I won’t bother going into detail about monster hunts I’ve seen repeated hundreds of times.

A brief impression will suffice.

They were damn good.

A team of four moving as if they were one, their movements seamlessly organic. The dazzling displays of martial skill as they faced down each charging zombie. The instant, precise shots that pierced between a zombie’s brows when needed. Machetes and Chinese sabers slashing, their blades catching and scattering the flicker of lantern light. The necromancer type standing motionless in the dark. Shockwaves and reflection fields. The one called Academy calmly aiming down his sights. The general-type. And explosions.

But this operation had one more participant.

Unlike the four-man formation drilled in schools and executed in the field, five people were deployed this time.

The fifth was Kim Min-young.

He took position at the rear, like a supervisor, watching the team and issuing instructions on the spot.

His commands were appropriate and in line with the situation. But from where I stood, I couldn’t help but question whether that role was even necessary.

Even without him giving orders, the Academy’s highly trained team was already executing whatever he was about to command.

He carried a pair of flashy pistols, and in addition, a heavy-caliber hunter pistol meant for monsters. Yet he never once fired them.

The only kill Kim Min-young registered in that whole operation was a single zombie that had lunged from behind. He used a maneuver derived from a lure technique, knocked it over, and then crushed its skull under his boot.

Whether that kill was necessary is questionable.

Even without him, one of his team—skilled and armed with gleaming steel—would have dispatched it without effort.

All throughout the operation, one word never left my mind: extraneous.

“Good work!”

A rookie with a .22 greeted the hunter team as if they were heroes returning from battle.

Kim Min-young led the way at the front.

With him setting the pace, cleanup followed behind.

Bang! Bang!

Thunk! Rip!

While the support team dealt with the masterless zombies, Kim Min-young strode toward us, his coat tails flaring. He put deliberate weight into each step, as if to put on a show for me, eyes locked on mine, closing the distance with piercing intensity.

To be perfectly honest?

“?”

A question mark.

He hadn’t done anything. What exactly was I supposed to be evaluating?

“What do you think?”

Chief Choi, standing beside me, asked.

I forced a wry smile, about to scrape together some kind of “opinion,” when—

The flames of hatred inside me, softened briefly by the easy spectacle of unearned glory, suddenly clenched tight.

Thud!

A shockwave reverberated.

Kim Min-young’s steps halted.

Gunfire and zombie hunting ceased in its wake.

Everyone turned, searching for the source of the tremor.

“Below!”

Someone pointed down.

Thud!

The basement.

It sounded as if it came from the surface, but sound reflects—direction alone can’t be trusted.

In a wide, open building like this, there’s no place for a monster to hide.

That left one possibility: the thing was in the basement.

“Everyone fall back. Could be a mid-class.”

Clack.

I chambered my rifle.

“Mid-class?!”

Chief Choi’s voice cracked in surprise.

“These infiltration-types create erosion zones that act like hangars. Sometimes a mid-class gets summoned or generated from the rift and takes up station inside.”

That was all the explanation I had time for.

We needed to evacuate immediately.

Having already put down the small types, there was no need to stick around for the mid-class.

This wasn’t a critical objective that had to be retaken. And monsters—unless they’re infiltration-types—don’t last long in Earth’s hostile environment.

Most likely this one would wander to another erosion zone or gradually wear down and vanish here.

Fortunately, this mid-class was still deep below.

We could disengage without taking the brunt of its classified “combat-type” attacks.

But then—

Vrrrrmmm— Vrrrrmmm— Vrrrrmmm—

A strange resonance floated up from the basement.

Not human.

If it could be classified at all, it sounded closer to a machine. Yet this eerie, soul-scraping timbre wasn’t man-made. It was rift-born.

Each pulse, washing over me like waves, scraped my very soul. The flames of hatred guttered, then flared back even fiercer.

Yes.

This was the voice of a monster.

“Shibal~! Just the same. That bastard. That fucking bastard~.”

The one called Academy growled in his thick dialect.

“What is it, Academy?”

Kim Min-young—pale, but still clinging to dignity—asked.

That moment exposed their hierarchy with brutal clarity.

