I remember the first time I arrived at the school.

    Some new students were there with their parents and siblings, taking photos, laughing, chatting about the future. I, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, sat alone in a shadowy, secluded spot.

    Someone else was already there.

    A boy, radiating the same loneliness as me.

    Another new student, perhaps?

    "What’s your name?" I asked first.

    I wasn’t particularly outgoing, but the boy sitting next to me seemed so timid and forlorn that I couldn’t help myself.

    He glanced at me with frightened eyes, barely making eye contact, before quickly looking away. His voice, barely more than a whisper, revealed his name.

    "...Kang Han-min."

    Perhaps I found his timidness intriguing, or maybe it was a boyish sense of superiority. Either way, for a moment, I forgot the miserable reality surrounding me and smiled at him.

    "That’s a strong name. I’m Park Gyu. Park is my last name, and Gyu is my first."

    And so, my first connection at the school was made.

    Despite his strong name, Kang Han-min was neither resilient in spirit nor remarkable in physique or skill.

    At first, I tried to help him. But perhaps it was the school’s deeply ingrained Spartan culture; no matter how much I tried, he didn’t improve. Eventually, I gave up on him.

    Maybe my mentor’s teachings had already begun shaping my young mind.

    "People make mistakes because no one is perfect. However, we hunters cannot afford to make mistakes. Our enemy is not human. To confront something beyond human, we must shed a part of our insignificant humanity."

    Jang Ki-young was a first-generation hunter, a former soldier, and a man with the title of hero.

    Many students aspired to be his disciples, drawn by his fame. But Jang Ki-young was a difficult, irritable instructor.

    He demanded perfection—an impossible virtue for humans to achieve.

    Grueling training, excessive criticism—those were the basics. For students he deemed subpar, he would use any means necessary to drive them out of the school.

    "Kang Han-min, you again?"

    "Kang Han-min, aren’t you ashamed? Because of you, your team and classmates are penalized."

    "Kang Han-min!"

    Kang Han-min became a constant target of Jang Ki-young’s ire.

    In Jang’s eyes, Kang Han-min was defective—a person who should never bear the label of hunter.

    Finally, Jang gave him an ultimatum in front of everyone.

    "Kang Han-min, you’re not needed in my class. If you have any conscience, any decency, walk out on your own."

    Kang Han-min didn’t leave.

    Surprisingly, he was more stubborn than he seemed.

    Maybe he hated monsters as much as I did.

    Jang’s harassment and criticisms grew harsher, but Kang Han-min endured, clinging on until the grades rolled over.

    I can’t forget Jang Ki-young’s face or his words when Kang Han-min barely passed the final test.

    It was during the exam when Kang Han-min executed a feint attack on a necromancer-type hologram, breached its barrier range, and bisected it with a high-caliber shotgun.

    Jang, who had been nervously crossing his arms, shook his head and muttered, "That kid will ruin us one day. Mark my words!"

    It’s doubtful Jang Ki-young had the gift of foresight.

    If he did, he couldn’t even predict his own fate.

    Years later, during my time in China, when I was busy gathering data while navigating the government’s watchful eye, Woo Min-hee—who, at the time, was still in good shape—abruptly handed me a scatter slug from a high-caliber shotgun.

    "Did you hear about Jang Ki-young?" she asked out of the blue.

    "What about him?"

    "His record is total BS. The guys who fought alongside him spilled the beans. Apparently, Jang Ki-young didn’t fight monsters with an axe. He curled up on the ground, sobbing, and buried his head like an ostrich."

    Jang Ki-young had always been cruel to Kang Han-min because he was a hero—or so he claimed.

    His so-called heroism gave him the right to berate others, to belittle them, to dismiss them without remorse.

    Even the axe I used as my primary melee weapon owed some of its fame to Jang Ki-young’s legendary stories.

    According to the now half-mythical tale, when a rift opened near Gochang County in North Jeolla Province, Jang and his troops confronted the monsters to protect the citizens.

    Faced with a monster that could reflect bullets, soldiers were slaughtered. To make matters worse, fallen soldiers rose as undead, attacking their comrades.

