Work Text:
8 March - 6 PM KST
"You sure he'll come at six?"
"I checked his whole schedule ten times already," Woo Jinchul muttered, rubbing his temples. "He's supposed to be back in Korea by five."
"Supposed to." Choi Jongin let out a slow, suffering exhale. "That man is as predictable as a gate anomaly."
“You keep cutting the candles shorter.” Lim Taegyu leaned back in his chair, watching Jongin with mild amusement.
"Because they're going stale." Jongin scowled, adjusting the candles on the cake for the fifth time like the fire-obsessed menace that he was.
Baek Yoonho, arms crossed, partially-transformed tail twitching slightly in annoyance, narrowed his eyes. “You just like setting things on fire."
Jongin snapped his fingers, and a tiny flame flickered to life on his fingertips. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
The Guildmaster of the White Tiger Guild let out a low, unimpressed growl. “For a guy with fire powers, you sure waste a lot of time on candles.”
"If we sit here too long, I’ll start melting them myself," Jongin continued.
"Do not ." Yoo Soohyung, ever the socialite, shot Baek Yoonho a sharp warning glare, her fingers tightening around her phone. She had been agonizing for hours over how to justify posting this on SNS—because really, how did one even begin to explain this guest list? The sheer absurdity of having multiple walking nuclear warheads casually gathered in one room was something no filter or caption could fix. “I need at least one picture before we erase all evidence this ever happened.”
"You mean before Hyungnim destroys the evidence." Yoo Jinho, who had been pacing nervously for the last twenty minutes, let out a very stressed exhale. "Where IS he?! This guest list is insane! I mean—look at them!"
He gestured wildly at the room full of walking natural disasters.
"You say that like you weren't the one who kept convincing me to invite them," Jinah pointed out.
"As a joke!" Jinho wheezed. "As a joke , Jinah!"
Jinah grinned, smug. "Yeah, but they all actually showed up."
Laura, seated next to Lennart, started laughing hysterically. “Oh my god. That’s right. You did invite them all as a joke, and they all came!”
Michael Connor, blinking, looked around the highly classified, top-tier roster of international hunters and muttered, “This is a joke?!” He threw a quite manic glance at his colleague, David Brennon.
“I hate this job.” David Brennon, already nursing a headache, pinched the bridge of his nose. “We have five countries’ worth of walking disasters gathered in South Korea, sitting in a dark room.”
On the other corner of KHA, looking like a homely Busan woman that she was, Lee Juhee sighed, arms crossed as she surveyed the utterly ridiculous scene before her. “You know… I was fully prepared for the idea that Jinwoo would show up late. But I wasn’t prepared for the part where all of you would still be here waiting.”
Song Chiyeol, seated comfortably with a steaming cup of tea in his only hand, let out a slow chuckle. “Oh, believe me, Juhee-ssi. I’ve known this kid since he was E-Rank. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that nothing about Sung Jinwoo ever goes the way you expect.”
Juhee exhaled, shaking her head. “At least back then, he had an excuse. Now? He’s just like this.”
Chiyeol took a sip of his tea, clearly amused. “Maybe some things never change.”
“Maybe some things should,” Juhee muttered.
Jinho, overhearing, turned to Juhee with the desperation of a man barely holding it together. “Noona, please tell me you can heal stress.”
Juhee patted his shoulder sympathetically. “Sorry, Jinho-ah. Even my powers have limits.”
Chiyeol, watching Jinho collapse onto the table dramatically, let out another low chuckle. Then his gaze drifted to the collection of S-Ranks, National Hunters, and government officials who had been forced into a battle of endurance for a single missing birthday boy.
He shook his head with a sigh. “You know, I’ve spent most of my life telling younger hunters that patience is one of the most important qualities in survival. I just never imagined it would be tested like this.”
Jinah, leaning back smugly, popped a chip into her mouth. “Yeah, well. Welcome to our lives.”
.
.
Meanwhile, the Brazilian National Hunter who used to be a recluse until Jinwoo fished him out of the Amazonian river during the Monarchs' War—Jonas—sighed, staring at the clock.
"He's already late."
"He has one hour left before he's actually late." Siddharth Bachchan leaned back in his chair, eyes half-lidded, radiating pure self-importance. "And frankly, that sounds optimistic."
Laura, still giggling, wiped a tear from her eye. "Oh my god, I can't believe Sung Jinwoo's little sister just accidentally hosted the most powerful gathering of hunters in the world and did it for fun."
"I say we eat first." Thomas Andre, completely relaxed in his chair, tossed a grape in his mouth.
"No." Jinah, seated nearby, glared. "He has to be here before we start. Otherwise, what’s the point?!"
Siddharth stretched lazily, looking thoroughly unbothered. “I don’t know why we’re waiting for him, honestly. The universe already bends to his will. He’ll probably just appear the second we lose patience.”
Liu Zhigang gave him a flat look. “That’s the most self-important thing I’ve heard today.”
Siddharth grinned. “Then I suppose you should be honored, Hunter Liu. I’m usually at my best when I have an audience.”
Baek Yoonho sighed, rubbing his temple. “I swear, the only thing more unbearable than Sung Jinwoo’s ‘disappearing acts’ is you, Bachchan.”
