From a spot safely out of people’s line of sight, Kang-hoo dispelled his stealth and slipped naturally behind the stage.

The officials had already arrived.

The first eyes to meet Kang-hoo’s were those of Kang Hyo-tae, the Chief of the Public Safety Bureau; Bong Seong-pil, the Deputy Chief; and An Gyeok-ho, a division director.

Beside them stood a close-attending aide—an unexpected face.

‘Yu Do-hoon?’

According to the original plot, this was exactly the time when Yu Do-hoon should be drawing everyone’s hatred—especially from the three executives next to him.

Yet the three kept calling for Yu Do-hoon and asking him for things, and Yu Do-hoon obeyed without a word.

He even sprinkled in well-timed flattery and jokes to keep the executives in a good mood.

‘You’ve made up your mind.’

His true intent was showing.

There was no way Yu Do-hoon had suddenly abandoned his convictions to pledge himself to rotten superiors.

It was a disguise.

He was acting like their loyal dog while hiding his claws behind his back.

If his resolve had hardened this much, there was a strong chance he had already coordinated to some degree with Lee Hyun-seok.

It even occurred to Kang-hoo that Yu Do-hoon’s present display of total submission to the three executives…

…might be a prearranged tactic with Lee Hyun-seok.

“Oh! The man of the hour is here?”

“So this is Mr. Shin Kang-hoo we’ve heard so much about?”

“A man should be handsome. Why couldn’t I have been born like that?”

“Hahahaha.”

The three executives each offered their greetings when they saw Kang-hoo.

Though Kang-hoo regarded them as beneath vermin, he showed none of it.

Instead, he lowered himself first. There was no need to provoke them—earning their goodwill was far more profitable.

“I’m Shin Kang-hoo. It wasn’t much, but thank you for preparing such an honorable place for me.”

“Think nothing of it! As Chief of the Public Safety Bureau, it is only natural to commend a righteous hunter who has punished criminals!”

Commendation.

For some reason it sounded offensive.

Of course, as Bureau Chief, he did hold higher ceremonial standing than an ordinary hunter like Kang-hoo.

But “Bureau Chief” was just a fancy title.

In reality he was trash who did nothing but drink on a budget filled one hundred percent with tax money.

Trusting only in the Jeonghwa Guild’s backing and shirking the work he ought to do, he was nothing but a salaried thief.

Watching him strut around as “Bureau Chief” made murderous rage bubble up.

The Jeonghwa Guild was at fault for turning the Bureau into a rubber stamp, but the bigger problem was the Bureau that allowed itself to become one.

If these clowns had just kept their heads on straight, the Bureau would never have become this pathetic.

“I won’t forget today’s honor. Thank you.”

Not wanting to exchange more words, Kang-hoo closed the conversation with a polite flourish that flattered them just enough.

At that moment—

“Huh? Mr. Shin Kang-hoo?”

“You’re here.”

Jang Si-hwan appeared, and his gaze met Kang-hoo’s.

As before, the constellation data revealed by a scan on Jang Si-hwan was immense.

The only difference from last time was that the Seeker of Pure Darkness was no longer there—Kang-hoo had stolen it with the Twisted Contract.

Kang-hoo wondered how the constellation Seeker of Pure Darkness would react upon recognizing its former contractor, Jang Si-hwan.

But the Seeker of Pure Darkness seemed careful to observe the unwritten rules among constellations.

Those rules prohibit discussing a previous contractor, revealing his existence, or evaluating him lightly.

Thus, though it recognized Jang Si-hwan, it showed no special reaction. Perhaps it felt nothing at all.

“Mr. Chae Gwanhyeong. Say hello. You know him, right? This is Mr. Shin Kang-hoo.”

Jang Si-hwan introduced Kang-hoo to the trailing Chae Gwanhyeong in honorifics.

In public settings, even among themselves, they used honorifics; nothing strange about that.

“Hmph.”

Chae Gwanhyeong glanced at Kang-hoo, let out a short laugh, and dismissed him. As expected, Kang-hoo didn’t care.

“Mr. Chae Gwanhyeong?”

Jang Si-hwan shot him a look—calling him out for failing to separate public from private.

“Hello.”

“Yes.”

Only then did Chae Gwanhyeong toss out a greeting with the face of someone tackling a tedious chore.

There was no reason to receive it warmly; Kang-hoo replied curtly and dipped his chin.

There was no need to curry favor with Chae Gwanhyeong. The more you tried to look good, the more he looked down on you.

He was the type on whom strength worked best.

Against an opponent who crushed him with sheer ability, he couldn’t say a peep. The prime example was his friend, Jang Si-hwan.

For all his swagger, in sparring and training, Chae Gwanhyeong had lost to Jang Si-hwan a hundred out of a hundred.

It was in the original story too.

There it got dressed up as the beauty of friendship and such, coming off rather cool—but still.

‘A clash with Chae Gwanhyeong is unavoidable. You can’t open the gate without passing the gatekeeper.’

If he envisioned a future showdown with Jang Si-hwan, then Chae Gwanhyeong was an enemy he had to face.

Fail to get past Chae Gwanhyeong? Then you won’t so much as touch a hair on Jang Si-hwan’s head.

To meet face-to-face and exchange greetings with an opponent fated to be your enemy—

Perhaps it was a feeling no one else in the world could understand. A feeling no one would ever know.

----------------------------------------

Afterward.

In the set order, the Bureau Chief Kang Hyo-tae’s commendation and the plaque-of-appreciation ceremony took place.

With all the key executives of the Jeonghwa Guild and the Bureau present, the press swarmed like waves.

It was only natural that the spotlight poured onto Kang-hoo, the ceremony’s protagonist.

Thanks to that, acquaintances of Kang-hoo were delighted to watch the live-streamed footage.

