Later that evening, after the visitors had given up and left in reluctant defeat, the three main residents of the apartment stood silently in the living room.

  Mu Yichen drank tea.

  Park Taegun sharpened a shield in the corner.

  Seo MinHyun flopped on the couch, sighing dramatically.

  “He didn’t even look at them,” MinHyun muttered. “The head of the Hunter Bureau practically begged.”

  “He was busy,” Yichen replied.

  “Feeding the puppy,” Taegun added.

  “…Do you think he even remembers their names?”

  The three fell silent as they glanced over to the corner of the room.

  Lee Aseok sat on the floor, hoodie slightly askew, a blanket around his legs. The puppy lay on his lap, belly up, tiny feet twitching as it dreamed.

  Aseok was watching another anime. Something bright and colorful. It looked ridiculous. The volume was low, but he was clearly focused on it.

  To be ignored by Lee Aseok was one thing.

  To be ignored alongside a top-ranking guild leader, a bureaucrat from the Hunter Bureau, and a literal national emergency?

  Now that was another level of humiliation.

  Mu Yichen, Seo MinHyun, and Park Taegun had watched the scene unfold in the hallway without comment.

  At least, not out loud. They simply stood behind the door, sipping tea, observing like passive spectators while the most powerful people in the country crumbled before a young man wrapped in a hoodie and a blanket burrito.

  “I think he might actually be a god,” Seo MinHyun muttered later that night, arms crossed as he sat backwards on a dining chair. “Like. A petty one. With mood swings. And a cute face.”

  “He’s not a god,” Taegun replied, unfazed. “Gods acknowledge prayer. He doesn’t.”

  “…Worse than a god,” MinHyun concluded with a dramatic sigh.

  Lee Aseok, of course, ignored all of this.

  As usual.

  MinHyun who accidentally heard Lee Aseok calling the puppy “Pudding” went to complain to Mu Yichen about Aseok’s naming skills.

  Wherever Lee Aseok went, Pudding went too, tail wagging gently, expression passive, as if it too had inherited the emotional vacuum of its human.

  It never barked.

  It never whined.

  It simply existed, just like Aseok, quiet, still, watching the world with disinterest and a faint look of disdain.

  At first, they thought it was a coincidence.

  But by the days, it became clear that the puppy was imitating him.

  It blinked slowly. Walk only when necessary. Took long naps at awkward angles, limbs sprawled out just like its master.

  And worst of all?

  It ignored them too.

  No tail wags. No puppy eyes. Not even a curious sniff.

  Just... indifference.

  Mu Yichen tried feeding it a boiled egg once, cut perfectly, seasoned lightly. The puppy stared at him. Then turned around and walked away.

  Mu Yichen stood in silence, the egg still in his hand.

  “Don’t take it personally,” MinHyun said, barely holding in laughter. “It ignores everyone. Like its owner. They’re a matching set of disdain.”

  The holy sword, meanwhile, was in a state of existential crisis.

  Left untouched and discarded in the weapon rack, it was forced to witness its wielder oil and polish a rusty iron rod instead, a battered, heavy piece of metal that looked like it had been fished out of a junkyard.

  It wasn’t even magical.

  But Aseok cared for it.

  He wiped it clean with a cloth, oiled its joints, even adjusted the worn leather grip.

  The holy sword, which had once gleamed in the spotlight, worshipped as a divine artifact, was now the equivalent of a rejected decorative spoon in the back of the drawer.

  If it had a mouth, it was weeping.

  On the other hand,

  Mu Yichen tried.

  He really did.

  “Do you want tea?” he asked one evening, carefully placing a cup beside Aseok on the couch. “I added honey. You liked it last time.”

  No reply.

  Only the sound of anime theme music playing in the background. On screen, brightly colored characters screamed about friendship and inner power.

  Aseok didn’t even look away from the screen.

  Yichen sat beside him anyway, quietly. Just for the chance to be close.

  The silence stretched.

  Then Aseok slowly lifted the cup.

  Sipped once.

  Put it back.

  Didn’t comment.

  Yichen smiled faintly to himself.

