"Twenty percent."
The number echoed in Kang Ji-Won's head. Twenty.
Eighty percent...
He felt another cold laugh rising in his throat, but this time, he swallowed it. Eighty. For "the risk"? Your risk? You're sitting here in a warm tent drinking burnt coffee, and I'm the one going out to die. Damn you. You thieving bastard.
His expression didn't change.
The emotion on his face had died the moment he saw the eviction notice. All that was left was cold ice.
This man didn't matter. The percentage didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was that 20%... was better than 0%.
"Twenty percent," Baek repeated, watching him with those dead eyes. "Do we have an agreement, Kang Ji-Won? Or are you going back to the alley to freeze to death? The choice is yours. I have a long line outside."
Ji-Won lifted his gaze from the table, meeting Baek's directly.
"We have an agreement," he said, his voice as quiet as the surface of ice.
For the first time, the ghost of something flickered on Baek's lips. It wasn't a smile. It was... acknowledgment.
"Good."
Baek turned back to his laptop. Click. Clack. Clack. "We'll register you. 'Temporary Asset.' We'll need your biometric signature."
He pointed to a small scanner attached to the laptop. It was a square piece of metal, grimy with unknown stains.
Ji-Won extended his hand.
"Right thumb."
Ji-Won pressed his thumb onto the cold metal.
Zzzt!
A sharp, sudden pain made him snatch his hand back. "Ah!"
He looked at his thumb. A small drop of blood was welling up in the center.
"Sampling needle," Baek said boredly, not looking up from the screen. "Have to make sure you're 'human.' And that there are no active 'Echoes' interfering. You're clean. Good."
The bastard pricked me!
Click. Clack. "File created. Kang Ji-Won. 18 years old. Echoless. Temporary Asset, 'Scrap' class."
Scrap class. Ji-Won felt the word settle in his stomach like a stone.
"Alright, 'Scrap'," Baek said, running a finger down his screen. "We have a few 'no-deposit' contracts tonight. Most are bad. This one..." He paused. "This one... is acceptable for a beginner."
He tapped the screen. "F-Rank Gate. Number 734-F. In 'Dobong-gu.' Known as the 'Goblin's Nest'."
Goblins...
"'Main 'Walker' team, Team 14, finished their 'Clear' ninety minutes ago," Baek continued, reading from the screen. "They declared 'Zone Secure.' The contract is a standard 'Asset Recovery.' Very simple."
Asset recovery? "What does that mean?"
"It means the 'Walkers' were lazy," Baek said. "Contract states 3 remaining goblin corpses they didn't bother to drag to the extraction point. They're in the main cave. All you have to do is go in, put these 'Retrieval Tags' on them, and drag them to the entrance."
It sounded simple. Too simple.
"What's the catch?" Ji-Won asked. It couldn't be that easy.
Baek looked up. "The catch is that 'Zone Secure' is a bullshit term used by idiot 'Walkers.' 'Secure' means they killed the Boss. It doesn't mean they killed everything. There are always 'Scavengers' left. Small ones, wounded ones, hiding in crevices. Will they attack you? Probably not. Will they nip at your ankle if you're not paying attention? Absolutely."
Baek tossed a small white data-chip across the table. It was the same kind he'd seen the other man holding. "This is the contract chip. It's your key into the Gate. It also tracks your movements. Don't lose it. Don't break it. If you do, consider yourself dead."
He then kicked something under the table.
Clang!
A dull metallic sound. "Equipment."
Baek pointed to a rusty metal locker in the corner of the tent. "Locker 9. Everything inside is rented. Cost: 20,000 Won. Will be deducted from... your 20% share."
What? Even the equipment...
"Did you expect it for free?" Baek sneered. "Nothing is free here, Kang Ji-Won. Nothing."
Ji-Won stood. His legs felt heavy. He walked over to Locker 9. The lock was hanging on it.
"The chip is the key," Baek said from behind him.
Ji-Won touched the chip to the lock. Click. It sprang open.
He pulled the metal door open.
The smell that wafted out was horrific. The stench of old sweat, dried blood, and fear.
Inside, the "equipment" was hanging.
A cheap, plastic construction helmet, with a partially broken headlamp.
A thick protective vest, the kind road workers use, stained with dark patches.
Old combat boots, the sole of one nearly flapping off.
And at the bottom, his 'weapon.'
It wasn't a sword. It wasn't even a knife.
It was a crowbar. Rusted.
"Fifteen minutes to 'Dobong' station," Baek said, already turning back to his computer. "The Gate is behind the old 'Lotte Mart' building. Don't be late. Contract expires at sunrise."
