The sun had set, so I stayed the night at the refugee camp in Incheon.

Sleeping among the displaced and starving was akin to gambling with one’s life, so I had to settle for the warmth of a fire burning inside a steel drum.

As I sat there, my eyes briefly closed, a young man wandered over, glancing at me cautiously.

He looked to be in his early twenties, though his face was youthful enough to pass for a teenager.

Boldly, he reached out to touch my bicycle.

I opened my eyes and warned him.

“Don’t touch it.”

The man flinched in surprise but, perhaps driven by stubbornness, still tried to grab it.

I quietly drew my pistol, and only then did he raise his hands in surrender and back away.

Behind him, a group of people warming themselves at another fire cast me cold, hostile glares.

By dawn, another gang joined their group.

They whispered among themselves while glancing my way, eventually drawing their weapons and slowly approaching me.

Their crude arsenal—a collection of clubs, steel pipes, bent rebar fashioned into crowbars, bicycle chains, and more—blurred before my tired, bloodshot eyes.

The older men sitting nearby, who had been warming themselves by the fire, quietly lowered their heads and slipped away.

They neither tried to warn me nor intervene. Not that it mattered.

As the gang advanced, I casually revealed the assault rifle I had wrapped in cloth.

A universal language in times like these.

The young thugs exchanged intense glances before deciding to turn around and leave.

Once they were gone, the older men crept back.

I showed them the assault rifle, too.

“…”

They said nothing, and I spent the rest of the night alone, warming myself by the fire, waiting for the sun to rise.

As soon as the sun rose and soldiers appeared at their posts, I headed for the military command center.

I had only one purpose: to report the numerous capsules that had appeared around Kyle Dos’s bunker.

Capsules technically fell under the jurisdiction of the National Crisis Management Committee, but all of their members had fled to Jeju Island, leaving the military as the only entity capable of addressing the issue.

Of course, I had taken plenty of photos and marked the coordinates.

I wasn’t enthusiastic about this.

Even as I made my way to the command center, doubt gnawed at me, tempting me to turn back multiple times.

I could picture how this would play out.

Reporting this might bring nothing but trouble for me.

Still, I had no choice.

This was something that had to be reported.

The military might already know about the capsules, but if they didn’t, the destruction of Seoul was inevitable—and that destruction would ripple out to affect me, too.

Even with the likelihood of a bad outcome, I couldn’t ignore it.

I am a hunter of the old era.

A primal predator who must face monstrous threats armed with nothing but courage, guts, skill, and a meager weapon.

But even for such a hunter, thousands of capsules are far too many.

*

It had been two years and two months since the war began, and South Korea’s military had fractured into two factions: the Corps Faction and the Parliamentary Faction.

The Corps Faction was the more aggressive of the two.

Comprising frontline units dissatisfied with the government’s inequitable treatment and policies, they revolted.

Being made up of front-line forces, they had overwhelming superiority in soldier count, equipment quality, and overall firepower. Confident in their strength, they initiated the civil war.

The faction I was heading to, however, was their opposition—the Parliamentary Faction.

The Parliamentary Faction, as its name suggests, was supported by the National Assembly and was technically the only legitimate military force in South Korea. They were inferior to the Corps Faction in both equipment and manpower but held the moral high ground of legitimacy.

No matter how much the Corps Faction tried to polish its image, at its core, it was a coup bound together by mutual interests.

During the early stages of the war, their internal loyalty held firm, but as the war devolved into urban combat and grueling attrition, frontline commanders began to question their allegiance.

Eventually, a disgruntled commander, frustrated with the relentless attrition, defected with their entire unit to the Parliamentary Faction, forcing the Corps Faction to reevaluate its strategies from the ground up.

Call it premature optimism, but I felt the Parliamentary Faction might win this war.

Not that it would be a victory without scars.

I arrived at the heart of the Parliamentary Faction.

“What brings you here?”

Unlike lower-level units, this was not a place where bribes would work.

Security was tighter than anywhere else due to the times.

The ground was lined with tanks and other armored vehicles, while more than a dozen drones patrolled the skies at varying altitudes, keeping watch over the area.

Ominous signs were posted everywhere:

[No Photography, Trespassing, or Unauthorized Drone Flights – Violators Will Be Summarily Executed]

There was no choice but to queue up and wait my turn.

“State your business.”

After waiting two hours, I was finally able to speak with the person in charge of civilian complaints.

“May I speak with the officer in charge of monsters? This is an extremely urgent matter.”

The moment those words left my mouth, I noticed the official’s expression sour slightly.

