Chapter 6: A Dream of the Past and a Desperate Awakening

His consciousness drifted somewhere in the realm of his mind. Shin Ji-ho quietly succumbed to this familiar sensation he often felt.

For the past two years, whenever he was unconscious, Shin Ji-ho’s consciousness had drifted like this, without purpose.

He couldn’t precisely recall what he had witnessed then, yet the sensations remained vivid.

A faint yearning. And an inexplicable sorrow, too.

According to his family and caregivers, during his unconscious state, Shin Ji-ho had often wept, seemingly in response to something unknown.

He had no idea what dreams he had been having all that time.

Even after regaining consciousness, the past would occasionally resurface in the form of these dreams.

‘This was a dream, not reality.’

‘And it was an event from the past.’

Shin Ji-ho, clearly aware that this dream reflected his past, slowly moved his eyes.

The world within the dream began to take form, materializing in his consciousness.

His vision brightened considerably. Before his eyes, curtains bathed in brilliant light fluttered like shadows cast by white clouds.

Beyond them, rows of wooden and iron desks and chairs were neatly arranged. Someone’s voice echoed faintly from a distance, accompanied by boisterous footsteps.

It was a familiar scene, yet one nestled in a somewhat distant memory. This was a classroom, moments after school lessons had concluded.

Even within the dream, his senses felt startlingly real. The warmth of another person settled upon his arm, which was sticky with lingering heat.

Ji-ho lowered his gaze to his arm.

Beneath the white school uniform shirt, his pale wrist was firmly grasped by a hand far larger and stronger than his own.

‘Wake up from your dream, Shin Ji-ho.’

Joo Yi-won’s voice, full of playful teasing, reached him. Shin Ji-ho lifted his head.

However, due to the backlight streaming through the window, he couldn’t discern the exact expression on the other person’s face.

Only a faintly visible, smiling curve of the lips struck him with a pang of nostalgia.

‘What dream am I supposed to wake up from?’

Shin Ji-ho’s own voice, as he posed the question, sounded unfamiliar to him. It was a petulant tone, yet it overflowed with affection.

Joo Yi-won’s lips, curved into a relaxed smile, slowly parted.

For a fleeting moment, he caught sight of the other’s eyes. A gaze so tender and gentle, as if beholding the most precious person in the world…

‘The one where you’re first place. You’ll be second again next time, and you can’t beat me.’

‘No, that bastard!’

“Ugh…”

Shin Ji-ho awoke from his dream, utterly infuriated.

Joo Yi-won, that damn bastard. Had he really said such a thing?

Though his teasing wasn’t a new occurrence, it still infuriated Ji-ho every time he remembered it.

In a fit of pique, he tried to sit up immediately, but his head spun violently.

“Why didn’t you just die? You woke up?”

As he clutched his head, Seon Tae-woong’s gruff voice reached him. Ji-ho frowned, turning his head towards the sound.

Perhaps due to the impact he’d sustained before collapsing, his vision hadn’t immediately returned to normal.

“Oh, how splendid. Always full of surprises, aren’t we?”

“Just a moment, I’ll be fine soon.”

“You can just stay put. We’re both dead anyway.”

It wasn’t quite the usual taunt; his voice held a subtle lack of energy.

Only then did Shin Ji-ho recall the situation just before he lost consciousness.

The darkness that had enveloped and swallowed both of them before they could even react.

It was a scenario he had only ever witnessed in archived video footage.

Shin Ji-ho observed his surroundings, a feeling of disbelief churning within him.

Though he had been in the heart of Seoul just moments ago, he was now inside a space where sunlight did not penetrate.

The distinct bright glow of the sun, which typically spread across his eyelids, was entirely absent.

As soon as he registered the anomaly of the space, a metallic, fishy smell assailed him.

His body, slumped at an angle, was supported by crumbling, uneven rock – a far cry from the asphalt pavement touched by human hands.

As his vision slowly returned, he saw colossal rock formations that could never be found in the middle of Seoul.

An unknown space, a sudden transference. There was only one conclusion.

They had entered a Dungeon through a Gate.

“A Dungeon…”

“Yes, we’re inside a Dungeon.”

It had been predicted as an F-rank Rift, yet a Dungeon had appeared…

In truth, Rifts and Gates were intrinsically the same entity.

However, Rifts appeared in chaotic forms, spewing monsters from their openings.

Over time, they would simply vanish, much like a wound healing.

A Gate, on the other hand, signified a Rift that had expanded and evolved into a door-like structure.

The space beyond the door was presumed to be another dimension, and every single one was connected to a Dungeon.

Monsters also poured out from Gates connected to Dungeons, but Dungeons absolutely had to be cleared within a set timeframe.

The clear condition was almost always the defeat of the boss monster.

Moreover, the act of clearing a Dungeon, known as a ‘raid,’ was exclusively the domain of A-rank or higher guilds.

In other countries, where Hunters were scarce, B-rank or C-rank guilds often undertook Dungeon raids. However, Korea boasted the highest number of Hunters per capita.

