Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jinwoo returns to earth with a plan and a headache.

Okay, saying he has a plan is putting it loosely. But the headache part is for certain. First thing’s first: he needs to talk to his mother.

“Wait for me,” he tells her as he cradles her limp hand in his, and he can tell Jinah’s been by because her nails have been painted. “Please.”

She doesn’t respond, because, of course, she can’t, and even though he knows that, it still hurts. He leaves pretending it doesn’t.

His headache steadily builds as he decides to knock out the re-evaluation before returning to his sister. He fears if he goes home first, he won’t want to go out again, with the fatigue that’s settling deep in his bones.

So he makes a pit stop by the nearest convenience store to freshen up—having an inventory is incredibly useful at times like this—and grab a snack, and seals his fate.

Getting re-evaluated isn’t that big of a deal, really. Telling his sister that he’s S-rank is the hard part. It’s been a while since he’s actually gotten nervous, but the nerves gnaw at him now like some kind of parasite completely undetected by the System.

Okay, so the S-rank part isn’t what he’s afraid of. It’s everything else. But… he’d promised to explain all of it, hadn’t he? He doesn’t break his promises. Especially not to his little sister. She deserves the truth, after all he’s put her through.

Three days, the employee tells him. Three days and everything will irrevocably change.

(Even more than it already has.)

An S-rank approaches him as he’s leaving, a hand extended for greeting, and Jinwoo’s first thought is warm. His mana signature is warm. The exact opposite of Jinwoo’s—his nickname the exact opposite of Jinwoo’s—and after spending a week in the fiery throes of the Demon Castle, Jinwoo’s ready to get the hell away from warm.

So he does. Walks right past him without a word and circles back to the hospital to tell his mother the news. She won’t really hear it, but that’s okay. He wants to make a promise to her anyway.

“I will save you,” he vows, aching, haunted in his desperation to do so. He holds her hand like it’s made of glass, and the shadow underneath him warps and chitters, but he forces down the instinctive wave of mana that tries sweeping through him. Wraps it up tight, tighter, tighter, because mana is what landed Park Kyung-hye here in this hospital bed, in this coma. “Just a little bit longer, okay?”

Just a little bit longer, and he’ll have his mother back. And he’ll protect her and keep her safe, just like he does Jinah. Just like he feels he must do for Juhee, even Songyi and Jinho.

“Nothing will ever happen to you,” Jinwoo concludes, his voice hardly a whisper, echoed by the disembodied chittering of his faithful shadows, “because you are under my protection.”

Something deep within him, something instinctive, growing day by day, level by level, borders possessive in his urgency to protect. It’s less human and more animal, low and threatening, but he isn’t scared of it. He loves his family, truly cherishes the people in his little circle. He has this strength now, this limitless potential, and he will use it. He will protect them.

(The way nobody protected him.)

His head throbs. Someone is approaching: a mana signature he vaguely recognizes. It waits down the hall for him, an incredibly powerful but controlled signature, very diplomatic. Polite. Yes, he knows this signature.

Jinwoo releases his mother’s hand, gently, and decides it’s time to leave.

He doesn’t get very far. The hunter he sensed in his mother’s hospital room stands down the hallway.

“I need to get back home,” Jinwoo says. “My sister is waiting for me.”

“Ah,” says Chief Inspector Woo Jinchul, “yes. That is part of what we need to discuss with you.”

The dread that follows is immediate. He thinks about the sole infantry in Jinah’s shadow—a placeholder, really, until he had the chance to talk to Jinah about its purpose; until he had multiple soldiers strong enough to act as her guard—and wonders what could have happened to her. She had a soldier attached to her to alert him if anything went wrong, and two emergency numbers—

“Hunter Sung.” Chief Woo’s voice is firm. Grounding. Jinwoo looks at him, eyes mana-bright, and the world snaps back into focus. “I assure you that she is fine.”

“...then what’s this about?” he asks, careful to keep his voice low. 

“My earlier phrasing was misleading,” says the chief, with a bow. “I apologize. Please, if we could have a moment of your time?”

That’s the second time he’s said it like that. Jinwoo raises a brow, suspicious. “‘We’?”

“Yes. The chairman of the Korean Hunters Association would like to meet you.”

“Me,” Jinwoo says slowly, “and Jinah?”

“Yes.”

“...”

“...because of the TikToks, Hunter Sung,” Chief Woo explains, equally slowly.

Jinwoo pauses, then, blinking in confusion. It’s hard to read the expression of someone so trained in the ways of diplomacy. In the end, the only option he has is to ask.

“What’s TikTok?”

The videos. Whenever Jinah had her phone out, whenever she’d recorded him, all of it, it was—

“They’re online?” he says finally, eyes wide. “I thought…”

He trails off, realizing with a rapid-spreading sense of embarrassment that he’d vastly misunderstood Jinah’s entire motive for filming herself, for filming him. His cheeks burn at the thought.

“I’m such an idiot,” he mutters, one hand rising to cover his flushed face. “God, I’m such an idiot.”

What is he going to do? There’s still so much to learn about his powers, himself. It’d been easier to keep everything a secret—or at least, that was what he thought he was doing. 

A video diary for their mother is one thing. He knows that her finding out he’s a hunter is inevitable, and it may be messy, but up until recently, he figured there’s time. There still is time—he’s got to conquer the rest of the demon castle to get the rest of the recipe for the cure-all elixir.

(If it even works.)

