Thunk.

    The gun fell to the floor.

    I picked it up with my free hand, ejected the ammunition, and pressed the barrel of the weapon to the back of Park Sang-min’s head as I searched him.

    “...Ugh.”

    Park Sang-min’s face turned pale as he bit his lip nervously.

    Was he really that shocked?

    To be honest, I had anticipated this.

    This man, attempting to provoke sympathy, lower my guard, and then threaten me with a firearm to force me into a deadly situation—it wasn’t exactly groundbreaking.

    Despite his unique backstory, this was an unremarkable and predictable move.

    “...”

    What to do?

    The logical choice would be to kill him.

    That would be the most reasonable option.

    The only question was how.

    I wasn’t keen on using the gun. The sound of a gunshot and the sight of a bullet-ridden corpse would undoubtedly spread rumors and potentially attract unnecessary attention—especially from Woo Min-hee.

    “Turn around.”

    “Hunter Park, this is a misunderstanding. I was going to fire a warning shot at the capsule to intimidate it, that’s all—”

    Thwack!

    I struck his shoulder with the butt of the gun without hesitation.

    “Argh!”

    “Keep walking.”

    “W-what are you doing?”

    “Forward.”

    I looked down at the ground.

    There was a Spider Type in the Assembly building.

    That much was certain.

    Though it was strange for one to produce minions before establishing a proper nest, the traces of its offspring were unmistakable evidence of its presence.

    Perhaps this one followed an unfamiliar pattern.

    Few people know this, but monsters often change their behavior.

    Of course, there was always the slim chance that the Spider Type was just a figment of my imagination.

    If so, there was still a contingency plan: I could awaken the capsule. It wasn’t an ideal solution, given the hassle involved, but it would suffice as a last resort.

    I forced Park Sang-min along the trail of the Spiderling traces.

    The methodical silence, combined with the looming fear, pulled him steadily toward the abyss—a technique I’d learned from my senior, Baek Seung-hyun.

    “C-can we talk?”

    Park Sang-min finally managed to speak.

    I allowed it. At the very least, he could talk while walking.

    “I truly regret this. I understand why you’re angry. I don’t even know why I acted the way I did. Maybe the pressure got to me.”

    “...”

    “You saw my mother earlier, didn’t you? I mentioned her before, and it’s all true. She’s a formidable woman. As I said before, I’m just a small ball she threw, my vector predetermined the moment she let go.”

    “...”

    “Where exactly are you taking me?”

    The corridor ahead stretched into darkness.

    “...There.”

    I turned on the flashlight, illuminating the path ahead.

    The scenery changed.

    There were “webs.”

    Not the kind spun by actual spiders, but the invasive, terrain-distorting effect of a Spider Type’s nest.

    The corridor, which should have extended in a straight line, was warped at some point. The ground itself seemed to bulge upward, creating grayish-white protrusions that jutted from the floor, ceiling, and walls.

    This optical illusion, defying gravity, was the hallmark of a Spider Type’s web.

    It was clear the nest was recent.

    A fully established web would have been so disorienting that even gravity’s direction would feel uncertain.

    “Are you trying to kill me?”

    “Do I have another choice?”

    “If you kill me, you won’t walk away unscathed.”

    Park Sang-min stopped walking.

    Click.

    “Yes, it’s true. Just like that punk Baek Seung-hyun said, I’ve been abandoned. I’m younger than most, even if not by much, and without my father’s influence, I’m just a disposable pawn. But, Hunter Park...”

    He smirked shamelessly as he turned around.

    “A dead Park Sang-min still has value.”

    “...”

    “I’m a useful card. That’s what this is about.”

    He spread his arms wide.

    “Kill me however you like—with fists, with a gun. I don’t care anymore.”

    He stepped closer to me.

    The shadows peeled away from his face, revealing his expression.

    “Go ahead. I’m done. I’m sick of this.”

    Tears and snot covered his face, blending into a mess of raw emotion.

    He looked like a child crying for his mother.

    “Do I have to die, following orders, until my last breath? Is that what being a representative of the people means?”

    He froze suddenly.

    It wasn’t out of fear of me.

    Some thought had seized him, holding him in place.

    “Come to think of it, my job is to convey the will of others to the Assembly. Technically, isn’t that what representation is?”

    It didn’t matter what he said.

    A silvery light shimmered at the end of the dark corridor.

    The creature of the depths had noticed us.

    Park Sang-min seemed to realize it too. Slowly, he turned his head to see the massive figure filling the corridor with its grotesque form.

    “A-a monster...!!”

    Correct.

    “A Spider Type!”

    Correct again.

    The creature, resembling a spider with three segments and six legs, matched the textbook description of a Spider Type perfectly.

    Except for one detail.

    It had horns.

    Massive horns, larger than a person, rose prominently from its head.@@@@

    I’d never seen a Spider Type with horns before.

    A mutation?

    That seemed likely, especially as smaller spider-like creatures spilled from its gaping maw.

    Typically, Spider Types establish a nest and lay polyhedral eggs to produce Spiderlings that defend their territory.

    This one, however, carried its minions inside its body, releasing them when needed.

    Perhaps even softer than Woo Min-hee.

    No, if I had possessed this softness earlier, I wouldn’t have ended up this way.

    How many have I lost because I couldn’t offer even a shred of forgiveness?

    Kang Han-min. And Na Hye-in.

    They are still beyond forgiveness—both mine and theirs.

    Park Sang-min tore his suit and bandaged my wound.