  It was the first win of the week.

  Seo MinHyun had tried a different route.

  “If I were an orphan raised by selfish relatives who stole my money,” he declared dramatically one morning, arms wide, “I too would watch anime and make society suffer by doing absolutely nothing.”

  Taegun didn’t look up from his notepad. “You are not helping.”

  “Just saying,” MinHyun grinned. “The guy’s got style. If he dropped a mixtape right now, the entire nation would stream it out of guilt.”

  He spun around. “Should I fake cry in front of him? Think it’ll unlock his humanity?”

  Taegun deadpanned. “He’d probably mute you.”

  MinHyun paused.

  “…Fair.”

  And then came the phrase.

  The phrase that killed the last shred of hope they were clinging to.

  It came without warning, during a casual lunch, when the world outside was still trying to reach him.

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  Taegun had just returned from the Hunter Bureau.

  MinHyun was throwing grapes into his mouth and missing half.

  Yichen was cooking stir-fry in the kitchen.

  Aseok, meanwhile, sat on the couch with his knees tucked under him, scrolling through anime thumbnails with the remote.

  And then, flatly, casually, with zero emotion, he spoke.

  “Humans suffering….how amusing.”

  The room fell dead silent.

  Taegun turned his head.

  MinHyun choked on a grape.

  Yichen froze mid-stir.

  The only one who didn’t react was Pudding, who yawned and snuggled deeper into Aseok’s lap.

  “…Was that a joke?” MinHyun asked slowly, eyes wide.

  “Nope,” Taegun said.

  “I think he meant it.”

  Yichen didn’t speak. But his fingers tightened slightly around the ladle.

  Aseok didn’t clarify.

  Didn’t look up.

  Just hit play on the next episode.

  The world outside was crumbling.

  Guilds were scrambling. Governments were negotiating with other nations to prepare backup response teams. Gates continued to spike without pattern or mercy.

  And here, in this Mu’s apartment in Seoul, a former hero who once saved the world was now sharing rice crackers with a newborn puppy while watching cartoons.

  He was eating well.

  Sleeping deeply.

  And he hadn’t smiled once.

  To the people of the world, Lee Aseok was a mystery.

  To the three golden-tier hunters living under the same roof, he was a daily lesson in helplessness.

  And to Pudding, he was simply home.

  The hero they all needed didn’t want to be found.

  And honestly?

  He didn’t care.

  There came a point where even the most arrogant men learned humility.

  It was not from losing a battle.

  Not from failing a mission.

  But from watching a man, half-buried in a blanket, absently scratching a sleeping puppy’s ears while ignoring the world on fire outside.

  It wasn’t just the holy sword anymore.

  It had started with being ignored.

  Then forgotten.

  Then neglected, dusted only once a week by Park Taegun out of pity.

  Since he can’t touch it, he did his best, while its master lovingly polished an old iron rod with the tenderness of a blacksmith nurturing his first creation.

  The holy sword could practically feel the betrayal.

  Seo MinHyun even swore the sword glowed a bit less every time it was passed over.

  “It’s dimmer,” he whispered one morning, poking at it with a chopstick. “I think it’s depressed.”

  “Tools don’t get depressed,” Taegun said.

  “You don’t know that,” MinHyun hissed back. “It’s a sacred artifact with divine resonance. I’m telling you, it has feelings.”

  “You’re projecting.”

  “Then explain why it keeps vibrating every time Aseok pets the iron rod like a favorite cat…”

  Mu Yichen walked past them, holding a lunch tray.

  He didn’t comment.

  He was used to this by now.

  Inside the apartment, nothing had changed.

  Lee Aseok was draped across the couch like he’d grown there.

  He wore an oversized black hoodie and grey sweatpants. His hair was slightly mussed. His eyes barely moved as he watched two anime characters scream about justice and betrayal for the sixth consecutive episode.

  In his arms, the puppy, Pudding, lay belly-up, front paws curled and tiny tail twitching every time Aseok lazily scratched under its chin.

  The world was going insane.

  People were pleading for him to return.

