Chapter 36: Arabidopsis Thaliana

Hahoe Mask aimed to reach the story’s end without killing a single character.

To Ion, that was impossible.

Some characters, like Park Yujik, had to die for others, like Wendy Lowell, to awaken skills like Sanctuary and push the world toward a better future.

Even if Ion allied with Hahoe Mask now, they’d eventually clash over who to kill or save.

“I’m not suggesting a permanent alliance,” Tuna said, sensing Ion’s hesitation. “Just team up for the urgent task—saving Hong Insu’s family. Butterfly Mask will keep targeting them, and I can’t guard them 24/7.”

He was right.

No need to ask how long Butterfly Mask would pursue Hong Insu’s family.

They’d never stop.

Not until Hong Insu fell into despair and turned dark.

Not until Choi Jungho died, abandoned by others.

Not until Jin Seongha awakened his fourth skill.

Because they were fiercely loyal to their Breeder.

“Fine. Temporary allies,” Ion agreed.

“Wise choice.”

“Tell me about Butterfly Mask. Know their hideout?”

“I don’t know their base, but I know who attacked today.”

“…”

“One of them has a skill called Little Prince’s Box. It lets them store a lifeform in a small box and transform it into any monster, no size limit. It used to be capped at C-rank monsters, but it’s grown to B-rank. Their name is—”

“Sartya Pramata.”

Ion recited the name of an Indonesian Hunter mentioned once in the novel, a mid-story player but not a final member. Tuna’s eyes widened, surprised Ion knew the name.

Clearly, their Breeder trained not insignificant “trash” like Ion’s group but supporting characters closer to extras.

“You knew,” Tuna said. “The box can be controlled remotely, making it tricky to counter. Any ideas?”

“Guard Hong Inyoung a few more days. I’ll find a way.”

“Not brainstorming together?”

“I’ll handle it. Just stay with her until I return.”

Tuna sighed but didn’t press.

“Alright. I’d introduce my teammates, but they’re not in Korea. Next time.”

“Yeah, later.”

Ion nodded, curious about Hahoe Mask’s members.

Both had lingering questions, but they were busy people.

Before parting, Ion said, “One thing: I don’t care how you view your Breeder or if you curse them. But don’t badmouth mine in front of me.”

“Why?”

“I respect Teacher. I’m doing this to fulfill her wish.”

Tuna’s eyes widened.

“Your Breeder… didn’t abuse you?”

He sounded incredulous. Ion replied firmly, “No. She saved our lives and taught us how to survive.”

Tuna looked stunned, as if hearing the sun rose at night and the moon during the day.

“Unbelievable. Alright, I’ll avoid criticizing your Breeder.”

Not wanting to argue, he backed off.

Ion’s expression cooled as he watched Tuna leave.

Everyone thinks badly of Teacher.

Model organisms exist in science—species like Arabidopsis thaliana, fruit flies, nematodes, mice, zebrafish, and E. coli. Abundant data, easy to obtain, and simple to genetically modify, they’re vital for experiments. Without their noble sacrifice, humanity wouldn’t have advanced so far.

Yet most people don’t even know Arabidopsis thaliana exists. Only researchers who’ve worked with them cherish, appreciate, and love them.

“I’m the researcher, and you’re the model organisms fulfilling my dream. Ion is Arabidopsis, Daon is a nematode, Saon is a zebrafish, Ilon is a mouse, Seon is a fruit fly, Yeon is yeast… Kids, do you know how much I treasure you?”

Teacher tried to give value to “trash” like them.

But no one acknowledged her efforts.

“I know, Teacher,” Ion’s lonely voice dissipated into the air.

Knowing her struggles, he had no time for sentiment.

Spec-1 got two weeks’ rest after the Moshi dungeon. Next week, they’d tackle an A-rank dungeon. Ion couldn’t waste free time.

He asked Daon for black market tickets and spent days dungeon-crawling. No Demon Realm entry materials turned up.

