Chapter 10

Creating a secret sometimes means giving up a part of yourself.

It’s similar to exposing your vulnerabilities to one another.

That’s why truly eternal secrets are rare. The moment someone becomes uneasy, disaster is inevitable.

But things are different when survival is at stake.

“You get it, right? If this gets out, it’s over for both of us.”

“I know.”

Yesterday, we wrote a secret for the two of us in an empty classroom.

The fact that my blood could calm Kang Han.

It wasn’t part of the original plan. It was the result of a near-gambling experiment that led to an accidental discovery.

Who would’ve imagined that Kang Han, who was pushing the limits of his mental endurance, would suddenly awaken and subdue his berserker frenzy at the genetic level?

I sternly reminded him,

“Anyway, this must never be discovered. Be careful, got it?”

“Yeah, I don’t want to end up locked in a lab either.”

Keeping a secret sometimes means giving up a part of yourself.

The first time I gave a part of myself to Kang Han, it was in the form of a blood-stained handkerchief.

The handkerchief soaked with my blood now quietly rests in Kang Han’s possession. That is our secret.

Secrets are vulnerabilities.

The moment someone uncovers this secret, they’ll find the weakest link that can bring us down.

No one must know that my blood is the trigger to stop Kang Han’s rampage.

If we’re careless and someone finds out, both of us will undoubtedly become lab rats.

“Alright, let’s try that thing.”

I nudged Kang Han.

Now, we had to report last night’s results to the monk.

Of course, we can’t reveal the real trigger. That’s why we prepared an alternative.

A fake trigger.

“What did I tell you to do? Practice the fake trigger now.”

“O-okay.”

With trembling hands, Kang Han pulled out the handkerchief from his pocket.

The real trigger was the blood-stained handkerchief, but the fake one was an ordinary handkerchief.

Of course, to avoid suspicion, we concocted a simple story as a gimmick.

The narrative was that the handkerchief carried my scent.

A lie becomes more cunning when hidden within a truth.

The difference between the real and fake trigger was merely whether there was blood on the handkerchief or not.

“Ahem, ah, ahh.”

Kang Han pressed the “handkerchief imbued with Joo-Yidam’s scent” to his nose and spoke robotically.

“Ahh~ calming, calming…”

I let out a hollow laugh at Kang Han’s terrible acting.

At the same time, a faint uneasiness crept into the corner of my mind.

Our fake trigger had to fool the instructors, the academy, and even the world. It had to.

“Ahh, clear mind—”

“…1”

But as I watched the protagonist’s clumsy performance, my feelings leaned more toward concern than confidence.

“So, that’s how it works.”

The monk, after inspecting the fake trigger, showed no particular reaction. He simply smiled gently and gave a short reply.

“Using a handkerchief. Simple but effective if mastered. Well done.”

I subconsciously relaxed my shoulders.

Well, I guess that meant we passed.

It was a relief that the fake trigger seemed convincing enough.

To be honest, I’d been worried he might ask us to demonstrate it.

But judging by the atmosphere, it didn’t seem like that troublesome scenario would occur.

We exchanged secret glances.

Kang Han’s expression looked somewhat resentful.

It was understandable since he had endured my nagging and scolding all night, practicing the “fake trigger demonstration,” only for it to go unused.

But inwardly, I was relieved. At least we didn’t ruin the mood with his poor acting.

“Oh, it’s time.”

At that moment, the monk checked his watch and stood from his seat. He walked toward the classroom door and opened it.

Someone stepped inside.

Click.

Clack.

It was a woman with a cold demeanor, impeccably dressed in a black suit.

As she crossed the threshold, she slowly scanned the room.

Her sharp, icy gaze seemed to take in everything—even the flow of air within the space.

The monk slightly bowed his head toward her and spoke.

“Welcome. We’ve been expecting you.”

She gave a small nod and spoke in a calm yet firm voice.

“I am Han Se-ah, a hunter from the Hunter Association.”

The Hunter Association?

For a moment, I was dumbfounded.

The Hunter Association sent someone? Why now?

“Kang Han Cadet.”

She pronounced Kang Han’s name slowly, fixing her gaze on him like a radar locking onto a target.

There was an odd weight to her voice.

“I’ve been dispatched as an overseer from the Association to monitor your training. This process isn’t solely about cultivating your abilities but also about proving whether the berserker trait can coexist with society.”

Her tone was entirely objective—she delivered information plainly and without a hint of personal emotion.

Han Se-ah, the overseer from the Hunter Association, turned her head to the monk.

“If Kang Han fails to prove he can be controlled, the results will be immediately reported to the Association. Determining the appropriate action is not my role but the Association’s responsibility.”

