Seoul, South Korea
5:30 AM
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound cut through the morning silence. Nothing fancy about it—just a cheap alarm clock doing his job.
Ryu Natsumi open his eyes instantly.
Three years of dungeon raids had trained his body to wake every morning without fail.
Sleep was a luxury for people who didn't need to earn money to buy food or medicine for their grandmother.
Ryu sat up slowly, careful not to make the old bed creak.
The apartment was small—so small that normal people would not call it a house.
At twenty-three, Natsumi looked exactly like what he was: ordinary. Average height, average build, average face.
The kind of person you'd pass on the street and forget immediately.
In the hunter world, being forgettable was actually useful. Dead hunters got remembered. Living ones got paid.
"Natsumi-kun?"
The voice came from the next room, soft and worried.
His grandmother didn't sleep well because she was worried about Natsumi going to a dangerous place again.
Old people understood danger better than young ones—they'd lived long enough to know that not everyone comes home.
"I'm awake, Grandma."
He was already reaching for his gear. Cheap leather armor, basic supply pack, emergency medical kit. Nothing special. F-Rank hunters didn't get fancy equipment.
his grandmother appeared at the doorway.
Seventy-eight years old, maybe ninety pounds soaking wet, wearing a faded yukata.
"You're going to that dangerous place again."
Not a question.
She knew things without being told—the way old people sometimes did.
Natsumi's hands stopped moving.
The medical bills on the kitchen table caught his eye—a stack of white paper that might as well have been a mountain. Each bill represented another injection, another test, another month of keeping his grandmother's arthritis from crippling her completely.
"The rent is due next week," he said quietly. "And your medication—"
"You don't need to worry about my medicine, Natsumi."
"No."
The word came out harder than he meant it to.
Natsumi immediately softened his tone, but the damage was done.
His grandmother's face showed that peculiar expression old people got when they realized they'd become a burden.
Shit, he thought. Are you not thinking Natsumi? Make the only person who cares about you feel guilty.
"No, Grandma. I won't let you suffer because I'm... because I can't earn money any other way."
She moved closer, her small hands cupping his face.
Her skin felt like old paper, but her grip was firm. "You are the strongest person I know, Natsumi-kun.Strength it's not all about killing monster. Sometimes it's about enduring. Sometimes it's about carrying on when everything inside you wants to give up."
The words hit him like a physical blow.
If only she knew how often he wanted to give up. If only she knew that her "strongest person" was considered the weakest hunter in all of South Korea.
But she was pressing something into his hands—a cloth bundle, still warm. "Rice balls with salmon. Your favorite."
Favorite. As if he had choices. As if they could afford for him to have preferences.
But she'd made them anyway, using ingredients that probably cost more than they should spend. Because that's what grandmothers did. They sacrificed quietly and called it love.
"Grandma, I..." He started to speak, then stopped. What could he say? That he was sorry for being weak? That he was sorry the world was unfair? That every morning he woke up hoping today would be the day something finally killed him and ended both their suffering?
Instead, he kissed her forehead. "I'll be careful. I promise."
She squeezed his hands. "Come back home, Natsumi-kun. That's all I ask."
Hunter Association Building - 6:45 AM
The building was a monument to evolution. Not the natural kind—the artificial kind that happened when humans suddenly developed superpowers and decided they were better than everyone else.
Natsumi stared at his reflection in the glass facade. Ghost-pale, tired-looking, clutching a bundle of rice balls like some kind of security blanket.
Somewhere above him, S-Rank hunters were probably eating breakfast that cost more than his monthly rent.
The classification system was simple:
S-Rank: Could destroy mountains. Literally. Not metaphorically. They could punch a mountain and the mountain would lose.
A-Rank: Could level cities. The kind of people who made generals nervous and politicians cooperative.
B-Rank: Could demolish city blocks. Walking human weapons who commanded respect through fear.
C-Rank: Could fight armies. Individually. And win.
D-Rank: Could match military equipment. Tanks, helicopters, artillery—all manageable opponents.
E-Rank: Could handle special forces. Elite soldiers posed about as much threat as angry children.
F-Rank: Could survive encounters that would kill normal humans. Barely. Maybe. If they were very, very lucky.
Natsumi fell into the last category. The pity category.
The "why are you even here" category.
But pity categories paid money. And money bought food and medicine. So here he was.
"Oi, pack mule!"
The voice cut through the lobby's morning bustle like a chainsaw through silk.
Kang Minseok approached with the kind of swagger that only came from genuine power.
C-Rank power, to be specific—the ability to casually punch through concrete walls and pretend it was no big deal.
Behind him came the rest of the Iron Wolves.
Lee Sooyeon, whose ice magic could freeze buildings solid.
Park Yunho, whose enhanced senses could track a mouse from a mile away.
The twins, Kim Jaeho and Nam Woojin, who moved like liquid death and hit like freight trains.
Each of them radiated the casual confidence of apex predators.
They walked through crowds the way sharks moved through schools of fish—with the absolute certainty that nothing in their vicinity posed even the slightest threat.
"Of course, Minseok-ssi," Natsumi replied, bowing slightly.
