Chapter 135

Nam Shin-hoo lacked the luxury of dwelling on his own condition.

He had hurt Kwon Haeju again.

Even while agony spiked through him from the residual poison, his consciousness drifted back in fractured, jagged pieces. Had his body been even slightly weaker, he might have slipped into a comatose state, but unfortunately, his physical constitution was far from fragile. Each time he pried his eyes open, he felt Kwon Haeju’s arms locked tightly around him. His eyelids felt leaden—too heavy to study Haeju’s expression—but the faint tremor in those fingers was enough to broadcast the hunter’s volatile instability.

“I wasn’t able to restore you completely,” Josephian said, her voice shadowed by uncertainty. “Your physiology is… unusual. I’m not sure what the cause is.”

“I see,” Shin-hoo replied flatly.

He pressed a hand to his swimming forehead and forced himself upright. There were several possibilities for his resistance: his unique constitution, which seemed capable of absorbing toxins, or perhaps a lingering side effect of regressing into the past. Regardless, he had no reason to explain any of that to her.

“This isn’t something you should take lightly,” Josephian warned, her brow furrowing.

“Where is Kwon Haeju?”

“…You two are cut from the same cloth,” she murmured, shaking her head. “That hunter glared at me so viciously I genuinely thought he might kill me.”

Shin-hoo was far more concerned with Kwon Haeju’s mental state than his own health, terrified that Haeju might spiral again from sheer panic. Watching Nam Shin-hoo force his dizzy, aching frame upright, his focus centered entirely on searching for Kwon Haeju, Josephian’s gaze softened into something wistful.

“He must be very precious to you.”

“Yes.”

“…I see. I’m envious.”

Her voice wavered slightly. Josephian stared at the blank wall for a moment, a quiet sigh escaping her lips. Whatever history cast such a shadow over her expression, she clearly wasn’t ready to send Nam Shin-hoo away yet.

“Shall we talk for a moment?” she asked.

“…”

“It won’t take long. Besides, you’re rather cold to the person who just saved your life.”

“Fine.”

Nam Shin-hoo nodded, though he was reluctant. She was right; his anxiety regarding Kwon Haeju had been so all-consuming that he hadn’t even thought to offer a basic greeting to his savior.

“That was rude of me,” he muttered, adjusting his posture. “Thanks to you, it seems I recovered safely.”

“To be precise, it wasn’t treatment—it was restoration,” Josephian corrected gently. “My power reverts the target’s body to the exact state it held before the injury. Of course, I can’t restore everything perfectly. Time is not so easily undone.”

“What do you mean?”

“For convenience, people call me a healer, but the mechanics operate quite differently. The result is effectively the same, however, so you can interpret it however you prefer.”

Josephian revealed the mechanics of her ability with disarming candor, divulging a secret the government held as top-priority. Even after that disclosure, she spoke casually about details that could easily become fatal weaknesses, including her age and the coordinates of her sanctuary.

Of all her secrets, the most astonishing remained the true nature of her gift. Josephian’s ability effectively rewound the biological clock of a human body. This was intelligence that even the Nam Shin-hoo of the past timeline had never uncovered. Regardless of the injury, she reverted the physical form to the point of wholeness, creating the illusion of a miraculous healing.

However, employing that power demanded an enormous toll on her stamina and left behind severe aftereffects. The blue tint in Kwon Haeju’s eyes had been one such repercussion, as was the extensive recovery period that had followed his treatment—the very same delay that had ultimately prevented her from restoring Glys Roban’s arm.

“I’ve talked too much, haven’t I?” Josephian smiled faintly, her expression drifting into the distance. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time. And, well…”

She had requested only a brief conversation, yet she had been pouring out nothing but classified, confidential information. She fell silent, hesitant. She had seemed unsettled for a while now; her eyes kept drifting toward a blank section of the wall, as if she were contemplating someone waiting on the other side.

“Should we move to another room?”

“Could you?” Josephian asked. “I’d appreciate it, provided you’re well enough to walk.”

So that was why she had hesitated. She couldn’t bring herself to comfortably ask someone who had just returned from the brink of death to walk. She possessed a innate gentleness that made it hard to believe she was a hunter, let alone an S-Rank healer whom the world revered with absolute awe.

Then again, perhaps that empathy was the very reason she had awakened as a healer. Hunter Chae Yeonjeong had been identical in that regard. On the surface, Yeonjeong had seemed entirely carefree, yet she had been more attentive to others than anyone else, suffering deeply under the weight of their pain.

Nam Shin-hoo followed Josephian out. Just as she had feared, his body still lacked structural stability. Bracing a hand against the cold wall, he traversed the long corridor. Josephian’s residence was deep underground, likely somewhere beneath the United States.

Beyond the reinforced glass windows lining the hallway, he caught glimpses of various chambers, including private quarters and a space that resembled a study. They passed these rooms, finally halting before a heavy, windowless door.

“From here on, please never repeat what you see to anyone else.”

“Isn’t it a little late for that warning?” Shin-hoo countered dryly.

The living secret of the United States was standing right before him. If she had truly wanted to protect her secrets, she should have controlled the flow of information the moment they first met. Hearing Nam Shin-hoo’s point, Josephian offered a bitter smile.