“What’s the issue?”

“I’ve discovered capsules. A massive cluster—thousands of them. I have photos and coordinates as evidence.”

“Capsules?”

“Monster eggs,” I clarified.

I showed him the photos—Kyle Dos’s eerie, grayish-white field of flowers.

Unlike me, the official didn’t seem moved by the sight.

He glanced at the photos briefly before parroting the same dismissive response he had given the previous civilian.

“Alright, we’ll take a look. Thanks for letting us know.”

He gestured for me to leave.

“You can go now. Next!”

It was clear this man wasn’t going to take any action. He wouldn’t check the site, nor would he report it.

The reason was obvious: I looked disheveled. He didn’t know my past and dismissed me as insignificant.

For a moment, I considered leaving.

But this wasn’t a decision to be swayed by emotion.

There was a pile of tinder ahead that could burn everything to the ground. Just because the fire hadn’t reached my front door didn’t mean it was safe to walk away.

I intended to live at least five more years.

I might not have what it takes to become humanity’s last survivor, but I could at least aim for “nearly last.”

“Please connect me to Colonel Jeong Dae-kyung.”

There were rougher ways to cause a scene, but I considered myself a sophisticated man.

“Colonel Jeong Dae-kyung?”

“Yes, the one deployed from the National Crisis Management Committee.”

“Oh, you must mean Brigadier Jeong Jun-jang. One moment.”

Connections were a refined tool for someone like me with a career to back it up.

Not that I enjoyed using them.

“Sir,” the official asked cautiously, “may I know who to say is requesting him?”

“Park Gyu. Just those two syllables.”

The official made the call and stared at me afterward.

Perhaps I looked a bit different to him now.

“He says he doesn’t know you.”

“…”

“Next!”

“Bring me the officer in charge.”

“Pardon?”

“Bring the monster officer. This is an emergency!”

“Sir?!”

There was no other choice.

If the world had forgotten about me, what could I do but shout louder?

“Now!”

This was the only way an ordinary man could struggle to make himself heard.

Soon, soldiers approached, guns drawn, and surrounded me.

I surrendered without resistance.

If I fought back, I’d be executed on the spot.

I waited calmly for the soldiers to restrain me, even extending my hands for the handcuffs.

Once restrained, I spoke politely to what seemed to be a higher-ranking officer.

“I need to speak with the officer in charge of monsters.”

“You’ll undergo questioning first.”

Off to the holding cell, it seemed.

That was fine by me.

In South Korea, the only way to make someone listen was to cause a ruckus.

If enduring some discomfort meant securing a voice—and potentially saving millions of lives while preserving the safety of my territory—then it was a worthwhile trade.

The world really is small, though.

*

The Interrogation Room

The room was dim.

Calling it an interrogation room felt generous—it was more of a small, bare space with a single desk and a flickering light.

The cuffs had been removed.

After all, I hadn’t broken anything or harmed anyone—I’d merely raised my voice.

Had I so much as grazed a female officer or a soldier, I’d probably have been beaten with batons before being forcibly seated here.

“Please wait. The officer in charge will be here shortly,” the soldier who had escorted me said in a businesslike tone, avoiding eye contact.

“Thank you,” I replied as politely as I could manage.

In a place like this, they held all the power.

The more respectful I was, the better my chances.

A moment later, the grating sound of metal scraping against the floor echoed from the hallway.

A cane?

No, the sound was sharper—like someone deliberately dragging metal to create an unpleasant noise.

Whoever it was, they were doing it on purpose.

What kind of person would do that?

Someone with a thoroughly twisted personality, no doubt.

“Oh my, isn’t that Senior Park?”

The voice was unmistakable.

I didn’t need to see her face to recognize it.

That deep, resonant tone—it was the trademark of someone I knew very well.

“So, it’s true. You’re alive. I heard from Daram, but I had my doubts.”

When I raised my head to look at her, I had to work hard to maintain my expression.

She wasn’t the person I remembered.

The once-elegant arms and legs of a model had been replaced by unsightly prosthetics.

Her face, partially obscured by a deep hood, couldn’t hide the mangled scars covering half of it.

“...Min-hee,” I said.

Her name was Woo Min-hee.

She had been my subordinate.

She smiled at me like a schoolgirl, despite her disfigured appearance.

“Why didn’t you contact me? I get it, though—you haven’t contacted anyone except Daram, right? I haven’t heard a peep from Kyung-min or Chang-soo either.”

“Do you work here?” I asked.

“Yeah. Circumstances brought me here.”

“Why not Jeju? You could’ve made it there if you wanted.”

