Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 174.3: Transformation (3)

Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 174.3: Transformation (3)

To be honest, I don’t like my junior very much.
It feels like just yesterday she was a fresh, innocent girl, but now she’s more jaded than I am, obsessively chasing “gain” like a scavenger. Watching her now drains any lingering affection I had.
But we’ve worked together for a long time.
And not just any partnership—we trusted each other with our lives.
I’m sure Kim Daram isn’t too fond of me these days either, but what can you do?
We’ve been in sync for so long.
Even if we hate each other, we understand each other perfectly.
The moment I saw her eyes, I knew what she was about to say.
“What do you mean?”
I asked, sensing something ominous.
Kim Daram glanced around.
Like she was checking for wiretaps.
I shook my head.
My office is secured as tightly as my bunker.
All the windows are sealed shut except for one, and I’ve chained that one too.
Before leaving work, I wedge a business card into the door crack, and inside I’ve got multiple traps set up, including infrared motion detectors.
I didn’t use to be this paranoid before the Nemesis Incident, but ever since, it’s become a routine.
On a side note, I also keep my distance from any young, beautiful women I don’t know well who try to approach me personally.
Call it a sixth sense.
I just have this instinct—never leave myself open.
The more influence and power I gained, the more intense the pushback became. That’s just how it is.
I may have been buried in the bunker for a while, but I was at the top for a long time.
I know exactly how jealousy, suspicion, and sabotage work.
“Daram. You know what I’m like, right?”
I spoke quietly but confidently. Only then did Kim Daram lean back, exhaling a shallow sigh.
“I do... but.”
“What?”
“The stuff you’re doing online lately just doesn’t inspire much trust.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That Captain M9 guy keeps reposting your old posts. Ha... I’ll hold my tongue, but it’s kind of pathetic.”
“What Captain M9. It’s Mgu. That loser who used to live in that tilted apartment. Wonder where he lives now. Probably hard to find a new house that slanted just for him.”
“Why the hell are you cursing the guy?”
“I’m saying ignore what a guy like that posts. He’s just blinded by jealousy.”
I stopped myself there.
A wise choice.
I almost added, “like you.”
The topic quickly veered away from Mgu and back to Woo Min-hee.
“...I’ve been busy with campaign prep lately, but something feels off about what the Jeju people are doing. I could ignore that, sure. But what’s more worrying is that Woo Min-hee—her of all people—has been taking this treatment for over a month without a peep. It’s obvious they’re trying to kill her.”
Kim Daram’s worry wasn’t grounded in facts, but in that uniquely female intuition.
But I never ignore intuition like hers.
Kim Daram has sharp instincts.
She’s got the qualities of a top-tier predator, like a big cat at the top of the food chain.
If I remember right, her gut has never been wrong.
Her sniper’s intuition comes from years of observation and experience—and most importantly, it allows no room for error.
After promising her I’d help with the campaign to some degree, I started my own investigation.
“Ah. Teacher. It’s been a while.”
Woo Min-hee had long since carved out her own territory, but she never had a single real friend.
The closest thing to a personal assistant she had was my student, Song Yujin.
She’s a low-level Awakened with poor combat ability, so she was always stationed on rear guard duty.
Now, she does errands for Woo Min-hee while she’s under house arrest.
I’d met Min-hee recently, but to really understand her, I needed testimony from those around her.
“Director Woo? Didn’t you already meet her?”
“I did, but...”
As always, people age fast.
During the bunker days, Song Yujin still had a girlish air. Now, she gives off the vibe of a worn-out office worker.
Well, she’s been through a lot.
Faced a lot of hardship too.
She seems to have mellowed out a bit.
Which isn’t a bad thing, if it helps her survive.
Five years since the war began—those still walking on two legs are the living, not the ghosts of the past.
Just being alive is a blessing. A privilege.
I handed her a gift I’d prepared.
“Wow. What’s this? Sugar?!”
I nodded.
“Put on some weight. You look way too thin these days.”
“Thank you, Teacher. Really. I haven’t done anything to deserve this lately...”