But posting the videos on some… some social media platform? It’s not some hunter’s thread that will eventually be buried. People—still people he doesn’t know, like in the hunter's forum, anonymous faces hidden behind the screen, but they're connected to Jinah, her little following or whatever—have seen his face, his home. They’ve heard him talk about the people close to him. Hell, they’ve met his cat.

He doesn’t watch all the videos—only one or two is enough to get the idea—but he knows he’ll have to some point soon. Maybe later tonight. Jinwoo considers himself a deeply private person, and this…

This changes everything.

“Hunter Sung?” the chief presses. “Are you alright?”

“Is… is she in trouble?” Jinwoo asks, without looking at him.

He’s an idiot, sure, but he’s not stupid; and neither is the Korean Hunters Association. Re-evaluation or not, they know he’s been hiding something. They knew about the videos before he did, so… so they’ve been watching him through Jinah’s eyes. She may not know it, but isn’t that how the Monitoring Division works? If shit happens, even under the radar, they’re usually the first to find out.

“Heavens no,” says the chairman before Jinwoo can repeat himself, and that does garner his attention. The chairman’s smile pricks at something inside Jinwoo, something he didn’t realize existed until that moment, and he isn’t sure what to think of it. “Given the situation and your new rank… I believe the best option is to have you both here to discuss our next move before you’re officially announced as Korea’s newest S-rank.”

“So,” Jinwoo hedges slowly, “you want to meet her, too?”

“Only if that’s okay with you, Hunter Sung,” the chairman says.

He could say no. He’s her older brother. Her guardian. It’s his decision; that’s why they’re here. He could—he could find some way to keep her out of this mess, could… could… could…

…except, where does he start? 

He says yes.

Jinah’s already in the (unsurprisingly messy) living room when he walks in the door. He instantly recognizes the hoodie she’s wearing as one of his own, which pulls at his chest uncomfortably.

She’s missed him. He can tell. No matter how often he leaves to go on raids, it doesn’t get any easier.

“Oppa?” 

“Hey,” he greets, and it’s immediately followed by a loud mrrrp? from across the apartment. Void trots in without delay, mewling, and sniffs him.

He smells like ash and smoke. His head throbs and he ignores it, ignores the way his body craves to lie down and sleep, and stands still as Void rubs her face on his pant leg.

“Welcome back to Earth,” Jinah drones, although she does click her phone to sleep, setting it aside. “As you can see, the apartment is still standing. Do I get a reward?”

Jinwoo leans down to scratch the back of Void’s ears. “Maybe. Is… Songyi here, too?” 

He doesn’t sense another person in the apartment, but he’d like to know Jinah’s answer regardless. For whatever reason, Songyi’s avoiding her own home, but she’s Jinah’s best friend, and someone he’s already sworn to look after.

“No,” says Jinah, shrugging. “She’s with Heejin-nim. I think she’ll be staying there a night or two—had to discuss something, I guess.”

“Ah. Alright, then.”

“Well?” Jinah prompts, raising an eyebrow. “Are you just gonna stand there?”

He wants to sit. To rest. Seven days has never felt so long before. There’s no time for resting right now, though, so he shakes his head. “...there’s something I need to take care of first.”

“Again?”

Jinwoo sees it: the way her face almost drops, caught at the last second like she wants to pretend it doesn’t bother her. Jinwoo refrains from sighing. Ignores the tight pull on his chest. He doesn’t want to drag this on for too long. He’s a man of his word, and if anyone deserves to hear the truth, it’s his little sister.

“Yeah. Except… you’re coming with me this time.”

And just like that, Jinah perks up. “I am? Wait, seriously? I am?”

“Why do you seem so surprised? I made you a promise, didn’t I?”

“Well—shit, you really don’t waste any time, do you? You just walked in the door!” Jinah scrambles to her feet, dusts herself off, and rushes to another room. “Ok, just a sec! Lemme wash up and change!”

He waits, crouching down again to give Void not nearly as much affection as she deserves, promising quietly to give her more after they deal with this clusterfuck of a mess. She rubs her face against his leg again, and a third time, and his head throbs again. Aches for him to sit down.

He can’t. The last time he crashed after a System-borne quest, he slept so hard that he didn’t even wake up when Jinah cried in the next room. He… he can’t do that again. Not to her, not when he promised he’d explain. He can’t crash when he’s promised her answers, not when he left her alone for a week, even if her shadow harbors one of his immortal soldiers. 

Chief Woo waits in the car down below. Just a little bit longer—a few hours, maybe. Then he’ll rest.

Jinah returns in fresh clothes, with her ponytail fixed. She reaches for her phone and stops when she realizes it’s not where she put it.

Because it’s already in Jinwoo’s pocket. “Ready?”

“Uh, yeah, just…” She picks up one of the sofa’s throw pillows. “...where’s my phone?”

“You won’t need it for this.”

“Did…” Jinah turns to give him a scandalized look. “Did you take my phone?”

“Gotta make sure you won’t record this.”

A blink. “You could’ve just asked.”

“Would you have listened?”

“...that’s beside the point.”

“Jinah,” he says, in warning. “I’m serious. Leave it here.”

She looks up at him, schooling her expression as she nods. “Okay,” she says, finally. “I will. I promise.”

“Good,” Jinwoo says, nodding as well. He reaches into his pocket to hand it back to her, and even though she accepts without hesitation, she makes a show of putting it on the entertainment center. “Grab your shoes. Our ride is waiting.”

“Our ride?” Jinah obeys but her voice bleeds confusion. “Damn. Okay. This is happening then, isn’t it?”

“...yeah.”

She quiets, but out of anticipation or because of Jinwoo’s tone, Jinwoo isn’t sure. He guides her silently down to where Chief Woo is parked, and when she sees his car, she whistles.