“You got a cock jammed in your ears? I said it’s that bastard! The one that ate your precious junior~!”

Academy might be his subordinate, following his orders in missions, but clearly he didn’t think much of Kim Min-young himself.

And in this urgent moment, his true feelings spilled out raw, with no filter.

Kim Min-young said nothing.

He only kept his mouth shut, staring at his subordinate.

He looked nothing like the figure of brilliance he had tried to project.

He looked powerless.

“What kind of monster is it?”

I stepped forward, asking Academy in his place.

His hostile glare shifted from Min-young to me.

A sharp gaze—razor-honed.

He had the skill to back it: intimidation, close-quarters technique, battle sense, no trace of fear. Every quality fit for an A-rank hunter.

Likely hard-earned through countless real battles, mistakes, blood, and lost comrades.

Plain looks, “Academy” background, overshadowed by Min-young’s fame... but the true leader of that hunter team was him.

“Go on.”

I held his stare, steady, though he looked like he might shoot any second.

The standoff didn’t last.

“...It’s a monster-summoner type.”

His answer came in a steady Seoul accent, dialect gone.

“It summons monsters?”

“Look outside. Every creature in ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) range will be drawn here. And every human in range will instantly register as enemy to them.”

His voice dropped pale with dread.

If his words were true, then the thing beneath our feet wasn’t just a monster—it was an alarm.

An evolved rift defense, drawing nearby monsters to repel any intrusion, marking humans as threats.

Believable enough. Rift ecology would produce such things even without Kang Han-min’s interference.

We exited the warehouse.

A prickle of dread ran through me.

I couldn’t see them yet, but the echoes of shockwaves rolled faintly nearby.

Monsters embedded in the area were answering the call.

Monsters are only “harmless” insofar as they’re indifferent to humans.

Once they’ve marked humans clearly as targets, they’re as dangerous as any human full of hate.

“Fuck!”

A curse burst from a support truck.

“Drone lost!”

A young woman sprinted out, reporting to Academy.

“Academy! A mid-class Trooper type is headed this way!”

She reported to him, not Kim Min-young.

Once again, it was plain: Academy was the real leader.

This group might officially be “Kim Min-young’s,” but besides the rookie with the .22, no one gave him a second thought anymore.

Even his own scout, Chief Choi, wasn’t an exception.

She leaned in close, whispering to me:

“So the rumors were true. Kim Min-young’s just a figurehead. All the real work dumped on his underlings.”

That explained why she disliked him.

She’d heard the whispers—that Min-young was hollow—and she’d confirmed them herself.

The rumors matched reality.

Watching him stand there useless, Chief Choi sneered.

“A famed feast, nothing to eat.”

In the thick of the tension, Academy approached me.

“Bad luck. Only a handful will make it out alive.”

A smirk curled his lips.

“Same as before.”

He glanced toward Min-young.

Min-young stood clutching his oversized pistol, looking lost, as if he had no idea where to put himself.

I started toward him.

“Leave him. He won’t be of any use.”

Academy stopped me, taking the chance to spit out what he really thought.

“He’s good at politics. Fighting, not so much. Oh, and stealing credit from his subordinates? He’s excellent at that.”

“True,” Chief Choi chimed in.

Just then, a cold wind swept across us.

The rookie with the .22.

His boyish face hardened with killing intent as he leveled his pistol at Academy.

“That’s enough, Academy.”

Chief Choi froze at the sight of the gun, but Academy only smirked.

“Put it away, brat.”

He showed not a trace of fear, even with a gun in his face.

The rookie shouted:

“You saw it too! Our leader stared down a general-type! He didn’t flinch, shoved a pistol in its face! You saw that monster run! You were there!”

His voice cracked, but it carried sincerity.

Academy remained cold.

He strode slowly toward the muzzle.

The rookie shouted not to come closer, but Academy seized the barrel and shoved it aside with brute strength.

Retaliation followed.

Smack!

A heavy slap, enough to twist his head around.

Academy’s voice, cold as ice, followed the staggering boy.

“Can’t even take down a single mutt.” 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

He walked past him and climbed into the vehicle.