Siddharth tilted his head, feigning deep thought. “Mm. And yet, I don’t see Sung Jinwoo here. I do see you, however. Growling. Pacing. Ears twitching.” His lips curled in a lazy smirk. “Are you sure you’re not just upset that he’s the bigger cat?”
Silence.
Baek’s eye twitched.
Then, his chair scraped violently against the floor as he shot up, nearly knocking it over. His form rippled at the edges, mana spiking just slightly, his claws flickering into existence as his mana-filled eyes flashed.
Siddharth rested his chin in his hand. “What’s the matter, little kitty?”
Lennart’s chair scraped back just as violently. “Oh my god, are you actually about to shift?!”
Baek let out a low, warning growl.
Choi Jongin, already regretting all his life choices, moved fast. In one swift motion, he grabbed Baek’s arm before he could lunge, and Lennart—clearly experienced in preventing international disasters—latched onto the other side.
“Baek-ssi, calm down—” Jongin gritted out, straining.
“I AM CALM.”
“You’re literally halfway to being a tiger, bro!” Lennart grunted, struggling to hold on.
Siddharth, meanwhile, looked deeply entertained and completely unconcerned. “So sensitive. Is this a cat thing?”
Baek snarled. “I WILL REMOVE YOUR CONFIDENCE FROM YOUR BODY.”
Jongin, still straining, muttered, “Can someone explain why every beast-type hunter has no self-control?!”
Lim Taegyu, chewing on a snack from his seat, shrugged. “Beast instincts.”
Liu Zhigang, watching this unfold, muttered to Thomas, “How are we still waiting for Jinwoo when we’ve already lost control of the room?”
Thomas, popping another grape into his mouth, shrugged. “Beats me.”
.
7.30 PM KST
"Norma," Lennart turned to the elderly Seer with the utmost seriousness. "Can you tell us when Hunter Sung Jinwoo will arrive?"
Silence.
The entire room turned to Norma Selner with expectation.
The American Seer paused mid-sip of her tea. Then, very calmly, she set it down and stared at them.
“…Are you people seriously asking me,” she said, her voice dangerously even, “to use my extremely rare ability—a gift that has granted me visions of the world’s most powerful hunters and devastating threats—to find out when a 25-year-old man will show up to his own birthday party?”
Jinchul, exhausted but determined, nodded. “Yes.”
Norma gasped. “The disrespect.”
“I mean,” Lennart hedged, “It’s a valid question. The world literally revolves around him at this point—”
"I will NOT waste my divine gift on your scheduling issues!" Norma declared, scandalized. "I have witnessed prophecies of destruction, the rise and fall of empires! And you want me to be a glorified GPS tracker?!"
"...So that's a no?"
Norma huffed. "The boy will come when he comes! If you have to ask, you clearly don't know him well enough!"
Choi Jongin, still flicking small flames between his fingers: "That's what we're afraid of."
Norma stood up, offended. "You can all suffer in your ignorance, then. I'm going to get more tea."
The hunters watched as she stalked out of the room, muttering under her breath about "youths these days."
"…That was kind of dramatic," Lennart whispered.
Laura, watching Norma disappear down the hall, took a slow sip of her drink. “She’s got flair. Respect.”
.
11 PM - KST Time
The air in the conference room had grown thick with exhaustion, frustration, and the kind of absurdity that only Sung Jinwoo could inspire.
Woo Jinchul, who had been checking updates every five minutes like a man slowly losing his grip on reality, let out a heavy breath and squinted at his phone again.
“I… I don’t know where exactly he is.” He rubbed his eyes, hoping it was just a trick of the light, but no—it was real.
“The last confirmed sighting…” Jinchul hesitated, hesitated again, and then spoke, his tone unbelieving even as he said it.
“…Johannesburg?”
The room fell into complete, suffocating silence.
Then—
“AFRICA?!”
Baek Yoonho’s voice cracked.
His chair scraped against the floor as he abruptly pushed himself up, his tail lashing in agitation. His golden eyes blazed with a kind of righteous fury only a man who had waited six hours in a dark room could possess.
“WE HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR SIX HOURS—AND HE’S ON A WHOLE DIFFERENT CONTINENT?!”
Back in the corner of the room was Go Gunhee, sitting leisury on his wheelchair—who had been watching the chaos unfold with increasing amusement, let out a full-bodied guffaw.
“Pfft—oh, this is fantastic.” He wiped at his eyes, barely suppressing his laughter. “Sung Jinwoo has somehow managed to hold an entire room of world-class hunters hostage without even knowing it.”
“This is worse than I thought,” Jongin muttered, his hands resting on his hips like a father about to scold his entire guild.
Across the room, Lennart lowered his drink, looking deeply, profoundly unimpressed. “So… no one on this planet actually knows where Sung Jinwoo is going at any given time?”
Jinchul, trying not to let his headache get worse, sighed. “Apparently not. Even the hunters in South Africa don’t know why he’s there."
Michael Connor turned, looking as if he’d just witnessed a natural disaster up close. “Wait. So even the people physically near him have no idea what he’s doing?”
