The morning was slightly cold, but Minho got up to get ready for what he came for.
After bathing, he tied his hair back and put on his clothes—a white turtleneck sweater inside, with black coat and trousers. He put on his perfume and left the hotel building.
His translator had already called in, saying he was waiting outside.
Minho went down, got into the car and they drove of to the Grand Majestic Hall in New York.
The entrance where a red carpet was spread was filled with reporters on each side. Minho walked quietly, with his translator a shadow behind him.
"There are a lot of reporters, aren't there?" Minho said to the translator ass the sound of numerous cameras flashing could be heard.
"Indeed," the translator replied.
As they got inside, Minho realized it was everything the name promised.
Crystal chandeliers, polished marble floors, and the low hum of conversations from the most influential hunters on the planet.
There were a few faces who approached him with smiles that didn't reach their eyes, while others actually appreciated his presence, though Minho still didn't shake hands with anyone.
"It is good to see you here," a voice came from behind with that familiar, weird accent, speaking Korean.
"Is it?" Minho said, without turning as Liu Zhigang walked to a stop beside him.
"Morning Hunter Minho," Liu greeted.
"Morning Hunter Liu," Minho reciprocated.
"It has been quite a while."
"Indeed, it has."
A silence fell upon them as they watched the people around chatter. "I see you are not here with your… should I say subordinates?"
"Summons," Minho corrected.
"Summons—oh… okay," Liu nodded, surprised by Minho's correction. Those terrifyingly strong ladies were summons?
He didn't ask anymore questions.
Soon, everyone started moving in and Liu Zhigang said they should go in as well.
Inside the conference hall, everyone took their seats and looking around, Minho spotted Sung Jinwoo across from him, all the way on the other side of the hall.
A man in a sharp suit stepped onto the central podium and tapped the microphone. The room eventually fell silent.
"Honored guests, welcome to the 7th Annual International Guild Conference. I am Director Johnny Selam of the Federal Bureau of Hunters. We have a full agenda today, designed to foster cooperation and address the pressing issues of our time."
"We will begin," Director Selam continued, "with our first agenda item: Global Dungeon Breach Analysis & Forecast. Our data scientists will present the projected emergence rates for the next fiscal year."
A series of boring presentations followed. Graphs were shown, statistics were quoted. Minho tuned it all out.
It was all theoretical nonsense. What was the use, when it was all going to be dealt with dungeons by walking in and clearing them when they emerge? Forecasts were useless.
After what felt like an eternity, the second item was called.
"We will now move to our symposium on Inter-Guild Cooperation in National Crises. We invite guild leaders to share their experiences."
One by one, hunters from different countries stood up and gave bland, political speeches. They talked about 'shared responsibility' and 'pooling resources,' each one subtly bragging about their own guild's achievements while asking for more help from others.
It was a circle of self-congratulation and hidden demands. Minho scoffed softly. Cooperation was just a pretty word for using others.
Finally, the air in the room shifted. Director Selam's smile became tight.
"And now," he said, his voice dropping slightly. "we come to a crucial point of discussion. The keynote address by Chairman Thomas Andre of the Scavenger Guild, followed by the main topic: Issues Concerning The Deaths Of Some Of The World's Strongest Hunters."
Thomas Andre, The Goliath, walked to the podium. Whether or not he was given a microphone, his voice would still rumble through the hall. But his speech was surprisingly diplomatic, talking about loss and the changing landscape of power. It was a carefully crafted performance.
But Minho wasn't listening to the words. He was watching the eyes. Every few seconds, Thomas Andre's gaze, and the gaze of every major figure in the room, would flicker towards him. The polite pretense was over.
The trap was being set, piece by piece.
Or more professionally disguised—agenda by agenda.
Thomas Andre's speech was a masterclass in veiled threats. He spoke of 'irreplaceable pillars of the global defense' and 'tragedies that have left the world vulnerable.' Eyes—every now and then—still landing on Minho.
"The strength we rely on," Andre voiced, "must be disciplined. Unchecked power is a dungeon break waiting to happen in our own ranks."
Minho didn't flinch. Of course, that was directed specifically to him. He just watched, his expression one of profound disinterest, as if watching a mildly irritating insect buzz around.
When Andre finished, Director Selam retook the podium. The screen behind him lit up, displaying the faces of five hunters.
"The floor is now open to discuss the recent, tragic losses of five of our world's most powerful hunters," Selam announced, his voice somber. "National Level Hunters Siddharth Bachchan of India and Jonas of Brazil. As well as esteemed S-Ranks Kamau Abana of Rwanda and Zara Tazi of Morocco."
He paused, letting the images of the dead hunters hang in the air. The room was utterly silent.
"And," Selam's voice sharpened, his gaze finally, openly, locking onto Minho, "the death of America's National Level Hunter, Christopher Reed."
All heads turned. The spotlight of the entire hunter world was now squarely on Minho, who was still looking with half-lided eyes.
A hunter from the European Union spoke first. "The circumstances surrounding these deaths are… alarming. Hunter Bachchan's and Jason's bodies were found in a remote location, their mana cores obliterated by a force unlike any recorded. Hunter Abana and Tazi fell in a dungeon breach that showed signs of… external manipulation."
The accusations were being laid out.
Then, the American representative stood, his face a mask of fury. "And Christopher Reed? He was killed in a foreign dungeon by the hands of another hunter. A hunter who claims 'self-defense' against one of the most respected figures in our community."
Minho's translator shifted nervously, whispering the words rapidly into his ear. Minho didn't even look at him.
The American jabbed a finger in Minho's direction from his seat. "We are meant to believe that Hunter Reed, a man of honor, would launch an unprovoked attack? That Lee Minho, a hunter with a known history of violence and insubordination, is the victim here?"
The room held its breath. This was it. The direct challenge.
Minho slowly leaned forward. He simply just spoke, his voice flat and cutting through the tense silence.
"Are you asking me," Minho said, his tone dangerously calm, "or are you just talking?"
The American representative spluttered. "I am demanding an explanation! Five of the world's strongest are dead under mysterious circumstances, and you are the only common thread! We have witnesses of Reed's death!"
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
Minho's scoffed. "He attacked me. I finished it. That is the only explanation you get."
"That is not good enough!" the American yelled.
"It will have to be," Minho replied, his voice dropping even lower, the air around him growing heavy. "Unless you would like to step down and try to get a better one from me yourself?"
The threat hung in the air. The line Chairman Go had warned him about was right there, and Minho was dancing on it, his pride refusing to let him simply sit and take it.
Before the American could reply, a calm, authoritative voice cut through the tension.
"The Brazilian Hunters Organization has already submitted its official report, which includes testimony from all surviving S-Ranks." It was Chairman Eduardo Silva, speaking from his seat. "We have confirmed it was self-defense. To continue this baseless inquisition is an insult to our integrity and a waste of this council's time."
The focus shifted, the unity of the accusers broken for a moment. But the glare from the American representative remained.
The interrogation wasn't quite over. Matter of fact, it had just begun.
…
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Message: Sorry fir giving y'all late chaps recently. To apologize, there's one more chapter waiting. Go on.
Also, don't forget to try out "Regressed With A Copy System" ಥ‿ಥ