Chapter 32: The Golden Heir and the Sound of Chaos

At the Seoul Awakened Academy, the heavy glass doors of the visitor lounge slid open. Se-hyeon sat comfortably on one of the structured leather sofas, tapping his fingers against his knee. A few moments later, Se-hee hurried down the main central stairwell, her uniform jacket fluttering slightly.

“Oppa!”

Because the academy maintained strict lockdown parameters to protect high-potential cadets, leaves of absence were rarely granted. Her face immediately lit up with genuine delight at the sight of her brother.

“Haha, have you been managing your training cycles properly?” Se-hyeon asked, rising to greet her.

“I’m always running at a hundred percent,” she replied, a bright smile gracing her lips before her eyes narrowed with curiosity. “But what brings you all the way out to the campus today?”

Se-hyeon offered a casual smile. “Do I need a strategic objective to visit my own sister? Though, to be precise, I did happen to bring a few pieces of logistics for you.”

Se-hee let out a long, theatrical sigh, crossing her arms.

“Haa, I knew it. You only make unannounced drops when you’ve accumulated something to hand over. What is it this time? Please tell me you didn’t spend your recent dungeon payouts on my equipment again. You’re a formal Hunter now, Se-hyeon. You need to allocate your capital toward your own gear matrix, not mine.”

For years, Se-hyeon had broken his own frame performing backbreaking porter labor, systematically diverting nearly every single won he earned straight into Se-hee’s education and equipment. Whether it was premium armor or supplementary tuition fees, he had treated her progression as his absolute priority.

Se-hee carried a constant, heavy weight of gratitude and guilt because of it. Now that Se-hyeon had finally awakened his own mana core and entered the system as an active combatant, she desperately wanted him to invest in his own survival.

“Ah, it’s nothing like that,” Se-hyeon clarified smoothly. “I managed to secure a few direct spoils of war during my last raid cycle. It just so happens the drop turned out to be a heavy vanguard shield. As a registered mage, a physical bulkhead is completely redundant to my combat style. I merely brought it along so it wouldn’t gather dust in my sub-space inventory.”

Hearing the phrase spoils of war, Se-hee’s expression instantly shifted into a tight frown of concern.

“Spoils? Direct items only drop from Elite or Boss-tier entities. Se-hyeon… isn’t your party taking entirely too much tactical risk?”

Unaware of her brother’s true, world-altering capabilities, her mind naturally calculated the standard mortality statistics for low-tier parties attempting to down dungeon bosses.

“You consistently underestimate my operational efficiency, sister. The engagement posed zero functional risk to my safety, so clear those thoughts from your mind.”

Se-hee let out a dry laugh, though her eyes remained soft. “Right, whatever you say. You’re literally ranked below me on the national registry, you know. Just… make a conscious effort to avoid high-threat environments, okay?”

Despite his recent Stage 3 Awakening, which had amplified his internal stat attributes to absurd parameters, Se-hyeon had not yet undergone a formal rank reassessment. To the public eye—and to his sister—he was still registered as a baseline D-rank Mage.

Se-hee, on the other hand, was a verified genius holding a B-rank Knight classification. Purely looking at the official system metrics, she sat two entire tiers above him.

“Understood. I will prioritize maximum avoidance,” Se-hyeon lied smoothly, gesturing toward the exits. “Shall we move out to the courtyard? The shield is currently holding at the security desk, and I have a secondary personal delivery that requires a more private setting.”

The large vanguard shield had been logged at the front gate’s guardhouse upon his arrival. The potion belt, however, had been smuggled past the academy’s barrier within his spatial ring before being transferred into his standard leather backpack. Since the visitor lounge was currently occupied by several other cadets and their families, retrieving a highly irregular alchemical item here would invite unnecessary attention.

“Let’s go then,” Se-hee agreed, turning toward the glass doors.

But before their boots could clear the threshold of the lobby, a smooth, oily voice intercepted them from the adjacent hallway.

