There are drawbacks to having learned everything through the internet, but no one can deny that Cheon Young-jae is a damn good survivor—and a damn good hunter.

When I left for beyond the Rift, Cheon Young-jae picked up on the scent of something and made his own preparations.

These days, “preparation” means purely material readiness.

All the mental resolve in the world won't mean shit if you don’t have food for tomorrow or a single bullet to shoot at the enemy in front of you. No matter how elaborate or romantic your plans are, they'll vanish like a mirage.

“When the war broke out, I hadn’t prepared for anything. As you saw, I was living like a beggar. Honestly, I didn’t even like Ha-sunbae or Bang-sunbae. They were free spirits, but we just didn’t click. Sure, I learned how to survive as a bottom-tier drifter, but if I had to do it again? No way.”

Cheon Young-jae had planned to embezzle the supplies from Room 803.

To begin with, our Room 803 was nothing more than a glorified student club room with a budget the size of a rat's tail by Seoul standards.

And since we were a semi-independent agency, there was no auditor breathing down our necks. With Woo Min-hee gone shortly after I left for the Rift, Cheon Young-jae had free rein to liquidate 803's assets.

“I thought you’d die out there. You told me you were going beyond the Rift, but I figured you’d take me with you. When you didn’t, I thought, ‘Ah, this guy’s going off to die.’ That’s what I figured.”

His disposal—and embezzlement—was swift and unrestrained.

But you can't pull off a big heist alone.

Petty theft can be soloed, but large-scale misappropriation needs a fence—a business partner.

Cheon Young-jae had a fence.

“His name’s Yoon Dae-geun.”

I remembered that name too.

He was in charge of building maintenance.

I’d ridden the elevator with him before—he wore a work uniform that smelled of oil.

I’d heard civil servants gripe about him when he wasn’t around, saying they couldn’t work with him, but Yoon Dae-geun himself had always seemed polite and eager to help.

Never struck me as the criminal type.

But then again, petty pilfering wasn’t even considered a crime anymore.

The government turned a blind eye to civil servants sneaking out supplies to sell on the black market.

A bit of leniency to keep the gears turning in this chaotic hellscape.

But becoming a full-on fence like Yoon Dae-geun? That’s a whole different level.

You need the chops. The connections. The balls to commit and a conscience dead enough not to flinch.

Cheon Young-jae found out who Yoon Dae-geun really was when he tried to sell the supplies from Room 803.

“Where are you off to with all that stuff? Need a hand?”

Just like any scammer, Yoon Dae-geun approached him kindly. Never once did he let on about the crime.

“What are you gonna do with all that? Planning to sell it, maybe?”

Slowly, but with certainty, he roped him into doing business together.

Through Yoon Dae-geun, Cheon Young-jae successfully siphoned off a good amount of supplies.

And on the day Defender made his move, he and Yoon Dae-geun left the government complex together, making plans for tomorrow.

The problem came after.

“Of course I went to see him. Left everything there. But that son of a bitch pulled something.”

If Cheon Young-jae didn’t have sensory ability, he might’ve already been dead.

He had set up a meeting with Yoon Dae-geun on the outskirts of Seoul—at the fence’s hideout. And what did he see?

On rooftops, down alleys, behind windows.

More than ten people, clearly lying in ambush.

Yoon Dae-geun had chosen to meet him right in the middle of a kill box.

If Cheon Young-jae had opened his mouth to talk business, bullets would’ve torn through him from every direction.

“Sorry, man. Skull Brigade popped up nearby outta nowhere. Let’s talk another time.”

Right in front of Yoon Dae-geun, Cheon Young-jae bailed.

Yoon Dae-geun blinked.

“Won’t that screw up the deal? Mess up future trades?”

Once a scammer’s deal falls through, getting a second chance is rare.

Scammers don’t like dealing with the same person twice—too risky. Odds are they’ll get called out on their bullshit.

But Cheon Young-jae shook his head.

“Nah. I didn’t even get close. Just to be safe, I suggested meeting at night. Figured he’d hesitate, but he agreed right away. That’s when I smelled something off. And sure enough...”

Of course he’s no pushover.

He walked away to make sure everything was airtight.

“I could’ve handled it solo. But that bastard Yoon Dae-geun has a decent idea of what I can do, right? He’d stationed guys in two- or three-man teams. That ambush wasn’t random. He was trying to screw me.”

