The hum of the Mana Analyzer was the only sound in Room 4 of the Hunter Association Headquarters. It was a high-pitched, electric sound, like a mosquito trapped against a windowpane, piercing the sterile silence of the room.
For Kim Min-jun, sitting rigidly in the exam chair, that sound was not a technical annoyance; it was the prelude to a death sentence.
Her hands pressed against her bony knees beneath the disposable paper gown they'd given her. The cheap fabric barely protected her from the artificial chill that kept the sensitive glass equipment at a zero-degree operating temperature. The air smelled of burnt ozone and industrial disinfectant, an aroma that clung to her parched throat.
"Keep your hand still, please," said the evaluator without looking up from his holographic tablet.
His voice had the monotonous, gray tone of someone who had repeated the same phrase a thousand times that day, devoid of any human empathy. He was a bureaucrat, just another cog in the machine that decided who was a god and who was trash in the new society.
Min-jun obeyed. He swallowed, feeling the lump in his throat, and pressed his right palm against the cold surface of the obsidian sphere. The contact sent a shiver down his arm, not just from the temperature, but from pure, distilled fear.
Please, she thought, closing her eyes tightly until she saw stars.
He didn't pray to any specific god. The gods had abandoned this world the day the first Cracks opened. He prayed to statistics, to probability, to the cold mathematics of the universe.
I only need ten units. I'm not asking to be an A-rank who moves mountains, or even a B-rank who earns millions. Just give me the minimum for an E-rank license. Just give me a chance to work without dying.
She felt cold sweat trickling down her spine like an icy insect. Her entire future, her sister Kim Seo-yoon's safety, the debt to the sharks that threatened to devour them alive... everything depended on the light emitted by that sphere in the next ten seconds.
If I fail here, it's over. There will be no medicine. There will be no home.
The machine emitted a final, sharp, and definitive beep. The buzzing stopped.
Min-jun opened his eyes, trembling.
The sphere did not shine with the deep sapphire blue of mages, nor with the intense, vibrant red of physical combatants. There was neither the gold of healers nor the green of explorers.
It emitted a grayish, flickering, sickly light, like a tungsten bulb about to burn out in an abandoned basement. A light that begged forgiveness for existing.
The evaluator sighed. It was a long, drawn-out sound, heavy with boredom and technical disappointment. He adjusted his metal-framed glasses and tapped something on his device with quick fingers.
—Subject: Kim Min-jun. Age: 20 years.
The man paused, looking at the data with a grimace that wasn't one of pity, but of professional disdain. Like a mechanic looking at a car that's no longer worth repairing.
—Result of the Mana Measurement: 2 Units.
Kim Min-jun's world stopped. The air in his lungs solidified, turning to lead. The noise of the air conditioner seemed to fade away, leaving him only with the deafening thump of his own heart.
"Two?" Kim Min-jun asked, his voice coming out as a broken, pathetic croak. "Do you mean two hundred? Eighty, maybe? Perhaps the machine..."
—Two, Mr. Kim. An absolute number. No zeros after it.
The official took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, visibly annoyed at having to explain the obvious to a "piece of trash." He turned the tablet screen toward Kim Min-jun.
The graph was a flat, lifeless line, with barely a small peak at the end, an almost imperceptible spasm of energy that looked like a reading error.
—So you understand and stop deluding yourself: a normal human being, a civilian who has never awakened, has between 0 and 1 unit of residual ambient mana in their blood. A Rank E Hunter, the lowest in the food chain, needs a minimum of 10 to 30 units.
The man pointed an accusing finger at the number "2" on the screen.
—You have awakened, technically. Your body has opened the mana channels, yes. But the amount your core can process is... a rounding error. It's a biological anomaly. You don't have enough power to activate an ability, not even to light a magic kitchen lighter. You are, practically speaking, a civilian with a glorified title.
The laser printer in the corner of the desk whirred and spat out a plastic card.
It wasn't the electric blue card with silver edges that Min-jun had dreamed of holding for years. It wasn't the passport to wealth and security.
It was a dull, opaque, and sad gray, the color of old, dirty concrete.