He also checked on Shin Minji and Lee Jina, suspected Hahoe Mask members. During his talk with Tuna, Shin Minji was in a dungeon, and Lee Jina was volunteering with family.

Shin Minji seemed suspicious—she’d joined a C-rank Japan dungeon as a mercenary, the very one Ion had tipped Ryu about for lucrative materials.

If she knew the future and joined for profit, she’d come up short. Ryu’s elite squad, including Lee Dojin, was on the raid, likely claiming most byproducts.

When will I find the materials I need?

Half-resigned, Ion kept grinding dungeons. Days later, Daon called—she’d secured black market tickets.

Ion met her at Horizon’s building. Rumors of his crush on Aide Daon made them meet in a dim parking lot.

“Thanks for coming. The tickets aren’t itemized, so I had to hand them over in person. Why two? Who’s going with you?”

“Hong Insu.”

“Oh, Hong Insu…”

As Ion reached for the tickets, Daon pulled them back.

“What’re you doing with Hong Insu?”

“Got stuff to do. Hand them over.”

“Tell us your plan to deal with Butterfly Mask first.”

Ion had shared his talk with Tuna. Daon passed it to Seon, and since Saon and Ilon knew about Hahoe and Butterfly Masks, they needed to know too.

Daon was surprised another “Breeder” knew the future but accepted it quickly, having once said Hahoe and Butterfly Masks felt like looking at themselves.

“I’m buying EXP-boosting items,” Ion said.

Daon nodded, satisfied. “Good idea. Hong Insu’s a curse mage, so it fits.”

Ion took the tickets and turned to leave, but Daon stopped him.

“Seon misses you. It’s been a while, so she’s nostalgic. Got time?”

“For what? Breeder stuff?”

“No, just misses you…”

“No time.”

“Don’t be cold. We’re on the same boat, same goal. You and Seon got along well.”

Seon, like Ion, loved plants, though she preferred carnivorous ones. Her skills, while not plant-based, were intriguing.

But Ion was swamped. This week, he’d track Butterfly Mask. Next week, Spec-1’s dungeon. Next month, the U.S. and maybe a meeting with Age’s deputy leader.

“I’m really busy. We’ll cross paths naturally working with Spec-1 and the Association.”

“Alright. Don’t burn out. We’ve got nine years.”

Those nine years felt so daunting that Ion kept moving.

He parted with Daon, contacted Hong Insu to set a meeting, and boarded a train to a scheduled Hongseong dungeon.

In an era of supersonic jets and widespread car ownership, buses and trains were quiet. Ion bought two seats, placing Sansevieria beside him.

The seat’s monitor showed news: the “Moshi Dungeon Measurement System” prototype would be revealed this week—faster than the novel.

Buzz.

Ion dug into Sansevieria’s soil. The Ryu device vibrated.

It held his requested U.S. A-rank mercenary ID and Wendy Lowell’s info.

[Peter Argen / 26, Male / Deceased (unreported). Family died in Cataclysm. No known associates. Contracted for Green Realist’s Daisytown dungeon.]

A pitiful man, unreported dead, caught in Ryu’s net—a melancholic blue-eyed blonde American.

Below was Wendy Lowell’s info. With only age, gender, and non-awakened status specified, the list was endless—132 names.

So many blonde, blue-eyed, 25-year-old non-awakened Wendy Lowells?

If only the novel mentioned her hometown or job.

Already exhausting to think about.

[Anticipating your need for a disguise item, we offer an S-rank ‘Mountain Glasses.’ Please provide your inventory ID.]

Curator Sun’s kindness was appreciated, but Ion had to decline.

[Thank you, but I have a disguise item. Contact me when the Age executive meeting is set. Thanks.]

Daisytown’s first raid was next month. Until then, he’d grind dungeons for Demon Realm materials.

Ion closed his tired eyes, seeking sleep.

The musty smell, the train’s clatter, the hard seat—no issue for a weary Hunter.

But ten minutes later, he opened his eyes.

Sleep? No way. Let’s read those Wendy Lowell profiles.

For a busy Hunter, a nap was indeed a problem.