I let out a quiet sigh of disbelief, brushing off the urge to scoff right in Ilhoon's face. Before I could say a word, Nari stepped forward, her grip on my arm tightening like she'd draw blood before she let me take the blame alone.
"That's not true at all!" Nari burst out, her voice cutting through the hush that had fallen.
I turned slightly, catching her eye, and gave the smallest shake of my head—telling her without words it's fine. She shouldn't stick her neck out further. After all, even I didn't know how this would play out. This scene had never existed before. In the original version, Jae Min and Eunseok would have been walking out the Association's front doors by now, holding new contracts and rewards from the Vice President—not standing here in the shadow of the highest seat of power.
But instead, here we were—Ilhoon weaving a pretty lie like a silk noose, and the President letting him spin it without blinking.
Ilhoon must have mistaken that silence for agreement, because he puffed up his chest even more, voice rising for everyone to hear.
"Shouldn't it be proper to punish a reckless hunter like him, Mr. President?" Ilhoon said, feigning a humble tilt of his head as if butter wouldn't melt on his tongue. "We can't allow such disrespectful trash to stain the Bureau's reputation, can we?"
The corridor held its breath. Even the faint hum of mana cores from passing hunters seemed to quiet—everyone waiting for the President's word, which could snap my neck or raise it above theirs in an instant.
All at once, the President's voice sliced through Ilhoon's smug air, cold enough to frost the very floor beneath us.
"And who are you to tell me what to do?" President Lee Do-Gyun said, each word deliberate and edged like a knife honed for execution.
Ilhoon froze mid-breath, his mouth twitching as if grasping for a retort he'd never rehearsed. The fake bravado leaked from him drop by drop, leaving only the pitiful tremble of a cornered dog.
"B-Bec—" he stammered, shoulders stiffening as he dared not finish the excuse forming on his tongue.
Before the silence could stretch into something more humiliating, Mr. Won—pale and panting—hurried up beside us and bowed so low his tie nearly brushed his shoes.
"Mr. President! I deeply apologize for this disturbance. Please, forgive us for the commotion," Mr. Won said, voice strained as he straightened with visible effort. He shot Ilhoon the briefest glare before turning fully toward the President, then at me.
"I know you have countless matters demanding your attention, sir, but I must report this directly—" He stopped to draw a steadying breath, then gestured toward me with both hands, as though presenting a rare artifact too fragile to touch. "This is Hunter Park Seo-Jun. The very one I informed you about over the phone, sir."
A flicker of interest—not warmth, not friendliness, but the sharp glint of a mind whirring faster than the rest of us could breathe—passed through the President's eyes.
"Very well." The President didn't spare Ilhoon another look as he turned toward the grand staircase at the center of the marble hall. His escort, hunters in suit, moved in perfect unison behind him—an iron wall in human form.
Mr. Won quickly stepped aside and swept his arm toward the same path, the anxiety in his eyes betraying just how monumental this deviation from protocol was.
"This way, Mr. Park," he said, voice tight but respectful, as though speaking to someone whose shadow now weighed more than a high ranked hunter.
I didn't spare Ilhoon a glance. I simply adjusted my hood and followed—feeling the hush of the lobby peel open for me like a curtain before a stage I hadn't planned to stand on.
Finally, he shut his noisy mouth—though the pathetic twitch at the corner of his eye told me he was burning to say more if only the President weren't here to shred him apart for it.
Leaving that mess behind, we climbed the marble staircase to the second floor, boots and dress shoes echoing in perfect rhythm. I let my eyes flick back just once—enough to catch sight of those two idiots, Jaemin and Eunseok, being ushered by a polite but firm female staff member into another room. No doubt to collect the rewards they'd originally come here for.
At least someone's day was going according to what i wanted.
Meanwhile, I was being escorted through wide, polished corridors meant for people leagues above my old rank—each step pressing the air out of my lungs a little more.
I hated to admit it, but a tight knot of nerves crawled up my throat. What if they buried me in questions I couldn't afford to answer? What if they asked me to prove something I wasn't ready to show?
