Chapter 137

“To be honest, I stopped him from saying he wanted to transfer to Korea immediately,” Glys Roban said, keeping his eyes on the road. “If you happen to meet him…”

“You don’t have to worry that much,” Nam Shin-hoo interrupted smoothly. “I’ll refuse.”

“Thank you. That’s a relief.”

Now that they knew the Cradle of Genesis had extended its reach into the United States first, they could not afford to diminish the nation’s defensive capabilities. This was a critical juncture requiring every single Hunter who understood the organization’s treacherous methodology and inherent cruelty. Furthermore, given that Havirain had successfully tamed an A-Rank dungeon boss, his power would likely prove difficult to quantify; after all, a tamer’s worth was measured solely by the caliber of the beast they commanded.

The vehicle carrying the two men slowed as it navigated the congested thoroughfare.

“We’ll arrive shortly,” Roban noted.

Nam Shin-hoo glanced up at the distant building, which was wrapped in a brilliant tapestry of lights. It was a skyscraper so immense he had to crane his neck to glimpse the summit, and somewhere within that spire, Kwon Haeju lay in slumber.

“The United States Hunter Association held a meeting not long ago,” Roban continued as the car came to a halt at a signal. “Effective immediately, the United States will fully comply with Hunter Nam Shin-hoo’s requests. You may consider this the price of protecting our Hunters’ lives—including my own—and the pride of the United States.”

On the surface, it might have sounded arrogant. Yet, the decision to offer such full cooperation was no trivial matter; it signified they would treat him with greater deference than they would a sovereign ally.

“That’s more generous than I anticipated,” Shin-hoo replied.

“We chose to consider the long term.”

Glys Roban drove forward in silence. His handling of the wheel was practiced and smooth, but after hesitating for a moment to weigh his words, he spoke again with careful deliberation.

“We did not reach this decision solely based on the recent incident. We took into account the massive potential Korea has demonstrated through its rapid development, and…” His fleeting gaze brushed against Nam Shin-hoo in the rearview mirror before darting away. “We decided to place our trust in the path you have forged.”

“That’s far too much praise.”

“I’m not so sure.”

The United States had been monitoring other nations with keen interest. Korea, in particular, had consistently ranked near the pinnacle of importance. Once a peripheral nation of little consequence, the progress it had achieved over the past decade was nearly incomprehensible. And at the very heart of that ascent stood one specific individual: Kwon Haeju.

“Seeing it firsthand made it abundantly clear,” Roban remarked. “You are the catalyst for Hunter Kwon Haeju’s sudden, explosive growth. A stable Hunter who has much to teach others can inspire profound change.”

“Kwon Haeju was already formidable.”

“But without you, his ascent would never have been this rapid.” Roban’s voice dropped, deepening in tone. Since Nam Shin-hoo occupied the backseat, he could not observe the driver’s expression and thus failed to fully decipher the intent behind his words. “And there are many others besides Hunter Kwon Haeju who have benefited from your intervention.”

The United States maintained an extensive network of intelligence sources within Korea. They were well aware of recent reports concerning Yoo Da-on and Yoo Yeonho, both of whom had been orbiting Nam Shin-hoo. That was not all. Hunter Kwan Seungya, who had reawakened as an S-Rank, openly declared to anyone who would listen that he owed his life to Hunter Nam Shin-hoo. Even Choi Kanghyeon had worked alongside Shin-hoo from the very beginning.

Among the elite Hunters currently active in Korea, there was not a single significant figure who had not become inextricably entangled with Nam Shin-hoo in some fashion. Every one of them had advanced by leaps and bounds compared to their initial awakening.

“So, please, view this not as a gesture of goodwill toward Korea, but as an expression of the United States’ favor toward you.”

“In that case, I’ll accept it with gratitude.”

There was no logical reason for refusal. This was the precise nature of cooperation Nam Shin-hoo had sought. Thanks to Kwon Haeju, Korea currently held the initiative, but in terms of sheer numbers and the quality of their Hunter force, the United States remained ahead. This was especially critical now, as they required substantial manpower to confront threats like the Cradle of Genesis, which hid in depths far beyond ordinary reach.

“However, I’d like you to adjust the terms of that cooperation slightly,” Shin-hoo added.

“In what way?”

“Instead of centering it on Hunter Nam Shin-hoo, I want you to move with Hunter Kwon Haeju as the primary axis. We’re both working toward the same objective, so it shouldn’t change the outcome much.”

He was appreciative of the United States’ willingness to back him, but Nam Shin-hoo’s priorities lay elsewhere. The safety and survival of Kwon Haeju eclipsed all other concerns.

At this request, Glys Roban tilted his head in mild confusion. “That should be feasible. Hunter Kwon Haeju provided immense assistance during this operation as well.”

“Excellent. Then I accept America’s help.”

“Not at all. We are the ones who should be thank… Hup!”

The world lurched violently.

With a deafening crash, the roof of the car Nam Shin-hoo occupied buckled inward. Before he could grasp what had occurred, light flooded in from above, and the sprawling cityscape—a chaotic sea of neon signs and dazzling lights—unfurled over his head. Standing at the epicenter of that destruction was Kwon Haeju, who had peeled back the roof and was staring down at him.

“…”

Kwon Haeju’s eyes were wide, the irises trembling. His blue pupils shimmered more vibrantly than any neon sign in the city. Yet beneath that luster, his expression was hollowed out, cold and still, as if he were on the verge of drowning.

