The soft curl of his lips remained unchanged, but his gaze never once left Aseok.

  He didn’t speak. Not yet.

  Qin Yue, looking unusually worn down, rubbed at the circles under her eyes. Haejoon muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a curse.

  Seo MinHyun leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, watching this mess unfold like a tragic drama.

  “Well,” he said dryly, “at least we know the puppy's getting world-class care.”

  Park Taegun remained seated, silent as always, eyes steady on Lee Aseok like he was calculating something behind those calm irises.

  Mu Yichen, the only one who still looked composed, finally spoke.

  “…Give him time.”

  His voice was soft, but it quieted the room more than Qin Yue’s anger ever could.

  Yichen glanced at Aseok, not with urgency, not with pressure, but with something gentler.

  “The holy sword chose him,” he said. “That isn’t meaningless. There’s a reason.”

  Qin Yue followed his gaze.

  The holy sword stood upright in the corner, gleaming slightly as it shifted like a restless pet trying to approach its owner.

  It inched forward, pulsing faintly..

  Only for Lee Aseok to flick a lazy glance at it.

  “…No.”

  The sword froze.

  Then retreated back to its corner like a scolded child.

  Qin Yue’s expression became even more unreadable.

  Mu Haejoon pinched the bridge of his nose like he was dealing with a teenager who had just refused to save the world in favor of binging anime.

  “God,” Seo MinHyun muttered, “I should’ve stayed in the dungeon. At least monsters act reasonable.”

  The silence returned again. Heavy. Irritated. Amused.

  Then, for the first time in an hour, someone truly unexpected broke it.

  Kang Juwon leaned forward.

  His tone was soft, but it carried a dangerous kind of stillness, like water right before it froze into ice.

  “Aseok.”

  Lee Aseok blinked.

  Didn’t turn. But he listened.

  Juwon tilted his head, eyes glinting with interest.

  “What do you want?”

  The room stilled again.

  Aseok’s fingers paused mid-scratch on Pudding’s stomach.

  The puppy whined softly, pawing at his hand for more attention.

  For a few seconds, no one moved. Even the holy sword seemed to hold its breath.

  Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, Lee Aseok turned his head.

  It was the first time that day he actually looked at any of them.

  His gaze met Kang Juwon’s.

  Blank.

  Sharp.

  Unflinching.

  Kang Juwon’s smile widened.

  The air in the room shifted the moment Kang Juwon spoke again.

  “We need a hero.”

  His voice was calm, his smile as polite as ever. But his eyes were sharp. Focused. Unblinking.

  “It’s clear you don’t want to be one,” he continued, his gaze drifting to the puppy nestled comfortably in Lee Aseok’s lap. “So let’s make a deal.”

  Lee Aseok didn’t move at first.

  Didn’t blink.

  Didn’t speak.

  Juwon’s voice softened, amused. “You can name your terms. Whatever you want, we’ll make it happen. In return…” he paused, “..you take care of the Hell Gate.”

  Silence.

  Even the puppy seemed to sense the weight of that word. It stopped squirming.

  The others in the room didn’t speak right away.

  Qin Yue frowned slightly, her tired eyes sharpening. Mu Haejoon shifted in his seat.

  Seo MinHyun was halfway to sipping his third energy drink of the hour when he froze mid-motion.

  Mu Yichen’s expression didn’t change. He remained calm, legs crossed, gaze on Aseok.

  Taegun simply leaned back, arms folded, watching without a word.

  Then Lee Aseok moved.

  It was subtle, the way his spine straightened, his fingers paused mid-pat, his head tilted just a little.

  He looked up.

  And chuckled.

  A low, humorless sound.

  “Really?” he said.

  His voice was dry. Quiet. Dusty from disuse. But it cut clean through the tension like a blade.

  He looked straight at Kang Juwon, for once truly engaging, eyes glinting, not with anger or disbelief, but something more dangerous.

  Hope.

  “You’ll really give me what I want?” he asked.