Hearing those words, I felt something rise up within me.

“Appropriate action?”

The monk remained calm, as if he had already anticipated this.

It was then that I recalled a past conversation with him.

He had once said something to me.

If the higher-ups concluded that there was no way to leash the berserker, it wouldn’t be surprising if

Kang Han was eliminated at any time.

As my thoughts raced, Han Se-ah continued her announcement.

“I hope this training doesn’t end as a mere test.”

Her voice carried no trace of sarcasm, nor did she smirk. She merely added,

“If you fail to earn trust, the results you receive will reflect that. Kang Han Cadet.”

Kang Han remained silent, his shoulders slightly hunched as he took in her words.

“I understand,” he muttered, nodding quietly.

An uncomfortable feeling settled in the corner of my chest.

The presence of this overseer from the Hunter Association hinted at a danger far greater than we’d imagined.

The clues were numerous, and they all pointed to one glaring truth:

The fate of the protagonist lay in the hands of this overseer.

If even a single unfavorable report made its way to the Association, Kang Han had no future.

And that was something not even I could prevent.

I glanced sideways.

Kang Han was still bowing his head with a stiff expression.

“Are you okay?”

I asked quietly.

Kang Han slowly lifted his head and looked at me.

“I’m fine.”

His voice was calm, but there was an odd determination in it.

I realized I’d been worrying for nothing.

Right—this was just a matter of proving it.

All we had to do was show the world that our “dog” doesn’t bite without reason.

When I gave him a big smile, Kang Han responded with a faint, albeit weak, smile of his own.

At that moment, the monk, who had been silent the whole time, finally spoke.

“Now then, Overseer, would you explain your additional purpose in visiting the academy? The schedule was only shared during the instructors’ meeting, so the cadets haven’t been informed yet.”

Additional purpose?

I raised my head and met the overseer’s gaze.

Her lifeless, mechanical eyes made me doubt for a moment if she was even human.

“This year, during the academy’s intercontinental exchange event, Cadet Kang Han will engage in multiple duels.”

Han Se-ah’s lips moved deliberately, her words sounding more like declarations than requests.

Each syllable she spoke carried the weight of massive gears grinding in motion—a clear “do as you’re told” attitude, reinforced by the authority of the Hunter Association looming behind her.

“The exchange event is a stage watched by the entire world. Particularly for Cadet Kang Han, it holds even greater significance.”

She paused momentarily, fixing her gaze on Kang Han.

“The berserker trait grants immense power, but its risks are equally significant if left uncontrolled. This event won’t merely assess your abilities. It will serve as a demonstration of how safely the berserker trait can coexist within society.”

Her voice remained steady, but it carried a crushing weight.

“If you lose control even once, the berserker trait will no longer be seen as the potential of a warrior but as a calamity for humanity.”

“Wait a second.”

Unable to listen any further, I raised my hand to interrupt her.

“Don’t you think that’s going a bit far?”

Since earlier, she’d been treating Kang Han as if he was some kind of ticking time bomb.

What?

Berserkers are a calamity?

“Don’t you watch the news? There’s Demian Kreuz, the famous berserker from Germany. He’s actively working on the front lines in the Tower. How can you suddenly say berserkers are a threat now—”

Her gaze pierced me in an instant.

“Demian Kreuz?”

Her voice dropped, sharp as frost, even colder and more composed than before.

She slowly scanned the classroom, with Kang Han at the center, as though assessing everything in the room to be utterly worthless.

Finally, her gaze landed back on me.

“In a few days, the news will be out. Watch it closely. Then you’ll understand what berserkers really are.”

With those final words, she left the classroom.

The sound of her clicking heels echoed like a haunting refrain.

A few days passed, and the world was hit with shocking news.

Television, the internet, and every other medium blared the same breaking story.

[German S-Class Hunter Demian Kreuz, Dead After Killing 15 Teammates in Berserk Rampage]

I stared at the text on the screen, speechless.

Beside me, Kang Han sat in silence, his gaze locked on the TV.

“On Friday the 21st, German S-Class Hunter Demian Kreuz, known for his frontline efforts in tower raids, suddenly went berserk during an operation. It has been confirmed that he killed 15 fellow hunters before dying from the effects of his own abilities. This has caused significant upheaval in the international community…”

Demian Kreuz.

The S-Class Hunter from Germany.

He was the one who proved the potential of the berserker trait to the entire world—the berserker whom people trusted the most.

The news that such a figure had, in an instant, gone berserk and annihilated his entire team was something no one could have foreseen.

I felt the weight of the words Han Se-ah had left behind.

The possibility of trust shattered in a single moment.

And in that moment, the stakes for Kang Han—and us—had never felt higher.