My mind raced through half-baked excuses and half-truths I could string together, but none felt solid enough to stand in front of President Lee Do-Gyun's eyes.
Still, I squared my shoulders. Too late to slip away now.
"It is quite surprising..." the President's voice rumbled behind me—low and edged with a darkness that made the corridor feel smaller than it was. "How a hunter barely scraping the lower ranks could suddenly surge to the top of the scale, almost overnight."
His steps were calm, measured, yet they dripped a quiet weight that pressed against the back of my neck like a blade.
I forced my gaze to the floor, focusing on the polished tiles that blurred beneath my shoes as I walked. "I assume there was a malfunction with the magic crystal, sir," I said, keeping my tone neutral, humble—anything but suspicious.
Deep down, though, a cold knot of unease gnawed at my ribs. Malfunction or not... I am still confused by the crystal bleeding ink. Why ink? And why did the system keep counting my power beyond the limit?
I wish he wouldn't ask about my Divine Link—because that was the one lie I hadn't rehearsed nearly enough to survive his eyes.
A low chuckle rolled from the President's throat—dark, deep, and so dry it felt like a distant storm crackling under my skin.
Behind him, Mr. Won straightened beside me, hands clasped nervously as he met my eyes. "Mr. Park... that crystal has been used by the highest-ranked hunters in this country—some of them the very first generation Awakened. It has never once cracked... nor bled anything. So, as you can see, your case is... exceedingly unique."
He paused, then dipped his head slightly, his polite tone failing to soften the sharpness of what came next. "If you wouldn't mind, the Association would like to request your permission to view your Divine Link status."
There it was. The one question I couldn't dodge forever.
The lie I'd never rehearsed enough.
And in front of him, of all people.
My chest tensed. Do I even have a choice? Say no—and what? They'll just label me unstable, maybe lock me up to poke and prod until they find answers on their own terms.
I stole a glance at the President. He'd halted before a grand door at the end of the hall—his office, no doubt. His back was straight, one hand already on the polished handle, yet I could feel it: his patience was thinner than paper.
Even if I said yes... it wouldn't work. Their system runs on the Bureau's sacred contract, while mine—whatever it is now—operates on something else entirely.
I wet my lips, tasting the bitter truth stuck to my tongue.
I had to say something.
Yet when I opened my mouth, no explanation worth believing came out—only another lie, spit out to survive a few seconds longer.
"About that... Mr. Won, I sincerely apologize. But my sponsor has imposed a rather strict condition on me. I'm... backed by a deity who prefers to remain secretive. They forbid me from disclosing my Divine Link details."
It sounded weak even to my own ears, but it was the best shield I could conjure before they dug claws into my spine.
I caught it, too—the subtle flicker of disappointment that creased Mr. Won's face. His polite mask slipped for half a breath, just long enough for regret and doubt to show beneath it.
Before he could muster a reply, the President's voice cut cleanly between us.
"Mr. Won, that's enough. We cannot force a hunter to break a sponsor's decree. Leave it."
Mr. Won flinched at the finality of that tone, then bowed stiffly.
"Yes, sir. Understood."
The President swung open the door to his office. The polished brass handle glinted, cold as his eyes when they shifted back to me.
"You may come in now, Mr. Park."
Obeying his command without a word, I stepped inside the office. His men positioned themselves—two just behind the door, two more outside like stone sentinels.
A stupid thought flickered through my head: Am I going to have to pay for the crystal I cracked?
Ha. Surely not... right?
"Take a seat," he said, voice calm yet pressing down on my spine like a hand on a scale.
I did as told, lowering myself onto the chair opposite his massive desk while he settled into his leather swivel chair with a weight that seemed to bend the room around him. He flipped through a slim stack of papers, his eyes moving with unsettling quiet.
After a moment, he set the file down where I could see it. Even upside down, the document was unmistakable—it was my old record, the faded print of my first pathetic evaluation mocking me from the polished wood.