“Oh, that looks official,” she mutters. “Did you get in trouble?” After a pause: “Did I get in trouble? Are we in trouble? What’s going on?”

“Shush and get in the car.”

 “Okay, okay, jeez.”

“Thank you for waiting,” Jinwoo says to the chief.

“...are you from the government?” Jinah asks in a whisper, before Chief Woo can respond.

“Jinah.”

“It’s alright,” says the chief, with a nod. And then, as he looks at Jinah through the rear-view mirror: “I suppose you could say that.”

Jinah quiets once again, buckling her seatbelt without another word. She does, however, give Jinwoo another wide-eyed look.

“I’m Chief Inspector Woo from the Monitoring Division of the Korean Hunters Association,” the chief continues, formal as he’d been when he spoke to Jinwoo before. “Pleasure to officially meet you, Miss Jinah.”

She’s gobsmacked for a few seconds, and Jinwoo elbows her gently. She bows her head. “Likewise.”

Chief Woo switches gears into reverse. The ride back to KHA is silent.

“Holy crap,” Jinah blurts in awe when Chief Woo takes them to the chairman’s office. “You’re the chairman.”

Chairman Go Gunhee laughs, gesturing toward the sofa across from his desk. “I am. Please, take a seat.”

“What did you do?” she hisses to Jinwoo.

There are a million different answers to that question. Jinwoo sits down beside her, drawing a silent breath. Steeling himself to give her the most recent one: “I… got re-evaluated. Again.”

“...oh,” Jinah replies, voice soft. “Oh. Oh sh—Oppa, you—”

“Hunter Sung’s result was determined to be immeasurable,” the chairman tells her, hands folded beneath his chin. “Your brother is South Korea’s tenth S-rank.”

Jinah stares, seemingly stunned into silence as she absorbs this information. She looks at the chief, then the chairman, and back at Jinwoo, and cycles back through the three of them again with her gaze. “Oh.”

“It’s… not going to be announced yet,” Jinwoo adds, fighting the urge to fidget. He’s nervous, and he doesn’t want to be. Doesn’t want it to show. Not in front of his little sister, of all people. If she sees he’s nervous, then she’ll become nervous as well. “Not for three days.”

“...so this is why you said not to record,” Jinah says, and then goes very still. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god, wait, the v—”

“Uh-huh.”

“I…” Jinah pauses again, and his ears track the sound of her picking at her nails. “Did… did you see them?”

“A few, yeah.”

“...which ones did you see?”

“That’s not really—”

“Oppa, which ones did you see?” Jinah sounds a little frantic now. Scared. “I—I know posted one impulsively this morning, but I deleted it—”

“The one… with Eomma,” Jinwoo answers slowly, although her reaction only furthers his unease. “From a few days ago. You were, um… telling her about me. Painting her nails. And the one where you told everyone I was going on a trip.”

“Oh,” Jinah repeats, soft again: the only thing she can think of to say in this situation, he guesses. She sags back against the sofa, audibly relieved. “Okay. That’s… okay. Good.”

“Good?” Jinwoo finally looks at her, brows raised, and then at the chief. “What was posted this morning? Did—”

“I mean it wasn’t anything bad,” Jinah rambles on, throwing her hands up. “It was just—an old draft I had, from… months ago. When, um, you were—well, before… that S-rank dungeon.”

Before his reawakening. Jinwoo takes a few moments to absorb this information, schooling his expression. “Ah.”

“I didn’t expect you to see it,” Jinah continues. “Or any of them! I mean I could tell you were pretty aware I was recording sometimes but—actually, wait. Hold on, wait a sec—”

“I didn’t think you were posting them online—”

“What did you think I was recording us for?”

Jinwoo quiets, his ears burning once again. He continues to study the floor in embarrassment. “I thought you were… making some kind of video diary. For, um. Eomma.”

The silence is earsplitting. The clock across the room ticks, ticks, ticks. He can hear each person’s pattern of breath, can hear the thrum of the fluorescent lights above them. He’s leveled up gradually enough that his heightened senses don’t bother too much, not unless it’s quiet like this.

Jinah starts giggling.

“Oh my f—Jinah, it’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” Jinah says, trying and failing to smother more giggles behind her hand. “It’s… awww, Oppa, you know what? It’s actually really cute—”

“I hate you.”

“You hate me so much that you got me a new phone so I could make a video diary—” She laughs, fully and loudly as Jinwoo hides his face with one hand. “Like. No, totally, I can see—I can see why you thought that, it makes—so much sense, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it—”

“Then why are you laughing at me?”

“Bec—because—” 

She cuts off with a wheeze.

“You sound like a tea kettle,” Jinwoo points out, which only makes Jinah laugh harder. 

Jinwoo frowns, ears still burning. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the chairman smiling fondly, and his embarrassment begins anew. 

That is, until Jinah’s expression begins to crumble, and her laughter turns into sobs. “You… you idiot…”

Comfort, his instincts tell him immediately, as his eyes widen in shock. Comfort, comfort, comfort.

But, he wonders as Jinah ignores his hovering hand, how does he comfort his little sister when he’s the reason she’s upset? Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he should’ve talked to her in private, before meeting with the chairman. Jinwoo just returned from the Demon Castle—he’s been gone for a whole week, and he’s back now but things are about to change. 

Everything they knew—everything that used to be their “normal” will soon change irrevocably. He won’t say Jinah is too young to understand, because she’s not. She’s a brilliant girl. And he can’t keep avoiding her questions—she needs to be a part of this. But… it’s such a big weight to drop in her lap. She’s only fifteen.