The rookie couldn’t aim at him again. One of Academy’s team had him covered already, finger on the trigger, killing intent radiating.

The air turned murderous.

Academy stopped before the car door and spoke to me:

“We part ways here. How many survive from this point, who knows. Good luck.”

Maybe he was right.

Scatter, every man for himself.

But fleeing from monsters that had consciously marked us as enemies wouldn’t be simple.

If Awakened abilities truly mirror monsters’, then Cheon Young-jae’s detection ability existed in them too.

Against sluggish small-types, escape might be possible. Against a mid-class combat-type with hardpoints? A different story.

And to flee by vehicle—our only option—we’d be bound to the roads. If monsters blocked them, we’d be trapped.

Off-road? Only something like the buggy in my garage could handle it. Ordinary suspensions wouldn’t last.

“Academy.”

I called to the man as he reached the car.

He looked back at me.

I gave a rueful smile. “We haven’t even exchanged names yet. I just called you that because that’s what people seem to call you.”

He studied me in silence.

Waiting.

Relieved, I went on:

“Let’s catch it.”

“...What?”

“Let’s take it down.”

I gestured toward the basement.

A smirk tugged his lips.

“We’ve thought about it.”

“Have you?”

“Go ahead. Take a look. See what’s hiding down there.”

A faint shadow of fear crossed his eyes.

“You’ll see something beyond imagination.”

I shook my head.

His gaze held doubt, cynicism. But I could tell.

Despite himself, a part of him was hoping.

Reputation.

The reputation of “Professor” was stirring ripples even in this cynical man.

“It’s fine.”

I met his gaze evenly.

“I’ve been to the deepest part of a rift.”

“A rift?”

“Yes. That’s where I met Kang Han-min.”

“The Savior, Kang Han-min...!”

In the end, it was reputation that carried weight.

Even Kang Han-min’s reflected light.

“I hadn’t planned on field work here. But given the situation, the surest chance is to go in ourselves and eliminate it.”

His eyes softened.

Two things must have swayed him: trust in me, and his own judgment.

He’d encountered a similar type before—and nearly died.

The same disaster was repeating.

He’d spoken of scattering, every man for himself, but he knew. He knew how terrifying a monster becomes once it consciously targets humans.

I pressed again, firm:

“I’d like one experienced member with me.”

Academy lowered his gaze, thinking.

It wouldn’t take him long.

This man was sharp. He’d lived not by luck but by trusting his skills and his judgment.

Otherwise, he’d already be dead.

While he deliberated, I glanced at Kim Min-young.

Still standing there, lost in thought, a blank expression twisting into confusion as he felt my eyes on him.

Why had I looked at him?

I wasn’t sure myself.

Maybe it was Academy’s words—reminding me of Jang Ki-young—that triggered it.

I felt traces of my old mentor in Kim Min-young.

He’d deny it, but the resemblance was uncanny.

Self-imposed image, stubborn adherence to a concept, faction-building, siphoning gains through subordinates, and a past glory that wasn’t truly his anymore.

My mentor Jang Ki-young had risen on legendary exploits never truly proven, and he’d fallen into obscurity, abandoned by all. I saw his pitiful, miserable end up close.

Whether Kim Min-young had really faced down a general-type or not, whether he’d repelled it—it didn’t matter.

He already had reputation.

Enough reputation that a desperate rookie with a .22 clung to him like a savior.

My mentor, once renowned, had collapsed with no one left to acknowledge him.

Kim Min-young was not him. He even hated and cursed Jang Ki-young.

And yet the resemblance was undeniable.

In some ways, Kim Min-young was a more faithful copy of Jang Ki-young than I had ever been as a disciple.

“Hey.”

I sometimes wonder.

What if, back then, I had helped my mentor?

Maybe the zombie-Awakened with the rocket axe—his mad dream—would never have existed. But maybe, just maybe, hunters without powers like us would’ve had a brighter future.

I’m not trying to atone for then.

But once—just once—I want to extend my hand.

“Will you come with us?”

Before this man’s reputation, so like my mentor’s, is reduced to zero.