  Kang Juwon smiled wider. “Yes.”

  Mu Haejoon nodded with a sigh. “If it gets you to deal with the Hell Gate, then yes. Whatever it is.”

  “We’ll make sure your demands are fulfilled,” Qin Yue added, her voice steady.

  Seo MinHyun snorted. “He doesn’t even like talking to people. Do you think he has the energy to plot something like that?”

  Lee Aseok ignored him. As usual.

  The room was silent.

  Still.

  Even the holy sword had stopped humming as if instinctively understanding that this was not the time.

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  Kang Juwon nodded with a serene smile, as if Lee Aseok hadn’t just thrown a metaphoric bomb into the room minutes ago.

  Qin Yue and Mu Haejoon exchanged glances, mutual understanding passing silently between them.

  They knew an opportunity when they saw one.

  “We’ll honor the contract,” Qin Yue said first, voice sharp but diplomatic. “Whatever you request will be made official. You’ll have our seal, and the Council will ratify it.”

  Mu Haejoon gave a stiff nod. “We’ll see to it personally.”

  Kang Juwon folded his hands with a soft, conspiratorial chuckle. “It’s only fair.”

  Lee Aseok didn’t respond. Not right away.

  Instead, he sat there, cross-legged on the couch, the puppy nestled by his side, occasionally nibbling his sleeve. His eyes, dull yet glinting with something older than they should be, slowly scanned the people in front of him.

  Mu Yichen, calm and unreadable.

  Park Taegun, tense but controlled.

  Seo MinHyun, pacing in the background with all the dramatic flair of a rejected theatre actor, muttering things like “This is how villains monologue before they wipe out civilizations, right? Right??”

  No one moved.

  A hush settled over the war room like a suffocating fog, heavy and unmoving.

  The table between them seemed more like a battlefield now, the polished wood stretched taut with the unspoken weight of what was coming.

  On one end sat Kang Juwon, still smiling gently like a benevolent patron. Beside him, Qin Yue’s diplomatic calm began to fray.

  Mu Haejoon remained stiff-backed, his eyes flickering between every word, every breath. Across from them stood the quiet storm they’d all circled around for days now.

  Lee Aseok.

  Draped in a gray hoodie, sleeves slightly chewed by the puppy in his lap, hair tousled and unbrushed, and dark eyes that had seen too much, too often. And in this moment, something shifted in the air.

  He raised his hand.

  “Six conditions,” he said plainly.

  The simple declaration pulled everyone’s attention like a snapped cord. Even the puppy stilled, sensing the shift in atmosphere.

  Lee Aseok lifted one finger.

  “One,” he said, voice deadpan, “after I deal with the Hell Gate, you will all leave me alone. No visits. No contact. No one comes looking.”

  His tone was dry, without aggression. But the edge was sharp, razor-thin and soaked in ice.

  Qin Yue opened her mouth, hesitated, then said nothing.

  Mu Yichen’s face changed lightly but he didn’t say anything. His eyes were deep as he looked at Aseok.

  Lee Aseok raised a second finger.

  “Two. The West Zone is mine. Legally, physically, politically. From today onward, no one has the right to step foot inside it.”

  A pulse of unease flickered across the group. Mu Haejoon clenched his jaw.

  “Three,” he continued, “even if new gates appear in the West Zone, I’ll handle them. You don’t send help. You don’t send drones. You don’t send questions.”

  Park Taegun was still, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp, calculating.

  “Four. The West Zone is to remain uninhabited. I want silence. I want to rot. No urban development. No ‘rehabilitation projects.’ Let it stay dead.”

  Seo MinHyun, who had been unusually silent until now, gave a nervous laugh.

  “…You’re really just going to live in the apocalypse. As a lifestyle choice.”

  Lee Aseok didn’t even blink at him.

  “Five,” he went on, voice now so steady it could have been mistaken for scripted. “I will handle the gates my way. No protocol. No interference. If anyone interferes, I will kill them.”

  The bluntness made the air turn cold.