(Jinwoo is only twenty-two. Looking at the chairman and the chief, he feels much younger. Inexperienced. He knows what he’s doing… doesn’t he? He does. Right. Right.)

He reaches for her nonetheless, because even if she’s upset with him, every fiber in him screams to comfort her. She swats his hand away, but all that does is make him want to try again, regardless of their audience.

“I can’t even be mad at you now,” Jinah blurts out through her tears. She leans into him anyway. “Not after you go and—and say something like that.”

“I’m s—”

“Oh my god, no, don’t.” And when the chairman offers a box of tissues, passed from the chief to Jinwoo, she wipes her eyes with her sleeve. “Sorry, sorry, I—I’m just, all… all this time, you thought… but… but I was…”

“It’s alright,” Jinwoo says. A knee-jerk response.

“How long have you been S-rank? You’ve been making more money than you ever did before for a while now…”

Jinwoo quiets again, hesitant. He knows better than to look toward the chairman or the chief, because he knows they’re interested in hearing the answer. 

“It’s—complicated,” he says finally, with another sigh. 

Telling the truth is inevitable, but where does he even start? 

“Did I… screw everything up?” Jinah whispers, not looking at him. “With the videos?”

Jinwoo opens his mouth, but once again, he isn’t sure how to respond. The videos Jinah posted online definitely don’t make this easy. 

In the end, it’s the chief who answers. “As the chief inspector of the Monitoring Division, I have a team that’s been keeping an eye on your account, Miss Jinah. As such, we have been monitoring your audience’s response to your videos.”

Jinah narrows her eyes. “So you’re the one who disabled my comment section.”

A pause on Chief Woo’s part. “...that is correct. We determined the potential discussions in it to be… suspicious.”

“Suspicious,” Jinah parrots, pouting. She wipes her eyes, this time with a tissue, and pulls back from Jinwoo, drawing in a shaky breath. “What does that even mean?”

“We’ve been curious about Hunter Sung’s case for a few weeks, now,” the chief answers, and the look he gives Jinwoo has him clenching his jaw. “Until we received some answers from Hunter Sung himself, we thought focusing on his pre-reawakening identity would be unwise. It isn’t uncommon for hunters to undergo… drastic bodily changes post-awakening, depending on their rank and class. We were worried about the outcome of people starting to recognize his E-rank self, compared to his reawakened self. They could see the difference and start asking questions. If you hadn’t taken the video down yourself, we probably would have done it for you. To avoid… unwanted attention.”

Jinwoo remembers Chief Woo’s warning about Hwang Dongsu, and the original photo on his hunter’s liscence, and stifles a shudder. He's well aware he doesn't look the way he did months ago.

“...so what do we do?” Jinah asks carefully. “Do I have to… to take down the account?”

“You could,” the chairman replies, “if that’s what you and Hunter Sung decide that’s what you want to do. We do have some other options, once we declare Hunter Sung’s S-rank status.”

“...which are?”

“You could come forward and announce your… investigation as a simple publicity stunt,” says Chief Woo. “Even then, it’s… not as popular as you may think. Your account has received some attention, yes, but upon further research, my team has informed me that TikTok is not actually among the top trending social media platforms in Korea. Perhaps if you were using Kakao Talk or Instagram, which are both skyrocketing in popularity in Korea, we would have more of a mess on our hands. As it stands…”

He presents a touch-screen tablet, revealing statistics for Jinah’s profile: her video and profile view count, number of followers, comments, and shares. 

“Compared to hunters and even idols who use platforms like Instagram, your account doesn’t garner as much attention as we originally thought. We can use this to our advantage. While the Monitoring Division will continue to observe your account statistics and the content you post, we’ve determined for the time being that it doesn’t pose as big of a threat as expected. You could act as you always have for the next three days, and later admit your videos to be the start of a marketing campaign.”

“...what do you think, Oppa?”

“Publicity is… the opposite of what I wanted,” Jinwoo mutters with a frown.

Jinah makes a face. “Yeah… I don’t like it, either. Just feels… weird. I never intended to like… promote anything. I just wanted to know what was going on.”

The words stab at Jinwoo’s chest. He swallows guiltily, averting his gaze again.

“You’ve also refrained from using Hunter Sung’s given name in your Shorts, so that does provide him some protection for the next few days. Sung is a pretty common surname after all,” the chief continues. “Despite this, we do expect to see a rise in your view count once Hunter Sung’s S-rank status is revealed to the public. Even if people don't make the connection immediately, it will happen eventually. If you submit your videos to the Monitoring Division for review before posting, we could provide feedback on whether or not it is appropriate to post.”

“Getting the government involved in what I post?” Jinah scrunches her nose in dismay. “More than it already is? I mean… I think I get it. It just seems like such a big fuss...”

Chief Woo looks at Jinwoo again, his expression diplomatic, but even with those sunglasses on, Jinwoo sees the way his eyes sharpen. He knows there’s something up with the way Jinwoo has reawakened, and he knows being careless on the Internet about it can end poorly. Of course they’d want to approve what’s posted and what’s not.

“Why go through all that trouble?” Jinwoo inquires anyway, suspicious. “Instead of simply taking down the account?”

Chief Woo glances briefly toward the chairman, who grins mischievously. “It’s good PR, you know. Showing our newest S-rank off to the media in a way that’s not been done before. Yes, your account hasn’t exactly gone viral yet, but we expect it to after the announcement. Your audience does find your sibling dynamic charming, and the mystery of Hunter Sung to be quite compelling.”

