They say wise people foresee the future.
Before the war, I predicted the fall of civilization and took decisive action to build a bunker. I might not be a sage, but I’d say that puts me in the category of somewhat wise.
Now, with the Legion faction controlling the capital region and Kim Daram reestablished as a contact, I had to predict what would come next.
One possibility stood out.
Kim Daram wouldn’t kill me outright.
Instead, she’d throw me into monster-hunting operations.
She knew my skill level better than anyone—so she’d make sure I got the hardest, most dangerous jobs.
I hadn’t left Gukwiwon and buried myself in debt to carve out my own territory just to die like some disposable pawn under Kim Daram’s command.
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For the past few days, I had been thinking about how to smoothly refuse her demands.
Faking an illness? A classic excuse, time-tested and reliable. But it had too many countermeasures.
If I claimed I had a herniated disc and couldn’t move like before, Kim Daram would drag me to a military hospital and have me scanned head to toe.
No way she’d let me off with just a verbal excuse.
Mental instability? PTSD? Another option.
The best approach would be to pretend to be a fanatic.
Fanatics don’t hunt monsters.
From what I heard, Mutation fanatics were at least tolerated by the ruling factions.
But pulling that off wasn’t easy.
I didn’t know their rituals. Their language. Their bullshit.
And Kim Daram, of all people, knew I’d never believe in some insane cult preaching that “monsters are our friends.”
So that was out.
PTSD? Panic disorder? I considered them.
But even if I put on an Oscar-worthy performance, I doubted I could fool Kim Daram.
I scanned the items in my bunker.
Blackout sheets covering the windows, a coffee maker, an artificial fish tank, and goldfish.
A printed-out meme of IamJesus and Chairman Je Pung-ho, stuck to the wall.
A cartoonish portrait of myself, drawn by Da-jeong.
All of these were proof that I had survived the war.
They kept me going.
But people can’t live on hope alone.
I turned my gaze slightly to the side.
Hanging there was a Chinese-made machete—a spoils of war.
Kim Pil-seong’s machete.
Every time I looked at it, it stirred up the betrayal and disappointment I felt toward Kim Daram.
But now...
Something different sparked in my mind.
A sudden, sharp idea.
I immediately turned on the boiler and prepared for a shower.
Ssssshhhhh—
As the water heated up, I dragged a full-length mirror in front of the shower booth.
Then, I stripped and examined myself.
No, this wasn’t narcissism.
I had a few reasons.
First, a self-checkup.
Clearly, my muscle mass had decreased.
Eating less had its consequences.
If I hadn’t forced myself to consume solid proteins despite the taste, my body would have withered into something ghastly.
Aside from that? No major issues.
My teeth were healthy.
I checked my back, my legs, under my arms—no signs of disease.
Then, I did something embarrassing but necessary.
I bent over slightly and checked my anus.
In the apocalypse, no disease is minor.
Especially not a condition affecting one of the most sensitive, frequently used organs in the human body.
All clear.
Everything was fine.
My effort in maintaining my health had paid off.
Surviving in peak condition during an apocalypse—that was my reward for being smart.
After verifying my physical stability, I moved on to something even more important.
I checked # Nоvеlight # my scars.
Hunters like us accumulate wounds over time.
The battlefield is a high-risk stress zone where injuries are inevitable.
And we were deployed in the worst places imaginable—zones even the Chinese government struggled to handle.
More importantly—
Anyone fighting monsters had to engage in scalping tactics.
It was impossible to avoid getting cut.
Back before the war, barbers would often point out old bullet grazes when trimming my hair.
I left mine alone.
Lee Sang-hoon had hair implants to cover his.
Gong Gyeong-min? He tattooed over his scars to make them look cool.
But scalp wounds weren’t my concern.
I checked for scars on my legs, my lower back—anywhere that mattered for movement.
I was looking for something specific.
"Hmm?"
I found one.
A scratch on my knee.
Not from battle.
I got it slipping on the wet floor of a Chinese bathhouse.
It was just a minor scrape.
But because of the bathwater’s chemicals—probably some spicy-sounding Sichuan ingredient—it scarred over deeply.
"..."
It wasn’t deep, but it was visible.
This should work.
Yes.
I’d tell Kim Daram that Kim Pil-seong gave me this scar.
When a weak regime takes power, it needs to distract the public.
Give them entertainment.
Rome had gladiators and free bread.
The Fifth Republic had the 3S Policy.
Now, the Legion faction was doing the same.
And what did they offer?
Something we were all too familiar with.
PaleNet was back.
Not fully—
But someone had taken over abandoned relay stations and restarted the network.
