Retire 296

296 Will (2)

“All right, yes. Now, carefully channel your mana in that state—no! That’s too fast!”

“Ugh… This is too hard, teacher.”

Groans began to rise from among the children.

I had expected as much, since they’d only ever practiced raising their power by recklessly summoning mana. Of course they were struggling.

“How long are you going to stick to the easy stuff?”

“We’ve never done anything easy, what are you talking about?”

“Want me to show you what’s really hard?”

“No! I think this is just right for our level!!”

The mages were managing well enough, but the others, who’d never done delicate mana work, were still floundering.

I had no intention of helping them, but I explained anyway, if only to encourage them a little.

“This is just a prototype, so it requires some tricky work. It’ll get easier once the lab upgrades it.”

“Maybe our skills will improve by then, too…?”

“Exactly.”

Well, and besides, it’s because devices that recognize users by their mana patterns—awakener-only devices—are still rare. Once they start rolling out for real, these kids will be grateful to me.

I looked at Yoo Jieun. Her small head was furrowed in deep concentration. She was always easy to read, but now—

Her brows knit together, and then not just her head but her whole body tilted to the left. She tried to gently summon mana, then hesitated. Her body leaned to the right. Then, suddenly, she lifted her head as if to call out to me, her mouth opening and closing, but in the end, she just let her shoulders droop and heaved a long sigh.

It was amusing to watch. It was hard to believe that this was the same Yoo Jieun I knew.

Just as Woo Irok would never become Woo Heejae, Yoo Jieun would never become Hong Jieun.

The time for grieving or regret over that had long since passed. I’d resolved not to look back, and not to see the dead in those standing before me.

And yet, even so, the reason I kept bidding farewell and clinging to regrets for the family I’d never see again—over and over—must be because I was only human.

“Eek!!”

In the end, Yoo Jieun let out a startled scream. Her sister, Yoo Hyeun, startled by the noise, turned around.

“What’s wrong?”

“Aaah!!”

“W-what is it?!”

As Yoo Jieun screamed again, even the kids who had ignored her at first began to turn and look.

Lee Seungyeon craned his neck to peer at the watch in Yoo Jieun’s hand.

“Did you break it already?”

“No! No… I… don’t think so?”

Yoo Jieun replied glumly. The watch on her wrist was spinning, its screen glowing blue.

With a tearful look, Yoo Jieun called out to me.

“T-teacher!”

“It’s fine, you didn’t break it. Can I see the watch?”

Clunky in appearance.

If not for the way it glowed in response to mana, you’d mistake it for an ordinary sports watch.

Gamble had done an excellent job.

It was something I marveled at every time, and there was still no shortage of praise I could give.

I’d shown her photos of sports watches, saying that due to the variety of dungeon environments, it should look as much like a mana watch as possible, and she’d copied them beautifully. Of course, if you looked closely, there were differences, but it’s not as if the kids would be comparing watch designs, so I figured it would work.

See? Yoo Jieun handed me the watch without the slightest suspicion.

This was not, as I’d told the children, just an emergency signal device for use inside dungeons. It was a culmination of mana engineering from twenty years in the future.

I pretended to inspect the watch from all angles as I spoke.

“I told you it’s still being tested. Looks like there was a malfunction. I’ll check it and give it back.”

“Okay!”

Yoo Jieun quickly regained her spirits at my words. Hearing her energetic reply, I tucked the watch safely into my pocket.

There was a prototype mana watch for both me and my father. The third prototype was supposed to be for my sister. Originally, she should have had one first, but for some reason, she’d let me have it.

At the time, I thought she just wanted to make a show of it.

No, she did have a plan. She’d been planning to drag me, clueless as I was, back into the past.

As the head of the Agency, my father was always busy, and though I had a Hunter license, I hated entering dungeons, so my sister had been more directly involved in developing the mana watch. She’d done all the testing, after all.

Both my watch and my father’s had gone through her tests. So, I figured, it should be there.

Whatever it was.

“The rest are working fine?”

“Yes!”

“The controls are simple. There aren’t any fancy features, anyway.”

Lee Seungyeon looked like he was itching to argue. Of all the kids here, he was the most familiar with dungeon equipment. Even with a brief explanation, he’d have realized that this wasn’t a device you could describe as having “no fancy features.”

This was a device years ahead of its time. Of course. I snorted as I explained.

“Honestly, outside the dungeon, we have the marvels of modern civilization—cell phones.”

The kids nodded.

“But as I said before, this can be used inside the dungeon. That’s the important part.”

They weren’t the sort to not understand what I was saying. I hadn’t taught them to be that clueless.

I put the mana watch in the box and closed the lid. There was no risk of forgetting it, but I took care to put it away so it wouldn’t get lost.

I suppressed the urge to dash out of the classroom and check it right away.

