Inside the WN Agency office, fluorescent lights buzzed low above a narrow glass-topped desk where silence had grown thick. The blinds were down, blocking out Seoul’s skyline, though bits of sunlight peeked through the slats like shy ghosts. Dust danced in the beams. The hum of the air conditioning felt mechanical, cold, like the breath of something that had no soul.
Han Jin-woo (한진우) sat behind the desk, suit wrinkled from a long day, tie undone, and a paper cup of half-cold vending machine coffee going untouched. His eyes—heavy-lidded, sleepless things—were fixed on the sheet laid out before him. It was a simple inventory form, printed on standard white paper, but it might as well have been a blood contract.
The man across from him reclined like he owned the air in the room. Leather shoes up on a crate, fingers drumming in rhythm to a tune only he could hear. Sunglasses inside, despite the closed blinds. His name? Nobody cared. Guys like him came and went in this industry—shadow men who knew where to get things cheap, who didn’t ask how the item got loose from a secured dungeon vault.
On the paper, numbers were printed in neat columns, all tidy and clean. But none of it made sense.
"An A-class healing scroll..." Han Jin-woo murmured, tapping the sheet lightly with his finger. "Retail market value is five million won. You’ve got it listed here for two thousand four hundred?"
The man grinned like a wolf. "Looks wrong, sounds wrong... but it’s right."
Han raised his gaze, expression unreadable. "That’s barely over the price of a vending soda. You want me to believe this is a legit source?"
"You think we print the prices on value?" The man leaned forward, finally lifting his sunglasses to perch them on his head. His eyes were slick and sharp, too fast for comfort. "We print them on risk. The price isn’t for the item. It’s for how fast you grab it before someone else does."
Han frowned, silent for a breath. The air in the office suddenly felt thicker, like the oxygen itself didn’t trust the conversation.
The man chuckled and pointed at the paper again, tapping the price column. "This ain’t a grocery store. It’s a meat market. And the hunters? They’re the cattle and the wolves. Sometimes both."
Han sat back, tension bunching across his shoulders like iron cables. "This pricing looks...
criminal."
The man shrugged. "That’s the world now, ain’t it? Dungeons crack open. Monsters crawl out. Who’s gonna wait for ethics to catch up? You either take the deal or someone else does. Hunters come back bleeding. They don’t want fair trade. They want fast answers."
Han Jin-woo looked down at the paper again. The columns blurred for a moment, numbers dancing like whispers on water. Something about it felt dirty—not just the numbers, but the rhythm behind them. Like there was a pulse to this deal that didn’t come from people.
"Where’s the supply coming from?" he asked finally.
The man leaned back, gave him a sly grin. "You really wanna know?"
Han paused. He didn’t answer. The silence spoke.
The man chuckled. "Didn’t think so."
The list included mana stones, recovery amulets, unregistered dungeon maps, and something labeled ’Project Candlelight’—which had no price at all. Just a single line: *inquire directly.*
Han pointed at it. "What’s this?"
"Future business."
"That’s not an answer."
"It’s all the answer you get for now."
There was a pause. A long one. The kind that made the air itself itch.
Han Jin-woo leaned forward at last. His voice dropped, flat and even. "Let me guess. If I don’t make this deal, it goes to the Hae-seong Guild?"
The man’s grin widened. "I didn’t say that."
"You didn’t have to."
The man folded his arms behind his head, relaxing like he’d already won. "You think it’s about good and bad, bro? It’s about speed. You stay long enough in this business, you react fast. Or you become someone else’s leftover."
Han Jin-woo looked down at the paper one more time. His finger hovered over the signature line at the bottom. The pen lay just beside it, heavy as a gun.
He didn’t sign. Not yet.
And that’s where it ended. For now.