The evaluator slid it across the metal table towards him.
—The Association classifies your status as "Latent Defective." This license allows you to work in the industry, yes. But only in non-combat roles: supply loader, post-raid waste miner, or monster fluid cleaner. Basically, pack mule and janitor.
Min-jun took the card. His fingers trembled so much he almost dropped it. Under his photo—an image where he looked pale, with deep dark circles under his eyes and cheekbones marked by malnutrition—the word DEFECTIVE was stamped in red capital letters, like a cattle brand.
"One final warning," the evaluator added, already glancing toward the door, his mind on lunch or the next candidate. "With two units of mana, the atmospheric pressure inside a Portal, even a low Rank E one, will be toxic for you. You will suffer dizziness, nosebleeds, nausea, and chronic fatigue. Your body cannot filter the ambient mana density. Entering a dungeon in your condition is, for all practical purposes, a slow and painful suicide."
"I understand," Min-jun whispered. His voice sounded hollow, as if it came from very far away.
"Next," the man shouted, pressing a button on his desk.
Min-jun stood up. His legs felt like they weighed a ton. He clumsily removed his paper gown, put on his old patched jacket, and left the room.
He hadn't received a gift. He had received a diagnosis of uselessness.
The main lobby of the Association's Headquarters in Seoul was an obscene monument to the new era.
The vaulted glass ceiling let in columns of sunlight that illuminated the gold and marble statues of the First Awakened, heroes who had saved Korea during the Great Fracture. The polished marble floor echoed with the confident footsteps of hundreds of people: officials in Italian suits, merchants of magic crystals shouting prices on their phones, and, of course, the Hunters.
Min-jun walked close to the wall, his shoulders hunched, his head down, trying to make himself invisible. He felt like a dirty cockroach crossing the hall of a royal palace. Around him, humanity's elite moved with predatory confidence, their armor gleaming in the light, their sheathed weapons radiating power.
On the giant screens hanging from the ceiling, the news from "Hunters TV" played on a loop:
"The Iron Fang Guild announces record profits this quarter! Shares rise 15% following the successful clearing of the Rank A Gate in Busan."
"Exclusive interview with Huntress Cha Hae-in: 'Mana is the future of the economy.'"
Min-jun stared at the figures flashing across the ticker screen. Millions. Billions of won. Enough money to buy entire countries changed hands daily in this building. And he didn't even have enough for a bus ticket home.
Suddenly, an excited, almost hysterical, murmur swept through the crowd near the main entrance. Camera flashes erupted like a sudden lightning storm.
"It's him!" cried a young girl, jumping up and down. "It's Master Kang!"
The automatic revolving doors swung open to admit a group of five people. They walked in a V formation, like a military spearhead.
In the center, clearing a path like a human icebreaker, was a gigantic man. He stood nearly two meters tall and wore black and crimson plate armor that looked as if it were made from the hide of a volcanic dragon. He wore no helmet, revealing a weathered face, battle scars he wore with pride, and a square jaw.
His mere presence distorted the air around him; the heat of his aura was palpable even thirty meters away, like being near an open oven.
It was Kang Dae-ho, the Master of the Iron Fang Guild. One of the fourteen S-Rank Hunters of South Korea.
"Master Kang!" shouted a reporter, jumping over the security cordon and shoving his microphone forward. "Is it true that Iron Fang will monopolize the A-Rank Portals in the northern sector? The smaller guilds are protesting!"
Kang Dae-ho didn't even stop. He simply turned his head and smiled, a smile that was half movie star charisma and half alpha predator threat.
"We don't monopolize, son. We clean up what others can't. If someone else wants to try and die in the process, they're free to come in. We sell security, and security is expensive."
The crowd erupted in cheers. People gazed at them with religious adoration. They were the new gods, the saviors who kept the beasts at bay and powered the national economy with a single swing of their swords.
Min-jun stopped for a second, paralyzed, staring at the broad back of the S-Rank.
