Chapter 91: Fate (2)

I spoke shortly to So-hee, still clinging to my neck.

“We’re here. Get down.”

But she ignored me, tightening her grip.

As my hands left her waist, her hold grew stronger.

I wondered what was up, but her ears were shot.

The centipede’s final scream was louder than a bomb.

Its ringing lingered in her ears.

All she heard was a sharp beep.

Realizing she couldn’t hear, I tapped her back lightly instead of speaking.

She relaxed her grimace, asking cautiously.

“D-Done?”

Instead of answering, I stroked her back one last time.

She opened her eyes slowly.

“Oh.”

A mix of awe and relief spilled out as she saw the scene.

No giant centipede, barren wasteland, or eerie purple aurora.

The familiar Academy grounds were back.

Her arms loosened, sliding off.

She stepped onto the grass, thrilled by the soft earth.

“We’re really back.”

Her voice trembled with emotion.

“We survived!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Not knowing how to express her joy, she stomped excitedly, then lunged to hug me—or tried.

Arms outstretched, she hesitated, stepping back.

Puzzled, I asked?

“What?”

She tugged her sleeve to her nose.

The stench was strong.

“W-We haven’t showered in a week. A joyful hug feels… off.”

We were beyond disheveled—filthy.

Not just unwashed and dusty, we’d torn through the centipede’s body, soaked in blood and fluid.

In the life-or-death moment, we hadn’t cared.

Now, it was the biggest issue.

“What’s the big deal? I’m just as bad, if not worse.”

“That’s different!”

She glanced around.

Near the north gate, a bit far from the dorm but runnable.

Her tinnitus was fading, communication mostly fine—no big problem.

“I’m going to shower!”

She turned to run, but I grabbed her collar.

“Guh!”

“Smell’s not the issue now.”

“What then?”

I tapped my bare wrist.

“Gotta neutralize the time distortion’s backlash.”

A nearby tower clock showed the time.

A week in the gate, but outside, only a day and four hours had passed.

A fivefold time difference.

We’d lived five times faster in the gate.

Returning to normal speed, our bodies wouldn’t adjust easily.

We needed to minimize the backlash.

Otherwise, dizziness or phantom pain at best; coma or brain death at worst.

“Brain death” hit her hard.

She asked?

“How?”

“North gate’s closed. Follow me.”

Training Hall had a time accelerator—perfect for fixing our warped time.

* * *

Luckily, the hall was empty, so we activated the accelerator.

Starting at four times speed.

So-hee, curled up like a pill bug, groaned.

“Ho-cheol, my stomach’s weird. Kinda hurts.”

“That’s normal.”

I replied casually.

“Your body’s adjusting. We’re gradually slowing, so it’s just mild pain.”

Without the accelerator, she’d be unconscious, organs twisting in agony.

The rate dropped to 2.5.

I handed her a water bottle.

“Drink.”

We’d stopped at a convenience store for water.

In the gate, we’d scraped dew or chewed bugs for hydration—barely enough to survive.

Wriggling up, she chugged two bottles silently.

Wiping her mouth, she asked.

“This isn’t a dream, right?”

Still dazed, she couldn’t believe we’d survived.

“It’s a dream.”

“Huh?”

She made a dumb noise.

“We’re only halfway.”

Her face crumpled.

Realizing she hadn’t checked if this was real, she reached for my face in panic.

I dodged, pulling back—a first.

Her face darkened further.

“Really a dream?”

“Kidding.”

“Argh!”

As we bickered, a clunk—bang!—the hall’s door flew off.

“Jeong Ho-cheol! Han So-hee!”

Several people burst in, led by Dean and Se-ah.

Rushing over, Se-ah asked?

“You okay? What’re you doing?”

I pointed at the ceiling’s accelerator silently.

With her hunter experience, Se-ah understood instantly.

“What speed was the gate?”

“Five.”

Expecting two or three, she jumped.

“What! You were stuck there for over a week?”

“Yup.”

Outside, barely a day.

They’d thought we’d return quickly—not even close.

She checked us over.

All limbs, fingers, eyes, nose, mouth—intact.

Hand on chest, she sighed in relief.

“Phew. Thank God.”

She hugged So-hee.

“Ugh, we stink…”

So-hee squirmed, but Se-ah squeezed tighter.

“Stink’s not the issue! I was worried sick!”

“What about me?”

Se-ah, still hugging, glanced at me.

Snorting, she said.

“You’re fine. But good job bringing her.”

“Oh.”

I recalled my boast a week ago.

I’d promised to bring her back.

Matching that, I said.

“Brought her back.”

The Dean approached.

“No major injuries, but get a full checkup.”

This time, I nodded in agreement.

* * *

After neutralizing the time distortion, we were admitted to the hospital.

Clington’s “infirmary” was a full-scale medical facility.

We were meant for VIP private rooms, but when I left, So-hee’s anxiety spiked, worsening her condition.

So, we shared a double room.

After scrubbing clean and finishing exams, So-hee, in patient garb, ate a lunchbox at the room’s table.

Chomp-chomp-chomp—

Her relentless chopstick and spoon work made me grimace.

“No one’s stealing. Slow down.”

She ignored me.

A month ago, she’d thought Ye-jin’s beef obsession was dramatic.

Now, she cried over a 5,000-won convenience store lunchbox.

Too delicious.

Compared to monster meat, it was divine.

The simple grilled, stir-fried, boiled food soaked into her body.

