Dojun cast his gaze toward the Dungeon entrance not far from where he stood.
There were four broad criteria used to classify Dungeons.
Extreme-danger Dungeons, classified as Grade 1–2.
Danger Dungeons, classified as Grade 3–5.
Caution Dungeons, classified as Grade 6–9.
And beyond those, Observation Dungeons, which received no grade at all.
This Dungeon is a Grade 1, classified as extreme-danger.
Dungeons like these had strict entry restrictions based on an Awakened’s rank — which was why there were only a handful of guilds in Korea considered capable of reliably clearing an extreme-danger Dungeon, where entry was permitted only to Black Rank and Red Rank hunters.
The Songhwa Guild is fully capable of handling an extreme-danger Dungeon. This case is an exception…
Under normal circumstances, the Songhwa Guild, with two Black Rank hunters in their ranks, had the ability to clear this Dungeon on their own.
But the problem was compatibility — between the Dungeon and the hunters.
The environments inside extreme-danger Dungeons vary wildly, and every hunter’s strengths are different. Is there any reason to take the hard road when there’s an easier one?
The abilities of the Black Rank hunter currently inside that Dungeon were not suited to its environment.
That wasn’t to say the Dungeon couldn’t be cleared.
Even without Seonmyeong’s involvement, the Dungeon would ultimately be conquered.
That was simply the nature of a Black Rank hunter’s power.
But as Hanul had said — there was no reason to choose the difficult path when an easier one existed.
I’m confident the Songhwa Guild will not fail to clear the Dungeon. However, I cannot guarantee that every hunter currently inside will make it out safely.
No matter how terrible the compatibility, a Black Rank hunter would not fail to clear a Dungeon.
But if clearing the Dungeon became the sole priority, the safety of the lower-ranked Red Rank hunters beneath them would become uncertain.
What both Songhwa and Seonmyeong want is for our hunters to survive.
If the Songhwa Guild had been thinking about their reputation, they wouldn’t have asked Seonmyeong for help.
The Dungeon could be cleared regardless — and what people tended to care about was whether a Dungeon was successfully cleared, not whether hunters came back injured or dead.
But the Songhwa Guild had chosen to prioritize the safety of their hunters over their own pride.
So, setting aside the secondary concerns — I’ll make sure everyone comes home safely.
Hanul, smiling that gentle smile of his, disappeared from the screen.
The moment he did, Seonmyeong’s attack team, who had been watching the interview as it streamed live, let out whistles and broke into applause.
“The Deputy Guild Leader really is something else. Answering all of that with that much patience.”
The icy chill that had settled over the tent after the same awful questions kept repeating finally thawed.
“‘Has the Songhwa Guild become obsolete?’ — are they out of their minds?”
“Guess they don’t know what a live broadcast means. Do they think the Songhwa Guild is just going to sit there and take it?”
Extreme-danger Dungeons always drew more public attention than others given their higher level of risk.
On top of that, word had spread that Songhwa had asked Seonmyeong for assistance — and that Hanul, who was publicly known to have recently lost his memories, would be entering the Dungeon. That had drawn far more reporters than usual, and it seemed crowd control had broken down somewhere along the way.
“Which outlet was that reporter from?”
Dojun’s phone buzzed briefly. He checked it and replied.
“Sangmun Daily. I’ve also flagged any others who asked questions unrelated to the Dungeon.”
He committed the name of the outlet that had relentlessly hounded Hanul about his memory loss to memory — and as he did, every member of the attack team on standby turned to look at him.
“Did you have someone planted over there? I mean, it’s right next door, but still…”
“Then again, there’s no way the team leader would leave the Deputy Guild Leader alone.”
“We were wondering why you were hanging around with us for once.”
True enough — if Hanul hadn’t insisted on going alone, Dojun would have been right there beside him. And he would have found a way to remove the reporters who crossed the line, by force if necessary.
“You know you have a bit of a possessive streak, right, team leader?”
“And you get jealous easily.”
“We want to spend time with the Deputy Guild Leader too, you know?”
“You monopolize him all to yourself every single day.”
He heard variations of this fairly often.
Hanul, having lost his memories, was more vulnerable to stress than usual.
He kept up appearances, functioned normally on the surface — but somewhere beneath his awareness, he was under enormous pressure from the reality of not having his memories.