The distance between that man and him wasn't measured in meters. It was measured in universes. Kang Dae-ho earned billions of won for a single one-day raid. Kim Min-jun had a gray card in his pocket that said he wasn't worth the air he breathed.
A security guard from the Association, wearing an immaculate uniform and carrying an electric baton on his belt, stepped into his line of sight, looking at him with suspicion and disgust at his worn-out clothes.
—The non-essential staff exit is on the side, kid. Don't block the corridor. The VIPs need space.
Kim Min-jun nodded, swallowing the bitter bile rising in his throat, and walked out the service door into the back alley, where the Association's garbage bins smelled of decay, far from the gleam of the marble.
The return journey was a gradual descent into reality, layer by layer.
Min-jun took the subway at Gangnam Station. There, he was surrounded by glass skyscrapers that touched the clouds, luxury shops selling recovery potions for the price of a car, and giant screens advertising premium life insurance for Hunters.
But as Line 4 moved south, crossing the Han River into the forgotten districts, the landscape changed dramatically.
The glass uildings grew shorter, grayer, and dirtier. Steel gave way to soot-stained brick and cracked cement. Designer suits disappeared from the train car, replaced by worn work clothes, the smell of stale sweat, and tired faces staring into space.
Seoul was a city of two faces. The glittering city of the Hunters, and the gray city of those who lived in the shadow of the Portals, praying that one wouldn't open in their neighborhood.
Min-jun got off at the last station. The air here was different; heavy, humid, with that unmistakable smell of clogged sewers and cheap fried food cooked in reused oil.
She walked through the narrow streets of her neighborhood, dodging puddles of stagnant water that reflected the cloudy sky. She passed closed shops with "FOR RENT" signs that had been gathering dust for years.
He arrived at his building. A four-story red-brick apartment block that had seen better days before the Great Fracture. The paint peeled like diseased skin, and rusty pipes ran down the facade like varicose veins.
The elevator had been out of service for three years, with an "Out of Service" sign that was already yellowed by the sun and covered in graffiti.
Min-jun climbed the stairs to the third floor. Each step crunched under his cheap boots.
He stopped in front of door 304. The blue paint on the door was scratched.
She took a deep breath. She rubbed her cheeks vigorously to bring some color back to them, to erase the pallor of fear and shame. She practiced a smile in front of the rusty metal of the doorknob.
Don't let her find out. Not yet. She can't see you like this.
Before opening it, he pressed his ear to the door.
He heard a sound.
Cof, cof... hhgkk...
It was a dry, painful cough, like someone coughing up glass dust. Then, a soft, stifled groan, the sound of someone trying not to make a sound so as not to worry anyone, but unable to stop the pain from escaping.
Min-jun's heart broke into a thousand pieces.
The medicine is running out. The suppressants are no longer effective.
He opened the door.
—Oppa?
The voice came from the small table in the corner of the main room, which also served as a bedroom, dining room, and kitchen. A twenty-square-meter space that contained his entire life.
Kim Seo-yoon stood there, surrounded by secondhand textbooks. She was sixteen years old, but her complexion was so fragile that she looked twelve. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, revealing the blue veins beneath the surface.
She was wearing a thick wool sweatshirt and a scarf, even though it was spring. Her illness, "Mana Erosion," made her feel a perpetual chill in her bones, as if she were freezing from the inside out.
When she saw her brother, her large, dark eyes lit up, though fatigue was evident in the purple circles beneath them. She quickly closed her math book, trying to hide a crumpled handkerchief in her hand, probably stained with blood.
"You're early," she said, scanning his face with that terrifying intuition younger siblings possess. "Did you go to the Association? What happened?"
Min-jun took off his shoes at the entrance, buying time, arranging them with unnecessary precision.
—Yes. There were a lot of people. You know how bureaucracy is, they make you wait for hours to stamp a document.
"So?" Seo-yoon stood up, leaning on the table for balance. Min-jun noticed the slight trembling in her legs, the characteristic muscle weakness of stage 2 of the Erosion. "Did they give you the license?"
Min-jun reached into his pocket. His fingers brushed against the cold plastic of the gray card. He could feel the embossed letters of the word "Defective" burning his fingertips as if they were red hot.
