65

“That lunatic Kang Jin-ho—do you know what he’s up to? He’s not normal. He’s been buying up enhancers with money from who-knows-where.”

“Isn’t Kang Jin-ho getting the highest-grade enhancers directly from Instructor Jeong?”

“Tsk. Greed is the problem here, greed. He can’t be satisfied with that… Someone got flagged on the radar, and now he’s determined to beat them.”

As Goh Myeong-seong recounted Kang Jin-ho’s antics, Park Dae-chul held his breath.

“I slipped up. Today, Principal Han called a meeting. No need for intermediaries; the conclusion’s already been reached.”

Park Dae-chul swallowed hard. Seeing this, Goh Myeong-seong forced a grin that stretched his lips unnaturally.

“Do you understand what it means for you to take responsibility, Hyung?”

The fingers gripping the cart handle began trembling ever so slightly.

“They’re not going to do this half-heartedly. The principal has everything prepared. They’ve already secured some drug dealer who was making a name for himself outside. Instructor Jeong and the dealer are coordinating their stories, pretending they’ve known each other for a while.”

“…Are you saying we’re behind this?”

“Come on, don’t act hurt. And if only two people were involved, who’d believe it? That kids spread this around? Not even a child would fall for that.”

“Then who…?”

“The vice principal’s wife is sick, apparently. She’s an esper, and it doesn’t look good. I didn’t know this, but turns out he’s quite the devoted husband.”

“…”

“The principal generously offered to cover the medical expenses.”

You three will leave together with iron collars around your necks.

Park Dae-chul remained silent, unable to protest. As expected, Goh Myeong-seong casually wiped under his nose.

“So, the conclusion is that the vice principal, you, and Instructor Jeong are involved?”

“Hyung, think about it. One of us was bound to end up in the hounds’ mouths anyway. Resist, and everyone gets torn to shreds, reduced to rags. All the effort we’ve put into building this business—it’ll all go up in smoke.”

Goh Myeong-seong swaggered as if he had built some grand enterprise.

“Besides, since you’re just an ordinary person, your punishment will likely be lenient. We’ll take care of feeding your family, sending your kids to college…”

Park Dae-chul had no children. Unaware of this, Goh Myeong-seong prattled on about nonexistent blueprints for someone else’s offspring.

After spewing saliva for a while, he glanced at Park Dae-chul and gave him a disapproving once-over.

But when Park Dae-chul met his gaze again, Goh Myeong-seong immediately switched back to a sweet tone.

“And Principal Han wanted me to pass along this message.”

“…”

“He believes you’ll do the right thing.”

Confident that his point had sunk in, Goh Myeong-seong left with a light-hearted expression.

Park Dae-chul pressed the button on the device hidden in his pocket one more time before pushing the cart forward again.

________________________________________

Even as everyone sprinted toward the evaluations, classes continued.

The students wanted to focus solely on the evaluations, but the teachers seemed more preoccupied with the looming mountain of the graduation exam.

“Using the evaluations as an excuse won’t work with me. The graduation exam is the culmination of over ten years of learning—it’s the most important test of your lives…”

Before Hong Eun-soo next to her could color her cheek with a pink highlighter, Yoon Tae-ha closed the cap of her pen for her.

Anyway, the intelligence-type student beside her memorized entire textbooks. She was also the only student in G-class tolerated by the notoriously strict teacher of Advanced History of Fractures for dozing off during class.

“There’s no such thing as a miraculous life turnaround. Only perseverance and effort will make you valuable members of society. The evaluations are just for ranking you…”

The students sighed in exasperation. Still, the teacher refused to give up. He started playing a video.

“A necessary evil.”

On the large screen, an overwhelming number of crows swept across fields and paddies.

Hong Eun-soo frowned at the crow sounds but didn’t wake up.

“You all should already know the first essay question of the graduation exam. It hasn’t changed in years.”

“Describe how ARC evolved due to the fractures.”

One student in the front row answered firmly.

“In the past and future alike, this is the first question. You must understand the process by which the institution providing your education reached its current state.”

The teacher scanned the room and pointed his long, thin baton at her.

“Jeong Seong-ha.”

Ah, the transfer student got caught. The students looked at her with pitying eyes.

The teacher of History of Fractures was infamous for singling out one sacrificial lamb per class. Those who couldn’t answer properly were bombarded with weekend assignments that robbed them of their free time.

“What omen did the crows signify in the fracture we just saw?”

“The precursor to the first Great Fracture, the Crow Garden. It marked the beginning of the Decade of Hunger.”

“Details. Tell me everything you know.”

“Simultaneously, 53 fractures appeared worldwide. Thirty were dungeon-type, and 23 were gate-type. In Korea, one dungeon and one gate emerged. Aggressive man-eating crows dominated.”

Two students who had been nodding off woke up at the sharpness of her voice cutting through the sleepy afternoon lesson.

