What’s scarier than criticism is indifference.
In that sense, the fact that the debate surrounding the Berserker has lasted so long was actually a good thing.
On the internet, in reality, the more people’s conversations became fuel to the fire, the more immense power and influence Kang Han gained.
The creation of such a massive stage was nothing short of a miracle, born from countless coincidences overlapping.
However, it was an undeniable fact that my own efforts, as Joo Yidam, played no small part.
I wondered if the main beneficiary of this situation was even aware of such a fact.
“Kang Han’s control abilities have finally reached a stable trajectory.”
“And it only took a few months since the beginning of the year, right?”
“Based on what we saw during the comprehensive exchange event, it seems safe to assume he could already hold his own against other students without issue…”
“To be honest, he’s already at a level where he could enter the top ranks right away.”
Click.
Inspector Han Se-ah turned off the recorder and said, “Congratulations. It seems like you’ll finally be able to enjoy a bit more of a peaceful academy life.”
She informed both Kang Han and me about how the instructors’ meeting to evaluate the collaborative Berserker training, which had taken place over several months, had unfolded.
“The official records of the instructors’ meeting will soon be submitted to the Hunter Association.
Though I don’t even need to see the results to predict them.
Cadet Kang Han, you’ve proven your capabilities.
From now on, no one will dare to falsely accuse you of being a dangerous factor.”
“…Thank you.”
Kang Han stared at the recorder with a somewhat bewildered look.
The recorder resembled a pen and had likely remained tucked inside Han Se-ah’s coat during the entire meeting.
Well, since it included his own voice, it was probably legal.
Assuming the laws of this world weren’t vastly different from the ones in mine.
“Inspector, are you heading back to the Association now?” I asked.
“Unless something significant arises, I don’t expect to return to the academy.”
“Something significant?”
“For example…”
Han Se-ah pulled out a device from her coat and held it up for us to see.
On the screen was a black symbol I knew all too well.
Why is that here?
My pupils hardened.
“What’s this?”
Kang Han seemed clueless.
Han Se-ah carefully observed our reactions before speaking again.
“There is a heretical cultist, specifically a necromancer, hiding within the academy.”
“What?!”
While Kang Han leapt up in shock, Han Se-ah continued speaking calmly.
“Specialized investigators will be dispatched from the Association soon. It’s not a matter we can interrogate publicly, given the academy’s status as the center of Hunter education in South Korea, but at least those of you in the upper ranks should be aware. That way, if you encounter something, you’ll know how to respond appropriately.”
“Does that mark mean it’s branded on the heretics?”
“Yes. However, since the locations of the tattoos vary widely depending on the cult, a thorough search would require stripping people of their clothing… That might’ve been possible twenty years ago, but it’s practically impossible now. Additionally, the cults have evolved significantly. Hiding their tattoos isn’t particularly difficult anymore if they set their minds to it.”
“Hmm…”
Han Se-ah placed her tablet back into her coat.
“Please cooperate with the investigators in their investigation. Well then.”
Without further pleasantries, she left the room.
Despite her unfamiliar position and name, which weren’t even present in the game’s lore, I didn’t feel her presence was all that important.
What mattered more was figuring out how to survive without revealing the cult’s brand from this point on.
Cold sweat trickled down my back.
How did she find out? I wanted to run after her right away, grab her by the collar, and demand answers.
But I couldn’t.
My chest felt tight and uneasy, as if my heart had lost its way.
“It’s not Ira Sol.”
She and I had already become partners bound to the same fate.
“Cultists, huh…”
Kang Han muttered with a bitter tone.
“What? Are you scared?”
“No, it’s not that…”
Kang Han gazed out the window at the academy scenery.
“It just means there could be another terrorist attack. Like last time.”
There was a certain resolve in his eyes.
While I couldn’t read others’ thoughts, I knew Kang Han well enough to guess what he was thinking.
He was probably already thinking about finding and stopping the cultists before they caused harm.
Even though it wasn’t his role or responsibility, he couldn’t stand idly by in the face of injustice.
He had a temperament that was almost stereotypical of a shonen manga protagonist—unnecessarily righteous.
I firmly said, “Don’t. This isn’t your job.”
“Then whose is it?”
“It’s the job of the Hunter Association, the academy, the investigators, and the instructors. Your only focus should be on becoming stronger.”
“And then what?”
For some reason, Kang Han’s rebuttal felt unusually long today.
I also turned to look out the window. Peaceful scenery stretched out before us.
This is the world I want to live in. It’s better if it stays like this forever.
To make that happen, the protagonist has only one job to do.
“Conquer the Tower.”
“Me?”
I slapped his back, startled by his confusion.
“Ouch, why’d you hit me?”
“Don’t even think about shirking your duty.”
“You’re spouting nonsense again…”
Kang Han rubbed his back as if he’d had enough of my antics.
“What’s with you lately? Every time the cult comes up, you get all worked up. Isn’t catching them a good thing?”
“Of course, it’s good. The faster we root out dangerous elements, the safer we’ll be.”
“Then—”
“What would you do if I turned out to be one of them?”
Kang Han froze.
“What?”
“Tell me. What would you do?”
Why did I feel such a childish urge to test him?
It wasn’t a question I needed to ask, and the timing was downright random—like an unprompted friendship test.
Perhaps some fragile, anxious part of me had begun to take root since the moment I’d unwillingly become part of the heretics.
The moment my fate diverged completely from that of the protagonist’s party.
No matter how meticulous my plans were, I wasn’t a machine.
My heart remained restless, constantly hounded by unease.
That question just now was born out of the same anxious feelings.
Maybe, deep down, I wanted validation—that everything I’d built so far wasn’t completely meaningless.
