TKS 15

Chapter 15

Ranking Matches.
The Valkyrie Network’s hunter ranking system.

Hunters were graded according to their minimum baseline stats, with other stats and skills factored in. The number of dungeons cleared and other achievements also played a role, though the exact criteria were never made public.

And if two hunters were close in ability? They settled it in one-on-one duels—without killing each other—to decide who ranked higher.

“Do many people get direct training from Rankers? What about you, senior?”

“Uh, I didn’t really have anyone to guide me. I just got help from the staff assigned to me.”

Jung Hwanjae quickly corrected his speech after sweeping a glance around. Nobody here seemed to care, but it was clear he had grown up under constant public scrutiny. Old habits died hard.

Today, we had decided to “open-run” a potion workshop. Since the equipment workshop we contracted with wasn’t up for our turn until after the ranking matches, the idea was to establish connections at other places first.

We’d been standing in line for nearly three hours, holding one-time-use teleport tokens instead of number slips.

“Does getting close with the workshop owner actually help? Like, do they cut corners for friends?”

“They can’t bump you ahead in line or anything, but if you’re on good terms, they’ll put more care into the crafting. Of course, they never make it cheaper.”

Thanks to his desperate efforts, he was now somewhat used to speaking casually to me outside. Maybe one out of every ten sentences. Every time he dropped honorifics, though, his apologetic eyes betrayed him.

Really, there was nothing strange about a guild master three years my senior speaking informally, but he remained absurdly polite.

“I could’ve come alone, you know. I’ve seen way worse people than me.”

“It’s your first time.”

“But don’t you have other things to do, senior?”

Hwanjae fell silent.

Of course he did. Out there he might act like a regular hunter, but he was still the master of a guild. Surely he had more pressing matters than babysitting me. The guild members seemed to accept it, though—after all, they’d been told he was training their guild’s personal healer.

Ah, so this is the one who… sings.
Hello. Hang in there.

The people I was introduced to always looked at me with a strange mixture of emotions. No doubt because of the story about me knocking out an interviewer with my “singing.”

It took blood, sweat, and tears. From the day I moved into the dormitory and heard it was completely soundproof, I’d been singing into the sleepless dawn.

And yesterday, at last, my stats shifted.

• Singing: F

• Creative Technique: E-

But instead of my Singing improving, only Technique had gone up.

What use was technique when you couldn’t sing in the first place? Frustrated, I had let out a lion’s roar that day.

Even tone-deaf people supposedly improved a little with practice. Did I not even count as human?

“Ye-ah.”

If Jung Hwanjae hadn’t lightly grabbed my wrist just then, I would’ve kept spiraling into despair over whether yesterday was success or failure.

Startled, I looked up. He jerked his chin toward the line ahead. Time to move.

I answered shortly and stepped forward, and he immediately released my wrist as if to say he had no intention of dragging me anywhere.

“Sorry for grabbing you. You looked lost in thought, but I couldn’t exactly yank you around. I called you a few times, but you didn’t respond.”

“Sorry, senior. I was just… distracted.”

“Was it something bad? You looked upset.”

“No, nothing serious.”

I had simply realized that no matter how hard I worked, there were some walls pure effort might never overcome.

I dodged the subject with a bitter smile, and he let it drop.

“Anyway, I didn’t expect there to still be lines like this in such a high-tech hunter era.”

“They actually tried kiosks for a while, but hunters kept breaking the machines—or using skills to mess with them. So in the end they decided it was fairer to just make everyone wait.”

“Oh… I’m surprised there aren’t fights. With this many hunters in one place, I’d expect constant brawls.”

His quiet, measured tone made me lower my voice as well, as if it were something forbidden to talk about.

“The workshop owner here hates fighting. And since healers are so rare, guilds can’t afford to cross them.”

“A monopoly, huh…?”

He nodded silently.

The supply was nowhere near enough to meet demand. No matter how strong a hunter was, they had no choice but to play along.

Just like with healing hunters—so scarce that everyone scrambled to accommodate them.

And potions weren’t just for healing; they boosted all sorts of buffs, too. A healer alone couldn’t replace that.

“This workshop’s owner consistently ranks in the top 100. It’s best not to provoke them.”

If not for seeing Rank 1 with my own eyes, just hearing “top 100” would’ve been enough to chill my spine.

If a country ever boasted more than ten hunters in the top 100, history books would hail it as a hunter superpower.

Currently, Korea had fourteen. None of them were healers.

I pictured the day my name would go down in history: Yeom Yea—Korea’s first ranked healer! Just imagining the headlines made me grin.

Should I come up with a cool hunter alias? Something flashy. Since I’m Yea, maybe… Yeap?

“…Yea.”

My wrist was grabbed again.

All I could do was step forward, sheepish. Earlier he’d looked worried when I frowned; now, seeing me smirking to myself, concern clouded his face again.

“Among Rankers, are there more who hide their identity or those who flaunt it?”

“Hmm… fewer hide. Showing off that you’re a Ranker comes with its own prestige and benefits.”

“Then why would someone hide it?”

From what I’d seen, Rankers loved to broadcast their status. On TV, they practically tripped over themselves to show off.

It wasn’t about fear of being attacked. Nobody in their right mind would target the Rank 1 hunter, the Reaper. Unless he deliberately let them.

So really, I was asking why do you keep hiding yourself?

“Talk about threats is just an excuse. The truth is, we don’t want the hassle.”

The reply came from behind us.

Startled, I turned—but Hwanjae was faster.

In a blink, he pulled me behind him. His eyes went flat and dead, his aura sharp and icy. The subtle, dangerous kind that only the sensitive could pick up on. Even I, shielded behind him, felt a faint chill.

“Relax, relax.”

The voice belonged to a woman with fiery red-dyed hair. She grinned wide, flashing pointed canine teeth, and waved. The knuckles of her gloves glinted metallic.

Recognizing her face, Hwanjae instantly withdrew his killing intent.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

“Right? What a coincidence.”

“…Do you know her, senior?”

The woman shrugged, then raised her hand high.

A massive loudspeaker materialized in the air, booming her voice across the crowd. At the same time, numbers flashed across the giant screen.

—All hunters in line, check your teleport number on the screen and teleport to Potion Workshop 1. Only those already in line may enter. You have 15 seconds.

Pandemonium erupted.

Some hunters teleported instantly, as if waiting for the cue. Others fumbled with their devices in a panic. And some froze in despair as the 15 seconds ticked past.

I scrambled to input my number too, but the red-haired woman blocked me.

“You, this way.”

“Huh?”

She winked playfully.

“Rules are just whatever the taffy seller says, right?”