He took it out, but covered the top part with his thumb in a rehearsed motion, showing only the Association's official seal and his photo.
"They gave it to me," she lied with practiced smoothness, though inside she was dying. "Rank E. It's… a start. They said my mana is stable, but I need to start from the bottom. Logistical support and all that. Nothing dangerous."
"That's incredible!" Seo-yoon smiled, and for a moment, the gloomy room seemed less oppressive, illuminated by her genuine joy. "An official Hunter. Mom and Dad would be so proud, Min-jun. I knew you could do it. I always knew you had talent."
The mention of his parents was like a spinning knife to the stomach.
They died in the collapse of a residential building during one of the first uncontained portal ruptures three years ago. There was no compensation. It was classified as a "Natural Disaster." They were left with nothing but inherited medical debts and this crumbling rented apartment.
If his parents could see him now, lying to his sick sister with a disability certificate in his hand, they wouldn't be proud. They'd be crying with helplessness.
"Yes," Min-jun said, forcing a smile until his facial muscles ached. "Hey, did you eat anything?"
"I wasn't very hungry. I was waiting for you to arrive. Besides... food tastes a bit metallic lately."
Symptom of advancing erosion. Involvement of the taste buds.
Min-jun went to the small refrigerator. When he opened it, the interior light flickered and emitted an agonizing buzzing sound.
Inside there was only a half-empty carton of milk, a jar of over-fermented kimchi, and two eggs. Nothing else. No meat, no fruit, nothing that could nourish a sick girl.
He closed the door gently, resting his forehead against the cold metal of the refrigerator. He closed his eyes.
The reality was pure and cruel mathematics.
Seo-yoon's treatment (Grade C Mana Suppressants) costs 350,000 won a month, just to ease her pain. Rent is 400,000 won. Food, electricity, water...
And he had 3,000 won in his bank account. Less than three dollars.
But that wasn't the worst part.
He reached into his other pocket and pulled out the crumpled piece of paper he had collected from the mailbox before going upstairs, taking care that the sound of the paper did not alert his sister.
She unfolded it carefully, protecting it with her body.
It was an official letter with a logo of a shark with its mouth open. "Great White Shark Financial Loans."
[FINAL EXECUTION NOTICE]
Debtor: Kim Min-jun (Legal heir).
Total Debt: ₩47,200,000
Accumulated Late Payment Interest: ₩1,500,000
Action Required: Minimum Payment of 10% of Principal + Interest.
Deadline: 5 Days.
Five days.
If I didn't pay 4.7 million won plus interest within five days, the men from White Shark would come. And they wouldn't come with lawyers and paperwork. They'd come with baseball bats and moving trucks.
They would come to take away their apartment. And if that wasn't enough to cover the debt, they would take Seo-yoon to a state orphanage or a debt clinic, where, without her expensive medication, Mana Erosion would kill her in a month amid agonizing pain.
The evaluator had said that entering a Portal with my level was suicide.
But staying here, without money, was a guaranteed death sentence for her.
Min-jun put the paper in his pocket, squeezing it into a compact ball, as if he wanted to crush the debt with his hand.
"I'm going out for a moment," he said, turning to her with a new determination in his eyes. "I have to... I have to confirm a job. With the new license. Some contacts called me."
"So soon?" Seo-yoon frowned, worried. "You just arrived. You should rest. You look pale, and your hands are cold."
"The Hunters Market doesn't wait, Seo-yoon. There's a lot of competition." Min-jun approached and kissed her forehead. His skin was cold and damp. "I'll be back for dinner. I promise I'll bring meat. Real meat, not canned."
"Don't promise expensive things, you fool," she said, but smiled weakly. "Just come back."
Min-jun left the apartment before his facade broke and he burst into tears in front of her.
Min-jun stepped out into the outside corridor. The evening chill stung his face, but he didn't stop. He walked three blocks east, away from the main streets where Seoul police patrols still maintained some semblance of order, and ventured into the underground PC-Bang district.
