisfaction as she closed the door.

Compatibility reading, huh.

Just a little diversion, I suppose.

The heavy air settled back between us.

Woo Min-hee’s story wasn’t over yet.