“Oh! Look who finally decided to grace us with her presence. Haha! You really shouldn’t wander off without updating your tracking vector, Se-hee. I spent a considerable amount of energy looking for you.”

A male student wearing a tailored, customized variation of the academy uniform strode forward, a confident, arrogant smirk plastered across his face.

The moment his voice hit her ears, Se-hee’s warm expression instantly froze into a sheet of absolute, glacial indifference. “Move out of my path, Lee Jae-shin. My brother is visiting, and my schedule is entirely booked.”

Despite her sharp dismissal, the young man didn’t move an inch, his eyes sliding over to inspect Se-hyeon with an amused, patronizing gleam.

“Oh? So this is the older brother I’ve heard so much about? Haha, what an honor. I am Lee Jae-shin. Since there is a high statistical probability that we will eventually share a family registry, it’s only fair that I join this little dialogue, right?”

Though phrased as a polite request, his tone carried the absolute certainty of an executive order. Se-hyeon’s face instantly darkened, his aura turning cold.

“That’s going to be a functional impossibility. My sister and I are currently engaged in a private family brief.”

“Ayy, why the hostile posture, hyung-nim? Do you truly not recognize my profile?” Jae-shin chuckled, tapping the gold emblem pinned to his lapel. “I am the direct, eldest grandson of Chairman Lee Dae-han of the Shinhwa Group. To put it in terms a low-tier hunter can grasp: I am absolute royal family. Now… does that piece of metadata alter your decision-making matrix?”

The piece of data was indeed substantial. The Shinhwa Group was the second-largest multi-national conglomerate in South Korea, wielding immense economic and political influence over both civil society and the Hunter Association.

Unfortunately for Lee Jae-shin, corporate net worth carried absolutely zero weight against a man who possessed the dark magic of Xerostan.

“Whether your family is classified as royalty or bronze is entirely irrelevant to my current agenda,” Se-hyeon replied, his voice dropping into a flat, dangerous register. “I will state this one final time: step aside and cease interfering with my sister.”

Jae-shin’s arrogant smile fractured instantly, his features contorting into an ugly scowl. “What? Bronze family? Ha… I extended a baseline of professional courtesy because you share blood with Se-hee, but you are severely crossing the line, old man.”

Seeing the ambient mana in the room begin to tauten, Se-hee immediately stepped between them, her shield hand dropping toward her waist.

“Lee Jae-shin. You are the only entity crossing lines here. If you do not clear this path within the next three seconds, I will personally initiate a combat trial with you right here. Do you want to find out how hard my shield hits?”

Normally, Se-hee treated his presence with passive avoidance or cold silence. Seeing her explode with such sudden, protective ferocity on behalf of her brother caused Jae-shin to flinch slightly. He quickly masked his surprise with another patronizing grin.

“Ehey, why is our little princess throwing a tantrum all of a sudden? Is it because your low-rank brother is watching? Fine, fine… relax that pretty face of yours. I know when to exit the stage.”

Casting a sharp, venomous glance at Se-hyeon, Jae-shin spun on his heel and sauntered down the corridor.

“Don’t waste a single brain cell on him, Oppa. Let’s get out of here,” Se-hee muttered, pulling at Se-hyeon’s sleeve.

As they walked out into the open courtyard, a cold, calculated irritation settled deep into Se-hyeon’s mind.

After retrieving the heavy dropped shield from the main guardhouse, the siblings navigated the paved walkways of the academy campus until they reached a secluded, heavily wooded seating area near the rear training fields.

“Whoa… what in the world is this?” Se-hee gasped, her jaw dropping as she lifted the heavy bulkhead. “The structural weight and mana conductivity are leagues above my current issued gear… Wait, Shield Stun?! To purchase that specific skill book on the open auction house costs billions of won! How does a base shield have it slotted as an innate active option? Oppa, what kind of high-tier creature did your party actually hunt?!”