We’ve lived in a world where a single lump of sugar can earn heartfelt gratitude for quite a while now, but seeing someone close to me react like this still unsettles me.
“...Well, Director Woo. She doesn’t ask for much. Doesn’t expect anything. Just stays [N O V E L I G H T] up in the top floor of that hotel all the time.”
“No visitors?”
“Some folks from the nursing home she ran in Jeju tried to barge in, but they got turned away at the entrance. Aside from them, no one comes.”
“I see.”
Expected, but still. Nothing special.
If Song Yujin, who spends most of her day attending to Woo Min-hee, doesn’t know anything, then there’s probably nothing going on.
It’s not like those Jeju bastards would ever let Min-hee get in contact with anyone anyway.
Whatever danger Kim Daram foresaw might not be coming after all.
As I wrapped things up and got up to leave, Song Yujin spoke.
“Those folks from the nursing home.”
A face that had just remembered something.
I was curious about that too.
What exactly was the relationship between Min-hee and those old folks?
Too many to be relatives, and they all had different surnames.
“Director Woo won’t say much, but from what I’ve heard from regulars back in Jeju, they’re the families of her former teammates.”
“Seriously?”
It was a tempting story, but didn’t make sense.
Min-hee took care of over a hundred elderly people.
Even if rift missions demanded huge sacrifices, if that many team members died, the whole structure should’ve collapsed long before her own mental health did.
Song Yujin answered slowly, but clearly.
“Hmm. They said Director Woo was a completely different person back when she was in Jeju.”
“How so?”
“Driven? Full of passion? That kind of personality.”
“Whoa. Min-hee?”
That’s unexpected.
I never imagined that side of her.
Unlike me or Daram, Min-hee came from a wealthy family.
Becoming a Hunter was partly just curiosity for her.
She didn’t have any great sense of duty or conviction.
The world just gave her ridiculous talent, that’s all.
While kids like me, driven by the loss of loved ones to monsters, burned with purpose and collapsed under the pressure of tough exams and elite screening... Min-hee passed them all with ease.
She didn’t even work as hard as Kim Daram.
Min-hee is like a walking proof of the everything-is-in-the-genes theory.
She only stayed in the middle ranks because she was content there. If she had any ambition, she could’ve gone for the top.
I just couldn’t picture someone like her becoming a passionate leader.
Even back at the Incheon lab or the Paju camp, she always seemed to be sinking in decadence, surrounded by similar types.
“I don’t know why, but if anyone could change, it’d be Director Woo. She’s impulsive, you know? Not exactly persistent, but...”
“Yeah, she has that tendency.”
“Apparently, during her prime, she had her own faction like Kang Han-min’s loyalists.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. The person who told me this used to be part of her group too. Well, more like he got kicked out of another faction and had nowhere else to go.”
“Who was it?”
“A guy named Bae Taek-geun. He disappeared back in Paju.”
She said it like it was nothing—a missing Awakened.
“I see.”
“Anyway, according to him, Director Woo’s faction might’ve been smaller than Kang Han-min’s, but their skill and bond were just as strong.”
“An Awakened group?”
“Of course.”
“...Really?”
I nodded and fell into thought.
First I’d heard of it.
Almost nothing is known about Woo Min-hee’s time in Jeju.
Just like Kang Han-min and Na Hye-in, anything involving Awakened over level 10 is classified. Even people in Jeju don’t know.
As long as Min-hee keeps her mouth shut, someone like me will never find out.
“But then something happened.”
Song Yujin said.
“I don’t know the details, but Bae Hunter called it the first catastrophe in Jeju.”
“Really?”
“Hundreds dead or missing. And you know missing in a rift basically means dead.”
For a moment, the image of Min-hee’s scarred face, the sharp clank of her prosthetic arm and leg, flashed through my mind.
Was that from the incident?
I don’t know.
Min-hee never talks about the past.
And I know better than to ask.
“The people she’s with now are the families of those who got caught in that incident. Only the elderly ones were gathered together like that. The younger or more able-bodied family members were given good jobs, apparently.”
“I see.”