Three years of abuse had taught him the value of politeness. Polite people got fewer bruises. Polite people got paid.
Minseok's lip curled. "Look at you. Still bowing like some servant. Don't you have any pride?"
Pride doesn't pay for food or rent, Natsumi thought. Pride can't buy medicine for my grandma.
But he just shouldered his pack—fifty kilograms of supplies, potions, and emergency equipment. The kind of weight that would feel like nothing to enhanced humans but pressed against his merely mortal frame like a lead blanket.
"The dungeon today is D-Rank," Sooyeon announced, examining her fingernails with practiced boredom. "Try not to slow us down more than usual."
D-Rank meant monsters tough enough to require military intervention for normal humans. For enhanced hunters, it should be routine. Standard procedure. Easy money.
Natsumi nodded and tried to ignore the cold weight in his stomach.
His intuition—the only skill he possessed that was worth anything—was screaming warnings. Something felt wrong about today. Something felt... different.
But F-Rank hunters didn't get to voice concerns about dungeon strategy. F-Rank hunters carried bags and kept their mouths shut.
Dongdaemun Park - Dungeon Gate Alpha-7
8:15 AM
The gate hung in the air like a wound in reality itself.
Through its shimmering surface, glimpses of an alien landscape flickered—stone corridors that breathed, walls that pulsed with organic rhythms, air that tasted of copper and ancient hunger.
This was humanity's new life.
Ten years ago, these dimensional rifts had started appearing worldwide, vomiting out creatures that defied every natural law. The first few months had been pure chaos—entire cities evacuated, military forces obliterated, civilization itself balanced on the edge of total collapse.
Then the Awakened appeared.
Humans who had somehow adapted to the dimensional energy, developing supernatural abilities that allowed them to fight back.
They became humanity's immune system, the antibodies protecting the species from infection.
All except for the defective ones like him.
"Standard formation," Minseok ordered, his voice carrying the authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed.
"Sooyeon on point with ice barriers. Yunho scouts ahead. Twins watch the flanks. And you—"
He pointed at Natsumi like he was indicating a piece of furniture. "Stay back and try not to get killed. Your death would mean paperwork."
The dimensional transition hit like being turned inside-out while falling through honey.
And when it was gone, they stood in a corridor that looked like the interior of some massive organism. The walls pulsed with a rhythm that almost resembled a heartbeat.
Almost being the key word. Because whatever was making that rhythm, it definitely wasn't human.
The party moved forward with practiced efficiency.
Natsumi followed at a safe distance, the weight of his inadequacy and his equipment equally burdensome.
Three Hours Later
The first sign of trouble was the bones.
Not goblin bones.
Not the standard D-Rank monster remains they were expecting.
These were massive—easily twice human size, carved with symbols that seemed to shift and writhe when observed directly.
The symbols hurt to look at. Not metaphorically hurt—literally hurt.
They caused actual pain behind the eyes, the kind of discomfort that suggested looking too long might result in permanent damage.
"Those aren't in any bestiary," Yunho whispered, his enhanced senses recoiling from whatever information the bones were radiating.
Sooyeon knelt beside the remains, her fingers glowing with diagnostic magic.
The spell was simple—basic threat assessment, the kind of thing any D-Rank mage could perform in their sleep.
Her face went the color of old paper.
"These readings..." Her voice came out strangled. "This isn't D-Rank mana residue. This is something much stronger."
"How much stronger?" Minseok demanded, though his swagger had noticeably diminished.
"A-Rank. Maybe higher."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
A-Rank monsters could level city blocks. They could slaughter entire hunting parties without breaking a sweat. They could—
ROOOOOAAAAARRRRR
The sound came from deeper in the dungeon, a vocalization that seemed to shake the very foundations of reality. It was followed by footsteps—heavy, deliberate, approaching with the inexorable certainty of an avalanche.
"Everyone back!" Minseok shouted, drawing his enchanted sword.
"Defensive positions!"
But when the creature emerged from the shadows, all their training became irrelevant.
The goblin chieftain stood nearly four meters tall. Its muscles bulged with enhancement that made steel seem soft by comparison. Dark veins pulsed beneath green skin like corrupted rivers, and its eyes burned with fires that had no name in any human language.
This wasn't a normal dungeon monster.
This was something that had been touched by deeper darkness, transformed into a being that radiated malevolence like heat from a forge.
"That's A-Rank," Sooyeon whispered, her hands covering her mouth in reflexive horror. "It could destroy half the city."
"Impossible," Minseok's sword trembled in his grip. C-Rank strength suddenly felt insignificant. "The Association said D-Rank."
The chieftain roared again.
The sound wave shattered stone and sent Yunho flying across the cavern like a discarded toy. Blood sprayed from his mouth as ribs cracked against the wall.
"Someone get the medic!" Sooyeon screamed, but there was no medic. There was nothing but them and a creature that outclassed them in every conceivable way.
The massacre that followed would have been educational for military strategists studying the importance of accurate intelligence.
The chieftain moved with impossible speed, its otherworldly club crushing through Minseok's guard like paper. The impact created a crater in the wall where Minseok's body hit.