    The defense force was annihilated within moments. When two tanks were destroyed by the monster’s reflective barrier, the survivors fled in terror.

    Amidst the chaos, Captain Jang Ki-young made a bold decision:

    He abandoned his firearm, feigned death, and waited for the monster to approach.

    With an axe conveniently within reach, he bided his time, his eyes fixed on the weapon.

    Ah, yes. I had offered hollow reassurances.

    "It’ll get better. Just push a little harder, and Instructor Jang will recognize your efforts."

    The similarity of the situation was not lost on me. Almost instinctively, I delivered the same kind of empty consolation to Jang Ki-young.

    "Yes, I believe it was effective."

    Even those shallow words seemed to bring him some joy.

    His stern eyes glistened faintly with emotion.

    And yet, it must have been difficult for him.

    "I think...I’ve discovered a way to become Awakened."

    "Is that so?"

    "Right, zombies. Aren''t they just another form of human mutation? When a human''s biological activity ceases, mutation factors latch onto the corpse and infuse it with energy from the otherworld. We could exploit that. Imagine putting someone into a near-death state—essentially killing them—and tricking the mutation factors into thinking the person is dead, triggering their effects! At that moment, we revive them. And voila! A human infused with otherworldly power, perhaps even endowed with the psychic abilities of an Awakened and an immortal body!"

    Hearing such madness from the mouth of my once-formidable instructor, the infamous Tiger Instructor, filled me with deep disappointment.

    I stood, ready to leave, but Jang Ki-young wasn’t finished.

    "...People call me a fraud, but I’ve seen it. The true nature of monsters. They have a leader. There’s definitely a being that issues orders!"

    "A general type?"

    "What’s that?"

    He didn’t seem to know the term.

    Well, of course not. I had only discovered the existence of general types two months ago. Jang Ki-young had left his post over a year ago, so there was no way he could have known.

    Unintentionally, my discovery seemed to wound him.

    "No, that can’t be! It’s not possible! You must’ve been mistaken. You said it was just a hypothesis, right? A hypothesis is just that—a guess!"

    "Perhaps you’re right."

    "No, listen! There was something, like a song—yes, a song! I couldn’t see it because it was inside the rift, but it was definitely singing something. Almost like that was their language. When I was playing dead, I heard it clearly. As it commanded, all the monsters retreated back into the rift... except for one. The one I killed with my axe!"

    He was spiraling. I made up an excuse to leave.

    As I was about to go, Jang Ki-young hesitated, then spoke to me.

    "Have you been in touch with Han-min?"

    I understood his meaning and responded coldly.

    "No."

    Jang Ki-young lost lawsuit after lawsuit.

    The former hero, once a staple of major broadcasting networks and newspapers, was now a regular on the channels of "wreck-casters" on YouTube—people who thrived on public scandals. There, he criticized government policies and begged for super chat donations.

    When I saw him invoke Kang Han-min’s name—the very student he had cast out, now a savior of our time—and claim, "I made him who he is," I turned off the video in disgust.

    Now Jang Ki-young was dead, and the school to which he had dedicated his life was slated for demolition.

    I debated whether to go.

    The world was dangerous enough as it was; there was no need to invite additional risk.

    But a single message changed my mind.

    Private Identification Code: REDMASK

    It was a message from Woo Min-hee.

    "You know the school’s being demolished this weekend, right? I think it’d be good if you showed up."

    "Me?"

    "You’re not far away, are you?"

    "...No comment."

    "Didn’t think so. Talking to someone like me wouldn’t do you any good anyway. But I still think you should go."

    "Why do you think that?"

    "Han-min said it’d be fitting for you to be there."

    "Kang Han-min?"

    "Yeah. He said you’re the most fitting person for the occasion."

    I fell silent, considering whether Han-min’s comment was mockery or respect.

    In the quiet, I could hear Woo Min-hee clicking her tongue.

    "By the way, one more thing. You know about Jang Ki-young, right?"

    "Instructor Jang? I heard he died. There was a funeral, wasn’t there?"

    "He’s alive," Woo Min-hee said, laughing softly.

    "He’s alive, and he’s desperately waiting for you to show up."