Chapter 64

〈 Chapter 64 〉 Part 1, Chapter 4 (21)

<4:55 PM, Anyang Command Headquarters>

“This can’t be happening!”

Shin Jin-Gwang slammed the table and shouted. But he soon realized his mistake and bowed his head.

“…I apologize, Mr. President!”

– It’s fine. I understand your frustration. Announcing the operation’s failure without consulting you must have been surprising. The decision was made unilaterally by me, the president, without even a word to you, the field commander, about the situation.

President Sun Icheol had declared the operation’s failure without any consultation with Shin Jin-Gwang, the on-site commander. Of course, Shin Jin-Gwang didn’t have the position to negotiate such decisions with the president, but he learned of the operation’s failure and termination through media announcements.

Sun Icheol adjusted his glasses.

– However, look here. We’ve lost too many heroes, haven’t we?

Shin Jin-Gwang clenched his fists.

Two A-Rank heroes, six B-Rank heroes, and fourteen C-Rank heroes—22 heroes in total either perished or were declared MIA (Missing In Action). Aside from the confirmed deaths of 12, the remaining 10 missing individuals were practically considered dead as well.

Moreover, countless heroes were injured or required immediate rest, including two crucial S-Rank special ability users, Hwakwon and Princess Snowflower.

Sun Icheol continued solemnly.

– I cannot afford to lose any more heroes. This is my stubbornness speaking.

“Mr. President! Please take back those words. It’s due to my lack of ability!”

– No, you’ve done your part admirably. A commander who doesn’t trust heroes and abandons the command center disgraces the honor of Korea. Was I wrong?

“…”

Shin Jin-Gwang couldn’t respond. Ultimately, Princess Snowflower successfully blocked the villain’s attack.

But during this process, Shin Jin-Gwang revealed all his ugliness. As a commander abandoning his subordinates first for self-preservation, he drew harsh criticism from many.

– You must understand my stance. You were afraid, weren’t you? But you shouldn’t have been. You should’ve stayed behind and sacrificed yourself to evacuate everyone. Isn’t that the responsibility of a commander?

“I am unworthy.”

Shin Jin-Gwang lowered his head.

– That’s right. Now what shall we do? Since I announced the failure of the operation, public opinion has already gone berserk. They say the incompetent commander abandoned the command center, leaving the poor heroes to suffer alone.

“I will take full responsibility.”

– Responsibility? Heh heh heh.

Sun Icheol chuckled darkly.

– That’s only possible when you’re in a social position where it matters. The Director of the Monster Countermeasures Bureau isn’t exactly a heavy seat, is it?

Sun Icheol sipped his tea casually.

– Still, I’ll give you one last mission.

“……!”

Shin Jin-Gwang immediately understood the meaning. It was an order to step down.

– Take all the disgrace upon yourself. Go live somewhere on an island in the South Sea where no one knows your face. And I’ll ensure your family is taken care of properly.

“…..Understood.”

– Then go.

Click. Sun Icheol ended the call. Betrayed, Shin Jin-Gwang trembled and slammed the table with his palm.

Bang!

The metallic desk stung his hand, but his heart hurt far worse.

“Damn it, damn it!”

This was supposed to be an operation even a grade-schooler could’ve led to victory. Yet, Shin Jin-Gwang became the scapegoat for the defeat without putting up much of a fight.

If Shin Jin-Gwang had commanded with all his might and still failed valiantly, there might have been sympathy—”They lost, but they fought well,” or “We saw hope in reclaiming Seoul.”

But now, everyone knows how Shin Jin-Gwang’s reckless leadership caused conflict among the heroes. Hero fandoms treated him worse than a death-row inmate.

Strangely, there was no mention of the mysterious enemy.

“…”

Shin Jin-Gwang stood up. Beside him, a hero from the Pine Tree Squad glared disdainfully and pointed toward the door.

Creak.

The door opened. Reporters waiting in the makeshift briefing room raised their heads like meerkats.

Thud. Thud.

As Shin Jin-Gwang walked the mere ten steps to the podium, his senses were overwhelmed.

The reporters who fled at his orders were now ready to tear him apart, emboldened by the president’s national apology.

Thud.

Exhausted, Shin Jin-Gwang stopped before the podium. The moment he opened his mouth, flashes from cameras erupted along with questions.

“Director! What do you think went wrong with this operation?!”

“Did you know Hwakwon had health issues?! Why did Hero Lee Seung-Hyeong collapse?!”

“What message do you have for the families of the fallen heroes?!”

Amidst the barrage of accusatory questions disguised as inquiries, the journalists also recognized how bizarrely the operation unfolded but followed editorial directives to pile on Shin Jin-Gwang.

A witch hunt. This press conference was Shin Jin-Gwang’s stake for burning.

“Uh, th-the…”

Shin Jin-Gwang tried to speak, signaling a hero acting as security, but the latter ignored him and turned away.