I thought I was good at reading people, but maybe not.
I never imagined Woo Min-hee had such a human side.
It feels like I’ve been listening to someone else’s story.
Like a transformation, almost.
“Thanks for today.”
I offered my student a sincere thanks.
“If there’s ever anything you need, just ask. Don’t bottle it up like before.”
“Really? You don’t mind?”
“You’re the only one who still remembers my time as an instructor.”
“Thank you, Instructor!”
“Not calling me ‘Teacher’ anymore?”
“I’ve gotten older. I can’t say something that embarrassing in front of others.”
She looked genuinely happy.
A rare glimpse of her old self.
I know she’s had it rough, but there wasn’t much I could do.
I had my own hands full.
Who helps who, right?
I don’t know how long I’ll stay in New Seoul, but I’ve got a bit of clout now.
I can probably arrange something nice for at least one student.
Just when she looked like she was about to leave, she suddenly stopped smiling and fell back into thought.
Maybe her way of repaying me.
I checked the time.
There was still a little left.
“This might not be a big deal... even Bae Hunter wasn’t sure about it. But supposedly, not long after that incident, Director Woo and Kang Han-min had a huge fight.”
“What? Min-hee and Kang Han-min?”
“Yeah. Inside a rift. Apparently it was like, ‘a battle between gods’ level.”
“Seriously?”
Hard to believe.
But then again, Song Yujin didn’t sound too confident about it either.
“This is deep into rumor territory... But they definitely had a major falling out. That’s probably why she came to Incheon.”
“Probably.”
I’ll ask her directly if I get the chance.
Only if the mood’s perfect, though.
Anyway, I’d gotten all I needed from my student.
She’s a good one.
“Oh, and. Teacher.”
“Not Instructor?”
“I’m used to it. I’ll fix that, eventually. Anyway, this probably doesn’t matter, but earlier, you asked what Director Woo usually does, right?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s on the computer a lot.”
“Computer?”
“Yeah. You know, the satellite internet? Same one you use.”
For a split second, her face contorted in a mix of disdain and awkwardness.
No way... she wasn’t thinking of SKELTON, was she?
I felt a small, insect-like chill crawl up my spine as I waited for her next words.
“She mostly just clicks the mouse, but sometimes... she types too.”
“With one hand?!”
“She types with both hands.”
She replied with a straight face.
“...”
Wait.
That’s not the point.
“Did you just say Min-hee types on a keyboard?”
“Yes.”
Min-hee has stepped down from all her posts.
She’s not the kind to write for fun or keep a diary.
The only place she’d need to type would be—
Exactly.
The internet.
And not just anywhere. A forum.
“Thanks, Yujin. I’ll see you next time!”
I rushed back to my office and checked the forums.
Search: gijayangban
I searched for posts under Woo Min-hee’s username.
Nothing.
No posts on the Korean boards, or even the foreign language ones.
If she really is typing from time to time, it only deepens my unease.
SKELTON: (SKELTON request) VivaBot.
I’m grateful I can still wield influence across the forums, even beyond being a named account.
Kim Daram says the internet ruined me, but it’s the opposite.
The internet gave me so much.
VIVA_BOT014: What is it, SKELTON?
VivaBot is one of those gifts.
SKELTON: I’m terribly sorry, but has a user named gijayangban sent any messages recently?
VIVA_BOT014: (VivaBot suspicion) What now...? Trying to peek at personal messages again...? Even for you, SKELTON, abusing your privileges like this puts me in a moral bind as a moderator...
SKELTON: Did she happen to send a message to someone named armeegruppe_B?
VIVA_BOT014: One moment.
“...”
I sipped tea as I waited for the reply.
Outside, I could hear someone giving a campaign speech.
That noisy buzz that always comes during election season.
Time passed amidst the distraction—and VivaBot finally answered.
VIVA_BOT014: Yes.
VIVA_BOT014: She only sent a message to that user.
The answer was obvious.
VIVA_BOT014:
armeegruppe_B.
Kim Byeong-cheol.

Chapter 174.3: Transformation (3)