  But here, it was just animated sword fights, snack wrappers, and a serenity so unsettling it made gods nervous.

  And then the front doorbell rang.

  Seo MinHyun answered it.

  For once, he didn’t wear a smirk.

  His signature flamboyant arrogance was nowhere in sight. He stood with his hands in his pockets, posture loose but eyes serious.

  When he opened the door, three powerful presences stood before him.

  Qin Yue, master of the Shadow Guild, known as the "Black Widow" of the Hunter world. Elegant, unreadable, deadly.

  Mu Haejoon, master of the Hunter Guild, towering, authoritative, and colder than a northern battlefield.

  And last but never least

  Kang Juwon.

  Guildmaster of the Moon Guild. Beautiful, smiling, and quietly terrifying.

  “Wow,” Seo MinHyun said after a pause. “ What a surprise.

  Then he sighed and stepped aside.

  They entered with quiet footsteps, but their presence was anything but subtle.

  The air in the apartment shifted.

  Qin Yue’s gaze scanned the surroundings like a blade. Her expression was unreadable, though the slight raise of her brow at the plushie pile beside the couch betrayed some surprise.

  Mu Haejoon stood tall behind her, arms crossed, expression grim.

  Juwon, however, walked a step slower. His eyes found Aseok immediately.

  The living room was dimly lit by the soft glow of a massive TV screen.

  Animated characters screamed in passion and grief, battling for their lives over a cup of spilled ramen or the honor of friendship.

  In front of the screen, stretched across the couch like a sleepy demigod, was Lee Aseok.

  Casual black hoodie. One leg half off the edge. Blankets like battle banners thrown carelessly around him.

  In his lap, the tiny puppy, Pudding, was busy gnawing on a plushie shaped like a dragon.

  Occasionally, Aseok lifted a hand to wiggle his fingers, and the puppy responded by spinning in circles and collapsing in glee.

  He didn’t look up when the three visitors entered.

  Didn’t pause.

  Didn’t blink.

  Just adjusted the volume slightly up and continued watching anime.

  For any other person, this would’ve been seen as rudeness. Disrespect. Insult.

  But for Lee Aseok?

  It was routine.

  Being ignored by him had become a sort of strange honour, a sign you weren’t special enough to disturb his peace.

  So none of the three took offence.

  Instead, they sat.

  Qin Yue chose the corner of the L-shaped sofa. Kang Juwon took the middle seat, uncomfortably close to Aseok, and smiled like a prince offering a rose to a sleeping lion. Mu Haejoon picked the armrest, sighing as if forced into babysitting duty again.

  None of them spoke.

  They simply watched him.

  Like he was some rare endangered creature that might disappear if startled.

  Qin Yue looked exhausted.

  Her usual composure, flawless and untouchable, was still intact, but only barely. Beneath her sharp eyes, faint shadows had begun to form.

  She hadn’t rested.

  Hadn’t eaten properly.

  Every major guild was in a frenzy trying to predict the next dungeon break. Nothing followed logic anymore.

  But the core reason for her sleeplessness sat before her, legs tangled in a blanket, eating shrimp crackers while watching episode 109 of “My Cat Turned into a Dragon Hero.”

  Kang Juwon, however, looked amused.

  He leaned forward slightly, elbow on knee, chin in palm, eyes glimmering.

  He didn’t speak either.

  His presence was light, friendly, and warm on the surface. But under it lay the twisted curiosity of someone fascinated with things no sane person should be.

  And Mu Haejoon…

  He just sighed again.

  Like a teacher called back from retirement to deal with one particular delinquent who’d burned the school down and then asked if they were still getting recess.

  Seo MinHyun leaned against the wall, arms crossed, expression blank.

  It wasn’t even dramatic anymore.

  It was just Tuesday.

  Still, the image of three powerful guildmasters seated obediently around one man who didn’t even look at them would be talked about in back rooms and quiet whispers for years to come.

  Lee Aseok’s silence was a force.

  Not just of habit, but of domination.

  Fifteen minutes later, the front door opened again.

  Two figures stepped inside, dusted with dungeon ash and battle exhaustion.