    “Doesn’t look like it hit an artery. I know a doctor who can help.”

    “It’s fine. I can handle this on my own.”

    We re-entered the National Assembly Hall.

    Much had happened, but neither of us spoke of our pasts.

    The capsule still loomed over the speaker’s podium, its grotesque grayish-white sheen watching over us as if it belonged there.

    “....”

    There’s no avoiding it.

    It’s probably a symbol of sorts—a representation of this country’s fate.

    South Korea was finished.

    It had been for a long time, but now the monsters seemed intent on destroying even its soul and roots, mocking us under the guise of coincidence.

    There was nothing I could do in this situation.

    I turned to leave, ignoring it as best I could.

    “Wait, Hunter Park Gyu.”

    The voice came from Park Sang-min, who had been supporting me. Suddenly, he stepped away and headed toward the podium.

    What was he planning?

    Was he going to betray me now?

    He didn’t have a gun.

    Was he going to attack the capsule and take me down with him?

    As unsettling thoughts swirled, Park Sang-min made a choice I hadn’t anticipated.

    “Urgh—!”

    Park Sang-min, the former member of parliament, hoisted the capsule into his arms.

    “What are you doing?”

    He wobbled under the weight of the massive gray object, staggering step by step toward the Assembly Hall’s exit.

    “I am Park Sang-min.”

    “Put it down. After all the effort I made to keep you alive—”

    “No. I have to. Something ignited in me.”

    “What?”

    “Watching you fight, Hunter Park Gyu, it made me feel... I should fight too. I should stand up and face it.”

    “Do you have a death wish?”

    “If I can just move this! Then I can come back here! I can return!”

    Sometimes I wonder.

    Is the scariest aspect of destruction not the simple act of ruin but the way it corrupts the human spirit?

    I’ve seen many forms of collapse, each unique to the person experiencing it.

    Some are ugly. Others are noble and beautiful.

    Unlike the feeble members of parliament in the murals of constitutional amendments and fraudulent compromises, Park Sang-min now displayed a will to defend the Constitution stronger than any predecessor.

    To preserve his position, he was literally trying to drive out the forces threatening the Assembly.

    He was as earnest about his election campaign as he was about his legislative activities.

    “Record this. You have a phone, right?”

    “No, the battery’s dead.”

    Park Sang-min put down the capsule and suddenly pulled out his phone, tossing it to me.

    “What’s this?”

    “You came here to support my campaign, didn’t you? Do your job. My election campaign begins now!”

    He spoke so confidently that I forgot about my pain, raised the phone, and captured the image of Park Sang-min struggling to move the capsule.

    Thunk!

    As he trudged forward, his voice, slurred as though he’d bite his tongue at any moment, rang out:

    “I’ll walk on my own now! Damn it. This is so hard. Feels like my back’s about to give out! But this, this is the true beginning of Park Sang-min!”

    Thunk!

    “No longer the small ball my mother threw. Now, I walk on my own as her son.”

    I watched in silence.

    Watching was all I could do.

    It was his choice. His story.

    And truthfully, I rooted for him, just a little.

    “There it is—Han River. As the representative of the people, I’ll toss this thing into it!”

    Park Sang-min stepped out of the Assembly Hall.

    “And now, I will expel this evil disrupting the constitutional order from the sacred Assembly Hall. Zoom in on this!”

    As I zoomed in on the screen, the frame first captured Park Sang-min’s smiling face.

    It was a smile that seemed to embody freedom.

    Far removed from the awkward grin he had worn beside the orphanage children.

    But that smile was abruptly overshadowed by a burst of white noise.

    The capsule exploded.

    “...This is the last image of your son.”

    Park Sang-min’s mother said nothing.

    Her fierce, unrelenting eyes, a legacy she could not pass on to her son, remained fixed on the image of her child struggling to carry the capsule out of the Assembly Hall.

    When the armored vehicle arrived, I left the scene.

    In the darkness, I glimpsed the crazed woman approaching the old lady.

    For Park Sang-min, it was a tragic end.

    The election didn’t happen.

    The rage that had been simmering online finally boiled over into reality.

    Hundreds of thousands of people swarmed the government complex, condemning the current state of affairs.

    All schedules were canceled, the military moved to block the crowds, and guns were raised.

    “So, what happened to Park Sang-min? Did he die? What about the monster? Did you take care of it?”

    The Defender’s voice came through the communicator, his curiosity evident.

    “Come on, Skeleton, tell me already,” his younger sibling chimed in, equally intrigued.

    “Well... how should I put it?”

    After a moment of thought, I calmly recounted what I remembered of Park Sang-min’s end.

    “You see...”

    The ruined National Assembly Hall was now occupied by a spider-type monster, a subspecies known as the Spider Type.

    While typical Spider Types are stationary monsters, the one that took over the Assembly was different in one key aspect:

    It had horns.

    Whether someone had been impaled or fused into it, a man was affixed to those horns like an ornament.

    By some mix of coincidence and tragedy, a man had become a figurehead on the monster’s horn, akin to a ship’s prow statue.

    I remember it clearly. Beneath the open sky visible through the shattered roof of the Assembly Hall, I saw the final image of Park Sang-min.

    Frozen in place atop the horn, eyes wide open, his petrified body stood as the monster’s maw spewed countless smaller spiders, filling the now-empty hall.

    Park Sang-min, now part of the Assembly itself, endlessly enacts mock votes and deadlocks, repeating the chaos of prewar politics.

    “...And now, that man has eight legs.”