For the first time in ages, PaleNet survivors resurfaced on our forums.
But they weren’t as loud as before.
In the old days, their spam could fill dozens of pages in minutes.
Now, their presence had dwindled.
Many of them hadn’t survived the times.
And soon, the rest wouldn’t either.
Ballantine, PaleNet’s operator, sent me a private message.
"I didn’t want to ruin the mood, but I should let everyone know. To be honest, PaleNet is on its last legs."
"It’s a miracle it’s even running right now. The servers haven’t been maintained for over a year. We’re running at 1/5 of full capacity, and I don’t know how long that will hold."
"If PaleNet suddenly goes down, don’t be too upset."
I asked Ballantine how long it had left.
"A week, at best. Maybe even today or tomorrow. It depends on how much strain the servers can handle."
So, that was it.
PaleNet’s final moments.
A dying ember burning the brightest before it went out.
Then, Ballantine dropped another bomb.
"A Legion intelligence officer wants to inspect our servers."
SKELTON: "Huh? The servers? Why?"
"They won’t tell me exactly. But apparently, someone secretly uploaded a massive file to PaleNet."
Legion wanted to find it.
"I told them the location. What they do with it—make another PaleNet, or wipe it out completely—is up to them."
"In exchange, I asked them to at least bury or cremate John Nae-non."
SKELTON: "John Nae-non... he’s dead, right?"
"I hope so. But who knows?"
Yeah.
He would die with PaleNet.
And just as I expected—
Beep— Beep— Beep—
A new signal.
Personal ID: DARAM2.
"...What is it, Kim Daram?"
People always said my voice was flat, monotone.
Right now, I dropped it two octaves lower, poured in a generous ladle of gloom, and served it ice cold.
"Sunbae, I'm heading to your bunker. You still living there?"
"......"
"Sunbae?"
"I never left. Can't leave."
"You sound like shit. You in a bad mood?"
"...This is just how I’ve been. Since that day."
"I'll be there soon. Wait outside. I'm not stepping in—I'm not interested in seeing your toilet."
Moments later, I felt the vibrations.
Multiple armored vehicles approaching.
The one heading for my domain was a military jeep.
It pulled up right in front of my main bunker.
Kim Daram stepped out.
...?!
For a brief second, I was genuinely surprised.
She was missing an eye.
A deep claw mark ran beneath the black eye patch she wore.
"......"
I already knew how brutal it must have been for her, a former Gukwiwon officer, to secure a place within the Legion faction.
But that was her problem.
This was mine.
"Been a while, sunbae."
"...Yeah."
Then, another figure stepped out of the jeep.
Defender.
As soon as he saw me, he winked—subtle, but unmistakable.
So he hadn’t told Daram about our relationship.
...This wasn’t part of the plan.
But old-school hunters like us didn’t stop just because the numbers didn’t add up.
I started moving.
Slowly.
With a limp.
"?"
Defender tilted his head in confusion.
I kept my face downcast, dragging one leg as I approached Kim Daram.
"Sunbae?"
Her voice sharpened.
"What happened?"
"......"
I ignored Defender’s piercing gaze from behind her, pretending not to notice his skepticism.
Then, I answered calmly, bitterly.
"Kim Pil-seong. He was better than I thought."
Defender’s eyes flickered with understanding.
Internet friends.
He got it immediately.
"I see."
Kim Daram, on the other hand, barely reacted.
I got it.
Someone who had lost an eye wasn’t going to flinch over me losing a leg.
"So that’s why you’ve been sulking?"
"......"
"How have you been holding up? It's been over a year since Kim Pil-seong died."
She stared right at me.
"Someone like you wouldn’t just sit around and do nothing."
"...Me?"
"Yeah. You get lonely way too easily. You’re picky as hell, but deep down, you hate being alone."
"......"
I had underestimated her.
I forgot—for a long time, we were basically a two-person unit.
No matter how many team members came and went, the core was always the same.
Me, leading the charge.
Daram, covering me from behind.
We had slaughtered more monsters together than I could count.
I knew her well.
So it made sense—
That she knew me just as well.
"Your leg really hurt?"
"...You think I’m faking it?"
"No, but... Jeon Si-hoon."
Shit.
"That whole incident—wasn't that you?"
"......"
"Even if that gang leader was an Awakened, no way in hell he could’ve taken down an Annihilator-class target alone."
"As far as I know, the only person who can do that without an Awakened’s help... is you."
Damn it.
Kim Daram was Kim Daram.
No half-assed excuse would fool her.
Which meant—
There was only one option left.
I had to show her.
"...Let me teach you."
Not as Professor.
But as SKELTON.