The item in her hands was the Shield of Kalstadt [B-Rank], a prized drop secured directly from the Queen Arachnid. It possessed a passive 80% kinetic shock absorption matrix, but its crown jewel was the built-in active skill: Shield Stun. Upon impact, it forced a mandatory 3-second stun state on the target while exponentially multiplying the user’s aggro generation, ensuring a monster’s threat profile remained locked onto the vanguard. It was a dream asset for any professional tank, but the exorbitant market price of the skill book kept it completely out of reach for rookie hunters.

“Seeing your expression tells me the allocation was correct,” Se-hyeon said softly. “Now… pull your focus to this.”

Ensuring the line of sight was entirely clear of passing cadets, Se-hyeon unzipped his backpack and pulled out the reinforced leather potion belt.

“Huh? A utility belt? What’s this for?” Se-hee asked, accepting the heavy leather with an analytical look.

“Buckle it around your waist first,” Se-hyeon instructed with a slight smile.

Se-hee complied, snapping the heavy steel buckle into place. “It fits perfectly, but… it doesn’t register any active artifact mana signature. What does it do?”

“The belt features twenty isolated, independent containment cells—ten on the left flank, ten on the right. Pop open the first latch on the left side.”

Curious, Se-hee reached down and flipped the silver locking mechanism.

CLICK!

The leather hood sprang back, revealing a small, flawlessly clear glass vial filled with a shimmering, deep crimson fluid. She carefully drew the vial from its padded cell.

“A… glass vial?”

The moment her fingers maintained contact with the glass, the system’s identification protocols bypassed her sensory filter, populating a glowing text window in her consciousness.

“H-Heh?! What is this?! A health potion?!”

Potions were a foundational staple within virtual reality games and fantasy literature, but within the established laws of Earth’s awakened reality, they were a complete myth. Healing was strictly a manifestation of active holy magic channeled by registered Clerics or Priests. Yet, an actual, tangible liquid cure was sitting directly in her palm.

“While your current academy schedule doesn’t present many trauma risks, you mentioned a live-field expedition is scheduled on your calendar soon,” Se-hyeon explained, his voice entirely even. “Real gates don’t respect academic safety rules. If a tactical failure occurs and your line breaks, consume it without hesitation. The left flank houses ten Lowest-Grade Health Potions; the right flank contains ten Lowest-Grade Mana Potions. Deploy them according to the battlefield variables.”

Se-hee stared at her brother, her breath hitching as she clutched the vial tightly. “Se-hyeon… trace the logic for me. This is impossible. An alchemical consumable does not exist in our global database. Did you… did you harvest this from a hidden treasure chest inside a gate?”

Se-hyeon gave a small, ambiguous nod. “From a strict technical standpoint, yes, it originates from a dungeon source. Furthermore, you must maintain an absolute information blackout regarding these items. I’m not asking you to die to protect the secret—if your life is in jeopardy, pull the pin and drink it immediately. But do not advertise its existence to the faculty or your peers. Understood?”

Since the potions were manufactured using an alchemy skill derived from a dungeon-spawned artifact, his explanation wasn’t technically a fabrication. However, until his personal combat power scaled to a point where he could comfortably crush any state-level threat that attempted to seize him, the existence of Kaltraven’s crafting legacy would remain entirely off the grid.

“Haa… my brain can barely process the data,” Se-hee breathed, staring at the glowing crimson fluid. “An actual potion… I’m looking at it, and I still feel like my eyes are lying to me.”

“We’ll leave the item processing for later,” Se-hyeon pivoted, his tone shifting into something significantly sharper. “Let’s return to the previous data point. Who exactly is that clown from the lobby?”

The brief interaction with Lee Jae-shin had been festering in the back of his mind.

“Uh? Ah… Lee Jae-shin?” Se-hee waved her hand dismissively, though her eyes dropped. “You don’t need to waste your processing power on him, Oppa.”

Se-hyeon stepped closer, his gaze locking onto hers with absolute seriousness. “I am re-issuing the query, Se-hee. Who is he, and what has he been doing?”