"Get out of my tent."
Kang Ji-Won clutched the bundle of "equipment" in his arms. The rusty crowbar felt mockingly cold and heavy.
He pushed aside the greasy plastic flap.
The cold alley air slapped him again, harder this time after the suffocating warmth of the tent. It was like jumping from a hot bath into a glacial river. For a moment, his lungs seized.
The one-eyed man, still smoking in the shadows, looked him over. There was no pity in his eye, no mockery. Just... a look. A long glance at the gear Ji-Won was holding, then at Ji-Won's pale face. The man shook his head slowly, let out a single puff of smoke, and looked away.
He doesn't care. No one here cares if I live or die.
That was the first lesson of the underworld.
He couldn't put this stuff on here. The alley, as dark as it was, was still too exposed. He found a deeper corner, behind a massive dumpster overflowing with the smell of rotten kimchi.
This is it. My own private changing room.
He dropped the gear onto the filthy ground.
He started with the boots. He kicked off his own torn sneakers. The combat boots Baek had given him were... a disaster. The right sole was held on with black duct tape. When he slipped his foot in, he felt something sharp. A nail? No... just a piece of plastic. They were at least two sizes too big. Great. I'll be tripping while running for my life.
Then the vest.
The moment he lifted it, the stench hit him. A nauseating mix of old sweat, mildew, and something faintly metallic... blood. It was the smell of dried fear. The vest was stiff as cardboard and stained with dark patches he couldn't identify in the gloom. Don't think about who wore this. Don't think about what happened to him.
He pulled it on over his thin jacket. The weight was heavy, not protective, just... cumbersome.
Then the helmet. It was a bright yellow, deeply scratched plastic construction helmet. The small headlamp was held on with more duct tape. He pressed the button.
Click. Nothing.
Click. A faint flicker.
Click. A weak, sickly yellow light came on, barely illuminating his own fingers in front of his face.
Damn it. 20,000 Won for this trash? That bastard robbed me.
Finally, the crowbar.
He picked it up. It was heavier than it looked. Rusted, yes, but solid steel. It was ice-cold. His fist wrapped around the rough metal.
This is my weapon. A crowbar. Against monsters from another world.
He felt that hysterical urge to laugh again.
Am I going to a Gate, or am I going to go steal some hubcaps?
He took a deep breath. The cold air filled his lungs. Stop it. This is what you have. Deal with it.
He settled the helmet on his head. It didn't fit. It wobbled.
He looked like a scarecrow. A clown getting ready for a slaughter.
"Fifteen minutes to the station," Baek's voice echoed in his head.
Damn the time.
He checked his phone. [Battery: 2%].
72 hours. 2 million won. 550,000 won. 20,000 won.
The numbers spun in his head.
He stepped out from behind the dumpster.
The one-eyed man saw him. For a second, his one good eye lingered. Then, the man spat on the ground and said one word: "Good luck, 'Scrap'."
Ji-Won didn't answer.
He started to run.
Running in the oversized combat boots was agony. The heel of the boot slammed into his ankle with every step. The crowbar in his hand was heavy, throwing off his balance. He made noise as he ran, a plastic and metal rattle, like a runaway garbage man.
He burst out of the back alley and onto the glittering streets of Yeouido.
Here, the contrast was stark.
A few late-night stragglers saw him—businessmen in expensive suits leaving their offices. They looked at him. Not with fear. But... with disgust. What is this filthy thing running down our clean street?
Look at me. Get a good look. This is what you made.
He ignored them. He reached the subway entrance. It was nearly deserted.
Beep. He swiped his card. Damn. Do I have enough?
[Balance: 150 Won].
Barely.
He clattered down the escalator. The station was eerily silent. Just the hum of the fluorescent lights above.
The last train heading north arrived. Shhhhh...Bong.
The doors opened.
The car was almost empty. Just an old man asleep in the corner, and a salaryman in a suit, dead drunk, his head lolling against the window.
Ji-Won sat on the hard plastic seat. He put the crowbar on the floor next to him. Clang.
The drunk salaryman peered at him with one eye, then belched and closed it again.
The doors slid shut. The train began to move.
Ji-Won saw his reflection in the dark window glass.
A yellow ghost. A pale face staring out from under a ridiculous yellow helmet. Hollow eyes. And in his hand, a weapon from the stone age.
This is me. This is Kang Ji-Won. Echoless. Scrap Class.
He closed his eyes. The clack-clack-clack of the train on the tracks was the only sound in the world.
Hyun-Soo... I'm doing this for you.
...Automated announcement: "The next stop is Dobong. Dobong."
He opened his eyes.
It was time.