  “I don’t care if they’re Hunters, soldiers, or civilians. If they interfere, they’ll be treated like the monsters they came with.”

  MinHyun stopped laughing.

  The tension was now a weight pressing on everyone’s chest. Even Kang Juwon’s smile had faltered slightly. Just slightly.

  And then came the sixth finger.

  Aseok looked at them all. Not with threat. Not with hostility.

  But with the kind of blank honesty that made it all the more terrifying.

  “Six. If you break the contract, if any of you violate these terms, I will wield the holy sword myself.”

  A silence.

  Not even breathing.

  “I’ll destroy humanity in three days,” he said. “I won’t hesitate to help monsters take over the Earth.”

  And he meant it.

  The room turned to ice.

  No one dared to speak.

  Lee Aseok’s words still lingered in the air like the echo of a loaded gunshot, quiet, final, and devastating.

  Six conditions.

  Six simple, merciless declarations that carved a line between himself and the rest of the world. And yet… not a single one of them had sounded like a threat.

  They were truths.

  Cold. Clear. Unfeeling.

  And that, perhaps, was what made them most terrifying of all.

  Everyone looked at him now, not like a comrade or savior, but like something unrecognizable.

  Something sacred and monstrous all at once.

  Lee Aseok’s eyes, still as dark as obsidian, reflected no emotion. Not pride. Not anger. Not even indifference. Just emptiness.

  The kind of stillness that made you question whether something inside had long since broken, or if it had never existed at all.

  Mu Yichen’s throat tightened.

  He kept his face composed, as always , noble and gentle, the model of restraint, but inside, something splintered.

  If they agreed to Aseok’s demands…

  If they signed this into law…

  Then after the Hell Gate was cleared, Lee Aseok would vanish into the West Zone. He would go back to that ruined, uninhabitable land filled with ash and silence.

  And Mu Yichen would never see him again.

  He pressed his lips together, fingers curling slightly at his side.

  Mu Yichen’s throat tightened.

  He kept his face composed, noble and gentle as always, the model of restraint, but his hand betrayed him. Fingers twitched at his side, then rose, just barely, as if reaching toward Aseok’s sleeve.

  They stopped mid-air.

  He wanted to say something.

  To stop him. To grab his shoulder, shake him, demand why he was doing this, why he was being so cruel.

  Why he spoke of destroying the world with the same calmness most people used to order lunch.

  But he couldn’t say it.

  Not when he knew.

  Somewhere deep down, he knew Aseok wasn’t being cruel.

  He was simply being honest.

  And somehow, that hurt worse.

  The silence after that was unbearable. Not a word was said. Not a breath out of place.

  Until…

  “ARE YOU CRAZY?!”

  Seo MinHyun’s voice cracked like a whip through the stillness.

  Everyone flinched.

  MinHyun had shot up from his chair, arm flailing in the air as if that alone could make sense of what he’d just heard. “Seriously?! You just said you’ll help monsters destroy the world if we bother you too much and everyone’s just, what?! Gonna nod along like this is fine?!”

  He pointed an accusatory finger at Aseok. “Do you hear yourself?! What kind of psycho says that with a straight face?! Do you want people to hate you?!”

  Lee Aseok blinked.

  Not startled. Not offended.

  Just… slowly, like registering a raindrop hitting his face.

  Seo MinHyun’s voice cracked again, louder this time. “Why are you being this cruel? Huh? What did we ever do to you?! We want to save the world! Don’t you want to live in it too?!”

  Lee Aseok, who had been seated all this time, slowly stood up.

  He said nothing for a moment, brushing the dirt off his loose hoodie as the puppy in his lap stirred. It whined softly and lifted its head toward him.

  Gently, Aseok scooped it into his arms.

  Only then did he speak.

  “I’ve always been this way,” he said, tone as blank as a wall. “I have no intention of changing.”

  The puppy wiggled a little, nestling into his hoodie.

  “I really hate humans,” Aseok added. “That’s all.”