The fence in question was holed up north of the Han River.

Not far.

There’s a reason for that.

When it comes to stealing and fencing goods, the north side of the Han gets less scrutiny.

Because it's still seen as a frontier zone, with frequent transport of supplies, no one bats an eye.

Realistically, the north has far fewer people.

Everyone knows monsters crawl down from Paju, so folks want to head south—not cross the river and risk dying.

If there are people still in our area, it just proves how packed Seoul used to be.

South of the river? Prepare for population density twenty times worse than here.

Plus, the north side’s basically ruins.

Especially the places too wrecked for cars—bandits and warlords don’t even bother with those.

Used to be home to cultists, apparently, but Defender’s Skull Brigade cleaned it up. Now it’s all zombies—barely—and hardly any human footprints remain.

Of course, the north side is also right in the monster migration path.

If a big surge happens, it’s the first to get hit.

But civilians have gotten smarter.

Yoon Dae-geun supposedly said this:

“Monsters don’t touch stuff, right? It’s people who steal. Just hide until the noise dies down, then come back. Stuff doesn’t grow legs. If anything, monsters make it safer. Nobody else comes snooping.”

Smart bastard.

We scouted his base.

Just another cookie-cutter apartment complex—except with two features.

First: poor construction. One building was tilted like a pub that’s sinking into the ground.

Not quite legendary “The Hopf” level, but still creepy—especially paired with the giant cracks in the walls.

Whole complex looked like a disaster waiting to happen.

Second: the location.

Probably a redevelopment zone. Amid crumbling ruins and piles of debris, that one dilapidated tower loomed.

According to Cheon Young-jae, Yoon Dae-geun had set death traps all over that crumbling apartment.

Cheon Young-jae figured he’d get another chance to meet him.

“Gotta eliminate the threat. Only way that bastard can sleep easy is if I’m dead.”

Fair enough.

“Hmph.”

He exhaled, eyes scanning the area.

“Terrain’s shit.”

Even a half-collapsed building, if it’s got a sniper or machine gun, becomes untouchable.

With more than ten subordinates under him, Yoon Dae-geun had surely turned that ruin into a fortress.

Then another issue cropped up.

Bzzt—

Cheon Young-jae tried to radio in. No response.

Signal was fine. But no one answered.

“Maybe it’s just too late at night? Should’ve contacted him earlier?”

“Contacting people 24/7 is the standard in this line of work.”

“Seriously?”

“Yoon Dae-geun said it himself. Even if he’s asleep, he makes sure someone’s always on the radio or phone. Last time I called, it was one of his lackeys who picked up.”

That 24/7 fence wasn’t answering.

Could’ve been temporary.

But after several tries over time—nothing.

“Maybe he bolted?”

I asked.

The word blunder flashed through my mind.

Maybe we’d wasted our time.

Maybe the silver lining was that we hadn’t walked into a firefight.

But I needed internet equipment.

Honestly, I was going through withdrawal.

Crap sites like Necropolis don’t scratch the itch.

How ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) the hell are you supposed to enjoy the internet in a place where everyone just stares at walls and posts cryptic one-liners?

You can’t even make a quirky username.

“So he’s gone, huh.”

Cheon Young-jae tried again. Still nothing. He tilted his head.

“Wanna just go?”

Maybe that was the right call.

But I wasn’t satisfied.

I signaled to him.

“It’s not easy to move a large stash of supplies during a war.”

“Agreed.”

“If it’s been looted, then fine. But let’s at least check.”

“Cool. I’ll take point.”

We advanced toward the ruins.

The heart-pounding stretch was once we got within 300 meters of the complex.

If a sniper with night vision was watching from that distance, and Cheon Young-jae couldn’t sense them, one or both of us would die instantly.

No cover. Just open ground.

Even if I sprinted full speed, I’d be like an ant scurrying in a sniper’s scope.

Even if there wasn’t a sniper, one sweep from a mounted machine gun and we’d be crawling on the ground.

Luckily, no signs of fire.

We made it within 100 meters. The moon cast heavy shadows from the buildings—plunging us into pitch-black silence.

We finally reached the adjacent reconstruction site and took a breath.

“······.”

The worst was over.

Personally, I think the worst kinds of danger are the ones where you can't use your limbs at all.

