# Chapter 4
The top floor of a small seven-story building.
The door to the rooftop, one level above, opened. The old hinges made an unpleasant noise with every movement.
Beyond the door stained with ingrained dirt, two men appeared. One with a massive build who might hit his head on the doorframe if he wasn’t careful, and another about half a head shorter.
“Come in.”
It was Sano and Iyeon.
The rooftop was quite spacious, but most of it was an open yard. A large wooden platform sat starkly in the wide space, with various unidentifiable iron bars and electrical wires messily installed around it. In fact, “strewn about” would be a more accurate description than “installed.”
Past that area was a small office. The structure had a faint hint of illegal construction. Next to the single wooden door with a glass panel that clearly revealed the interior, there was a metal nameplate with the word “Chageum” and underneath in smaller letters, “Mutant Specialist Office.”
This was <Chageum>, the mutant specialist company where Iyeon served as the representative.
Most superhumans weren’t affiliated with the government. While some did use their superpowers to get special employment as permanent staff, not everyone was conservative enough to unconditionally desire civil service positions when their abilities could make them wealthy regardless of how they used them, even as YouTubers.
Instead, they created companies specializing in mutant management. Though there were some restrictions, they were private businesses that offered much more freedom than government affiliation. People who handled mutant field work at these companies were called “hunters.” The term was directly imported from foreign countries where they were referred to as “variant hunters.”
Mutant specialist companies operated by fulfilling quarterly quotas for mutant handling tasks in conjunction with the government. With mutants continuously emerging from the Red Void, private requests related to them also mushroomed. Soon, being a superhuman became synonymous with a high-risk, high-income profession.
‘But that only applies to high-tier superhumans.’
In the case of Mugunghwa 1st-tier, even if they joined mutant specialist companies, they typically took office positions. They weren’t assigned hunter duties. More accurately, they couldn’t handle such duties.
The law of the rich getting richer and the poor getting poorer applied everywhere, so lower-tier superhumans like Iyeon weren’t as financially comfortable as the general perception suggested. This was especially true if they weren’t affiliated with a large company.
It was extremely rare for a Mugunghwa 2nd-tier, the lowest grade of hunter, to establish a company. Since mutant specialist companies were classified by their size and the abilities of their affiliated superhumans, it was more beneficial for 2nd-tiers to join companies founded by those of 3rd-tier or higher. Starting a company as a 2nd-tier meant being classified as a low-grade company, only able to take on trivial missions, and private requests weren’t much better.
They couldn’t even dream of the enormous missions that ordinary people typically associated with mutant elimination tasks, which offered tremendous compensation. It was natural that a 2nd-tier wouldn’t have the ability to handle variants above grade 6 alone.
Still, working for a large corporation didn’t suit Iyeon’s temperament, so he was quite satisfied with his current situation, despite the various challenges.
Opening the door and entering the office, the interior was clearly visible. A large desk with its back to the window, a reception sofa and table set, and a few simple cabinets and a drawer unit that seemed to serve as a side table. The interior looked like an attempt to cram as much as possible into a small space.
It was even cluttered. The desk, the largest piece of furniture, barely supported three computer monitors and was strewn with all sorts of odds and ends and messy cables. The side table was littered with blank A4 papers, piles of pens, chalk, and other items. A mug with coffee stains sat carelessly on the table, next to a heap of unidentifiable paper waste.
If not for the business registration certificate and superhuman registration certificate hanging side by side on the wall next to the desk, it would have looked like a garbage dump rather than a company. Though calling it a company was generous—it was more like a personal office, with just a metal nameplate hanging next to the door instead of a proper sign. Taking in the space, which couldn’t be more than five strides across, didn’t take even a few minutes.
“It’s messy.”
If Sano had called Iyeon’s larger home shabby, there was no way this office would meet his standards. Iyeon hadn’t expected it to. Somewhat accustomed to Sano’s rudeness, he ignored the comment and simply picked up the dirty mug to place it in the sink.
When Sano sat on the sofa, the weight of his large frame deeply pressed into the brown leather. There seemed to be a small cracking sound, but hopefully that was just imagination.
“What’s this?”
His long finger pointed to a large pair of goggles carelessly placed on the desk. With large lenses like ski goggles and a wide band, they stood out awkwardly in an office that showed no trace of hobbies.
“My equipment.”
Many hunters use gear that can assist in combat beyond their own abilities. The equipment produced by engineers throughout the city was cutting-edge, sometimes showing differences in technological development compared to other regions, likely due to the city’s special characteristics.