“Drink more water.”

“Gulp. Thanks. Try some, Ho-cheol.”

“I’m good.”

I pointed at my IV drip.

No need to overeat and suffer bathroom trips.

For nutrition, this was efficient.

I’d told her, but she chose the lunchbox.

“Eat this too.”

I offered my share.

She swallowed hard, tearing into it.

“What?”

Se-ah, sitting opposite, gaped.

“You’re calling each other by name? That close?”

“Just happened.”

“Hmm.”

Se-ah, arms crossed, eyed us, displeased, but softened.

A week’s ordeal would bond anyone. Surviving was what mattered.

Leaving So-hee to her lunchbox, the Dean pressed me.

“Explain what happened.”

“The gate stuff’s not important, so I’ll skip it.”

I summarized briefly.

Nothing crucial until the end.

After describing the core and giant centipede, I sighed.

The week’s events paled compared to the final minute.

“The Organization’s boss. Met her.”

The Dean, Se-ah, and even So-hee, mid-bite, froze, looking up.

“Didn’t notice! When?”

“You said your ears were shot. Right then.”

I tapped the table.

“Honestly, I almost died.”

She gasped.

“That bad?”

“Not me—you.”

“Huh?”

The centipede was beyond normal.

A body tougher than any metal, teeth tearing steel, speed leaving afterimages despite its size, and higher intelligence than a bug.

It targeted So-hee blatantly at some point.

Its vitality was unreal.

Split in half, both parts kept moving, forcing a surprise 2:1 fight.

By raw strength, it was the toughest since my release.

But it was just a fight—not life-threatening.

The “death” I meant was the Organization’s boss, appearing before I smashed the core.

Didn’t expect that strength.

“Gotta be careful. I heard she matched Eclipse at dawn, so I underestimated her. Wrong.”

“That strong?”

“…Honestly, very serious.”

I was confident I could kill anyone my level.

Fighting was about power, but killing was different.

The issue was those I had to protect.

If the Organization targeted my people, I couldn’t save them all.

I’d fail to protect them and break my no-kill promise.

“Looked like your age. World’s unfair. Monsters like that exist.”

I grumbled, indignant.

The boss was young—Da-yeon or So-hee’s age.

No disguise.

At that age, I was barely S-rank.

Same for Eclipse or Smiley.

Insane talent.

The Dean’s face crumpled.

If true, the hero's advantage was a lie—villains were stronger.

As time passed, the Organization’s half-baked S-ranks would widen that gap.

“We need to discuss this with the Association.”

Despite recent clashes, both stemmed from heroes.

This serious issue demanded immediate sharing and solutions.

“Oh, not all bad news.”

I snapped my fingers.

“I saw her face.”

“That’s something.”

The biggest gain: seeing the boss’s face.

“Pen and paper.”

Her face was vivid despite no prior info.

Sketching quickly, Se-ah said, surprised.

“You draw?”

“Didn’t study it. Picked it up.”

“Pretty good for that.”

I shrugged.

“Villains need many skills, short on people. Basic competence is a must.”

All three—Dean, Se-ah, So-hee—had the same thought:

Does that include art?

Not knowing villains, they let it slide.

I finished the sketch.

“Hair’s more pink than red, but all I have is red.”

The Dean groaned at the portrait of a young woman.

“Definitely young. That strength, running a villain group that size?”

He summed her up.

“Dangerous. More than any villain, including you.”

Even past-me.

I didn’t care about means, but my goals were clear.

The second Organization’s actions and motives were unpredictable.

They held a shaky “no-kill” line, but that could be a ruse.

Some in the Association rated Eclipse riskier because of it.

“Strength and danger are separate. I agree.”

I nodded, then paused.

“Something’s off, though.”

I recalled the moment before smashing the core.

Other villains radiated hostility—expected, as we were enemies.

But the boss showed no negativity.

Not even treating me as human. Her final expression was far from that—sad, almost.

I couldn’t fathom why.

“Her face felt familiar.”

The Dean pondered, suggesting.

“Met her as a villain?”

“That’s years ago. She’d be under ten then. Possible, but rare.”

I glanced at Se-ah diagonally.

She balked.

“I’m a crazy rare case!”

Her twenty-year childlike appearance was unique among heroes, hunters, and villains—accident-induced, not natural.

Another like her?

Unlikely.

“No need to overthink. Let’s settle: late teens to early twenties. Strength matches me, Eclipse, Smiley. Organization’s ‘no-kill’ but churns out S-rank villains. No more ‘second Organization’ talk.”

I declared shortly.

“They’re way more dangerous than mine.”

* * *

The Dean left to share the sketch with the Association, Se-ah to cancel hired hunters.

They’d hired six top-tier and dozens of lower-tier hunters to find us.

Even unused, the cancellation fees stunned me.

Se-ah brushed it off: You’re back safe.

That’s what matters.

I’d need to cover some costs later.

So-hee, finishing three lunchboxes, patted her full stomach and flopped onto the bed.

“Bed! So good!”

Blanket over her head, she kicked excitedly.

Forget beds—she’d slept on centipede shells on bare ground for a week.

The painful memories flashed by.

Tears welled.

“Eating and lying down—you’ll feel bloated.”

“Feeling bloated sounds great now.”

“Fair.”

I chuckled, lying on the opposite bed.

Finally, rest.

But minutes later—

Knock-knock-knock—

A knock at the door.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.