Being A Full-Time Employee C58

Chapter 58

“My partner isn’t safe.”
At those words, all the worries cluttering my head vanished. The storm in my mind settled into silence—so silent that I could hear my own heartbeat echoing, could almost hear ringing in the stillness.
“Three hunters died in the last dungeon. One from the first wave, two from the second.”
“…”
“Two guides died as well. I heard one of the hunters was shot to prevent him from going berserk after his guide died.”
I already knew. I had been there. I didn’t know his name, but I knew his ability—explosion. Park Hyungmin’s expression was one of shock.
I was sorry, but the truth was, I had been at that scene, and despite how much it hurt, I’d thought that killing him was the right decision. We were three floors underground. The man, fortunately, had strong control and hadn’t yet gone berserk, but he was about to. There was no way we could risk being buried alive down there. So we eliminated him. A simple, cold conclusion. I was a terrible person for believing that.
“Hyung. My partner is gone.”
Park Hyungmin’s lips trembled. His face looked familiar—chapped lips, hollow eyes. I’d worn that same expression once, and the déjà vu made my stomach turn. I looked away. I knew too well that no comfort could help him.
“Aren’t hunters… supposed to be hard to kill?”
“…”
“They’re ridiculously strong—they kill monsters all the time… They heal fast, they move faster, see farther, hear better. People even call them monsters. So why do they die?”
Hyungmin sounded like a child, sniffling and rambling in shock. He was clearly not used to this line of work. He looked exactly like I did when I lost my first partner—clumsy, despairing, and painfully naïve.
I lowered my gaze. I had entered this world before I had any formed prejudice about hunters. Hyungmin, in contrast, had probably joined after hearing every rumor and story the public told about hunters and guides.
I knew how the outside world saw hunters. Once every dungeon was conquered—and people realized the end might really come—they began to wonder: What if those monsters turn on us?
But once you join and see for yourself, you realize hunters aren’t so different. Yes, they have strange powers. They move faster, tire slower, see and hear better than others. But after killing monsters, they can’t eat meat again for days; their therapy schedules are overbooked; they grieve when comrades die and swear they’ll quit this hellish job.
And yet they stay—because if they leave, they truly become monsters. At least in here, everyone’s the same kind of monster. Nothing about them is special anymore.
Looking at Hyungmin crying for one of those ordinary monsters, I spoke in a low voice:
“Hyungmin. Quit this job.”
“What?”
He looked shocked—angry, even. No consolation, no comfort, and suddenly that. But who else could tell him something like this except me?
“Quit while you can. You’re lucky. You joined through an agency first.”
“Hyung, you really shouldn’t be saying that right now.”
“No. Now’s exactly the time to say it. It’s time for you to leave.”
I craved a cigarette. But lighting up right after having a hole sealed in my lung wasn’t the best idea. My hand fumbled through empty pockets instead. I wondered where Wonu was. The thought surfaced faintly. Still, since Hyungmin hadn’t brought him up, that probably meant he wasn’t dead.
“If you start crying for hunters, you’re never coming back. Cut your ties now, Hyungmin. You’re not desperate for this job.”
“Then why do you keep doing this? Why stay?”
“I’m saving for a house,” I said dryly. “And honestly, I’ve had more bad partners than good ones.”
I had done well enough so far. I’d once wavered when I lost my first partner, but fortunately, my next one was such a piece of trash that it cured me of any attachment. Every time I found a good partner, they’d cancel the contract early over small payout differences.
So I drifted from one to another, surviving like that. I thought I’d gotten good at it. And yet now, here I was, walking straight into the end of the line with my eyes open.
But I couldn’t leave. Even now, all I could think about was Chae Wonu. Even while giving this grand speech to Hyungmin, I was impatient for it to end so I could gather information about Wonu’s situation. I didn’t feel a drop of empathy for Hyungmin’s grief. I was, in every way, the worst kind of person.
“So quit while you can. You can find another way to make money—join a rescue team, maybe.”
“Hyung… this isn’t the time for that. You really picked the worst moment. I’m disappointed in you.”
“When my partner died, I went mute,” I said, staring out the window as I confessed that shameful memory. Looking back, I can’t help but laugh. Mute—what a pathetic excuse. I was just a weak kid.
