Chapter 21

Seonha crossed to a reinforced storage locker in the corner of the room, entering a security passcode to retrieve his belongings.

“We’ve already had your vehicle transported back to your residence,” she informed him.

Taking back the Watch of Seclusion, his smartphone, the dagger, and his car keys, Eui-rim blinked in astonishment.

“To my apartment?” he asked.

“Yes,” she confirmed.

How long was I out? Long enough for them to run a comprehensive background check and tow my car across the city?

Unlocking his phone, Eui-rim stared at the date on the screen—a full day had elapsed. Stunned, he locked and unlocked the device twice just to be sure, then looked up.

“Was I unconscious for an entire day?” he asked.

“Yes,” Seonha replied.

“Not a few hours, but an entire twenty-four hours?”

“…Yes,” she admitted.

An awkward flicker crossed Seonha’s stoic features. While she hadn’t thrown the punch, she clearly felt an institutional responsibility for her Guild Master’s reckless conduct.

“I apologize on behalf of our guild,” she said quietly. “There is no excuse for what happened.”

“No, please don’t apologize,” Eui-rim said quickly. “It wasn’t your fault, Vice Guild Master.”

It was a bizarre situation, but Hae-gun had already offered his own idiosyncratic apology. There was no reason for Seonha to shoulder the blame.

Forcing a light smile to break the tension, Eui-rim added, “No wonder I felt hungry. I suppose missing a day’s worth of meals will do that.”

“Would you like something to eat before we leave?” Seonha offered.

“No, I’m fine,” Eui-rim declined gently. “I’ll fix something once I get home. I don’t think I could swallow food comfortably here anyway.”

In truth, he felt neither hunger nor thirst, but he needed a polite way to pivot the conversation. The lingering effects of the painkillers left his mind foggy, making prolonged chatter difficult.

Fortunately, Seonha seemed to understand completely. Acknowledging that headquarters wasn’t the most hospitable place for an outsider, she gave a brief nod of agreement.

When they stepped out into the corridor, the wide windows were drenched in the amber glow of late afternoon. Seonha pressed the call button for the elevator and turned back to him while they waited.

“We plan to finalize the terms of your contract once your resignation is officially approved,” she said. “Could you provide your contact information?”

“Of course,” Eui-rim said, taking out his phone.

Given that Cheongho had already tracked down his home address, she hardly needed to ask for his phone number. That she still made a point of asking for it directly reflected a methodical, principled professionalism.

Saving her number into his contacts, Eui-rim asked, “Should I reach out to you directly at this number?”

“Yes. Contact me the moment your resignation is processed,” Seonha replied. “If you have specific conditions you’d like included in the contract, send them in advance. I will make sure they are addressed during negotiations.”

“Standard terms should be more than sufficient for me,” Eui-rim said.

“Think of something, even if it seems minor,” she advised in a dry tone. “Given how things unfolded, you are entitled to compensation for the Guild Master’s physical assault.”

The elevator chime interrupted them. As the doors slid shut and Seonha selected the parking level, her expression shifted into something far more solemn.

“If I may ask,” she began, “why did you choose to bring this to Cheongho? If you possess actionable intel on the Tower of Time, nearly every major guild in the country would offer vastly more lucrative terms.”

“…There were circumstances,” Eui-rim replied carefully. “It had to be Cheongho’s Guild Master.”

“Circumstances?” Seonha pressed, her gaze sharpening.

Her eyes narrowed, studying him with quiet intensity. As the elevator reached the ground floor, she lowered her voice.

“Did the Guild Master… track you down and coerce you?”

“What? No!” Eui-rim blurted.

“Or did he abduct you to Mount Gamak while you were negotiating with another guild, and—”

“No! Nothing like that happened, I swear!”

Startled by her wild conjectures, Eui-rim waved his hands vigorously in denial. “I sought him out entirely of my own accord. I went up the mountain specifically to meet him.”

The suspicion in her eyes faded, replaced by quiet relief—or perhaps sheer exhaustion. Seonha let out a slow breath. “I was already aware of that. We reviewed the trail CCTV footage and confirmed you climbed Mount Gamak alone.”

“Then why did you ask…?” Eui-rim murmured.

“Because no matter how I look at it, it makes no sense,” she admitted. “Our Guild Master doesn’t strike deals with complete strangers. Were the two of you acquainted in the past? The National Training Center, perhaps?”

“Yesterday was the first time I ever laid eyes on him,” Eui-rim answered honestly.

“I see,” Seonha murmured, though her skepticism lingered.