He tapped the page once with a finger.
"...I remember you now." His gaze lifted, pinning me neatly to my seat. "You are, without question, an anomaly."
"Even when you barely survive, you tackle such exquisite dungeons, I'll give you that," he continued, his fingers drumming lightly on the file. "Freelancing in and out of parties from different pantheons is... reckless, but effective, apparently. Some of those parties tackled high-grade dungeons—like your last few raids. Not many would dare that without a stable guild behind them."
He paused just long enough for the weight of his next words to settle in my chest.
"However," he said, his tone hardening slightly, "now that it's been confirmed you've been kindled... we can't allow you to continue freelancing as you please, Hunter Park. If I recall correctly, you claim your sponsor is secretive—fine. But regardless of who they are, once a hunter is bound to a deity, they are tied to that pantheon's chain of authority. Mixing with other pantheons' parties after receiving a crest is a direct breach of divine contract."
He leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing with a trace of warning.
"A blessed hunter must swear fealty to a single god and a single circle. You, it seems, still wander like you're unclaimed. That cannot continue."
"I recommend you join a guild under your deity's pantheon," he said, the suggestion delivered like an order wrapped in courtesy.
But that, of course, was impossible. I didn't have a deity—just myself. That cloaked figure who had thrust this power into my hands claimed outright that he was no god. He never asked for faith, tribute, or an oath. He didn't even leave a name. So how could I pledge myself to a pantheon that didn't exist?
Before my thoughts tangled further, the president's next words snapped me back.
"However, there is another way" he said, leaning forward slightly, the edge in his eyes replaced by a calculating gleam, "if you truly cannot—or will not—join a pantheon guild, then I have another proposal for you."
The air seemed to still for a heartbeat. My curiosity overpowered my dread.
"...And what would that be, sir?" I asked, my voice calm despite the faint tightening in my chest.
"As you know," he began, voice steady yet carrying the weight of something momentous, "the Bureau of Hunters Association is not bound to any single pantheon. Though we are blessed, our deities stand alone—solitary patrons without a court or kin to call their own. The BHA is built on hunters sponsored by such beings."
My eyes widened at that. The implication hit me like a sudden wind.
He watched my reaction, his expression revealing nothing.
Slowly, I rose from my seat, my hands tightening slightly at my sides.
"Are you... asking me to—" I stammered, the words tumbling out before I could steady them.
He gave a single, measured nod.
"It is entirely your choice, Hunter Park."
The offer settled in my mind like a stone in still water—sending out ripples of possibility. It wasn't just good. It was perfect. A place where a crestless, pantheonless anomaly like me would not stand out like a stain on white cloth.
And for the first time today, my pulse skipped in something close to relief.
"If you join us," he continued, his steps measured as he crossed the office to a tall drawer lined with sleek, dark panels, "the Association will formally remove you from the public roster of hunters. Your profile will be sealed—no guild or Hunters will be able to track your movements."
He opened the drawer with a quiet click, his back still half-turned to me. Papers shifted under his hand as he spoke on, each word deliberate.
"You will, of course, still be deployed—missions equivalent in danger and scope to dungeon raids. But these assignments will come directly from the Bureau, and their nature will depend on the position you're given."
He paused then, casting a glance over his shoulder at me. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, as if amused by the understatement about to follow.
"The salary is monthly," he said, sliding a sealed envelope from the drawer and tapping it lightly against his palm, "and I won't pretend modesty—by Association standards, it's quite generous."
He turned fully now, the envelope poised like an unspoken promise between us.
"So, what will it be?" he asked, his voice calm but carrying the weight of a decision that would change the next stretch of my life.
Truthfully, I didn't have much room to refuse. If I turned him down, I'd be marked as a rogue—an illegal hunter without a pantheon's leash or the Association's protection. Joining meant privacy, stable pay, and, above all, a place to hide this secret of mine.