“From here on, this is no longer a United States secret. It is entirely my own.”

Josephian opened the door. Her movements were so deliberate that the heavy mechanism didn’t emit a sound. Beyond the threshold lay a research space far larger than he had anticipated.

And it was completely empty.

BEEP. BEEP.

Only the rhythmic, electronic hum of life-support machinery and massive medical equipment filled the quiet room. Josephian moved with practiced ease toward the center of the apparatus—a low, elongated container encased entirely in thick glass.

“Hello. Did you sleep well?” she whispered.

The device, which had initially resembled a small coffin, was actually an advanced incubator.

“We have a guest today,” Josephian said, her voice softening entirely. “Our Milia should say hello too.”

She spoke to the tiny life resting within the incubator, her hand brushing the glass lid with exceptional, tender care. Nam Shin-hoo found himself approaching the machine quietly, drawn in despite himself.

Lying inside the incubator, swaddled in pristine white cloth, was a small child. In truth, the life within was so minuscule and fragile that even calling her a child felt like an overstatement.

The infant lay with eyes closed and fists tightly clenched. Her skin was a vivid, translucent pink, as if it had never once been exposed to the outside air. The body was so precarious that Nam Shin-hoo could clearly discern the rapid flutter of a heartbeat between ribs that had not yet fully formed.

“This child is…”

“My daughter,” Josephian interrupted softly. “She will turn ten years old soon.”

“…”

The child did not look ten. She did not even appear to be a year old.

Nam Shin-hoo couldn’t find words to shatter the silence, so he kept his mouth shut and looked back at Josephian. He couldn’t begin to fathom the tragic history that had led to this room.

“Are you surprised?”

“…A little,” Shin-hoo admitted.

In truth, he was deeply shaken. Nam Shin-hoo masked his internal reaction, forcing his gaze to remain fixed on the glass tank.

He couldn’t look away because a familiar blue window had just materialized in his field of vision.

[Quest: To Save a Perishing World.

What a shame. There is no remaining combat power capable of responding to the battle. Do you wish for another chance? If so, find the ‘true’ savior this time.

Reward upon Success: ???

Penalty upon Failure: Annihilation of humanity.

Success Rate: 60%]

The moment he had entered the room—or more precisely, the moment he discovered that enormous incubator—the quest window that had remained dormant for so long had suddenly updated.

Josephian, who could not possibly know how startled Nam Shin-hoo was by the system prompt, continued her story with eerie calm.

“They say most people awaken in their teens or twenties, but I awakened late in life. Naturally, I thought I was just an ordinary civilian. I had a normal job and a husband. Then, the year I turned thirty, I suddenly awakened.”

“I see.”

“And at the time, I was pregnant.”

Josephian bowed her head and pressed her cheek against the side of the incubator. Her eyes closed tightly as she leaned against the cold glass, cradling it as if it were her own child.

“It was a severe traffic accident. My husband died instantly, and I was on the verge of death myself. If I hadn’t awakened at that exact moment, I likely would have followed my husband to the grave, along with my baby.”

Awakening after crossing the threshold between life and death was not a rare phenomenon in the hunter world. But no one could have predicted it happening to a pregnant woman well past the typical age of manifestation.

The process of awakening altered the human body so drastically that people often described it as a literal rebirth. Because of that violent biological shift, the fetus should have been separated from the mother immediately. However, the hospital staff, desperate to save Josephian’s life, missed the initial medical response window. By the time high-rank healer hunters were brought in, the internal situation had already deteriorated beyond repair.

“Fortunately, because I had awakened as an S-Rank asset, the Association poured every resource they had into saving my child. But that was the limit of what they could do. Even with the full force of modern medicine, all they could manage was to keep her barely alive. My child’s time stopped right there.”

Nam Shin-hoo didn’t need to hear the gruesome details to understand the extreme measures the Hunter Association must have taken to secure the loyalty of a precious S-Rank healer. As she said, the Association had surely done its best. The tragic outcome of using every forbidden and advanced method available was this enormous incubator.

“That’s why you explained the principle of your treatment to me earlier.”

“Yes. I thought it would be easier for you to understand my situation if I did.”

Josephian had explicitly stated that her power was not healing, but restoration. The child’s body had never been whole to begin with. There had never been a moment in her development where she had been independent enough to survive and grow outside the incubator; thus, no matter how far Josephian turned back her biological clock, she couldn’t save her daughter’s life.

“…It must have been hard for you.”

“To be honest, yes. It was torturous.”

It wasn’t the sort of timeline one could claim had been fine, not even as an empty comfort to a stranger. Josephian let out a hollow breath and straightened her spine. Now, finally, the true purpose of the conversation arrived. This was the reason she had revealed such deeply private circumstances to Nam Shin-hoo upon their first meeting and exposed every single one of her critical weaknesses.

“I heard rumors that you possess an item called Baldur’s Tears.”

“…”

“Please,” Josephian pleaded, her eyes locking onto his with desperate intensity. “Sell it to me. The price doesn’t matter. Name whatever you want.”

It was a miracle-grade item capable of saving absolutely anyone, provided the target wasn’t completely dead. And it was an item that had been lying dormant in Nam Shin-hoo’s dimensional inventory for a very long time.