Friday afternoon.

In front of Gwanghwamun Station, Hunter candidates from all six academies had gathered.

Rows of police officers stood by on both sides of the avenue, their presence heavy and unmistakable.

And among them, dressed in the same gear as professionals, stood adult Hunters, arrayed in formation.

The City Security Corps.

Even if they were only students, this was still a mass of Awakened. They were here as a precaution, should anything spiral out of control.

I didn’t see Iseon or Hayun among them.

“Why are all these kids gathered here?”

“Even the police are out?”

Most passersby stopped in their tracks, staring curiously at the scene.

“Hmm. Roughly four hundred, I’d say. Fewer than we expected.”

That was Jin Cheongryong’s voice.

“Not surprising. To be here, they had to leave school early.”

Standing beside him, Toby wore an unsurprised expression.

“Had this been the weekend, we would have drawn far more,” said Zen, the dark-haired twin from Magica.

“But shouting at an empty city hall would accomplish nothing,” Ao remarked, watching the gathered students.

“Now then, each academy’s representatives—please gather your candidates into rows of five, and stand at the front. Nam Yein, you’ll be here with me to give the speech.”

At Ao’s instructions, the student council presidents and vice presidents scattered.

Vice presidents unfurled their academy standards, and the scattered candidates quickly fell into neat formation before their leaders.

Naturally, with Zaza absent yet again, Park Gwangah—though president—had to hold Gwangcheon’s flag himself.

“Huuhh…”

Ao took a deep breath, then raised the megaphone.

“Hunter candidates of the six academies gathered here today!”

Her amplified voice rang out, and the noisy station square instantly fell silent.

“I am Kobayakawa Ao, president of Martial God Academy and representative of the Seoul Hunter Candidate Alliance!”

Martial God Academy students clapped first, and soon the others followed.

“I won’t bother asking how you are. If you were well, none of you would have come here today!”

Her words drew laughter from the crowd.

“A week ago, the Seoul government issued a directive banning Hunter candidates from dungeons. The reason: unexplained transference phenomena inside. But this unilateral order is riddled with problems.”

Ao pressed forward, her speech flowing strong and clear.

Even before hundreds of candidates, many from different schools, she showed no hesitation. If anything, her presence only grew with every word, as though a palpable aura radiated from her.

She truly does deserve to lead this alliance.

Several minutes later, Ao finished reading the statement.

A roar of applause and cheers erupted.

“And now,” she said, turning and gesturing toward me with an open palm, “let us hear from Nam Yein.”

Once again, shouts and applause surged.

They all seemed to recognize me.

“As you know, it was Nam Yein who, in an interview with PBC, first spoke out against the city’s directive. Without that spark, we would not have gathered here so soon.”

“That’s right!!”

“Well said!!”

Shouts rang out from the Martial God crowd. Plants among them, perhaps?

“Then, I’ll hand the megaphone to Nam Yein.”

Taking it from her, I faced the crowd.

“Ah… I’ll keep this short, since you’re all standing and probably tired.”

Laughter rippled through them.

Then I began.

“When trouble falls on us, no one will read our hearts and solve it for us. Even infants cry to make their distress known. To remain silent when you believe injustice must be corrected—whether out of fear, or because you think nothing will change, or simply because it feels troublesome—that silence is cowardice, evasion, surrender.

“But all of you who stand here today have chosen differently. Be proud of yourselves. Today, you have become fighters who raise your voices in the name of your own souls. So let us go forward—together! To City Hall! Let us make our voices heard!”

The cheers that followed were different from before—louder, hotter, charged with passion.

I handed the megaphone back to Ao.

“That should be enough.”

It was a speech crafted exactly to stir morale.

“You did splendidly. Thank you,” Ao said with a smile.

“Now, we march to city hall! When I shout the slogan, repeat the last words with me. Let’s try once. The city must revoke the dungeon ban!”

[“Revoke it!”]

“Louder!”

[“Revoke it!!!”]

“Good. Let’s go!”

[“Waaaaaah!!”]

The roar of four hundred voices shook the air above Gwanghwamun.

“Yein, please carry this.”

Ao handed me a flag larger than the academy standards—the banner of the Candidate Alliance.

I took it and stood at her side.

We began to march down the avenue toward city hall.

“The city must revoke the dungeon ban!”

[“Revoke it!”]

“Irresponsible policies breed sacrifice!”

[“Sacrifice!”]

“Guarantee Hunter candidates their right to training!”

[“Training!”]

Every time Ao shouted into the megaphone, the voices behind us boomed like thunder.

Though only four hundred strong, the gathered Awakened candidates roared like thousands.

Before long, we reached the square in front of city hall.

The plan was to hold a two-hour rally there.

But waiting for us was something no one had expected.

“……”

Ao lowered the megaphone, her eyes fixed on the very center of the plaza.

“Hey… is that really…?”

“No way.”

“He looks even bigger than on TV…”

“My knees are shaking… my stomach hurts…”

Nervous whispers spread through the students.

