Being A Full-Time Employee C47

Chapter 47

Hunters knew well enough that even if they technically could leave the Bureau, there was no real benefit in it. Renewal clauses in their contracts were ignored as useless formalities. Only I, a freelancer guide, cared to notice. Why? Because one of my old partners had been the very first hunter in the Bureau’s history to resign.

“I’d rather die in the streets like an ordinary person. Even if I get caught in a dungeon outbreak and go down unlucky, I’d rather live—and die—just as a plain human.”

That was the reason he gave. I half-understood, half could not. Even when we pretended to mingle with the masses, we were never the same.

And powers didn’t fade from disuse. They were too tied into our bodies. Like a third arm, or a third leg—like a reflex when your knee is hit, Hunter Wonu sometimes brought water without thought instead of pouring it. Abilities spilled out unconsciously.

That was why everyone stayed at the Bureau. If sparks shot from your sneeze, or stone spread over your skin at a jump-scare, at least here among monsters, you weren’t strange.

So no, I wasn’t hoping Wonu would quit next time his contract renewed. I hadn’t even asked his will. I just… wanted to know when he would even have the chance to think about his life. Or maybe that was only my secret wish.

“All right then. After you go into the dungeon, I’ll tell you. In detail.”
“Your ‘details’ are never good, Chief.”

I grimaced, and Kang just laughed. He tossed me a paper file. Inside were prediction maps—upcoming dungeon outbreak zones.

“One of these three will be uncertain, in my view.”
“This one…”
“I hope it’s not the second candidate, though that’s my hunch. What about you, Guide Yang? Which would you pick?”

He asked like we were choosing a restaurant for dinner. I couldn’t answer so lightly. At last, all I could say—like a smoker in a no-smoking building—was:
“As long as it’s not the second.”

But life always had its cruel sense of timing. The ones you pray against? They’re always the ones. That was how my life had played out, time after time.

I shut my eyes, anxious. Wonu’s contract renewal, and whether he’d ever get to choose—it mattered less than I’d thought. I should’ve ignored it all, just waited out the year, and left. Instead, belated regrets knotted in my throat.

“Strange how they haven’t deployed us in a while,” Wonu mused aloud, placing stones over a mobile omok board.

My head rested in his lap as I reread a book. I tapped the cover absently. I thought I knew why.

Kang didn’t care for us—he cared for our data. He wanted us to be at peak condition, like a machine at maximum efficiency at the moment of test. That was why.

Everyone knew—even if his official title was Chief, Kang practically ran research. His moral rot aside, his contributions couldn’t be denied. Accursed results-over-process world.

“We should just enjoy it, this lull.”

I spoke calmly, even to my own ears. Inside, I was just as restless.

Then I caught his chin, tilted his face down to look at me.
“Wonu.”
“Mm?”

Now and then he answered in banmal when I called his name.

“If you could leave the Bureau, would you?”

I had asked before about his renewal period. His face had been blank, like hearing a foreign word he’d never known existed. That was when the dread began.

How long had he even been here? How deep the years, buried? The question felt like a bomb’s trigger, one never to be touched. So instead, I asked sideways.

Time between deployments grew longer, and my doubts grew fatter. Was I being meddling, presumptuous? Still—I had to know his will.

“If I could leave with Hyung,” he said simply. “Then yes.”

Always, his words struck like arrows. I gazed at his long lashes, his heavy eyes, and laughed.

“All right.”

That was enough. I wasn’t urging him to act. Just asking. Since all his files were locked away above my clearance anyway.

We could wait till his renewal, then go together. Pool savings, buy a decent Green Zone house. Wonu had plenty of money; I some. Together, enough.

“Good then.”
“Why?” he asked as he bent down, wrapping me in his arms.

I thought to tell him—but didn’t. I didn’t know the truth of his bond with Kang. Running my mouth wasn’t smart.

“Just asking.”
“Haah. I’m happy. Wish this time could just freeze.”

He, too, was just asking, nothing more binding. Sunlight warmed us both, slowness of the hour made heavy eyes. Three o’clock nap-time, after full bellies.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if nothing ever happened again…”
“Hey. Don’t jinx—”

One of the three unsayable curses. Like in ERs or firehouses: It sure is quiet today. In our work, it was: Let’s hope nothing happens.

And sure enough, the broadcast tore through.

—Blue Code triggered. Probable A-minus dungeon. Teams 1, 2, 3 deploy. Outbreak location…

“…See? You say it, and it happens,” I groaned. Ban those words for life.

I glared, but Wonu only grinned.
“At least we’re a workplace couple. We’re always together.”

Horrifying statement. Workplace couple meaning—no clocking out. Forever bound in hell.

And worse, the command continued:
—…City Hall Station. Assembly within one minute.

That sealed it. Outbreak location—the worst one. Candidate two.

I wasn’t even surprised. I’d been braced. Ever since I’d read that cursed prediction sheet.

“The price was too cheap,” I muttered, standing to lace my boots.

I thumbed a message out hastily, typos ignored. A demand, not a question: If Wonu’s renewal neared, end his contract with mine.

From Kang came two letters: OK. Like a KO punch. Bad omen. I shook my head clear.

“Wonu.”

He buckled belt straps, blades and magazines braced across his chest.

“On our next leave—let’s see another movie, yeah?”

His smile lit everything. Not pity, not sympathy. Not charity. I wanted to give him more. Call it love, even. My first indulgence since the dungeons came.

Inside the transport, we finally got full briefing. It was an open-type dungeon.

Ninety percent here were closed-type: sealed ecosystems cut off by dungeon zones. Open-types, by contrast, bled into surroundings. That rarity was what made them dangerous.

Code “Blue” meant low encroachment speed but high instability within. But no one could be sure. Kang had warned uncertain dungeons would be back soon.

Could this be ordinary? If it was just a normal open-type—they’d call espers, throw every tech at it, block off, and wait for collapse.

But with Blue Code and three whole teams dispatched? It was the location. City Hall Station. If open—and uncertain—both at once.

“Fuck. As if.”

Someone had voiced us all.

I raised my head slowly. In a corner, Hyungmin sat pale. His partner bent whispering to him—offering shaky reassurances.