“It feels like he’s become too big to approach now, Kang-hoo oppa. I wonder if he even remembers me. Tch.”

About to take off on a flight to Jeju, Yun Sang-mi muttered as she watched the footage from her seat.

She and Kang-hoo had both lived frantically busy lives, but the difference in growth was obvious.

From the first time she met him, Yun Sang-mi had sensed an unutterable gap in ability.

It felt like something of talent rather than effort. Would it be right to call it an inborn difference?

She planned to enter the Groo Guild. She had passed the document screening; only the interview remained.

For someone who wanted to end her drifter’s life, Groo Guild was the best choice.

But the bar for entry was so high that the competition was no joke—this time it was a whopping twenty to one.

“Still, I really hope this oppa makes it big. He feels like the type who’ll do something huge if he does anything at all.”

Yun Sang-mi was certain.

The assassin-hunter Shin Kang-hoo would keep causing even more astonishing events.

Killing Ishihara Yuji?

That would only be the beginning.

She had seen with her own eyes how he performed even back when his level had been far lower.

The beast called Shin Kang-hoo had only just stretched its limbs. The main act had not even begun.

“Hyung, just wait a bit. I’m putting together a solo-buff routine tuned perfectly for someone like you.”

Park Dong-jae was all smiles too.

Lately, Kang-hoo had been too busy, and he hadn’t had a chance to raid a dungeon with him.

But wherever and whatever strategy he was tackling, Park Dong-jae always had Kang-hoo in mind.

A “solo-buff routine” meant—

A rotation that ran on perpetual motion so that there wasn’t a single second where buffs lapsed.

Total personal mana, each buff’s duration, which buffs to swap in depending on the situation, the links between them, and so on—

There was so much to consider that even skilled buffers rarely used a solo-buff routine.

It wasn’t that they couldn’t build one—more like they chose not to.

Because the buffer had to “bust their back” from start to finish.

These days, buffers got thanked endlessly just for accompanying a party.

So there was no reason to go looking for extra pain.

But for Park Dong-jae, preparing this for Kang-hoo wasn’t suffering at all—it was big fun.

“Now he’s even shown his face openly to the citizens of Seoul… Hyung’s playing on a truly national stage now.”

Park Dong-jae laughed at the close-up of Kang-hoo on-screen.

As a fellow man, he was jealous of how photogenic Kang-hoo was—how well he took to the camera.

If he were born again, he’d want Kang-hoo’s face and skin.

Kang-hoo himself joked about being a vampire and played humble, but to Park Dong-jae, that was just modesty.

“Ah, hurry up! I want to run dungeons one-on-one with Kang-hoo hyung! Teaming with randoms is such a drag.”

Park Dong-jae dug at his ear.

Unless it was with Groo Guild members or Kang-hoo, ordinary team-play support left him bored.

In one way or another, Kang-hoo had raised his standards; ordinary hunters didn’t satisfy him anymore.

Upgrades are fun, but downgrades are stifling and miserable.

Watching Kang-hoo on screen, Park Dong-jae wished for a chance to sync up with him again as soon as possible.

These days, Kang-hoo had indeed grown busier—and felt like someone too far to approach.

----------------------------------------

When the ceremony ended—

Kang-hoo returned to his assigned seat and watched Jang Si-hwan’s ensuing briefing on the Dongducheon battle.

More cameras were mobilized than during the ceremony, and there were even more reporters.

Even the fans who had focused elsewhere during Kang-hoo’s ceremony now fixed their eyes on Jang Si-hwan.

Here and now, Kang-hoo felt like a complete stranger; no one paid him any mind.

People who didn’t seem likely to care what he did—being free of their gaze was certainly comfortable.

By contrast, interest in Jang Si-hwan was so high that even the tiniest blemish would be captured in photo and video.

If he enjoyed that, fine. If not, it was a truly exhausting life—because there was no such thing as his own life.

“From this point, we—the Jeonghwa Guild and the Public Safety Bureau—will explain how thoroughly we have driven back the criminal organization The Abyss: the process and the result.”

Standing at the podium, Jang Si-hwan began in a calm voice.

On the massive central screen, a map of northern Gyeonggi Province appeared, marked with two opposing forces.

As Kang-hoo expected, “The Abyss” was labeled in vivid red to amplify their brutal image.

Meanwhile, the Jeonghwa Guild’s label was a bright, contrasting yellow with a touch of light to suggest radiance.

It might look like nothing, but it was work that reinforced the subconscious imagery of angel versus devil.

No one would notice the intent, which was why the suggestion seeped even deeper into the unconscious.

“First, I’ll address the Bosan Station battle that The Abyss has been aggressively leveraging in its propaganda.”

The Bosan Station Battle.

It was the fight in which the Jeonghwa Guild, caught in The Abyss’s ambush, suffered tremendous losses. Social media already knew it well.

Because of this battle, the damage was so great that Jang Si-hwan and Chae Gwanhyeong had to take the field themselves.

Would Jang Si-hwan conceal this? Distort it? Or downplay it?

“This battle allowed an ambush due to an error by our supporting force, the Haeyeong Guild. The enemy preempted every advantageous position, but to rescue the Haeyeong members, our entire guild joined forces and launched an extraction. It’s true the losses were great in the process, but I—and every member—do not regret the decision.”

‘So he pins it on Haeyeong Guild—and overlays the reasons for defeat and losses with a redemption narrative?’

Kang-hoo’s expression hardened.

Contrary to his expectation that Jang Si-hwan might choose mere concealment or distortion,

Jang Si-hwan chose a full-frontal push grounded in a thoroughly distorted story.

Packaging a defeat so it didn’t look like defeat at all—an unorthodox turn that even made Kang-hoo smack his knee in grudging admiration.