A faint flicker of exasperation crossed her face. The entire sequence of events defied standard protocol, and she was clearly turning every improbable scenario over in her mind.

“Regardless, what you did was reckless,” she said sternly. “Hiking Mount Gamak alone during a dungeon purge is suicidal. You were lucky the Guild Master found you first. Otherwise, there wouldn’t have been a corpse left to recover.”

“…I know,” Eui-rim murmured. “I apologize. But I had to reach him, no matter what.”

In truth, he hadn’t wanted to risk his life on that treacherous trail either. Had it not been for the promise made in the previous timeline, he never would have gone near the Abyssal Origin Cave.

“Was there a particular reason you confronted him on the mountain?” Seonha asked as they traversed the ground-floor lobby.

After a beat of hesitation, Eui-rim gave an honest answer. “If I had walked into Cheongho headquarters claiming I had a strategy guide for the Tower of Time, do you think the Guild Master would have given me the time of day?”

Was that too blunt?

Only after the words left his mouth did Eui-rim realize how irreverent he sounded. Whatever their internal dynamic, they were comrades—and wasn’t there a longstanding rumor that the two of them were dating?

Glancing at her rigid profile, Eui-rim hastily tried to soften the remark. “I mean… I didn’t intend that as an insult—”

“No, you’re right,” Seonha cut in calmly. “I agree with your assessment. Had you requested a formal audience, you never would have gotten past reception.”

Pausing as they reached the glass exit doors, she added, “To be frank, our Guild Master rarely listens to anyone. While I deeply regret that you were injured… this outcome is remarkably favorable for someone dealing with Seo Hae-gun.”

Eui-rim could only nod in agreement. Though his ribs still ached from the punch, things had moved forward with astonishing speed. An S-rank hunter wouldn’t have carried an uninvited guest to his guild’s private clinic unless his interest had been genuinely piqued.

Though Seonha still appeared somewhat uneasy, she dropped the topic. Pointing toward a matte-black SUV in the executive lot, she led him to the vehicle.

From then on, silence dominated the drive across the city. Aside from Seonha asking him to input his destination into the GPS, neither spoke a word.

Looking out the passenger window, Eui-rim absently turned his phone over in his hand. Despite being missing for an entire day, not a single missed call or message lit up the screen. No one had come looking for him.

On the glowing display was an old family photograph: his older sister, who in this timeline was now younger than him; his parents smiling brightly; and his little brother, who would forever remain seven years old, grinning back at him.

The colleague who had shared every daily grind and triumph with him was Kang Yura, yet the one sobbing uncontrollably was the Director.

Watching Director Lee Sang-jong continuously dab the tip of his red nose with a sodden handkerchief, Eui-rim suppressed a sigh. The director was naturally soft-hearted and emotional, but seeing the older man weep so inconsolably weighed heavily on Eui-rim’s conscience.

“Are you truly leaving?” the Director choked out, his voice thick with tears.

Flushed crimson, the director’s face was as swollen as soggy noodles. Glancing at the soaked handkerchief, Eui-rim silently pushed a box of tissues across the desk. Honk! The trumpet-like sound of the older man blowing his nose echoed through the examination room.

“I have to go, Director,” Eui-rim said gently. “I can’t even function as a healer anymore.”

“Can’t you submit to one more evaluation?” the Director pleaded. “How can an awakened person’s abilities completely swap out overnight?”

“I’ve already been tested twice,” Eui-rim reminded him gently. “You know as well as I do that the [Gaia Evaluation] strictly limits applicants to two assessments.”

The [Gaia Evaluation] was an international verification system established by the United Nations following the advent of awakened status windows. While the core algorithmic mechanics remained classified, whenever an awakened individual submitted their status profile, the system analyzed the claims for authenticity, flagging discrepancies for mandatory revision or granting official certification.

Status profiles could be registered as public, partially redacted, or strictly private depending on individual consent. Unregistered traits remained inaccessible even to UN evaluators, though privacy settings imposed strict legal restrictions on raiding permits and state benefits.

Civil servants, however, were legally required to disclose their entire status profiles. Consequently, the moment Eui-rim’s historical medical data was cross-referenced against his current profile, systemic discrepancies triggered immediate red flags, demanding mandatory modifications.

“In all my years, I’ve never seen anything like this,” the Director lamented, wringing his tissues. “For skills and traits to completely invert… You aren’t actually going to become a frontline hunter, are you? You aren’t joining a combat guild? You aren’t going to Kim Si-hoon, are you?”

I don’t think even my late parents worried this much. The old man really is far too meddlesome.