It’s not as if the mana watch would sprout legs and run off.

I could wait, at least for this short while.

---

Now, how does a person behave when they know they’re about to die?

More precisely, what about someone who knows they could die at any moment?

Most Hunters were well aware that their lives brushed up against death. And yet, why did they enter dungeons and fight monsters? Some simply chased wealth and fame, some wanted to test their own strength. But more than that, many dreamed of avenging lost family. And a smaller number reached for the sweet illusion of saving others.

At thirty-six, Yoo Jieun was one of those who dreamed of revenge.

She hadn’t always been that way.

‘When I first awakened, even I…’

She’d always believed she would awaken someday. There was no real reason, just a child’s faith. She used to lie in bed every night, imagining what she’d do once she awakened. With admirable adults close by as role models, it was easy to find inspiration. Of course, if Hong Seokyoung had known what she was thinking, he would have been horrified and insisted he wasn’t anyone so great.

As a child, Yoo Jieun just wanted to follow her older siblings into the dungeon. She never thought about wanting power, or saving people. She’d never once considered something as heavy as revenge.

But that’s how her life turned out.

Hong Seokyoung regretted that he’d put the idea of revenge into Yoo Jieun’s life, but she had no such regrets.

Because that choice—revenge—was what kept her alive, clawing her way forward. Even when she was dying, soaked in her own blood, she got up again. As long as the ones who’d hurt her sister were still out there, she couldn’t close her eyes.

But, like many Hunters, Yoo Jieun never believed that luck would last forever. So one day, she made a suggestion to Hong Seokyoung.

“Shouldn’t the Agency make those, too?”

“Those?”

“Wills. You know, last testaments.”

“Ah. That. We talked about it before, didn’t we?”

“They do it in the U.S. and the U.K. It seems like a good idea. Besides, after that stupid… love triangle blew up the team, everyone’s been out of it.”

“Hmm… That’s true.”

She’d said it was to help the Hunters pull themselves together, but in fact, it was being implemented in several countries. Not just for government Hunters, but in private guilds as well.

There was always the chance you wouldn’t make it back from a dungeon. It was a way to leave words for your family or loved ones—things you’d never say otherwise, just in case.

“Ugh. You want us to write wills?”

But in Korea’s Supernatural Management Agency, not only dungeon assault team Hunters but even the office staff were told to write wills.

“That’s right.”

“Why do even the office workers have to do it?”

“You go into dungeons, don’t you?”

“…Well, yes, but still!”

“The Director’s orders are that even if you’re not on an assault team, writing a will will help you realize just how dangerous this job is.”

“……”

Woo Heejae looked dissatisfied, but seemed to accept the explanation, nodding.

Yoo Jieun hovered around Woo Heejae for no particular reason.

“Hey, get out of here!”

“Let me see what you wrote.”

“I said no!!”

“Did you write something embarrassing?”

“What are you going to do, reading someone else’s will?”

“We’re not strangers, are we?”

“Which is exactly why you shouldn’t look!”

“So you do know?”

“Get out!!!”

Yoo Jieun left Woo Heejae’s office, giggling. She might act cheeky and say annoying things in front of others, but at times like this, she was still the same little kid I first met.

Even back then, she’d shout and yell with that same face…

Yoo Jieun brought her laptop into an empty conference room.

In truth, this was no time to be teasing Woo Heejae.

Yoo Jieun opened a blank notepad and stared at it. For all that she’d brought up the subject, she hadn’t written a thing.

There was plenty she wanted to say.

More than enough.

It had been over ten years since her sister died. Despite her despair that nothing was left, precious things had bloomed again.

Ah, who would ever think that she was the same girl who once wore mourning clothes at a funeral and dreamed of revenge?

Yoo Jieun kicked at the floor. Her chair spun round and round.

After a long time blinking up at the ceiling, she straightened her back. Yes, out of the three, she’d probably be the first to die.

Yoo Jieun shrugged and smiled for no reason.

Letters began to fill the empty notepad.

She started simply, with a phrase you could find anywhere.

[If you’re reading this, I must be dead.]

Woo Heejae would probably curse at her.

Yoo Jieun deleted the line. She’d handle the legal stuff, like her estate, through a lawyer anyway. This was one of the few chances she had to express her true feelings.

It would only be revealed after she died. There was nothing she couldn’t say by then.

Yoo Jieun let out a small laugh.

Letters appeared again on the cleared notepad.

[If I can’t admit it even now, that would truly be unforgivable.

Teacher. Do you remember what you said to me the day you took my sister and me in?

You said you didn’t want to be a father. Maybe you wanted to show you were different from the man I’d never call father… But still.

You are my father.

Thank you for taking me in.

Thank you for giving my sister and me a chance to have a childhood.

Thank you for raising me.]