Recognizing the rare, unyielding intensity in her brother’s eyes, Se-hee realized she couldn’t deflect the issue. She let out a heavy, defeated sigh.

“Haa… it’s like this…”

Over the next few minutes, she laid out the internal political landscape of the academy.

As a verified B-rank prodigy possessing both top-tier combat talent and striking visuals, Se-hee had naturally become the central focus of the cadet body. Lee Jae-shin, utilizing the massive economic weight of the Shinhwa Group as his personal weapon, had initiated an aggressive, relentless courtship campaign.

Se-hee, completely single-minded regarding her hunter training and possessing a deep-seated revulsion for heirs who relied entirely on ancestral capital, had systematically rejected every single one of his advances.

But as the months passed, Jae-shin’s behavior morphed from arrogant pursuit into systemic harassment.

Using his family’s immense leverage, he had systematically isolated her within the student body—threatening or bribing any cadet who attempted to form a party or friendship with her, effectively leaving her socially quarantined.

Furthermore, he had used corporate donations to compromise several faculty members, ensuring that Se-hee was continuously assigned highly irregular, overly punitive solo training objectives while facing constant bureaucratic friction. Because the Shinhwa Group poured billions of won into the Hunter Association and the Academy’s research grants, the administration turned a completely blind eye to his behavior.

“Why was this information withheld from me until today?” Se-hyeon asked, his voice deathly quiet.

Se-hee avoided his gaze, her fingers tightening around her new shield. “Because it’s my trial. I calculated that I should resolve my own school issues. You were already carrying enough structural stress trying to keep our lives afloat… and you were so incredibly happy when you finally awakened your core. I didn’t want to pollute your focus with corporate politics.”

“Haa… Se-hee, we are a family unit,” Se-hyeon countered, his tone soft but unyielding. “There is no segregation of trials within a family. We distribute the load. We solve the variables together.”

“Oh, really?” Se-hee shot back, her defensive walls flaring up. “Then why did you spend years breaking your spine in E-rank gates without ever sharing your exhaustion with me? Why didn’t you distribute that load?”

Se-hyeon didn’t flinch, dismantling her argument with cold, systemic logic. “Because during that timeline, I was a legal adult and you were a minor. The structural roles dictate the distribution of responsibility. Had you been an adult, I would have shared the metrics. But your current operational objective is to remain a student and maximize your growth. This corporate interference completely distorts that objective.”

Se-hee opened her mouth to argue, but found her logic entirely locked down. “…”

“Se-hee,” Se-hyeon continued, his voice dropping into a low, chilling whisper. “If this was a simple behavioral dispute between two standard students, I would let you manage it. But it isn’t. The opposing entity is utilizing an external, macro-level economic titan—the Shinhwa Group—to crush your environment. That completely exceeds the defensive capabilities of an isolated cadet.”

The moment Lee Jae-shin introduced corporate coercion to isolate a minor, the scenario transitioned from an academic squabble into an active external threat vector. And Se-hyeon specialized in neutralizing threats.

“So what’s your play, Oppa? What can a single D-rank hunter do against a conglomerate?” Se-hee asked, her voice tinged with worry. “Just let me handle it. Graduation is only a few months away. If I maintain absolute avoidance until then, the variable closes. I don’t want you getting caught in Shinhwa’s crosshairs.”

“Let your brother handle the architecture. Do not waste your focus on it,” Se-hyeon stated flatly.

The Shinhwa Group was a household name, meaning a significant portion of their corporate hierarchy, asset allocation, and public profiles were readily available on the public network. While their illicit operations and hidden assets were undoubtedly obscured, Se-hyeon didn’t need a comprehensive financial audit. He only needed to identify the exact lever required to shatter Lee Jae-shin’s world—and based on what he knew of high-society dynastic mechanics, finding that lever would be remarkably simple.

Before their conversation could proceed any further—

WUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU! WUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!