Jinwoo’s ears burn again, and he slides his hands back into his pockets in an attempt to seem unbothered. People seeing him in his daily life feels… intrusive. People he doesn’t know, seeing him doing something as domestic as household chores is just weird.  

“...I could, if that’s what you want, Oppa,” Jinah says abruptly, picking at the hem of her T-shirt. “Take it down, I mean. The account, the videos…”

Jinwoo pauses as he studies her, knowing that’s exactly the opposite of what she wants to do. And despite everything Jinwoo wants—privacy, anonymity, to protect his family under the radar—he also saw how happy she was in that video with their slumbering mother, explaining her ‘side hobby’. She seemed to glow as she talked about it, and… Jinwoo can’t take that from her. Not when there are so many reasons for her to be unhappy in this world, where monsters could take everything they held dear in seconds. Yes, the videos have caused a bit of a mess, but Jinah’s obviously been having fun.

“You… don’t have to do that,” he decides, after a time. “Sending the videos to KHA for approval sounds like the better option.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“You like doing this kind of thing, don’t you?”

“Oppa, that’s not what I asked.”

A sigh. He should’ve expected this—they’re both stubborn, after all. “Why didn’t you just tell me what you were doing with the videos?”

“Would you have stopped me if you knew they were going on TikTok?”

“...”

“Yeah, see?” Jinah crosses her arms, gaining confidence again as she leans back against the sofa with a brow raised. “Why didn’t you just tell me what you were doing in dungeons?”

“That’s—” Jinwoo hesitates, thankful his hands are back in his pockets. She wouldn’t have been able to see the blood on them, long washed off; but having them covered comforts him nonetheless. “It’s… different.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah.”

I needed to become stronger, he doesn’t say. So I can protect you.

I still don’t know what’s going on myself, he doesn’t say. How do I explain it to someone else?

“It’s not, though,” Jinah insists with a frown. “Don’t you see that? We wouldn’t be in this situation if you just told me what was going on! But you didn’t! You don’t tell me anything! You never do! You’re always keeping secrets and always dodging my questions! You said you were E-rank!”

“I was—”

“Uh-huh. And I’m supposed to believe you’ve jumped right up to S-rank—”

“I didn’t jump,” Jinwoo cuts in, sharp enough to silence her. “I… I climbed.”

That’s enough to stun Jinah speechless. She stares, gaping, eyes widening bit by bit as she processes the information. Jinwoo doesn’t look toward the chairman or the chief but hears a collective breath intake. 

“Hunter Sung…” the chairman begins but trails off.

“I… was E-rank when Chief Woo measured me at the hospital,” Jinwoo continues, as an answer. “Officially… for a few more days, at least… I’m still E-rank. But I’d reawakened, months ago. Just… not the way others have, before me.”

“What are you saying, Oppa?” Jinah asks.

“Hunter Sung,” Chief Woo hedges carefully, “what have you been doing the past seven days?”

Level grinding. Clearing the System’s newest quest. Searching for ingredients for the cure for his mother. He cannot say any of these out loud, but when he sees Jinah’s perplexed, worried expression, he realizes he doesn’t have much of a choice. He has to pick at least one.

“I was in a dungeon,” he decides to say, eventually.

“A dungeon that didn’t break even on the seventh day?”

Jinwoo’s throat feels too dry. He opens his mouth, but it takes a while for him to find the right words. “A dungeon that… doesn’t have a time limit.”

“What about your raid team?” Jinah says. “You… you had a team, didn’t you?”

Jinwoo’s gaze flicks momentarily down to his shadow. “Yeah. I did.”

“With… with all due respect,” Chief Woo says, “I… checked the roster for gates. Multiple times. You weren’t among any of them.”

Messy. This is getting so unbelievably messy, and Jinwoo feels increasingly like he’s backed himself into a corner. If he’s honest about the System and its entirety, would that mean telling Jinah how he acquired it?

No. No. He is not telling Jinah what happened in the double dungeon. He isn’t… he can’t tell anyone. Not when he still remembers choking on his own blood, still remembers the pain in the leg that’d been severed, still remembers the cracks and snaps in his body as his back slammed against the altar—

“Hunter Sung?” 

Jinwoo blinks. The chairman, the chief, and his sister all gaze at him, questions in their eyes, and the image in his brain of the double dungeon fades. Jinwoo’s hand fists into his shirt—and then pauses. When had he removed either of his hands from his pockets? His heart thrums quickly and uncomfortably.

Slowly, cautiously, Jinwoo uncurls his hand, and the Demon Castle key appears in it. Jinah gasps audibly as he presents this key to them. He draws a quiet breath, and exhales just as quietly. 

“It opened the dungeon for me,” he says, when the chief gapes at him. “But… but only for me.”

“But… you said…” Jinah looks hopelessly confused. “You said you had… a raid team.”

“I… do,” Jinwoo tells her, and it is true. “Um. Sort of? I…”

He glances back down at his shadow, putting the key back in his inventory. As it vanishes, he steels himself.

“Does it have something to do with that shadow of yours, Hunter Sung?” the chairman asks, sounding a little amused. Possibly even gleeful. Like he already knows the answer. 

“Oh my god,” Jinah gushes suddenly, “it does, doesn’t it? It totally does, it has to—”

Jinwoo’s very aware, now, that she’s been keeping tabs on it. He watched the video where she so fondly disclosed her TikTok journey to their mother, including the part where he collapsed in their living room. He supposes that because of this, there’s no going back now.

“They’re summons, yeah,” Jinwoo says, and with a subtle tap of his finger, sends a command for an infantry knight to come out.