The presidents and vice presidents gathered at the front.

“Ao. That man is—” Jin Cheongryong began.

Ao nodded.

“…Mayor Chun Jiwon. I never thought he’d come in person.”

Indeed. Standing alone in the middle of the square was Chun Jiwon himself.

A brown suit strained against broad shoulders and a frame nearly two meters tall.

Thick brows, a square jaw, swept-back white hair—

The mayor had come down to face us directly.

It was exactly the same as I’d seen in the game.

“…Haa.”

I steadied myself, planting the flagpole against the ground. Just looking at Chun Jiwon made every cell in my body tremble.

Even more suffocating than facing Persilla… so this is the pressure of the world’s strongest. A whole different dimension.

In the game, Chun Jiwon’s level was 95—ranked number one in the world.

“He’s not planning to wipe us all out, is he?” Zen muttered.

“Idiot. Of course not,” Rune scolded.

“But we can’t even step into the square.”

Toby was right. Chun Jiwon stood there alone, yet none of us could bring ourselves to move closer.

“Why would he come down here by himself? Shouldn’t he at least have bodyguards?” Iris frowned.

“Now that you mention it, the police and Security Corps aren’t here either. They followed us all the way, but now they’re gone,” Zen said, glancing around.

Because he doesn’t need them.

He was the strongest Hunter alive. Who could possibly harm him?

Then Chun Jiwon spread his arms and shouted.

“Welcome!!”

If a lion’s roar had a human voice, it would sound like that. His words echoed inside my skull.

“Members of the Seoul Hunter Candidate Alliance! Your voices have reached me in my office! And so I have come down to speak with you face-to-face.”

Ao gritted her teeth and stepped forward.

“Representative Kobayakawa Ao, isn’t it? I read your statement eight times before coming here.”

Ao lifted the megaphone toward her mouth—but Chun Jiwon didn’t wait.

“It was indeed a sudden measure. I’ll admit that. But your demands cannot be met—at least not for now.”

“Why not!?” Ao cried out.

“Because there is no money!!”

His thunderous voice rolled across the plaza.

[…]

The entire square fell silent.

And it wasn’t just his overwhelming presence—his blunt words themselves had frozen everyone.

“Of course, I’ll explain more concretely. You made three demands: first, that guardians accompany you; second, that escape-type skill gems be issued; and third, that personnel be assigned to monitor transferences.”

Those were exactly the demands agreed upon in the last Alliance meeting and published in today’s statement.

“But these transferences came without warning, and no budget has yet been allocated. Even if money existed, the manpower does not. Guardians of level 50 or higher, you said—but even that is not enough. Nam Yein there knows this better than anyone.”

Chun Jiwon’s gaze landed squarely on me.

He knows my face… from the interview, perhaps.

“Nam Yein, what’s he talking about?”

“You knew something?” Zen and Rune both turned toward me.

“Nam Yein has been caught in transference twice. The first time, he was shifted from the 2nd to the 7th floor of Spirit Forest.”

“What!?”

Toby’s eyes widened.

“You went to the 7th floor? And survived? Seriously?”

Even Jin Cheongryong stared like his eyes might pop out.

“A level 50 Hunter cannot protect all students in such a situation. To handle it, you would need far higher-level Hunters. But there are too few of them. If they were assigned, only certain academies could have them, and surely you do not want such inequality among schools, when you came here united.”

No one could argue back.

So this is a politician’s tongue.

With a few sentences, he sealed our mouths. I had to admire the skill.

“And second—the distribution of escape gems. Those cannot prevent every tragedy. Against high-level monsters, they are useless. And third, monitoring transferences in dungeons… yes, the city is considering it. But given how these new transferences are happening, it cannot be a true solution.”

Again, his eyes turned to me.

“This time, Gwangcheon’s first-years were sent to a dungeon never before recorded. Even if a monitor reported it instantly, rescue would be impossible. There would still be casualties.”

“But isn’t saving some better than doing nothing!?” Ao protested.

“The single most effective way to preserve your lives is to ban dungeon entry altogether.”

Ao shut her mouth.

“In conclusion: even with money, your proposals cannot prevent deaths. However, I understand your frustration. For Hunter candidates, being barred from dungeons is like being told you cannot walk the path toward your dream.”

His voice softened.

“And because I understand, I came down here in person. And here and now, I promise you: the city will devote everything to uncovering the cause of transferences and finding a solution. As mayor—and as your senior—I swear it.”

He stood alone, yet none of us could challenge him.

Not even Ao, our representative, nor Iris, could raise their voices.

From the moment he appeared alone, he had been confident he could persuade mere Hunter candidates.

But not me.

Because this—this exact moment—was what I had been waiting for.

Chun Jiwon, showing himself before us and making a public promise to solve it.

“If a solution were found, would you lift the ban?”

“…What?”

Chun Jiwon’s eyes fixed on me again.

“I’m asking: if there were a way to resolve the transference problem, would you end the dungeon ban immediately?”

I held his gaze firmly as I spoke.

(End of Chapter)

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