With no interference, the reporters grew more aggressive. Among the numerous questions, one particularly struck Shin Jin-Gwang.

“Why did you abandon the command center after Princess Snowflower, Seok Ha-Rang, successfully defended against the enemy’s attack?!”

He choked. Ready to explode in anger like during his military days, he caught himself just in time. “Didn’t you all flee too?” But the cameras broadcasting his every expression nationwide restrained him.

All Shin Jin-Gwang could do was bow his head.

His role now was reduced to a parrot repeating lines.

“I, Shin Jin-Gwang…”

The reporters quieted down.

“…deeply regret my actions and hereby resign from my position as Director of the Monster Countermeasures Bureau…”

Plop.

Something foul-smelling flew and hit Shin Jin-Gwang on the head. Falling to the ground was a piece of rotting monster corpse.

Plop. Another monster corpse hit Shin Jin-Gwang squarely in the chest.

From behind the press seats, a woman vented her grief. The flashlights illuminated the engagement ring on her ring finger.

“You bastard! My fiancé, Ki-Seong, died because of your idiotic command! And all you’re offering is resignation?!”

“Take her out!”

Heroes dragged the woman out of the briefing room. The reporters remembered she was one of the heroes deployed in Gangnam.

“I…”

The reporters turned back to Shin Jin-Gwang.

“Will fully accept responsibility.”

That was all Shin Jin-Gwang could say.

* * *

<5:30 PM, Room C, Yeouido Hotel>

“…”

Gaeul opened her eyes. Despite the cozy mattress enveloping her body, the strange sensation around her pelvis woke her up.

“Ah, seriously.”

Though curses bubbled inside her mind, Gaeul managed to suppress them. Her blood-soaked clothes had been removed, and she was now wrapped in a soft gown.

The problem was the gown’s rear, torn from the base of the tentacles upwards, exposing her posterior unless she used the tentacles to cover herself.

“This isn’t some weird game…”

Gaeul lifted one of the tentacles. If only they were fox tails tapering at the ends, but these resembled cat tails, uniform in thickness except at the tips.

“Can I even grab it?”

Gaeul tried gripping the tentacle. Its circumference was slightly wider than what her thumb and middle finger could encircle. She grimaced and let go.

“But…”

Gaeul focused her mind on the tentacles. All nine responded to her will.

They stretched straight, wiggled like waves, and twisted like wringing a mop. Carefully, Gaeul wrapped one around a wine glass on the wall.

The tentacle held the glass firmly, not letting it drop even when flipped upside down.

“Should I be happy or sad about this?”

In this impossible situation, Gaeul decided to embrace her fate. Slapping her cheeks, she snapped out of it.

“Alright. These are tails. Not having them sprout from my back like a centipede is already something.”

Facing the mirror, Gaeul noticed significant changes beyond the tentacles. Her skin was paler than ever, devoid of any redness, as if all blood had drained from her veins. Her hair, eyebrows, and irises had all turned silver-gray. Using a tentacle, she removed the mask covering her head and placed it over her face.

The eye mask resting above her nose. The last remnant of a masquerade left for the ghost on stage.

Touching the mask, Gaeul lost herself in thought.

Knock knock knock.

A rough knocking sound came from outside the door. Gaeul pushed the tentacles inside her gown and fixed her appearance before opening the door.

“Do you even know manners? Pressing the bell is basic etiquette!”

“Only if you’ve been to a hotel… cough!”

Deokbae awkwardly coughed and averted his gaze, noticing Gaeul’s exposed cleavage through the gap in her gown.

“…”

Crossing her arms, Gaeul covered herself. With the gown’s back torn and held together by tentacles, she hadn’t had time to fix the front. Glaring mischievously, she asked,

“What’s up? Where am I, and why am I in a hotel?”

“Phoenix found you unconscious and put you here. She dressed you, and I’m delivering a change of clothes.”

Deokbae handed over the clothes. Upon receiving them via two tentacles since her hands were busy covering herself, Gaeul instantly recognized the magic-infused fabric as an awakened S-Rank monster core user.

“Are these woven with magic?”

The threads were intricately interwoven with magic—not merely infused but spun so fine they rivaled human hair.

Taking the clothes from Deokbae, Gaeul asked curiously,

“Where did you get something like this?”

“…She made them herself.”

Seeing Gaeul’s tail-like appendages from behind, Deokbae’s expression shifted between shock, fear, and disgust, finally settling on pity and sorrow.

Snap!

A tentacle whipped past Deokbae’s face like a whip. Startled, his eyes widened.

“There won’t be another warning. Be careful.”

Gaeul warned him and turned back into the room. Left standing outside, Deokbae chuckled nervously.

“Now even that thing’s stronger than me?”

Thirty minutes later, after Gaeul changed, Deokbae remained silently staring at the tightly shut door.