"Shit, shit, shit," Minseok gasped, his life flowing out through internal injuries. "This wasn't supposed to happen."
Sooyeon's ice magic—spells powerful enough to freeze entire buildings—melted before reaching their target. The abyssal energy radiating from the creature turned her strongest attacks into harmless vapor.
"No, no, stop!" she screamed at the advancing monster, as if pleading could somehow alter reality. "You're gonna be fine!"
But she wasn't talking to the monster. She was talking to herself.
Yunho's enhanced arrows shattered like twigs against the creature's hide.
The twins lasted exactly fourteen seconds before claws moving faster than sound opened their throats in arterial fountains.
And Natsumi just watched.
If his partycouldn't do anything against that monster, what else he could do againts that thing?
he understood with crystal clarity that throwing himself at the monster would accomplish nothing except adding another corpse to the pile.
But understanding and accepting were different things.
As he knelt beside the dying Sooyeon, her blood soaking into his pants, something fundamental shifted inside his chest.
"I know it hurts," he whispered, his hands shaking as he tried to offer comfort. "I'm not leaving you. I won't leave you alone."
These people had never been kind to him. They'd treated him like furniture, like a tool, like something less than human. But they were still people. They had families waiting for them. Dreams they'd never fulfill. Stories that would end today in blood and screaming.
The chieftain turned its burning gaze toward him, and Natsumi saw his death approaching—slow, inevitable, meaningless.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to his fallen teammates, to his grandmother who would never know what happened to him, to the world itself. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect anyone. I'm sorry I was too weak."
The tears came then—not for himself, but for everyone else. For the lives lost, for the families who would grieve, for all the future tragedies that would happen because he hadn't been strong enough to prevent this one.
"If there's any way... any possibility at all... to become strong enough to protect people... I'll pay any price."
The chieftain raised its club.
And the impossible happened.
"Fascinating."
Time stopped.
Not metaphorically. Literally. The chieftain's weapon froze mid-swing. Droplets of blood hung motionless in the air like crimson jewels. Even dust particles ceased their Brownian motion.
The voice had come from everywhere and nowhere, ancient beyond human comprehension yet somehow familiar.
"In all my millennia of existence, I have observed countless people face death. They rage, they curse, they beg for personal salvation. But you... you weep for others even as oblivion approaches. Most interesting."
A figure materialized from shadows that hadn't been there moments before. Tall, draped in darkness that seemed to absorb light rather than merely blocking it. Eyes older than civilizations regarded Natsumi with something that might have been respect.
"I am Kamzer Hukuda, Guardian of the Abyss. For a thousand years, I protected your world from the darkness beyond. But I sealed away while the barriers I maintained began to crumble."
Natsumi stared at the figure, too shocked to speak. This being radiated power that made the A-Rank monster seem like an insect by comparison. The air around him crackled with energy that suggested reality bent to his will rather than the other way around.
"The dimensional barriers weaken with each passing day, and my essence grows closer to final dissolution. Before I fade into nothingness, I must pass on my legacy. Tell me, young man—would you accept the mantle of Guardian? Would you take upon yourself the responsibility of protecting this world, knowing it may never thank you for your sacrifice?"
"I accept," Natsumi answered immediately. No hesitation. No negotiation. "If becoming the Guardian means I can protect people—protect everyone—then I'll do it."
"The path of a Guardian is one of endless sacrifice, young one. You will inherit not just my strength, but my burden."
Natsumi closed his eyes, thinking of his grandmother's gentle smile, of the families who would mourn tonight, of all the future tragedies he might prevent.
"Then I'll carry that burden. And if it means no one else has to watch their friends die like this... then it's worth it."
"In a thousand years of guardianship, I have never encountered a soul so selfless in its darkest hour. Very well, Ryu Natsumi. I hereby name you my successor—the next Guardian of the Abyss. You will inherit my power, my knowledge, and my sacred duty."
Kamzer extended his hand, and power radiated from it like heat from a star.
"But understand—when you accept this contract, you accept everything I was. My memories will become yours. My enemies will hunt you. Are you prepared for that responsibility?"
"I am."
"Then let us seal the contract, Guardian Ryu Natsumi. May your kindness prove stronger than the darkness you must now inherit."
The moment Kamzer's hand touched his forehead, the world exploded.
Not with light or sound, but with knowing. A thousand years of memories flooded into his consciousness like water through a broken dam. He experienced every battle Kamzer had fought, every victory and defeat, every moment of triumph and despair.
He felt the weight of protecting an entire world—the crushing responsibility of being the only thing standing between humanity and extinction.
And through it all came the power. Not a fragment or sample, but the complete inheritance of the Guardian's might. Every cell in his body underwent fundamental reconstruction, enhanced beyond the limits of human possibility.
"The contract is sealed," Kamzer's voice echoed as his form began to fade. "You are the Guardian now, Ryu Natsumi. Guard them well. Guard them better than I did."
The last thing Natsumi saw before consciousness fled was his own hand, wreathed in shadows darker than the void between stars, punching through the A-Rank chieftain's chest with such overwhelming force that the creature simply disintegrated.