“Still, I had six months left on my contract, and at that time, the Bureau was so new they had to use every guide, even ones with half their functionality. With no rapid-healing technology back then, I worked with casts and bandages covering my body, unable to speak, guiding five or six hunters every day.”
“…”
“You won’t be treated like that now. Not because our rights suddenly started mattering, but because technology exists. Rapid recovery procedures, overworked but available therapists, and enough guides to replace anyone who can’t keep up.”
“…”
“This isn’t a damn hero comic, Hyungmin. If it were me? I’d quit.”
With his head lowered, I couldn’t read his expression. I silently counted sixty seconds, wanting to give him time to process it—but I couldn’t wait any longer. I was restless, anxious, burning up with the need to know. The heat in my chest made the freshly healed puncture in my lung feel like it might rip open again.
“Park Hyungmin,” I said finally, unable to hide the agitation in my tone. “Where’s my partner?”
After all that advice about quitting, I was doing the exact opposite. Even an idiot could see it now. The one giving lofty speeches about walking away was the one who’d never escape this Bureau.
Veteran partners sometimes joke: We’re each other’s hostages. I used to think that was stupid. I changed partners every year, insisting it was purely professional.
I’d planned to do the same with Chae Wonu—and for a while, I did. But somehow, even without renewing our contract, I was already bound to him. A knot I’d tied myself, one that tightened with every passing day. Wonu was a black hole, and I was being pulled in.
“Tell me everything you know about what happened in that dungeon.”
My lips were dry as I wet them with my tongue. Hyungmin stared at me with lifeless eyes and finally began to speak in a faint voice, forcing me to listen closely.
“They said the dungeon was like a maze made up of multiple rooms. You could move to a different section once you cleared the monsters or achieved a mission.”
I vaguely remembered that our assigned mission was to exterminate the leech-like creature that swallowed vehicles whole.
“When a room was cleared, the assault team and rescue teams could enter. The rescue squads saved passengers trapped in vehicles, and the assault teams, obviously, searched for the main objective. Our team got rescued from different rooms. They think the reason the combat team couldn’t leave was because… maybe players couldn’t exit until all rooms were cleared. I don’t really know if a dungeon can be that complex, though…”
Disgusting. It was a vile design—like some board game using us as live pieces. I pressed my hands together against my mouth, nodding for him to continue.
“My partner-hyung came to save me, but he was killed by the monster that swallowed the vehicle. The leech crushed its own jaw while trying to chew through him and died as well…”
So Hyungmin must have seen it up close—his partner torn in half, dying right before his eyes. Without realizing it, I ran a dry hand over my face.
“Ah… right, you asked about your partner. You can’t see Hunter Chae Wonu right now.”
“What?”
The word came out sharp. Hyungmin didn’t react—his mind seemed elsewhere. He spoke sluggishly, mechanically.
“He’s in quarantine.”
“For what happened in the lobby?! That was self-defense—”
“It’s not because of that. Not because of another hunter.”
He hesitated, and that hesitation made my gut twist. I urged him, demanded to know. He avoided my gaze and finally confessed,
“They said he hurt his partner guide.”
“Unbelievable.”
The Bureau, usually obsessed only with results, suddenly cared about fairness? Did someone enroll them in a mandatory ethics course?
So Wonu didn’t even know what happened to me—he probably just thought he’d hurt me somehow. God. My chest tightened thinking about how he must feel. I shut my eyes and sighed over and over, trying to calm down. When I finally opened them, I asked again about the dungeon’s status.
“So the raid’s over? How’d they finish it?”
“Finish? They didn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“They haven’t cleared it. How could they know how, when it’s not done? The rooms we rescued were restored as before, but the rest of it… still remains.”
His words left me blank. This time, I was the amateur—staring stupidly, asking only, “Why? How?” until he answered.
“They said they couldn’t find the raid point. Without knowing the breakthrough method, there’s nothing to do. So for now… they’ve sealed it off, keeping it under surveillance.”
A sharp ringing filled my ears; pain throbbed through my skull. Wonu. I wanted to see Wonu. To hear him say something absurdly logical, to watch him treat disaster like it was nothing special.