Chapter 2 #2 I've Returned
I stared into the mold-flecked mirror. A man with choppily cut hair and a stretched-neck T-shirt blinked back at me through the grimy surface.
Objectively speaking, I wasn't ugly. But my horizontally-slanted eyes and thin lips gave me the untrustworthy look of someone who'd steal your wallet while patting your back. The exact opposite of what you'd want for a first meeting. Cruel as it was, this face was mine.
The version of me who'd once spent fortunes cultivating charm now resembled a surly delinquent drowning in resentment. "Pathetic," I muttered, wiping my face with a stale towel before escaping the mildew-choked bathroom.
Reality slammed into me when I saw the studio apartment - a claustrophobic box where every step risked collision.
I was alive.
To be precise, I'd regressed.
Back to scraping by as a Gate ore miner after graduating Hunter Academy. Gone was the penthouse overlooking Gangnam's golden district. Vanished were the custom-tailored suits and designer watches that once filled my walk-in closet.
Now my world consisted of instant noodle packets, lint-covered clothes piled in corners, and wallpaper so dreary it could induce clinical depression.
This was my existence before Seol Rok-jin.
A defeated man barely enduring each wretched day.
Yet I laughed aloud for the first time in years.
Why?
Freedom.
I was no longer Seol Rok-jin's obedient hound. From the life of forced obedience, I'd escaped through means unimaginable.
My first act after the soul-crushing contract vanished? Something absurd:
"Seol Rok-jin, you fucking bastard."
The curses I'd swallowed for years erupted. Son of a bitch. Heartless monster. Cold-blooded demon.
But soon, overwhelming emptiness replaced the rage.
"Ha..."
How nice it would be if this were one of those tales where "the slave escaped and lived happily ever after."
My reality proved crueler.
Ten years from now, South Korea would collapse during Gate Break - the apocalyptic event seared into my retinas. Gates spawning monsters. Civilians torn limb from limb. The memory made my heart pound violently, phantom pains of my own crushing death still vivid.
Though uncertain why I revived now, one clue stood out - the artifact Seol Rok-jin demanded I retrieve. When that colossal monster crushed me, light had erupted from the ankh in my grip. Perhaps that relic resurrected me?
Finding it would wait. The corresponding Gate hadn't formed yet.
More pressing matters existed.
I alone knew of the coming apocalypse. If I fled to safety, Korea would still fall through identical steps.
'Let it burn.'
My initial thought shocked me with its selfishness. I'd long since abandoned affection for this wretched nation that branded mental-type Awakened like me as pre-criminals. Special taxes. Movement restrictions. For weak, poor Awakened, this country was hell. Patriotism died for second-class citizens like me years ago.
I could build a seaside villa and watch the world burn. No obligation to prevent it. Why march into that hellscape? Bullshit.
Yet as I squeezed my eyes shut, doubt crept in. Could I truly escape annihilation this way?
Memories surfaced of those I'd watched die beside Seol Rok-jin:
The lawyer fighting for Awakened rights.
The S-rank genius who shone brightest.
The investigative journalist exposing corruption.
My dearest friend...
'Jeong Ho-san.'
His face flashed before me, stealing my breath.
Had Seol Rok-jin not eliminated these people, Korea might have survived. No - would have survived. They'd never have permitted the apocalypse.
Save them, save the world.
Problem being - how?
A lowly ore miner from cleared Gates stood no chance as a Hunter. Unless regression changed something...
"Status Window."
A translucent screen materialized:
[Name]: Kang Yishin
[Gender]: Male
[Age]: 21
[Talents]: Indomitable Conviction (S), Truthful Lies (B)
My hopes crumbled. The same cursed abilities remained - including that useless "Truthful Lies."
━「Truthful Lies」━
Rank: B
Makes any falsehood feel authentic.
"Truthful Lies" - as oxymoronic as "warm iced coffee." At least coffee's drinkable. This talent only benefited scammers or cult leaders - careers impossible while wearing this damned identification collar.
All mental-type Awakened bore these collars detecting mana usage. Each activation lit us up like beacons while alerting local police. Thanks to the Civilian Protection Act passed three years ago, I'd die wearing this electronic leash.
But remove it...
The game changes.
To save this world, I'd gladly become scammer, villain, or false prophet. My opponents occupied Korea's highest echelons - presidential candidate Seol Rok-jin, his puppet government, guild executives selling their prodigies.
Fighting them openly meant instant annihilation. Previous challengers had shouted righteous condemnations - "The world won't bend to your whims!"
Yet the world bent perfectly until its destruction.
They weren't wrong, just weak and naive.
You can't defeat filth with purity. To battle monsters, I must become one.
I'd committed unforgivable crimes under Seol Rok-jin. This made me his perfect adversary.
Save his victims, save the world.
I knew my place - a cowardly, petty, incomplete man. Exactly why I could succeed where noble fools failed.
First step: Remove this damned collar.
Normal removal triggered arrest. I needed the black market's special craftsman. I knew who and how - but required money.
Checking my bank account froze my blood:
Total: 279,800 won ($210).
A full-bodied Awakener's two-year savings? Had I been scammed?
Bank statements revealed brutal truths - rent, utilities, card payments. The card bill horrified me:
Roasted Chicken delivery: 27,000 won
Single-serving offal hotpot: 23,000 won
Beige trousers: 98,000 won
10-pack stretch-neck tees: 108,000 won
No fraud. Just necessary purchases in an economy outpacing my wallet.
'I was this poor?'
Under Seol Rok-jin, I'd forgotten poverty. Now I was a penniless regression victim.
The cruel paradox mocked me - needing money to remove the collar preventing moneymaking.
My phone alarm blared.
"Damn it."
That familiar chime meant one thing - time to return to the hated Gates. The only income source left.
I pulled musty work clothes from the closet. The stench of stale sweat and despair clung to the fabric as I stepped outside.
