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Chapter 4
June 6th, 2000.
The day water turned to blood.
That was only the beginning.
After that came the frogs, the lice, the flies, the plague… Every June 6th of a random year, a disaster would descend upon Earth.
It was the “Great Catastrophe,” far beyond anything humanity could endure.
And as if to prepare—or perhaps merely to torment—smaller calamities followed in its wake, striking Earth without pause.
“Hayan!”
“The trial—huff—the trial, is it…!”
[The trial, ‘The Tomb of One Hundred Eighty-Five Thousand,’ awaits resolution.]
That was a “Trial.”
A scenario based on scripture, bound to a fabricated space and structure, which only ended once certain conditions were met.
Through these trials, Apostles could grow stronger and acquire items to stand against catastrophe. But they were also perilous—true double-edged swords.
A woman exhaled smoke as she stood before the wavering mirage in the air.
“You’ve come.”
She was a B-rank Apostle, dispatched by the State Apostolic Authority to contain this crisis—a woman Hayan knew from before.
He staggered, breath catching in his throat.
“There has to be a way in! Some way to enter!”
“Don’t be absurd. Once the threshold closes, there’s no forcing it open.”
The rift in space—the “Threshold”—led into the “Wilderness,” a realm divorced from reality. Once someone passed through, it sealed shut.
To open it again required fulfilling special conditions within.
Hayan bit down until he tasted blood.
“…I heard it. They said the Net has been triggered.”
The “Net”—when certain conditions were met, the difficulty would skyrocket into the unimaginable.
To coordinate Apostles properly, both Apostles and trials were strictly ranked from S to F.
Mice were caught with mousetraps, birds with slingshots. The ranks existed to match weapon to prey.
“Yes. From A-rank, it blossomed to S. From ‘Rabsakeh’s Arrogance’ to ‘The Tomb of One Hundred Eighty-Five Thousand.’”
An unexpected shift in rank. In practice, it meant disaster.
“With only one A-rank among them, and the rest B and C? They’ll never resolve it.”
It was like throwing a harpoon at a tuna, only for Leviathan to burst from the sea.
“Then… then what do we do?”
Hayan collapsed, his voice breaking.
“My sister… my sister is inside…”
Yes.
The one trapped in that spiraling Net, in that trial, was his younger sister.
The “White Siblings” of <Burim> were known across the Apostolic world.
The useless D-rank, Hayan. The powerful combatant, A-rank Hayang.
They were opposites, yet looked so alike, that together they drew eyes wherever they went.
And now? Their characters couldn’t be more different.
“My sister, Hayang… she’s… I…”
Hayang, aloof even among the individualistic Apostles of <Burim>.
And Hayan—already in tears, vulnerable, emotional.
The woman sighed.
“You’re weak. That’s why you turned out like this, unlike her. Don’t cry. It’s pathetic.”
“But—!”
“You can’t save your sister.”
Her words cut, merciless.
A graveyard could already be filled with Apostles lost to the Net. Giving him hope now would only become torture later.
But she could still remind him of what he alone could do.
“You can’t save her. But you can call the rope that will.”
Perhaps.
If it was that man…
Hayan’s tear-streaked face lifted. The woman checked her watch.
“In one hour, the reflux begins.”
Reflux—the moment when the monsters within the trial poured into the real world.
Usually it happened when all Apostles inside were dead, or when resolution failed. But the Net ensured reflux even if time simply ran out.
That left them only one hour.
Civilians stood no chance against monsters bursting forth. The death toll would be catastrophic.
If it came to that, <Burim> would be condemned, their reputation as Korea’s greatest Apostolic order in shambles.
“Call your branch leader.”
That man, obsessed with appearances, would never allow it.
“He’s resolving a foreign trial. You won’t reach him by ordinary means.”
An Apostle could not contact the outside world while inside a trial.
But there was one ability that could. Through the sacred book, the Toledoth, some could communicate.
“You’ll have to. With your ‘Exchange Diary,’ it’s possible.”
And that Apostle was Hayan.
He stared blankly at the sealed Threshold.
When reflux began, the Apostles inside would be expelled back out…
“But… can Hayang hold out until then?”
That was the problem.
“It’s S-rank. She’s only ever survived A-ranks.”
“….”
“With those numbers, there’s no way they last an hour—”
“Idiot. Pull yourself together!”
