It had been a long time since I last saw the ocean.

Especially an ocean embracing a sunset.

Sitting in a camping chair, I blankly and endlessly stared at the crimson sun dipping into the sea, dyeing the waters in its color.

As twilight crept over the fields, the scent of coffee wafted through the air, signaling the arrival of DragonC.

"Have a cup of coffee before you go."

DragonC was a well-prepared doomsday enthusiast.

His bunker wasn’t as overwhelming as mine, but it was larger and more comfortable than any other I’d seen, complete with ample supplies.

The most fascinating part was his weaponry.

DragonC, like me, had a Chinese-made rifle.

"Not long after the war started, bodies of Chinese soldiers were washed ashore. A lot of them. The South Korean Navy submarines had utterly destroyed their fleet. Two of their ships were split in half and sank just off the coast. Some corpses drifted in, and I managed to swipe a few things."

The most impressive part, though, was the coffee.

Two and a half years into the war, and he still had coffee beans.

"Half my soul is booze and cigarettes. The other half is coffee."

It wasn’t just the coffee.

He even had an espresso machine you’d expect to see in a professional café.

The rare luxury brought a smile to my face as I eagerly awaited a cup from our personal barista.

While he roasted the beans, I took a look around his bunker.

It felt hollow and barren.

Unlike mine, the toilet wasn’t smack in the middle, but the rough concrete finish, cracks, condensation stains, and scattered mold spots told a vivid story of just how challenging building a bunker was.

DragonC seemed to have tried brightening the dreary atmosphere with webtoon posters in a familiar art style, likely his own work. But the piles of empty liquor bottles and cigarette packs in the corner evoked a mix of eeriness and pity.

The alcohol was particularly striking—each bottle over 40% proof.

He’d emptied hundreds of those bottles.

Perhaps that explained his pallor.

"How’s your health?" I asked.

"Me? Do I look bad?"

"A little."

"I'm taking my meds. Don’t worry. Anyway, take a look at this. This is my workshop."

One corner of the bunker housed a workbench cluttered with wooden puppets, various art manuals, anatomy books, a printer, multiple lights, auxiliary monitors, and a tablet. The numerous notes and sketches scattered across the desk showcased a level of expertise that suggested he was a professional artist.

In one corner of the desk sat a small decorative item.

A tiny fish tank with a fake goldfish the size of a thumb floating lazily in the water.

Despite being made of plastic, the goldfish bobbed around as if alive, reacting to even the smallest vibrations thanks to its lightweight construction.

As I idly watched the drifting goldfish, DragonC handed me a cup of coffee.

"Oh."

It was delicious.

How long had it been since I last had proper coffee?

I instinctively widened my eyes and stared anew at the dark liquid in the warm cup.

"Don’t hold back; there’s plenty. Honestly, it’s nothing compared to the favor you did, coming all this way through such dangerous roads."

DragonC gestured for us to head outside.

By then, the ocean was already cloaked in darkness.

The two community users sat side by side, gazing at the pitch-black sea and the stars gradually appearing above it.

"I wasn’t a late-blooming artist," DragonC began, his faint smile barely visible under the starlight.

"If anything, I was a reckless idiot who dove into the world of comics before I even graduated high school."

Back in DragonC’s youth, weekly comic magazines, often referred to as "champ" magazines, were still thriving in South Korea.

It’s hard to imagine now, but back then, print comics were considered superior to the newly emerging webtoons.

DragonC was part of that world.

"The thrill of turning a page—that’s why I loved comics. I thought scrolling couldn’t compare."

DragonC’s initial impression of me was that of an older, prickly man who was hard to approach.

But deep down, he was a born cartoonist.

"So, on the previous page, you’d draw the villain exuding this overwhelming aura, like, 'Wow, this guy is unstoppable!' That’d hook readers. They’d be dying to know—how the hell are they going to beat this guy? That anxiety, curiosity, and the satisfaction of seeing the villain get pummeled—those feelings made them flip the pages!"

Talking about comics made him seem like a boy again, full of youthful enthusiasm.

"At least with a comic book, I could create and control an entire world within its pages. Sure, you could argue webtoons can do the same. But the world in your hands versus a world you click through—there’s something different. I can’t quite explain it."

What started as a rambling story about his life flowed naturally into the challenges he faced.

"There was a time when I thought I was better than the rest because of the comics I drew. It wasn’t just me—my seniors and peers who were apprentices alongside me all thought the same. But talent... talent is undeniable. No matter how different the tools or techniques, drawing is one area where the gap is glaringly visible. I’ve never tried music, but with art, you can see it with your eyes."

DragonC stared beyond the sea, recalling a man who had once humiliated him to the point of burning shame.

"Whether it’s webtoons or print comics, the talented ones are just on another level. Filkrum is one of those guys."

"He’s pretty good. Especially at drawing women."

"If he were born in Japan, he might’ve sold ten million copies."

"That good, huh?"

"You can tell just by looking at his lines. And guys like him—they draw effortlessly. A single panel that takes me hours to conceptualize, draft, and finish, they can glance at it and draw it in a few swift strokes. And their work has more polish, too. It’s not just the drawing. They instinctively nail composition and execution. Meanwhile, I was slow as hell, and my workflow was ridiculously cumbersome."

"How so?"

"I had to write everything down to visualize it. Even for storyboards, I’d write a text version first and then turn it into a visual draft."

"That’s definitely cumbersome."

DragonC drained the last of his coffee with a heavy sigh.

"...It’s a difference in talent."

There wasn’t much I could add to that.