A deafening, high-pitched air-raid siren violently ruptured the calm of the courtyard. Simultaneously, the academy’s automated emergency broadcast system overrode every speaker on the campus grid.

[Attention all personnel. An emergency evacuation protocol is now active. All cadets are ordered to route immediately to their designated subterranean bunkers. This is not a drill.]

The sudden, violent shift in the environment left both siblings momentarily stunned.

“What? An evacuation order?” Se-hee muttered, her eyes darting toward the sky. “Is this a localized security breach?”

The system provided the secondary telemetry data almost instantly.

[Correction: A critical Wave event has manifested within the adjacent C-rank Dungeon. All active combat hunters have initiated an absolute tactical retreat and abandoned the gate structure. Dungeon Break threshold will be breached in exactly fifteen minutes. Repeat: Dungeon Break in fifteen minutes. All non-combatants evacuate immediately.]

A Dungeon Break.

The structural timer of a nearby C-rank gate had completed its countdown after the localized raid team failed to contain the internal population wave, fleeing the structure entirely. With the portal entrance effectively locked down by a concentrated mass of monsters, no conventional team could re-enter to reset the clock. The gate was about to rupture into civil space.

“A C-rank Break… Ha!” Se-hyeon snapped, his eyes flashing with sudden intensity. “Se-hee, initiate immediate routing to the bunker grid. And remember my prior directive: if any entity breaches your perimeter, do not hoard those potions. Use them.”

Seeing his hand drop toward his jacket, Se-hee gripped his wrist. “What about you, Oppa?! Don’t move toward the perimeter, come to the bunker with me!”

“I am a formally registered active Hunter, unlike the student body,” Se-hyeon explained, gently but firmly breaking her grip. “If this event was occurring kilometers away, I would ignore it. But it is manifesting right outside your campus line. The Association will issue a mandatory regional conscription order to all nearby hunters within minutes. If I ignore a local emergency call, my official standing with the Association will be heavily compromised.”

If an Irregular hunter proved entirely useless or non-compliant during a civil emergency, the leadership would quickly reclassify him as a liability rather than an asset.

Furthermore, deep within his core, Se-hyeon felt a surge of cold anticipation. His Dark Orb had undergone a massive structural amplification during his Stage 3 evolution; this unexpected event was the perfect laboratory to test its destructive ceiling against live C-rank targets.

“Then I am deploying with you!” Se-hee argued fiercely, stepping forward with her new shield. “You may be a registered professional, but you are officially a D-rank combatant! I am a B-rank Vanguard! My structural output will provide significantly more tactical value on the frontline than yours!”

Se-hyeon let out a short, amused chuckle, tapping her forehead with his index finger.

“As I stated before, sister… you have a distinct habit of looking down on your older brother. My true combat ceiling is miles above your current calculations, so clear your mind of panic. Furthermore, you may hold a B-rank classification, but your live-combat log is practically blank. You would be a liability out there. Route to the bunker and follow faculty instructions.”

Turning on his heel, Se-hyeon’s frame blurred slightly as he began a rapid sprint toward the main campus gates.

“O-Oppa! Stop!”

Before Se-hee’s boots could clear the grass to pursue him, a loud, commanding voice cut through the air from the main path.

“Cadet Jang Se-hee! What is your current operational status?! Did you fail to process the emergency audio?! Route to the subterranean shelter immediately!”

A high-ranking faculty instructor was sprinting toward her, his armor already fully materialized.

“Instructor! But my brother is—”

“No exceptions, Cadet! Due to your B-rank classification, the administration will likely conscript you and the other upperclassmen for secondary civilian rescue lines once the perimeter stabilizes! Move to the staging area and await formal command allocation immediately!”

Though it was technically an educational facility, the Academy was fundamentally a military nursery for high-potential human weapons. The third-year class was entirely comprised of C-rank combatants, with a select few elite B-ranks like Se-hee. If the professional hunter lines buckled before reinforcement matrices could arrive, the faculty would have zero qualms deploying the senior cadets as an emergency secondary bulkhead.

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