As A-rank guilds alone were sufficient to clear Dungeons, those of mid-tier or lower ranks had no connection to them.

In other words, Dungeons were entities far removed from Noname and Shin Ji-ho.

Until just now.

An F-rank Rift expanding into a Gate?

While miscalculations occasionally occurred, such a significant deviation was exceedingly rare.

Seeing Ji-ho’s expression turn increasingly desperate with each passing moment, Seon Tae-woong sighed.

“The guys roaming the passages seemed at least B-rank. That means the boss is at least S-rank. If we’re unlucky, it could even be SS-rank.”

…

“It’s a shame you woke up; you would’ve died peacefully if you hadn’t. Should I have shown you mercy and killed you before you woke?”

Though he spoke with sarcasm, this time, his words were akin to a blessing.

If the boss truly was S-rank or higher, the probability of the two of them defeating it was infinitesimally close to zero.

“It’s better to choose one: starve to death or commit suicide.”

“Are you serious?”

“They say starving is agonizing, so suicide might be the easier option.”

Unlike his usual confident self, Seon Tae-woong murmured gloomily, his eyes deeply sunken.

However, given the dire circumstances, Ji-ho felt no inclination to mock his dejected state.

Generally, Dungeons are categorized into four main types: Open, Closed, Collection, and Special.

Among them, Dungeons that suddenly ambush and trap people inside, like this one, are classified as Collection-type.

This was different from Open-type Dungeons, where the Gate remained permanently open, allowing free entry and exit.

It also differed from Closed-type Dungeons, where the Gate sealed shut once a certain number of individuals entered, or Special-type Dungeons, which only permitted those meeting specific conditions to pass through the Gate.

Collection-type Dungeons ensnared people near their Gates, as if hunting them. Like Closed-type Dungeons, they then completely sealed their Gates.

Once a Gate was sealed, external entry became impossible, making it impossible to request aid.

For the sealed entrance of a Closed-type or Collection-type Dungeon to reopen, everyone trapped inside had to die, or those trapped had to escape by fulfilling specific conditions.

And that condition was typically the defeat of the boss monster, found in the deepest part of most Dungeons.

For that reason, whenever a Collection-type Dungeon had been discovered in the past, the initial discoverers had almost always perished.

After all, an ordinary person could never defeat a Dungeon boss.

If a Hunter was the first discoverer, it was generally considered fortunate… but unfortunately, their current situation was far from ideal.

If Seon Tae-woong’s assessment was correct, this Dungeon was excessively high-ranked. It would be impossible for two Hunters, one A-rank and one B-rank, to clear it.

Shin Ji-ho bit his lip, watching Seon Tae-woong curse and tear at his hair. Ji-ho’s own mind was equally troubled.

‘Mom, Dad…’

The first people who flashed through his mind were his parents.

Unlike his older brother or sister, who had been raised in a strict environment to inherit the family business, Ji-ho had grown up showered only with love, his parents simply wishing for him to be healthy.

Consequently, his parents cherished him immensely.

He recalled his parents’ fervent pleas, urging him to drink or do drugs like other chaebol scions, anything rather than become a Hunter.

The unfilial son, who had been unconscious for two years, had rebelled against them and run away from home…

Ultimately, his parents had reluctantly supported their son, but their worries had always been immense.

And this was the outcome of it all.

What should they do now?

Committing suicide, as Seon Tae-woong suggested, was indeed one option.

If both of them were to simply take their own lives, the Dungeon would likely open immediately, and their bodies might even return intact to their parents.

But…

‘You can’t beat me.’

Joo Yi-won’s irritating face, seen in his dream, flashed into his mind.

The world’s greatest Hunter and his damn childhood friend.

Back when they were still in school, they had been somewhat evenly matched. Yi-won was always first, and Ji-ho was always second.

At least, there had been no one else between them.

Now, however, at least hundreds of thousands stood between them.

In terms of reputation, perhaps billions.

What would Yi-won think if he saw Ji-ho die so pitifully?

‘He was never going to make it anyway. If he’d just lived comfortably, he wouldn’t have died.’

Surely, he wouldn’t mock him in such a way…

…No, even if it were true, that was too far.

Even if Yi-won wouldn’t openly ridicule Ji-ho, he would likely shake off any memories of his pathetic childhood friend within a few years and simply forget him.

And he would continue to succeed, leaving his name to generations to come.

Conversely, Shin Ji-ho, though the world’s first Hunter, would be remembered in history as a figure who died in vain, his name a subject of mockery.

He would be ridiculed far more severely than now, eventually fading into oblivion.

‘I refuse.’

Ji-ho gritted his teeth and clenched his fists tightly.

His fingernails dug into his flesh, drawing blood, but the pain brought him back to his senses.

Yes, no matter how he died, it was clear he’d be made a laughingstock. How could he possibly die here?

He had to at least put up a struggle.

Ji-ho glared at Tae-woong, who was still clutching his head in despair.

“Mr. Seon Tae-woong, if you want to die, I’ll kill you.”