No one understood the disparity in abilities better than me.

But DragonC was stronger in spirit than I was.

"Still, drawing isn’t everything in comics. At the end of the day, comic artists are storytellers too, right?"

"True."

"Honestly, I think I’m a better storyteller than Filkrum. Plus—"

He lightly tapped my arm.

"I’ve got the perfect model."

"My callsign is Professor, not Dandy. D.A.N.D.Y."

"I know, I know. But I’ll keep it secret. Obviously, I’ll protect the identity of the model who’s been so helpful with my research."

"Dandy, huh?"

"How about Typhoon?"

"...Typhoon?"

I liked it.

Thousands of times better than Dandy.

It had a sharpness to it, the kind of naming sense only a professional writer could come up with.

"I’m going to draw a one-shot about a former Guard-turned-hunter named Typhoon operating in China. Realism, psychological depth—I’m going all in."

DragonC clenched his calloused fist.

"I’ll take the fight to his home turf. Flatten his nose."

"Oh?"

"Just a moment! Ugh! Urrrrgh!!!"

Just as he radiated unshakable confidence, DragonC suddenly clutched his stomach and doubled over in pain.

It looked severe.

His entire body trembled, even his toes.

"...Shit," he muttered, his face pale as the moon.

"What is it?"

"Just... a seizure. It’s a chronic condition."

The image of the liquor bottles stacked in his bunker flooded my mind.

That stash of high-proof booze.

Maybe it had kept him going all this time, giving him the strength to endure a life of mediocrity. Or maybe it was the poison that ate away at him.

"You sure you’re okay? You haven’t looked well since the beginning."

"I’m fine. I can still manage. I’ve got medicine. I won’t live to see sixty, but if I last five more years, everyone else will probably be dead too, right?"

"You won’t last three."

"Me?"

DragonC frowned.

I quickly clarified.

"No, all of us."

"Coming from an ex-hunter, that’s oddly convincing."

DragonC forced a smile onto his pained face and gazed out at the distant sea.

Lights flickered on a small island far away.

Could it be the Chinese army?

Either way, it was time to part ways.

DragonC popped a few pills without water and gave me a thumbs-up.

"Thanks, Skelton. Thanks to you, I can pick up my pen again."

He handed me a crumpled piece of paper.

Scrawled on it was the synopsis for his one-shot, where I served as the model.

"Don’t miss the firestorm on Failnet!"

He waved at me.

I returned the gesture with a thumbs-up of my own.

"...My callsign is Dandy."

"Stop it!"

Moments later, DragonC came back after taking his pills and handed me a heavy envelope.

"What’s this?"

"A little gift. My collection of props."

"Props?"

"Short stories, random ideas. Nothing great, but it should help kill time."

"This is valuable stuff."

"It’s just a copy."

"Wouldn’t a digital file suffice?"

"I told you before, didn’t I? I like the feel of turning pages. Sure, a printout and a screen aren’t that different, but still."

"Oh, thanks."

"Ah."

DragonC suddenly let out a noise.

Turning to me, he wore a mischievous smile, one that made him look like a kid again.

"Sorry, but can you read it later?"

"?"

"I don’t want to spoil it."

"Hmm."

"Please, Skelton."

When a veteran user and elder asks for a favor, it’s hard to say no.

"My callsign is..."

"Dandy!"

*

A comic was uploaded to the Failnet comic board.

The author: DragonC.

The short story told the tale of a veteran hunter operating in China.

Despite being skilled enough, the protagonist remained perpetually stuck at an A-rank due to always lacking that extra 2%. This had left him with an obsessive fixation on achieving the elusive S-rank.

One day, disaster struck.

A mid-sized monster appeared in an unanticipated area. The retreat route was cut off by a Necromancer-type monster, which raised zombies to block the way.

The battle became a matter of life and death, transcending mere ranks.

One by one, his comrades fell.

Only he remained standing. Realizing that fighting the horde of zombies controlling the road would inevitably lead to his exhaustion and death, he set his sights on the mid-sized monster blocking the main avenue.

The whispers of his surviving allies reached him.

That hunter, Typhoon, had already far surpassed the S-rank.

“...Hmm.”

For what DragonC called his magnum opus, it still felt 2% short.

Just like the protagonist of the story, whose callsign was "Typhoon."

However, the story’s silent and serious protagonist, its complete lack of romance, and above all, its meticulous realism and accurate combat portrayal were enough to spark buzz among the notoriously picky Failnet readers.

DragonC later uploaded a high-resolution version of his new work, Typhoon, to the forum with some delay.

The response, as expected, was explosive.

Anonymous848: Wow.
Keystone: That’s the most realistic hunter combat I’ve ever seen.
Dies_irae69: The combat details are insane.
THE_LAST_MAN: Incredible.
Anonymous458: After Filkrum embarrassed him, he really came back swinging.
Kimcic: As expected of DragonC. Our DragonC is the best!
Unicorn18: No female characters... Boring.
Gijayangban: The accuracy is unreal. Did you consult an old-school hunter for this?
James_Catterer: Wow.
James_Catterer: Can somebody translate this to English? :)

“Hey, Skelton. Did you see the comic DragonC just uploaded?” Defender contacted me.

As I wondered once again about the criteria that separated "Seoseobang" from "Skelton," I answered his call.

“I saw it.”

“It’s 100%. He definitely knows a hunter. There are some old-school touches, but this level of detail can only come from someone who’s been out in the field.”

I couldn’t help but smile quietly at that.

After all, DragonC wasn’t the only one bound by a confidentiality agreement.