Now, it was Cheon Young-jae’s turn.

His eyes glowed faintly as he scanned the area.

“Huh?”

He tilted his head.

“No one’s here.”

We advanced.

Always keeping cover within arm’s reach—just like we were taught.

Long story short: there was no one.

Yoon Dae-geun and his crew had bailed.

Tire tracks—fresh ones—were everywhere.

“Scooters. Used more than one.”

We turned on our lanterns and entered his hideout.

“Watch for traps.”

“Got it.”

We split up and carefully swept the area.

No booby traps. But there were other signs.

A hasty retreat.

Stuff scattered everywhere. Even an entire box spilled into the hallway.

We checked the contents—food.

The least popular kind. Brick-like survival rations. But a whole parcel box full, abandoned.

Enough to feed one person for a month, easy.

Maybe two, with rationing or backup supplies.

And it wasn’t just that.

The deeper we went, the more scattered supplies we found.

“Hold up.”

Cheon Young-jae raised a hand.

He signed to me.

[ There’s movement inside. ]

I asked if he saw anything.

He shook his head.

[ No visual confirmation. ]

Then we found it.

A long blood smear down the hall.

Probably someone dead.

It had dried black, but the streak was thick—like someone dragged a paint-soaked brush across the floor.

The smears trailed along hair strands.

Someone had bled out, and someone else had dragged them.

“······.”

We stayed quiet and alert.

A mutation?

Or one of those new human-sized freaks people talk about?

Srrrk—

I flipped my axe and grabbed it by the barrel like a rifle, taking the lead.

Cheon Young-jae whispered behind me.

“This feels wrong.”

Then again:

“When I say it feels wrong, it really is. It’s not a power or anything—I just have killer intuition.”

At the end of the hall: a closed door.

Smears of blood, like a horror movie scene, chilled us to the bone.

“······.”

Now I could feel it too.

Something’s in there.

Whatever it is—it made Yoon Dae-geun run and left this blood trail.

Creak—

We both turned right at the same time.

Beyond the shattered window—pitch-black darkness.

Something passed.

Gulp—

I heard Cheon Young-jae swallow.

I felt the same.

A tall, lanky shape. Around 2.3 meters. Humanoid, but definitely not human.

It slid through the dark like a shadow, then vanished.

I pressed against the window where it had passed, gun raised, waiting.

But it didn’t show itself again.

Heart still racing, I whispered with Cheon Young-jae.

“What was that? That’s not a Raper, right?”

“Raper? Oh, those low-grade ones with the blade junk on their crotch? No, definitely not. You said you killed one, right?”

“That thing was barely a monster. But this...”

I swear on my name—I’ve never seen anything like it.

Definitely not human.

If it were, Cheon Young-jae would’ve seen it.

So maybe—it’s another of Kang Han-min’s Rift-born abominations?

To push human population under ten thousand?

That kind of dark fantasy wasn’t helpful right now.

“Let’s just go.”

Cheon Young-jae started to back off.

I shook my head.

My eyes were locked on the bloodstained, handprint-covered door.

“You’re going in?”

Whatever we saw—might still be lurking inside.

Might add our blood to the mess on these walls.

Even so—

Creeeeak—

I opened the door.

“······.”

An empty room greeted us.

Yoon Dae-geun’s hideout.

Cleaned out.

But not completely.

“Huh? What’s that?”

Stargazing Obelisk.

Our satellite internet equipment.

A bunch of half-disassembled satellite terminals were gathered in one place—probably being worked on.

Three months ago, those would’ve been priceless. But once Melon Mask vanished, their popularity tanked.

Maybe they were too bulky. Maybe he planned to come back and get them.

Whatever the reason, as I checked the gear, a smile spread across my face—one I couldn’t suppress.

[ SKELTON ]

My satellite unit.

Cheon Young-jae had stolen it. The fence had stored it. But screw the backstory.

The point is: it’s mine again.

My gear—Skelton’s gear—is back.

“How the hell did you even decide to go in there? After seeing all that?”

Cheon Young-jae asked on the way back.

Yeah. It wasn’t like me.

Honestly? It was a dumb move.

I searched for the right words—and spoke without thinking.

“Like eating pufferfish.”

Yeah.

Like pufferfish.

Whoever first tasted pufferfish and decided it was worth it—probably felt exactly like I do right now.