Weak, aren’t you, Joo Yidam?
‘Ugh, maybe I shouldn’t have said that.’
Kang Han, who had been staring at me in bewildered silence, didn’t show the slightest hint of complex thought in his innocent eyes.
Instead, he seemed more curious about why I’d asked such a question—like a student trying to understand the teacher’s intention behind a tricky exam question.
Even his reaction made me feel embarrassed.
‘Damn it.’
Just say it already, Kang Han—betray me.
Tell me you’ll expose my heretical mark to the Hunter Association the moment I reveal it and ensure I end up rotting in jail.
If you don’t laugh it off like a joke, I won’t be able to handle this awkward atmosphere.
“…I don’t know.”
Finally, Kang Han opened his mouth.
My shoulders trembled slightly, as if awaiting a sentence in court.
Why was I so nervous?
But his answer was frustratingly lackluster.
“Not sure.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. What should I do?”
Kang Han scratched the back of his short hair.
For someone who looked like the epitome of a cool guy, his actions screamed cluelessness.
“But you being a heretic… somehow, it kinda suits your image.”
And yet, this fool still managed to hit the nail on the head.
Strangely enough, his blunt remark calmed my turbulent emotions entirely. I chuckled softly.
Seeing me laugh, Kang Han, clueless as ever, chuckled along.
“Really? Thanks for the compliment.”
“Ha, haha… Ow!”
I kicked him hard in the shin and stormed off.
But no, it didn’t feel satisfying at all.
My toes stung instead.
‘Damn Berserker body.’
Kang Han was growing stronger every day.
That was the only thing that mattered right now.
The day the collaborative Berserker training ended, Inspector Han Se-ah left with a cryptic warning.
‘They said investigators would be dispatched.’
But even after a few days, there was no sign of investigators, nor any indication that the academy was actively searching for heretics.
Everything seemed unnervingly peaceful.
Perhaps a silent and sinister investigation was already underway beneath the surface, hidden from my notice.
But if events were unfolding on such a secretive level, there was little I could do to intervene meaningfully.
So, I decided to live as usual.
After all, it wasn’t something I could control.
‘That’s a relief, for now.’
At least, it gave me a bit more time to assist Kang Han from the sidelines.
If the academy’s security tightened or my heretical status was discovered, I’d have to flee immediately.
From that moment on, I wouldn’t have any role in the protagonist’s growth or journey.
The only comfort was knowing that Kang Han’s growth had already gained significant momentum.
Even without me, he’d do just fine from here on out.
“Did you erase it?”
Kang Han was meditating with the special instructor, a monk, his eyes closed deeply in a state of serenity.
It was unclear whether Kang Han was even listening to the monk’s words, but the monk continued speaking with a calm demeanor.
At a glance, the training seemed like a meaningless waste of time rather than anything productive.
“When you erase all the delusions floating within, there should be nothing left. Keep erasing.”
The monk glanced at Kang Han and smiled in satisfaction.
It seemed Kang Han had finally reached the intended state.
“When you’ve reached the very bottom, begin to feel your surroundings as a whole.”
“Now, let’s return to the first question. Who are you?”
“Have you discovered that your true self is not the contents but the vessel itself?”
Before the monk could even finish speaking, the magic around Kang Han began to stir violently, swirling into a vortex around him, almost as if his inner state were being visualized.
The scene felt oddly familiar.
I furrowed my brow, searching my memory for a similar image.
Ah, it was one of the many scenes I had witnessed countless times in the game.
A sign of awakening.
When I finally realized it, my eyes widened.
“This can’t be…”
It was different from my own awakening.
Unlike me, who had been forced to contract with an evil god due to layers of coincidences and a powerful heretical curse, Kang Han had climbed to the stage of contracting with a celestial solely through his own strength.
The difference in talent was undeniable.
The magic rushing toward Kang Han grew denser, almost solemn, as if it were trying to lift him to a higher realm.
Objects around him were swept up and scattered in all directions.
While the monk waited patiently, I cautiously approached Kang Han.
“Ugh…!”
The closer I got, the stronger the whirlwind became, making it difficult to maintain my balance.
By the time I finally reached him, Kang Han’s awakening had already concluded.
“Haa…”
With his eyes now open, Kang Han exuded an entirely different aura—noble and serene.
Still seated cross-legged, he looked at me with a refreshed expression.
I asked nervously, “Who did you make a contract with?”
“Huh?”
“You just awakened, didn’t you? That means you met a celestial. Who did you make a contract with?”
“Oh, uh…”
Kang Han scratched his head awkwardly.
“It was… someone called the God of Fire and Discipline? I think that was the name.”
“What?!”
Good grief.
If what Kang Han said was true, this was an incredible stroke of luck.
The God of Fire and Discipline.
A celestial so highly ranked among benevolent beings that their position was almost unparalleled.
In the game, encountering this celestial required beating odds in the realm of a decimal point, making them one of the rarest entities to contract with.
Well, given Kang Han’s exceptional talent, it wasn’t surprising that she might have descended directly, ignoring probabilities altogether.
I couldn’t be sure of the details, but one thing was clear—this was an undeniable stroke of fortune.
I couldn’t help but laugh, half in disbelief, as I grabbed Kang Han’s arm.
“Wow, I mean… ha, haha! Your life’s set now!”
From here on, nothing but a smooth road lay ahead for him!
“Wait, so—”
“Hold on, let me finish. I didn’t actually make a contract.”
“…What?”
“She kept saying I had to kill you to finalize the contract, so, uh… sorry, but I just ignored her.”
“…Huh?”
What the hell?
Did he just reject a contract with a high-ranking celestial?
For my sake?
What an absolute fool.