“I could have, but I didn’t want to.”

“Why not?”

She tilted her head slightly, and for a moment, her eyes gleamed a chilling grayish-white—the color of the otherworldly.

With a mangled grin, she replied, “You know why. I hate Kang Han-min and Na Hye-in as much as you do.”

“...”

I didn’t need a mirror to know what expression I was wearing.

It was probably a mix of restraint and inevitable discomfort.

“Oh, right. I forgot—we’re not supposed to mention those names in front of you, are we?”

Bullshit.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

She’d always been like this, even back in school—a self-destructive tendency to hurt others and herself in equal measure.

If her "health bar" had been any smaller, she would’ve ended it long ago. But Min-hee was nothing if not resilient.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to upset you. It wasn’t intentional,” she added, her tone almost convincing.

Apparently, I’d grown.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

When Daram first mentioned those names, I’d braced myself, but now it didn’t cut as deep.

It stung a little, but only just.

Hearing those names from Je Pung-ho’s mouth in the past had been an entirely different experience.

I gave Min-hee a genuine smile.

“I’ve moved on.”

Whether I’d truly moved on or simply grown numb, I wasn’t sure. What I did know was that the Viva! Apocalypse! community had helped me develop a thick skin.

After all, I’d gone from an unpopular user to "Defender’s buddy," and now I was part of the infamous "flame troll gang." There wasn’t much further to fall.

“So, how are Han-min and Hye-in doing? I wouldn’t know, being just a regular guy,” I asked casually.

Min-hee’s face lit up with genuine surprise.

“Wow. Are you really Senior Park?”

“Is there a problem?”

“No, not really,” she said, studying me with an amused look.

It was an awkward few moments.

After a while, she sighed and spoke.

“They’re in Jeju, as expected.”

“Figured as much. They doing well?”

“As well as saviors can, I guess. Living it up, I’m sure.”

“Saviors…” I repeated.

“You’ve heard from Daram?” I asked.

“Nope.”

“I see.”

“Well, you look good, Senior. Healthy.”

Min-hee glanced at her prosthetic hand, the two steel fingers curved like hooks.

“Unlike me…”

“...”

Why didn’t you just die there?

Still, reconnecting with Min-hee might turn out to be useful.

“Capsules, huh? And a cluster at that.”

At least she was taking me seriously.

“This is the first cluster I’ve seen since China. With the ceasefire in effect, we’d probably need to coordinate with the Corps Faction for field artillery support. By the way, what was the max range of the capsules’ magnetic field back when you were active?”

“3,250 meters. 3,500 to be safe.”

“It’s 5,500 now.”

“It’s grown again?”

“They’re adapting. Learning from us, probably.”

Min-hee adjusted her prosthetic hand, its claw-like fingers glinting. She’d likely commissioned the design herself.

“So long. So far. But we’ll have to take care of it, won’t we?”

She stood up.

With Min-hee on the case, I could relax a bit.

For all her flaws, she always got the job done.

“Since we’re reconnecting and all, why don’t we exchange contact info? I’ll be around here for a while,” she said, giving me her ID number: REDMASK.

I didn’t particularly want to exchange info, but I had no reason to refuse. I gave her mine.

“SKELTON?”

She chuckled, staring at me with amusement.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing. Just reminded me of a certain idiot.”

“...”

Surely not…

But then again, what would someone like her—a renowned hunter feared even by fanatics—want with a fugitive community?

After lingering with a mischievous smile, she handed me a small piece of gum-sized paper, split into two colors like litmus strips.

“You don’t have kids, right?”

“No.”

“Figured as much, but thought I’d ask. Just being polite.”

“What’s this?”

“It’s a quick mental resonance test sheet.”

“They make these now?”

“Humans are desperate. If there are kids around, have them bite down on it. If the colors change, let me know.”

“Kids?”

“Scientists say Awakening phenomena like mine occur most frequently in adolescents around puberty.”

“And if I contact you?”

“We’ll probably send them and their families to Jeju.”

Min-hee turned away, her prosthetic leg scraping against the floor with a sound that grated on my ears.

“See you around,” she said.

She paused mid-step, her back still to me, and spoke in a low voice.

“I still think highly of you, Senior.”

With the screeching sound of her prosthetic fading into the distance, she disappeared.

Kyle Dos’s flower field would be burned to the ground.

Another field would bloom elsewhere, but at least my own ruin had been postponed.

With mixed feelings—half relief, half bitterness—I left the command center.

White specks fell from the sky over the desolate ruins.

The first snow.

Christmas must be near.