In this part of the city, the internet wasn't filtered by the Association. This is where mercenaries, vendors of items stolen from dungeons, and those who sought out "mules" for jobs not listed in any official records operated.
She went down an escalator that hadn't worked for a decade. At the bottom, a metal door with a blinking neon sign read: DIGITAL VORTEX.
The smell inside was a nauseating mix of cheap tobacco, reheated instant noodles, and the electronic heat of a hundred computers running simultaneously. There were no windows. The only light came from the monitors illuminating the gaunt faces of young people trying to earn a few credits gambling or scavenging for scraps in the cryptocurrency market.
Min-jun, saddened by having to pay for the service with his limited money, but confident that he would find any job that paid him, even if it was the minimum, paid 1500 won for an hour of connection in the darkest corner.
His fingers, still numb from the cold, flew across the keyboard. He didn't go through the official job boards. He went straight to the Hunters' Deep Web, specifically to a forum known as The Rift.
There, the ads didn't ask for "Teamwork" or "Health insurance." They were direct.
"Wanted: Collector for unregistered area. 500k won. High risk."
"I need a human shield to distract the Goblins. I'll pay your family in advance if you die."
Min-jun lowered his cursor, his heart pounding against his ribs. His eyes stopped on a featured advertisement, written in red letters that seemed to bleed against the black background of the screen.
[URGENT: LOADER FOR ILLEGAL MINE]
Location: Sector G-12 (Dry Port).
Requirements: License (Any). Absolute discretion. Ability to lift 50kg under mana pressure.
Payment: 2,000,000 won net.
Note: The assault group is Rank C. Safety of support personnel is not guaranteed.
—Two million... —Min-jun whispered.
It was a ridiculous amount. The standard legal pay for a loader at an official Rank D Portal was a mere 200,000 won for a ten-hour shift. If these guys were offering ten times that amount, the reason was obvious: either the portal was illegal and they were stealing state resources, or the probability of dying was so high that no one with a shred of common sense would accept.
Probably both.
Min-jun stared at the blinking cursor. The evaluator this morning had been clear: He'll suffer dizziness, nosebleeds... it's a slow suicide
But then, the image of Seo-yoon coughing blood into that crumpled handkerchief flooded his mind. He saw his sister's eyes, that glimmer of hope she still held within him. He saw the eviction notice for Great White Shark.
If she didn't go, in five days they'd be out on the street. And in a month, she'd be dead.
"If I have to choose between dying in a mine or watching her die... the choice never existed," he said to himself with a coldness he didn't know he possessed.
With a decisive move, he clicked "Contact" and typed a short message, concealing his actual mana level but emphasizing his willingness.
I have an official license. I'm young and can carry more than a veteran mule. I don't ask questions and I'm not afraid of unregistered areas. I'm available right now.
The response took less than thirty seconds. The notification sound echoed in his broken earbuds like the crack of a whip.
[User: Hector - Group Leader]
Good. I like your urgency. We're short one charger because the last one decided he was too scared to go back in. Don't be like him. I'll be waiting for you at Warehouse 4 in the Dry Port. Tomorrow at 5:30 AM. Not a minute late. Bring your own backpack and sturdy clothing. The contract is signed in blood and silence. If you talk to the Association, we'll find you before they can protect you.
Min-jun closed the browser tab. He leaned back in the plastic chair, staring at his reflection in the black monitor screen. He looked different. His eyes, once filled with the weariness of poverty, now held a spark of something else. A dark, sharp determination.
He had sold his life for two million won.
Tomorrow he would enter the lion's den. Tomorrow, Kim Min-jun, the "Flawed One" with only 2 mana units, would face his fate in the depths of an illegal mine. He didn't know that this would be the last day he would be "weak.
She got up from the chair. She had to go home, pack her backpack, and pretend, one last time, that everything was going to be alright while they ate the two eggs that were left in the fridge.
He left the internet café. Above, the Seoul rain was beginning to fall, a gray, acidic rain that washed the streets clean but not the despair of those who lived in them. Min-jun walked through the water, the debt receipt in one pocket and the promise of hell in the other.