Because of that, Hanul’s patience tended to wear thin quickly whenever he was in a place with a lot of people — and every time that happened, Dojun stepped in first to manage and clear the crowd.
Part of it was knowing how hard Hanul worked to maintain his image. Part of it was what he’d said before — that he didn’t want the aftereffects to erode their daily lives any more than they already had.
But as that pattern repeated itself, Dojun’s image among the team members had taken on a strange shape.
“If you’re as good-looking as the team leader, you don’t get jealous, do you?”
“You might, if your partner is that impressive.”
“True enough. Someone at the Deputy Guild Leader’s level — that’d make anyone nervous.”
Dojun, however, had no real intention of correcting their misunderstanding.
It wasn’t as if he could say he had no possessiveness or jealousy at all — and he couldn’t claim there was nothing personal behind his actions either.
Dojun responded to the attack team’s teasing looks with a silent smile.
The moment they saw it, their voices jumped an octave.
“Oh — he smiled!”
“Is that the confidence of a winner? Like, ‘in the end, I’m the one dating that impressive person’?”
“So it was a public declaration of intent after all, wasn’t it?”
But before Dojun could settle them down, Hanul arrived at the front of the tent.
He must have finished up quickly because he’d been dealing with reporters who had pushed their way into the site.
The team members, who had noticed Hanul’s arrival just as quickly, made no effort to hide their interest as they looked up at Dojun.
Not intending to become a spectacle, Dojun stepped forward to intercept Hanul as he walked into the tent.
“You’re back.”
Hanul, who had caught some of the team’s words from outside, swept a glance over the interior of the tent past Dojun’s shoulder.
Dojun caught the look in his eyes — cold despite the smile still curving his lips — and tilted his head toward the exit.
“Let’s step outside for a moment.”
Normally he would have placed a hand on his shoulder, but it was obvious Hanul was on edge after being worn down by the reporters.
In that case, what was called for now was Dojun’s other hand — the wind.
Whoosh.
A light push of wind against his body, and Hanul raised an eyebrow.
“I have something to tell you about the reporters.”
Hanul held Dojun’s gaze, the smile still on his lips, then stepped back.
Dojun sent a silent warning look to the attack team, who were craning their necks and straining to watch, then headed with Hanul to a quieter corner of the site away from the crowd.
Using the wind to block out surrounding sound so no one could overhear their conversation, Dojun faced Hanul.
“You’re letting too much show in your eyes.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Even as he said it, Hanul’s gaze remained cold.
He hid it so well in front of the cameras.
Or was it because it was Dojun in front of him?
Even without his memories, Hanul often let his emotions slip like this in Dojun’s presence — without seeming to realize he was doing it.
Dojun spoke calmly, in a steady, reassuring tone.
“The reporters who caused problems will be handled by Hanyeong. We’ve already finished looking into their affiliations.”
“Doesn’t seem like our Guild Leader has the ability to clean up a spill before it happens.”
He’d put so much effort into making a good impression — and yet that kind of irritation had clearly gotten to him.
The familiar sharpness was almost a relief to hear, but he couldn’t just let the wrong person take the hit for it.
“If we’re placing blame, it’s on me. Turns out the reporters who were out of line earlier are connected to the guild I dealt with yesterday.”
He thought he might have cut too many details — but Hanul understood immediately.
“The ones you said didn’t need much time to reject?”
“Right. I thought I’d made the warning clear, but it seems I moved too fast and left an ember behind.”
So they’d gone and done this — using every means they had to go after Hanul.
How dare they.
Like cockroaches that refused to die no matter how many times you stamped them out.
Dojun recalled the pale, sweat-drenched faces he’d left behind and smiled — cool and unhurried.
“There won’t be a second time.”
Hanul, who had been studying Dojun’s face, asked as if genuinely surprised.
“I knew you disliked rudeness, but you’re colder about it than I expected.”
“I know what matters more now.”
Because he knew — better than anyone — that there was no regret quite like letting worthless people slide and watching someone he cared about get hurt because of it.
He wasn’t foolish enough to repeat a regret he’d spent so long turning over in his mind.
Hanul’s searching gaze stayed on him. Dojun held it steadily, then sent a soft drift of wind in his direction.
A gentle breeze.
“The team is coming — let’s look alive.”
Keep your expression in check.
Right now, Hanul looked too sharp, too brittle.
Hoping it might help him even a little, Dojun let the wind graze lightly across Hanul’s bangs, like a tickle.