  His voice was steady. Almost soft. Which made it land like a dagger.

  Seo MinHyun recoiled as if struck. “You..”

  “I’ll wait for your decision.”

  With that, Lee Aseok turned.

  The holy sword, which had hovered silently behind him during the entire meeting, flickered faintly in the air, and then, as if summoned by thought alone, followed after him.

  No one stopped him.

  No one could.

  He walked down the corridor without urgency, as if he had just finished placing an order and now merely waited to be served.

  His footsteps were light, his back straight. The puppy pawed at his chest sleepily.

  Mu Yichen didn’t move.

  Seo MinHyun slowly lowered his arm, breath caught in his throat.

  Park Taegun looked at the floor, silent, his brow furrowed as if trying to solve a code that refused to be cracked.

  And the others, Qin Yue, Mu Haejoon, Kang Juwon, they all watched the same thing.

  Lee Aseok’s back disappearing down the hall.

  Until even that was gone.

  Only then did the pressure in the room seem to settle.

  “…What kind of person,” Qin Yue whispered, barely audible, “did the holy sword choose?”

  Her voice trembled.

  No one answered.

  Because they didn’t know.

  He wasn’t what they imagined when they thought of a hero.

  He didn’t inspire awe, or camaraderie, or patriotic pride. He didn’t hold speeches or lift swords to the sky.

  He hated humans.

  He wanted solitude.

  And he carried power so absolute, making even the most powerful hunters feel cold to the bone.

  But he fed a puppy like it was a child. He watched over it with obsessive care, as if afraid it might vanish the moment he looked away.

  There was something human in that.

  Tragically so.

  And perhaps… that was the worst part.

  Mu Yichen still hadn’t moved.

  He stared at the hallway Aseok had vanished into, fists clenched so tightly at his side that the knuckles had gone white.

  Seo MinHyun slumped back into his seat, still staring wide-eyed. “He really said, ‘bother me and I’ll end the world,’ and walked off with a dog.”

  Park Taegun muttered, “You’re not helping.”

  “I’m not trying to help, I’m processing trauma.”

  Kang Juwon exhaled slowly, placing both hands on the table. His voice, still gentle, carried the faintest tremor beneath the calm. “Well. It seems we either agree… or prepare for war.”

  “And if we agree?” Qin Yue asked. “What then?”

  Juwon’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “Then we pray the hero changes his mind.”

  The next morning, the Moon Guild headquarters was in absolute chaos.

  “I’m telling you, this can’t be real!” A low-ranking officer threw a stack of reports across the war table. “He said what? If we break the deal, he’ll wipe out humanity?!”

  Qin Yue, face pale and hands folded neatly, nodded. “Yes. He said it very clearly. Loud and clear.”

  Another officer sputtered. “What kind of hero says that?!”

  Mu Haejoon adjusted his glasses and muttered, “The kind that hates humans, apparently.”

  Someone slammed their fist onto the table. “He’s bluffing! There's no way the holy sword would allow it..”

  “He wasn’t bluffing,” Qin Yue cut in, quiet but firm. “And the holy sword didn’t protest. It followed him willingly.”

  Silence.

  The report room of the guild HQ, usually a steady hum of whispers and analysis, had descended into barely-contained hysteria.

  Every guild representative, military envoy, and international liaison looked as though they hadn’t slept. Which, considering the previous night’s emergency meeting, was true.

  “But we need him,” said one of the foreign officers in a crisp, accented voice. “When the “Hell Gate” appear we need a hero ready to enter it. If we wait longer..”

  “...we won’t be able to contain it,” Haejoon finished grimly.

  There were no better options.

  So they chose the only one available.

  By evening, the decision was made.

  They would accept Lee Aseok’s terms.

  All six of them.

  Even the final one, the most terrifying of all.

  But the contract, they agreed, must never go public.

  How could it?

  What kind of headline would that be?

  “Hero Promises to Destroy Humanity If Bothered Too Much.”

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