Some whispered among themselves, wondering how someone with late manifestation could recite history like this.

“Specific locations?”

“Dungeon in Daejeon, gate in Gangneung.”

“Later, the crows exhibited strange behavior. What was it?”

“They gathered in one area and committed mass suicide.”

“And then?”

“Their corpses covered the land, causing changes in the terrain.”

The teacher approached her desk and slammed the baton down. Yoon Tae-ha gave him a look as if asking if there was anything else.

“What is that area called now?”

“One of the anarchic zones—the Green Sea.”

He pursed his thin lips slightly, indicating moderate satisfaction. The students, holding their breath, watched the transfer student narrowly escape another ordeal.

“How is it connected to the Ark?”

“The Green Sea began expanding its territory, prompting governments worldwide to form an alliance and deploy espers. That’s when ARC was created.”

On the screen appeared images of early ARC agents battling unidentified monsters.

Yoon Tae-ha indifferently absorbed the gruesome photos. Some students with weak stomachs turned their heads away to avoid looking at the cruel scenes.

“The cause of ARC’s establishment was the Crow Garden… What’s the next most significant fracture? Jeong Seong-ha, answer again.”

“The dungeon-type Great Fracture known as the Red Snake’s Hideout. It marked the beginning of the Decade of Barbarism and, unlike the Crow Garden, appeared in only one location worldwide.”

“Location?”

“Hawaii, where ARC headquarters is currently located.”

The teacher narrowed his eyes and changed the screen.

A vast complex of buildings resembling white turtle shells appeared. It was the view of the Hawaii headquarters where Yoon Tae-ha had stayed until recently.

“Working at headquarters… I really want to do that.”

“Who gets to go there? The top rankers?”

“Weren’t we told that Gaia decides who goes? It’s not something we can control.”

Someone said they’d heard rumors that headquarters gave employees houses by the beach. Students buzzed with baseless gossip. Ignoring their fanciful talk, the teacher spoke.

“The Red Snake’s Hideout is considered the most difficult dungeon to appear on Earth to date.”

On the next screen, far more powerful and lethal-looking monsters revealed sharp teeth.

“At the time, the global situation was heading toward collapse. The reason we defeated the Crow Garden was cooperation and unity. But as time passed, foolish people started feeling comfortable…”

“Someone tried to tear the organization apart.”

One student raised a hand and answered. The teacher nodded lightly and switched the material.

“No more alliances are needed. Espers will be placed under the management of their respective nations. This was the conclusion of the infamous Mahogany Roundtable Summit.”

With a bitter smile, he directed his gaze toward the five leaders seated stiffly around the roundtable.

“Jeong Seong-ha.”

This guy is relentless.

Yoon Tae-ha raised her head, trying to look as unbothered as possible.

“What impact did the Red Snake’s Hideout have on ARC?”

“Rebirth.”

“In what sense?”

“ARC, which had been hanging on by a thread without espers or support, cleared the hideout alone.”

It was one of the first stories the shelter teachers told her when she was young.

The story of Mr. Blackwood, who provided a home for espers treated like tools. A pioneer who saved gifted children from ignorant and greedy non-espers.

“Luke Blackwood, the then-leader of ARC…”

When the teacher’s eyes gleamed frostily, she quickly shifted direction.

“…He requested help to rebuild the organization and construct headquarters in Hawaii if the surrounding area could be normalized after clearing the hideout.”

At the time, the probability of clearing the dungeon was said to be 0.5%. Though Yoon Tae-ha knew the exact figure, mentioning it felt too unnatural, so she stopped herself.

“It’s also known that he insisted ARC retain responsibility for educating espers.”

The teacher smirked, raising one corner of his mouth, then spun around to distance himself from Yoon Tae-ha. It was his way of signaling he wouldn’t torment her anymore.

By now, Hong Eun-soo had woken up and gave her a thumbs-up under the desk.

“Thanks to that, we get to study in facilities like this.”

The teacher clicked his tongue at his drowsy students.

“If they hadn’t cleared the hideout, we’d still be living without education, separated from our families, with remote bombs strapped to our necks, never knowing when they’d detonate.”

Just as the atmosphere turned solemn, the bell rang, signaling the end of class.

As sleepy students brightened and prepared to bolt, the teacher delivered a thunderous verdict.

“Choose three fractures that occurred between the Crow Garden and the Red Snake’s Hideout, research them, and submit a report.”

________________________________________

Early morning. Before regular classes began, Yoon Tae-ha and Cheon Geon-young met at a café on the second floor overlooking the library lobby.

Yoon Tae-ha, looking slightly weary, spoke to the man whose situation most closely mirrored hers in this school.

“I think I understand why the kids act this way.”

Report assignments piling up like mountains, all designed to foster resentment toward their mentors. Amidst this, the pressure to prepare for the evaluations couldn’t be neglected.