Whack!
The woman slapped the back of his head hard.
“Once the Net’s triggered, the manual assumes all Apostles inside are already dead.”
Her eyes sharpened.
“But you, at least—you must believe in her.”
Hayan’s eyes trembled.
“If she somehow survives the impossible… you’d really sit here and let her crawl back out, only to die in despair?”
The woman spat her words like venom. Behind her, Authority agents called out.
“Ma’am! The plaza has been fully evacuated!”
“I’m coming.”
She tossed away her cigarette butt and strode off.
“Summon Shin Heon-woo! Get the Special Forces ready!”
Barking orders, moving with purpose, she left Hayan alone before the sealed Threshold.
“……”
With trembling hands, Hayan lifted his Toledoth.
Why had a powerless D-rank Apostle like him been admitted into Korea’s strongest branch?
Because of this.
[Exchange Diary]
Through the Toledoth, you may communicate with designated individuals. The number of designations increases with mastery.
People lie even in private diaries. How much more will they lie in a diary they share?
Proficiency: 3 (89%)
Available designations: 4
It was because he bore this rare gift.
Flip.
He tore through pages, jaw clenched, until he stopped at the one he sought. A white quill shimmered into his palm.
<Branch Leader>
The page linked to his superior—the branch leader of <Burim>.
: Branch Leader, the Gwanghwamun trial hit the Net, reflux imminent.
: If you don’t return immediately, we’ll be branded traitors.
: <Burim> will be castrated in the public square.
: Please, I’m begging you.
: I know you see this. Answer me. If my sister dies, I’ll blow myself up in the <Burim> lobby.
His hand burned as he scrawled desperate pleas.
Meanwhile, in the back row of a general-education lecture hall…
[Hey, wanna grab food after this?]
Park Gil-dong scribbled onto Lee Cheo-eum’s notebook, unable to hide his boredom. Cheo-eum glanced sidelong and wrote back.
[No.]
[Why not?]
[Counseling.]
“Again!?”
Park’s outburst echoed through the quiet lecture hall. Everyone turned to stare.
“…Don’t make noise during class.”
“…Sorry.”
The professor glared. Park wilted.
[Shut it. Don’t make the professor look this way.]
Cheo-eum’s letters were sharp, severe. Park shrank back.
[Sorry… But counseling again? You already ditched class before, at lunch too!]
[Yeah, and again now? Three times a day?]
[That’s too much.]
Cheo-eum frowned at his notebook—now more diary than notes.
[You paying my grad school tuition?]
[If you even get into grad school.]
Cheo-eum looked up, eyes cold.
[You don’t lack money. Stop wrecking the present for an uncertain future.]
Park flinched, but still wrote back.
Cheo-eum sighed.
[This time’s different. A troublesome Apostle.]
[Who?]
[Ossalo.]
Both Park and Jireum snapped their heads toward him.
“Class dismissed. Don’t forget your assignments.”
The professor ended right then. Cheo-eum stood to leave—but Park’s hands clamped on his shoulders.
“You’re not meeting him!”
His face was frantic, like a parent scolding a wayward child.
“You’re seriously going to keep counseling him?”
“Double pay.”
“Even so!”
Park thumped his own chest.
“He’s dangerous!”
Ossalo. A name infamous even among civilians.
“Your recklessness is insane. You can’t even lift a 20-kilo dumbbell, what are you relying on?”
Even Jireum’s expression tightened. But Cheo-eum stayed calm.
“I’ve got my reasons.”
“What reasons?”
“He’s not someone who can harm me.”
Cheo-eum was about to elaborate when—
CRASH!
The lecture hall windows exploded inward.
And something rolled inside, curled tight like an armadillo.
“Kyahhh!”
“What the hell!?”
Screams erupted. Students bolted for the exits.
The intruder, glass shards still sticking to his body, scrambled upright. His frantic eyes locked on Cheo-eum.
‘Oh.’
An acquaintance.
Cheo-eum turned to flee.
But—
“Counselor—!”
Thud.
The man dropped to his knees in the middle of the hall.
“Please.”
Hayan’s tear-filled black eyes pleaded.
“Save my sister, Lee Cheo-eum…!”
His wretched face begged for pity.
“…Ha.”
Cheo-eum exhaled deeply.
If counseling’s a problem, come to me, I said. Not when your entire life falls apart.