It appears in a flash, startling his company. The chairman’s eyes bulge; Chief Woo stiffens; and Jinah jumps back into the corner of the sofa with a startled shriek. 

“Don’t worry. He won’t bite.”

“dOn’t wOrRy hE WoN’T BiTe,” Jinah mocks, proceeding to glare at him. And then, after a few moments: “Hold on. It’s not the same one.”

“...huh?”

“The one I saw had red on it!”

Jinwoo blinks, slightly surprised. “...you mean Igris?”

His shadow extends beneath his feet, stretching longer than it should, and more than a dozen pairs of ghostlight blue eyes stare up at his company. Igris’s head emerges from the abyss, with the crimson ornament on his helmet half submerged in darkness. 

Jinah stares. The chief stares. The chairman stares.

Igris climbs out of Jinwoo’s shadow, effortless and graceful like he’s emerging from water. He kneels before Jinwoo, head bowed, and Jinah continues to gape.

Jinwoo crosses his legs, because he’s itching for movement, for a way to rid himself of this unwanted nervous energy; they’re going to have more questions, no doubt. Questions he’s not sure he knows how to answer completely. At least he moves smoothly enough.

“Just… how many of these can you summon?” Chief Woo asks.

“A little over one hundred.”

“...sorry? One-hundred?”

“Yeah. That number… it’ll increase as I… grow stronger.”

“Stronger,” Jinah echoes slowly, as she takes this in. “Wait, so… last week, when you said you weren’t there yet…”

Another nod. “I wasn’t… S-rank yet. But I am now.”

“And you’ll continue to grow stronger?” asks the chairman, eyes wide.

“As long as I can keep going into dungeons and fighting.”

The implication hangs heavily in the air, and it’s obvious all three of them know what Jinwoo means: he’s finally opening up about the System, yes, but he’s not going to stop hunting. There’s still so much he has to learn. And…

And Chief Woo said S-rank Hwang Dongsu will be after me, he thinks, schooling his expression. I need to become stronger. I need to be able to protect my family. I need to save Eomma.

“This… this whole time,” Jinah finally murmurs, in a tone that pricks Jinwoo’s chest, “it really was shadow magic.”

“No,” Jinwoo answers, shaking his head. “No, I mean, it… this is a skill I acquired a little over a week ago.” He averts his gaze guiltily because she looks so betrayed that any reason he had for hiding it from her feels too insignificant. And what was the point of hiding, when the chairman and the chief saw what Jinah’s videos had captured anyway? “After I kind of… passed out on you. It was that day. I’d meant to be home sooner but it… took longer than expected.”

“I mean, I don’t know why I’m so surprised. I was—I was looking for clues about your shadow. I guess I just… I thought it was like. Paranormal, or something. I dunno.”

Jinwoo blinks, eyes flicking down to Igris for a few moments. Well, he thinks, I guess she’s not wrong.

And then Jinah perks up without warning, eyes bulging again as she looks back and forth between Jinwoo’s active summons.

“What?”

“I saw them before that—the shadows. Well, sort of! At least once! Here, lem—oh, right, I don’t have my phone!”

Jinwoo glances at Igris confusedly, raising a brow, silently asking for an explanation. Igris simply shrugs, but before Jinwoo can question anybody, the chief speaks up.

“If you’ll allow me…”

Jinwoo nods, internally dismissing his soldiers. Both obey, dipping back into Jinwoo’s shadow; although their haste to do so startles his sister once again. 

(Maybe if they weren’t where they were, he’d have found it amusing. Right now, all he feels is guilt.)

Soon, the chief hands him the touch-screen tablet from earlier, where one of Jinah’s videos is already pulled up. 

He’s surprised, yet again, when he’s shown footage of himself greeting Jinah in the morning, in what is very obviously not Korean. He wouldn’t have recognized it now, if it wasn’t for the Red Gate incident with the White Tiger’s Guild. 

“There, the shadow!”

He sees it even before Jinah points. He’s not sure why, but his eyes are drawn to its general area before it even appears.

Which only confuses him even more.

System? he thinks, trying to summon it into existence. That’s usually how it works. System? What is the meaning of this?

Abruptly, Kang Taeshik’s words echo in his brain: “You’ll grow as strong as your shadow is deep…”

Taeshik was able to sense something with my shadow before the job change quest… Was it a warning? A fluke of the System? 

“Well?” Jinah prompts.

“I… don’t have an explanation for that,” is all Jinwoo can say, because it’s the truth.

“Oppa.”

“I’m serious. I can’t…” He shrugs, helpless. “I really don’t know. There’s—there’s so much I’m still trying to understand, too. So much I don’t get. I didn’t tell you because…”

You don’t need to know how many people I’ve killed.

You don’t need to know that I’ve been left to die by people who were supposed to be teammates.

You don’t need to know what the world of hunting is like.

You don’t need to know how cruel it is.

“...because I didn’t reawaken the way others have, and I still don’t know why,” he finishes, and it’s such a vulnerable thing to admit, especially in front of an audience. Especially when he told himself he’d keep his reawakening a secret.

But he promised his sister he would tell her. And maybe… maybe getting the chairman involved is the better choice. Maybe getting the Association involved can open new paths for him, paths he didn’t know existed before. 

Jinah stares at him hard, and she folds only when Jinwoo looks directly back at her. He’s not sure what she sees, but something in his gaze seems to convince her that he’s telling the truth, because she drops her suspicion, shoulders drooping.

“You don’t seem too surprised about the monster talk, though,” she says, finally. Grumpily.

