TKS 14

 Chapter 14

When I looked at him with a dazed expression, Jung Hwan-jae calmly tore the page from his file and tossed it aside.
“It must not suit you,” he said matter-of-factly.

All I had asked for was one thing:

Would it be possible for me to move into the dormitory provided by Hantae?

“I only need a small space in the dorm to rest my body. I don’t have the money to pay rent anywhere else.”

But the moment Hwan-jae received my message, he came rushing in as though he had been waiting for it. He showed up with blueprints packed full of detailed plans for internal facilities and all sorts of equipment.

Aside from the fact that the designs were in complete disarray—as if a dozen different opinions had been thrown together with no coordination—the sheer effort he had put into it was, to some degree, commendable.

Still, had he come up with all this himself? Judging by the way he would glance into thin air every time I looked flustered, I doubted it.

“We don’t charge any additional fees for staying in the dormitory,” he explained.

“…Really? Why not?”

“…Pardon?”

“I mean, the facilities shown in this pamphlet—just maintaining them must cost a fortune. To say it’s all free of charge is usually… ah, never mind.”

He blinked at me as if he had never even heard the word burden before. I gave up immediately. Better to suffer in silence than try to explain.

If I said anything more, he’d probably just claim it was “employee welfare.” I was still far too much of a small-time civilian to grow accustomed to such terrifyingly large-scale generosity.

“It seems I’ve only been talking about the interiors,” he went on. “As it says in the pamphlet, the dormitories are individual houses. Each comes with its own teleport link.”

Apparently, most hunters earned enough within their first year to buy their own homes, so the dorms usually sat vacant. Since it had been ages since Hantae had even accepted a new recruit, the cost of cleaning and upkeep actually outweighed the utility bills.

That was when the true scale of Hantae’s seclusion began to sink in.

And now, I was moving into such a place.

“When should I start moving my things?” I asked.

“You can teleport them over right now, if you’d like. Your room has already been assigned and is kept in order daily.”

“Then I’ll move in this week, Guildmaster.”

At that title, his lips pressed shut as he looked at me.

Did I say something wrong? I quickly reviewed the conversation in my head but couldn’t think of anything out of line. I had spoken the same way as always.

“Outside, I don’t reveal that I’m the Guildmaster of Hantae,” he said at last. “It would be troublesome if word got out. Even the ranking boards show me with an altered face.”

“Oh, that explains it. Honestly, your ranking photo looked worse than you do in person. I just thought you were the type who looked terrible on camera.”

“…Was that a compliment?”

“Yes.”

I gave him two enthusiastic thumbs-up. His expression grew awkward, as if saying, If you insist, but I’m not convinced it really was a compliment.

So much for my hard-earned social skills. Time to come up with another tactic.

“In any case, it’s better if you don’t call me ‘Guildmaster’ in public,” he continued. “I’d like us to settle on a different form of address.”

“Ah.”

So that was it. He didn’t want me to use any title that might give away his identity. I suddenly regretted how freely I had been calling him Guildmaster and even storing him under that name in my phone.

When he first came to see me, he had gone to great lengths to conceal his identity. And yet, he had put up with me calling him Guildmaster, Guildmaster for days without saying anything.

A mix of guilt and belated realization flooded me.

“What should I call you, then?” I asked.

“Well… even the name Jung Hwan is public knowledge. It would be best not to use that either.”

Right. Everyone in the world knew that top-ranker Jung Hwan was Hantae’s Guildmaster. If I went around calling him that, it would be a disaster.

I decided to tread carefully. Maybe he had a preferred title in mind, one he was waiting for me to suggest.

Sure enough, his lips moved.

“…How about just calling me Jung Hwan-jae?”

“…Excuse me?”

“Or you can just say, ‘Hey, Hwan-jae.’ That’s fine too.”

His expression was surprisingly serious. As far as I knew, Hwan-jae was three years older than me. And he was asking me to drop honorifics and speak casually to him?

Having been raised my whole life under Korea’s ironclad age hierarchy, I couldn’t possibly accept that. I shook my head furiously, and he looked slightly puzzled.

Still, calling him by his real name was a good idea. If you want to hide a tree, put it in the forest, as they say.

“How about Hwan-jae-ssi, or Mr. Hwan-jae? I’d really prefer not to drop formal speech so suddenly.”

“That works too.”

“Then outwardly, to keep up appearances, I could call you Sunbae—senior hunter. That would sound more natural.”

Definitely not oppa. That would cross a line. The moment I suggested Sunbae, a flicker of surprise crossed his face.

Had no one ever called him that before? He didn’t look displeased, at least.

“I’ll call you Sunbae outside,” I offered. “But inside, I’ll stick to Mr. Hwan-jae.”

“…Yes, that should be fine.”

“Then you should also call me something different in public.”

“Yes, I suppose…”

Why did he look like he’d been bracing for this? Talking to him often felt like passing through one checkpoint after another.

Watching his overly serious face, I casually suggested,
“You could just call me Yeom Yea-ah, or even just Yea-ah-ya. That’s usually how seniors address juniors, isn’t it?”

He froze, mid-thought, and slowly raised his eyes to mine.

I recognized that expression immediately. It was the same one he wore whenever I forced him to endure one of my terrible songs.

“Sorry, did I go too far?” I asked quickly.

“No, it’s fine. I just… wonder if it’s really okay for me to call you that out of nowhere.”

“It’s fine. Inside, we’ll still be Mr. Hwan-jae and Guildmaster. Outside, just relax and speak comfortably.”

He seemed to find my reasoning convincing, and after a moment he nodded. I couldn’t help but smile.

“Sunbae Hwan-jae.”

“…Yea-ah-ya.”

He said my name haltingly, syllable by syllable, like a rusty hinge creaking open.

Well, it would take some practice. He had time to get used to it before we had to talk in public.

After a few awkward coughs, he shuffled through his file again. He must have finished explaining the dorm. Just when I thought we’d move on to singing practice, he spoke.

“Yea-ah-ya, what will your situation be in a month?”

“…Probably still reporting to Hantae, I guess.”

Clearly, not just the titles but also his speech patterns needed some adjustment. Teaching him both at once might be too much, though—better to tackle one at a time. At the moment, he didn’t even seem to realize the odd phrasing he was using.

Realizing there had been some miscommunication, he let out a low hum.

“In a month, the ranking tournament will be held. I’d like you to qualify for the rankings by then.”

“…Me? Someone like me?”

Despite my self-deprecating tone, he nodded with complete seriousness, oblivious to the blow I had just dealt myself.

Why would someone who knew my hopeless stat window better than anyone else say something like that? Did he really think I could do it?

“As long as you can properly use healing-related skills and abilities, you’ll rank among the top of your stat bracket.”

“But my base stats are pathetic.”

“That’s exactly why I’m staying by your side—to fix that.”

He shrugged lightly.

“Tell me, Yea-ah. Don’t you want to be a ranker?”

A short laugh escaped me.

“Of course I do.”