Nam Shin-hoo extended his arms wide. “Come here.”

As though he had been waiting for that exact command, Kwon Haeju collapsed into him. His weight pressed down with crushing force, and as he poured his entire body into the embrace, he buried his face in Nam Shin-hoo’s chest as if clawing for his very breath.

“There, there,” Shin-hoo murmured. He patted Haeju’s back with the gentleness one would offer a child. He felt no concern for Glys Roban, who stared in horror from the driver’s seat, nor for the throngs of onlookers whose gazes were locked on the wrecked vehicle. At this moment, nothing mattered but soothing the tremors wracking Kwon Haeju’s back. “You held out so well. I’m incredibly proud of you.”

“…”

“Let me look at you. You haven’t been eating properly, have you? You’ve lost so much weight.”

It had only been a few days, but the skin beneath his fingertips felt parched and brittle. Judging by the dehydration, Haeju likely hadn’t even been drinking water consistently. Nam Shin-hoo grasped this instantly, as this was the same back he had held and comforted every single day.

At his quiet instruction, Kwon Haeju slowly lifted his head. His eyes were burning. Contrary to Nam Shin-hoo’s expectation that he would find Haeju weeping or engulfed in despair, his face was alight with pure, unadulterated rage.

The arms wrapped around Nam Shin-hoo tightened until it was painful. Only then did Nam Shin-hoo feel the full, devastating brunt of Kwon Haeju’s emotions transmitting through the ring. Resentment, irritation, and a torrent of negative emotions flooded through the connection, but the most prominent was a pitch-black fury—chilling enough to raise goosebumps.

“Haeju-ya?”

“For the time being, keep everyone away from my room,” Haeju commanded, his voice slicing through the air like a blade. “No one is to approach, not until I give the word.”

These words were aimed not at Nam Shin-hoo, but at Glys Roban. With eyes still ablaze, Kwon Haeju yanked Nam Shin-hoo to his feet. As they stood amidst the ruin of the car, the neon city lights bleeding down upon them, the world suddenly flipped on its axis.

Kwon Haeju had slung Nam Shin-hoo over his shoulder and surged into the air.

The city lights stretched into long, blurred trails. By the time the dizzying rush subsided and Nam Shin-hoo’s feet met solid ground, they were inside the hotel suite where Haeju had been staying.

Nam Shin-hoo struggled to regain his equilibrium, his mind reeling. The fact that Haeju hadn’t been carrying him with his usual, gentle care told him exactly how deep that anger truly went. Before he could properly orient himself, he was thrown down, and a soft mattress caught his back.

“Wait, my shoes…”

Before he could finish, a pair of shoes went tumbling across the hardwood floor.

“…”

The gaze fixed upon him was ferocious, and Shin-hoo couldn’t bring himself to meet it. It had been an age since he felt as though he were being reprimanded by nothing but a stare. Nam Shin-hoo, who had carried himself with composure since childhood, remained entirely unaccustomed to being scolded.

“Are you… truly that angry?” Shin-hoo asked softly.

“Me? Of course not,” Haeju retorted, his words honed to a sharp, dangerous edge. “What would change just because someone like me got angry?”

Nam Shin-hoo squeezed his eyes shut. Kwon Haeju’s emotions were surging through the ring with such intensity that his fingertips ached, and he found no recourse to soothe that volcanic fury. This situation was entirely of his own making. Even so, there was a defense he had to offer. Ultimately, the crisis had been resolved, and he had acted with the full knowledge that he could be treated for any resulting damage.

“It was a situation where I had the chance to save him,” Shin-hoo explained. “I couldn’t just stand by and watch a life be snuffed out right in front of me.”

“Why not?” Kwon Haeju’s voice was sharp. His blue eyes rippled as if they might combust at any moment. Nam Shin-hoo had never imagined he would hear Kwon Haeju question why he would choose to save a human life. “Was saving that Hunter also for the sake of the disaster coming in the future? Will you only be satisfied once you’ve saved everyone, at the expense of yourself?”

“That’s not… what this means.”

“Among countless lives, where exactly does hyung’s life stand in your priorities?”

Kwon Haeju pressed Nam Shin-hoo’s shoulders into the mattress. There was an immense, suppressed power behind the deceptively delicate touch, feeling like the first swell before a tidal wave. Kwon Haeju was truly, deeply furious. Nam Shin-hoo swallowed hard, his throat dry.

“I tried to understand the choices hyung made for my sake,” Haeju said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy whisper. “I told myself I must have been necessary for the future—necessary enough that you had to protect me at all costs. I convinced myself your actions were unavoidable. But that wasn’t it, was it? Hyung, you simply…”

A sensation akin to the cold tension of combat prickled over the back of Nam Shin-hoo’s neck.

“You thought your own life was utterly worthless.”

The front of Nam Shin-hoo’s shirt, pulled tight against his throat, tore open under the sudden, violent strain. Threads snapped in unison, and through the fissure, skin damp with cold sweat was revealed. Despite the room’s ambient warmth, his body flinched.

“…”

Nam Shin-hoo opened his mouth to refute the accusation, but no words would surface. What could he possibly deny? Could he claim that his own life mattered to him, that other Hunters were of equal value, or that this had been nothing more than a passing whim?

Nam Shin-hoo had no answers left.