Jinwoo grimaces. “I… don’t have an explanation for that, either. But I’ve done it before… I guess.”

“Oh?” Chairman Go leans forward with intrigue, hands under his chin.

“Not… uh, not on command. Just kind of…”  

He thinks back to the Red Gate incident, and how he communicated with Baruka without hesitation. At first, the conversation felt like regular Korean, but once Park Heejin pointed it out, it was like a switch flipped in his head—and he could recognize it for what it actually was. Still, magic beast tongue came to him as naturally as it would have if it were his first language, and he still has no idea why.

“...just kind of happens, I guess?” he finishes lamely. “Haven’t figured that out yet, either.”

“...I see,” the chairman says, nodding briefly.

“Can’t blame you for wanting to, then,” says Jinah. “Figure it out, I mean. A reawakening not like others…” She taps her chin with a contemplative expression. “You said you... climbed…” She turns to him, eyes lighting up with curiosity. “How does it work? Do you just… feel it, when you get stronger?”

“Yeah, I can feel it. There’s also a computer in my head that tells me what level I am.”

“Holy shit—I mean, uh, sorry,” Jinah quickly adds. “Levels? Like a video game?”

“Pretty much.”

“I wonder…” She trails off, but it’s obvious the gears are shifting in her head. She has questions—lots of them—and like Jinwoo, she wants answers. “...a computer in your head? For real? Wait, don’t answer that. You don’t make jokes.”

Jinwoo scrunches his nose at her, but Jinah’s too busy vibrating with excitement to pay him any notice. 

Before she gets too carried away, he has to make one thing clear: “I don’t want you telling the Internet about it. This… this is…”

“It’s huge,” the chairman says for him, in a tone that draws both of their attention. “Hunter Sung is right—that information cannot be put out on social media. The response would be…” His expression turns grim, briefly, and then: “It’s up to you and Hunter Sung who you’d like to tell regarding his powers, but I think for the time being, keeping the ‘leveling up’ part out of your videos is in your best interest. Especially when there’s still a lot you, yourself, Hunter Sung, don’t know.”

Jinah nods swiftly, over and over in a show of enthusiasm. “Yes! Yes, I understand. No mention of Oppa getting stronger on TikTok.”

“And no mention of his S-rank status, either,” Chief Woo adds. “Not until we reveal it to the public. Please allow us the three-day period, Miss Jinah.”

“Got it!” Jinah nods again, still vibrating, and then rambles on, “There’s still so much to learn, isn’t there? Where did that key come from? Will there be more like it? You can’t just say this thing opens only for me and then expect us not to ask questions. Do you gain more skills as you get stronger, like characters in video games? What about your shadow people? Do they grow stronger, too? You know I love games, Oppa—”

“Perhaps you get your thirst for an explanation from your older brother?” the chairman interrupts, as Jinwoo endures his sister’s rapid-fire questions. “Both trying to figure these mysteries out. Why not put your heads together, and see what you can come up with then?”

“You’ve absolutely got to tell me more,” Jinah agrees, and Jinwoo’s overwhelm must’ve shown on his face, because when Jinah meets his gaze again, she pauses. “I won’t ask you to tell me everything that happens, ok? I know… I know it’s not easy. But I’ve been watching you work as a hunter for four years, Oppa, and you’ve always kept stuff from me. I know you do it because you’re trying to protect me, but…

“I don’t like it when you shut me out,” she continues. “It’s… it hurts. Because I can tell you’re stressed, and just because you’re not getting hurt as often doesn’t mean I don’t worry. And if you weren’t telling me now, I would’ve just…” 

She looks at the touch-screen tablet Chief Woo set aside earlier, and gestures.

“I would’ve just kept going trying to find out answers myself! And probably in a way that made things messier than they are now. Who knows what would’ve happened if I chose, like, KakaoStory or something, instead of TikTok. We’d probably have no choice but to cover our butts with the whole ‘publicity stunt’ thing.”

Jinwoo sits, being lectured by his own kid sister, while the chairman of KHA—a man who is quite possibly even more powerful than himself—watches in amusement. And all he can do is agree, because… Jinah is right.

He learned with Juhee that keeping secrets is painful. There’s a difference between a boundary and struggling to trust. He’d kept secrets from Juhee despite their companionship because he’d been embarrassed, but it hurt her regardless. And now he’s hurting his sister. He’s not… he doesn’t not trust Jinah, it’s just…

He trusted his raid team, and half of the survivors left him to die, bleeding and one-legged and alone, on the altar of a false god who still haunts his dreams at night.

His skin prickles. His head throbs. Jinwoo ignores it.

“You’re right,” he murmurs finally. “I’m sorry.”

“I… I get it. Like I said, I don’t blame you for going off trying to find answers to… this whole reawakening thing. I kind of did the same thing, in my own way! But you’re turning into a workaholic,” Jinah accuses. “You, and you,” she adds, pointing at the chairman and then the chief in quick succession, “already look like workaholics. Why else would a guy wear sunglasses inside if he’s not hiding some major eye bags? No offense.”

“No, you’re right,” the chairman says with a chuckle, right when Jinwoo opens his mouth to scold her. “It is well past office hours. I suppose it’s time we wrap this meeting up.”

Chief Woo stands there, still professional in posture but looking a little red in the face. Jinwoo can’t fault him when he’s in a similar state.

Teenagers sure know how to put someone in their place. He thinks back to Songyi, and the lecture he’d received from her while in the Red Gate.

(He ignores the part of him that thinks of his mother, looking at Jinah’s determined expression and sassy body language. He ignores the part that wants to blurt out, I can save her because he knows if it doesn’t work, they’ll both be crushed.) 