He placed the envelope down on the polished desk with a deliberate care, letting the contract inside catch the light between us. The unspoken message was clear: Take it or leave it, but know exactly what you're choosing.
I stepped closer, my hand brushing past the neat row of stationery to pick up the fountain pen resting by the corner. The scratch of ink against parchment felt oddly final—like a door quietly locking behind me.
Once my name was settled in black strokes on the page, I looked up, a sliver of practicality breaking through my nerves.
"How much will the salary be, exactly?" I asked, though my voice stayed neutral.
The President paused, then a low chuckle rumbled from his chest. He leaned back slightly, a faint smile ghosting his lips as if amused by my sudden interest in pay.
"Ahaha, you haven't even begun and already you're counting your share?" he teased lightly, but his eyes held approval more than reproach.
"Well then—since you'll start as a junior officer, your monthly salary will be ten Grade A essence crystals."
The numbers clicked instantly in my mind. Ten A-grade essence crystals... that's about seven hundred fifty gold coins every month.
I couldn't help it—a grin tugged at my mouth before I could school my face back to calm. For the first time in a long while, things might actually work out in my favor.
"That's... quite generous for a junior officer," I said, the grin refusing to leave my face as I met his eyes squarely.
"It is indeed," the President replied, his voice lowering back into that composed gravity he carried so naturally.
With a measured step, he closed the distance between us. Then, with the care of a man performing a small but binding ceremony, he reached out and pressed something cold and weighty into my palm.
I looked down. A polished insignia—a badge engraved with the Association's crest, its edges catching the soft light of the office like a quiet promise of authority and secrecy both.
"Officer Park Seo-jun," the President said, his words slow and deliberate, almost ceremonial, "congratulations. From this moment on, you are a junior officer of the Bureau of the Hunters Association."
I felt my hand close around the insignia almost reflexively. Instinct, maybe. I shook his hand firmly, then bowed, the formality grounding my thoughts amid the rush of relief and disbelief.
When I straightened, I noticed it—his cold, impenetrable aura seemed to ease, just faintly. And for the first time since I stepped into this building, I saw a smile carve gentle lines through the stern edges of his face.
"As for your position..." he began, but was interrupted by the quiet click of the office door swinging open.
A female staff member stepped in briskly, her heels silent against the polished floor. She bowed respectfully toward the President, a slim folder pressed against her chest.
"Here are the results for Hunter Park Seo-jun, sir," she said clearly, her eyes flicking to me just once before returning to the President.
"Right on time," he murmured, his fingers deftly flipping the folder open. I caught a glimpse of neat pages brimming with scripts I couldn't read from here—runes, test results, my new rank probably stamped across the top.
He scanned through the contents, his expression unchanging except for a faint glint of interest flickering in his eyes. Then he shut the folder with a soft clap and looked at me, his lips curling slightly at the edges.
"You will be added to the Investigation Division," he declared, voice calm yet carrying that weight of finality only he could wield so effortlessly.
"The... Investigation Division," I murmured under my breath, eyes flicking down to the insignia in my palm as if it might clarify things.
President Lee didn't seem to notice—or maybe he did and simply didn't care. He turned his sharp gaze to the woman standing patiently beside the door.
"Ms. Go, please escort Mr. Park and hand him his first case file," he ordered, his voice smooth but leaving no room for protest.
Ms. Go bowed her head with crisp precision. "Yes, Mr. President."
My head snapped up at that. "Already? But... shouldn't I receive some training first?" I asked, the surprise slipping past my usually controlled tone.
He didn't even look at me this time, just settled back into his chair, fingertips tapping lightly on the polished desk.
"Due to the results you've produced, you will be treated as an exception. Consider it a show of trust."
A dozen words, but heavy enough to shut me up completely. I swallowed what little argument lingered in my throat, and gave him a shallow bow.
"I... understand. Permission to leave, sir."
He waved a dismissive hand without lifting his eyes from a new stack of papers.
I turned on my heel, insignia tight in my fist, and followed Ms. Go out of the heavy office doors—into whatever waited for me next.