Of course, this was irrelevant to Je Sano, who had never felt the need for auxiliary tools.
“What’s your ability?”
His attitude suggested he was asking but not particularly interested. Iyeon thought that someone with Sano’s level of ability probably wouldn’t be impressed by his own power anyway.
“Well…”
Though he knew, it was a somewhat modest ability to mention in front of the number one ranked superhuman. Iyeon hesitated slightly and smiled sheepishly.
“I can materialize drawings.”
Sano narrowed his eyes as if thinking about something. He didn’t say anything, but it was possible to roughly guess what he was thinking.
Iyeon’s ability sounded impressive, but its use was more cumbersome than one might expect. One major drawback was that he needed drawing tools at the location where he wanted to manifest his ability.
That was why he kept an enormous supply of A4 paper in the office. So he could grab a few sheets and run when in a hurry. He had tried keeping a small notepad handy, but it was too small to draw effectively, so he gave up.
Taking all these peculiarities into account, Iyeon’s superhuman rank was set at Mugunghwa 2nd-tier. Considering that 1st-tier was judged incapable of responding to mutants—1st-tiers weren’t even considered superhumans among hunters—and therefore ineligible to register a mutant specialist company, it was a precarious rank.
“Do you work alone?”
“I have a business partner, but they come in late.”
For his partner who routinely stayed up all night, this would be deep in their sleeping hours. Sano just let out an indifferent “hmm” and closed his mouth. Silence fell.
“…Would you like some tea?”
“No. Go about your business.”
Nodding slightly and pulling out his phone, Sano’s whole demeanor exuded such ease that at a glance, he could have been mistaken for the owner of this office. No, he appeared too imposing to be the owner of such a small place; he looked more like someone who owned a skyscraper with well over 20 floors.
In fact, that wasn’t far from the truth. Sano’s company, <Jesan>, occupied an entire expensive high-rise building that ranked among the top five most valuable in Chohosi. Although Je Sano wasn’t the representative of Jesan, the entire nation knew it was his company.
‘Come to think of it, is it okay for him to work part-time at my company? Isn’t this dual employment? How would the insurance work?’
Iyeon fell into minor, practical concerns. Since he said he was repaying a debt, it would probably be unpaid labor, right? …Is that even allowed? What about the legal minimum wage… Are autonomous cities exceptions to this too? Couldn’t I be reported to the Labor Office? I’d need to draft a contract for insurance coverage… Is it okay to document such labor exploitation in writing?
Not having hired part-timers before was part of the issue, but Sano was also an unusual case, so Iyeon didn’t know where to start with the procedures. It was Sano who interrupted Iyeon’s confused thoughts.
“Have you done the Jeong-Yeon?”
The Jeong-Yeon (government-linked missions) Sano mentioned were mutant handling tasks under the jurisdiction of the Superpower Management Office. Companies had to complete a certain number of missions each quarter from the periodic grade-specific announcements, which required regular checking.
Since the system was similar to homework, most companies tried to receive and complete their tasks as soon as the quarter began, making competition fierce and causing the better missions to be claimed early in the quarter. Now, with the quarterly performance deadline being tomorrow, only the sloppy and difficult missions would remain.
Neglecting this duty could, in the worst case, lead to a business closure at the discretion of the Superpower Management Office. It was both the first obligation given to all mutant specialist companies and Chageum’s main source of income.
Of course, not all mutants appeared on a convenient schedule, so sometimes urgent announcements requiring immediate action would pop up. These missions offered significantly better compensation but were riskier, so notifications were sent separately only to high-tier superhumans deemed capable of completing them. That was probably the kind of work Sano primarily did.
“I finished this quarter.”
Chageum had completed its quota long ago. At his casual answer, Sano slightly raised one eyebrow.
“Are you sure?”
“…Of course I’m sure?”
“You might want to check.”
“…Why?”
“I just have a feeling.”
It was an incredibly ominous statement from someone who wasn’t even a prophecy ability user.
Before making a rebellious comment like “what would you know,” Iyeon instinctively felt something was off. Although they had spent only a short time together, Sano wasn’t the type to make such lengthy idle comments.
…No way, how would he know about another company’s performance? As Iyeon turned on the computer and accessed the site, his lips inexplicably went dry. No, that can’t be possible… His internal mutterings lacked both subject and object, but they carried a strong wish.