“I’ll keep you more in the loop,” Jinwoo vows to Jinah, and he means it.

Jinah relaxes, grinning. “Good. Let’s go home then, yeah?”

“I can drive you,” Chief Woo says, but Jinwoo shakes his head.

“No. I can call a cab,” Jinwoo tells him.

“Allow the Association to pay for it, at least,” the chairman offers. “Please. We've kept you quite a bit.”

Really, they could walk, because it’s less than a mile from their apartment, but Jinwoo’s exhausted, and it’s getting late. There are still so many things he should tell Jinah, but first: rest. And if the Association is volunteering…

He accepts.

“Before you go,” Chief Woo adds, picking up the tablet again, “we do require some signatures from both of you. Just some NDAs.”

Jinwoo nods, having been through the NDA thing before. Jinah blinks and tilts her head. “And what about submitting the videos to the Monitoring Division or whatever? That’s what we’re doing, right?” 

“Ah, yes. I’ll have someone reaching out to you soon.”

Jinah nods, too, this time, and stands to provide a sloppy signature on the touch-screen tablet. Jinwoo follows suit before pausing again.

There is one more thing he wants to get off his chest…

“Jinah,” Jinwoo says, “would you mind… waiting outside? I want to discuss… something with the chairman.”

Jinah opens her mouth, probably to decline, but Jinwoo gives her a Look. “Ah… politics?”

“Politics.”

“Yep, alright. I’ll be out there. Where I’m pretty sure I saw a vending machine. And I seem to remember someone said I get a rew—”

“I said maybe.”

Jinah stands, making grabby hands, and Jinwoo knows when he’s lost. He sighs, and his wallet appears in his hand immediately. As he gives it to her, the chief escorts Jinah out, nodding to the chairman and Jinwoo as he leaves with her.

Jinwoo watches them leave, waiting as their footsteps grow quieter, not fading, never fading, but quiet enough for Jinwoo to determine their location.

He turns back to the chairman, straightening his spine. Silently tells his aching head to wait just a few more minutes. And begins to talk.

“Chairman, sir,” says Jinchul, “I thought you were going to try to recruit him into the Association?”

“I was,” Gunhee says, fingers laced beneath his chin. “But I knew as soon as he walked in that I wouldn’t have been successful.”

Jinchul pauses, momentarily stunned. “How so?”

Gunhee thinks of Sung Jinwoo’s expression, and how even though he looked absolutely drained, he stood unbowed, immovable. Still so young, but already with the weight of something unseen on his shoulders. Yet he carried it so easily.

Or he was great at pretending.

Regardless, Sung Jinwoo does not seem the type to work under anyone, and even if he was, he so adamantly puts his younger sister—his family—first.

This job is a demanding one. Gunhee himself has prioritized work over his family for ages (Maybe it’s time to change that, part of him thinks), and he doesn’t want that for Sung Jinwoo, not when he already has so much on his plate. Meeting fifteen-year-old Sung Jinah only cemented his decision.

He wants more research done on Eternal Sleep, does he? Gunhee thinks, recalling the determined gleam in Sung Jinwoo’s eyes when he requested to speak with him alone. Even though he won’t be my apprentice, does this mean he will work with the Association in the future? If he’s coming to me about it?

Granted, so many things had to go through him for approval. Still though…

A hunter who can level up…

A thrilling thought, indeed.

“Just… a feeling,” Gunhee answers finally. 

His gaze finds Jinchul’s, and thinks, idly, belatedly, if his future apprentice has been working for him all along. He wonders how things will change from this moment forward, and if that means the title of chairman will be easier for the man in front of him to carry, than it has been for Gunhee.

These old bones are tired. He didn’t realize just how exhausted he was until he met with the Sung siblings, until Jinah pointed it out.

“Why don’t we call it a night?” he suggests.

Maybe some other time, they could go for drinks. Celebrate the occasion, having another S-rank in the country. Maybe he could invite Sung Jinwoo…

Jinchul appears hesitant but quickly seems to realize he has no choice.  “If… if you insist, sir. I’ll drive you home?”

Gunhee’s gaze softens. “I’d like that.”

Juhee, Jinho

made it back
tired tho. talk tmrw. gonna sleep.

Juhee reacted: ♥️🫂
Jinho reacted: 👍🫡

sung_jinah posted a TikTok.

[Caption: Set up a movie while he was in the shower only for him to konk out immediately . . .]

A slideshow. 

First image: A man rests on the sofa, eyes closed, head bent awkwardly, legs pulled up to his chest. A dark ball of fur sits curled up by his hip. 

Subtitle: Well Oppa is home now but he’s dead to the world again へ‿(´•｡•`)‿ㄏ 

Second image: A selfie. Jinah grins, appearing to be stifling laughter as she points at the man, who is now sprawled out on the sofa, face down, with one leg dangling off the side. Their cat sits on the small of his back in a loaf position.

Subtitle: Time for bed I guess. . . 

 

(ref)

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 604 likes | 8 comments | 14 favorites 

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Comments

snowzardmusic0
HES BACKKKKK (♡ε♡ )

hansongyeet
lmaooo welcome home ahjussi

xoxoMINSOOKS_WIFE07xoxo
LOL THE CAT

Peachycotton
Bet he’s exhausted… must feel good to be home! 

Aecha96
well at least he made it back alive!

1WhoDoesSimply
What happened to your prev video?

MiSSKBG99
What i’d give to have a man like him passed out on my couch

hazbat
R u gonna tell us what he was actually doing for the 7 days now or..?