  Mu Yichen and Park Taegun.

  Yichen’s sharp eyes scanned the room immediately.

  He paused only a second when he saw the trio on the couch, his mother, his uncle, and Kang Juwon.

  He didn’t ask questions.

  He simply walked forward with that same respectful grace, bowed lightly, and greeted them.

  “Mother. Uncle.”

  Qin Yue nodded. Mu Haejoon raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  Juwon simply hummed, never looking away from Aseok.

  Park Taegun followed.

  He gave a short bow and a calm, efficient greeting before sitting down in the remaining chair. His soldier’s posture contrasted with the strange domestic chaos around him.

  Then all eyes, again, returned to Lee Aseok.

  Still lying on the couch.

  Still not acknowledging anyone.

  Still tossing crackers to Pudding like a benevolent god of leisure.

  There were seven people in the room now.

  Seven highly ranked hunters and guild leaders.

  But the atmosphere was… quiet. Controlled. Slightly ridiculous.

  Aseok didn’t say a word.

  Didn’t flinch when Mu Yichen sat a little closer.

  Didn’t blink when Taegun casually passed a drink to MinHyun.

  Didn’t even move when Qin Yue’s gaze sharpened into something knife-like.

  Instead…

  He picked up the remote.

  Turn the volume up.

  And continued watching his anime.

  Mu Haejoon pinched the bridge of his nose.

  Qin Yue let out a small exhale through her nose.

  Kang Juwon grinned and tilted his head.

  Seo MinHyun stared at the ceiling like he was trying to make a deal with whatever higher being was watching.

  “Should’ve gone to medical school,” he muttered to no one. “Or opened a bakery. Or moved to Iceland. Somewhere far. Cold. Peaceful.”

  Pudding barked once and sneezed, tail wagging violently.

  Lee Aseok scratched its head.

  Still not a word.

  It was absurd.

  Terrifying.

  Almost poetic.

  That a man who didn’t speak, didn’t smile, and didn’t try could bend the highest pillars of power into an awkward tea party around his couch.

  But that was Lee Aseok.

  And none of them could deny it.

  Not anymore.

  Because power, charm, politics, and rank meant nothing to someone who had already died once for the world.

  Now?

  He just wanted peace.

  The anime played on, loud and unapologetically dramatic.

  A knight screamed something about friendship and honor as the final boss revealed its second phase.

  Lee Aseok, half-lounged on the couch with a puppy tucked under one arm, reached for a snack without even glancing at the six powerful figures surrounding him.

  It was like watching a god ignore the pleas of mortals.

  A very tired, emotionally drained, politically influential group of mortals.

  The room had been quiet for too long.

  Too still.

  Until finally, Qin Yue broke.

  Her cold voice cut through the cheerful chaos on the screen.

  “Aseok.”

  No reaction.

  “Aseok,” she repeated, sharper this time. “Stop acting stubborn. You may not want the title, but the world needs a hero right now. You..”

  Lee Aseok didn’t move.

  Instead, he picked up the remote.

  And turned the volume higher.

  A dramatic anime ending song burst into the room like a marching band. Pudding barked in rhythm. Lee Aseok leaned into the couch cushions as if Qin Yue’s words were white noise.

  Qin Yue’s expression cracked..just slightly.

  “…Unbelievable,” she muttered.

  Mu Haejoon exhaled through his nose, adjusting his suit like a man preparing for battle.

  “The world’s collapsing,” he said calmly. “Gates are breaking. Dungeon maps are warping. We’ve lost over four hundred ranks in the past three weeks alone.”

  Still nothing.

  “The world is in chaos,” he continued, voice low. “The people are scared. They need someone to lead them.”

  The credits rolled.

  In the corner, the holy sword trembled once, as if sighing.

  Lee Aseok ignored them.

  The puppy flipped onto its back with a soft squeak, demanding belly rubs.

  Lee Aseok gave them.

  Perfectly content. Perfectly silent.

  Kang Juwon watched it all with a strange, unreadable expression.

  every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Yes, every week!

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