David Brennon, fully resigned to his fate, nodded. “No one except Sung Jinwoo. And maybe his shadows. Maybe.”
For a brief moment, no one spoke.
Then—
A long, exasperated groan rolled through the room, a universal, bone-deep frustration that transcended nationality, power rankings, and political affiliations.
"Shadow Teleportation is actual bullshit ."
The words came from Jonas, but they might as well have been spoken by every single person in the room.
Immediately, voices rose in multiple languages, overlapping in furious agreement.
"It’s not fair!" Jonas threw up his hands. "Normal people have traffic. Normal people have flights. Normal people do not just vanish across the world on a whim."
“You know what I had to do to get here?” Liu Zhigang’s voice was eerily calm—the kind of calm that came from a man who had suffered. “A two-hour flight. Two. Hours. Do you know how long it takes Sung Jinwoo to get to Beijing?”
The Korean S-Ranks didn’t even hesitate.
“One second.”
Liu let out a slow, measured breath. “Exactly.”
Thomas Andre, slumped in his chair, groaned into his hands. "I had to charter a private jet to get here. Jinwoo? He snaps his fingers and boom—he’s at your house."
Baek Yoonho, his tail flicking sharply against the chair, let out a low growl.
“If he just appears out of nowhere at 11:59, I swear to god, I’m going to lose it.”
Jongin, arms crossed, tilted his head. “At this point, we should start charging him international teleportation fees.”
Jinah, who had reached the final stages of grievance, slammed her hands on the table.
“Oh my god, YES.” She turned, her expression blazing with vengeful righteousness. “I swear, this man needs consequences.”
Jinho, frazzled beyond belief, nearly choked.
“JINAH-YA, YOU are the one who invited all these people!”
Jinah whirled on him.
“AND IT’S BEEN SIX HOURS, JINHO OPPA. I DESERVE JUSTICE.”
A beat of silence.
Then, from across the table, Juhee hummed thoughtfully and reached into her purse.
“50,000 won says he shows up past midnight.”
Laura, who had been watching all of this with way too much amusement, immediately perked up.
“Oh my god, I’ll take that bet.” She pulled out her own cash so fast it was honestly concerning.
Chiyeol, sipping his tea with the exasperated patience of an old man who had seen too much, sighed heavily.
“I cannot believe we are gambling over Sung Jinwoo’s ability to be a functioning human being.”
Juhee shrugged. “I consider it an investment.”
“An investment in what? Your disappointment?”
Laura, grinning, stacked her bet next to Juhee’s. “If she wins, she gets to be smug about it. If I win, I get money. It’s a flawless system.”
Chiyeol sighed even deeper, long and suffering.
Next to him, Jinho let out a highly distressed noise, running his hands through his already-messy hair like a man on the verge of a breakdown.
Then, with the hollow resignation of someone who had long since lost control of his life, he pulled out his wallet and slammed a shining, gold-foiled, limited-edition VVIP Black Diamond corporate card onto the table—the kind reserved only for the highest-tier chaebols and absurd financial decisions.
The table went dead silent.
Laura and Juhee stared.
“…Jinho,” Juhee said slowly, blinking at the sheer audacity.
“Oh my god, is that your dad’s company card?” Laura whispered, looking horrified yet deeply impressed.
Jinho, his entire existence hanging on by a thread, exhaled sharply and muttered, “If I’m going to suffer, I might as well profit off of it.”
Laura immediately slapped her hands together. “Now this is the kind of energy I respect.”
Michael Connor, staring at the sheer dysfunction of what was supposed to be a birthday party, shook his head.
“This… this feels like a hostage situation, except we’re all the hostages, and the captor isn’t even here.”
David Brennon, closing his eyes as if willing himself into another plane of existence, muttered, “I’m never doing this again.”
.
.
Amid the growing chaos—where Thomas Andre openly lamented the absurd cost of his private jet, Baek Yoonho’s tail flicked with increasing agitation, and Jinah built an increasingly unhinged legal case for her own Oppa's international Shadow Teleportation taxation—three women remained entirely unbothered.
They sat in their own untouched oasis of calm, quietly sipping their tea as if the room around them wasn’t actively descending into madness.
Park Kyunghye, elegant and composed as ever, cradled her cup in her hands with the ease of a woman who had survived raising two gremlins and come out the other side with nothing but exasperated fondness and an endless well of patience.
Beside her, Norma Selner exuded the kind of unshakable calm that only came with knowing too much about the universe. There was something almost amused in the way she lifted her teacup, her eyes twinkling—not at the shouting, but at the distant, inevitable unraveling of fate.
Across from them, Cha HaeIn sat with deliberate ease, her back turned to the room, her attention fixed solely on her tea.
Unlike the others, her presence at this table was not just a matter of preference but necessity.
The room reeked of mana.
Haein had always hated the scent of other hunters—the thick, metallic stench of blood embedded in their magic, clinging to them like the echoes of their battles. Tonight, with so many S-Ranks gathered in one place, the air was cloying and suffocating, layered with too many conflicting signatures.
It was unbearable .
So she had retreated here, to the only space in the room where the air wasn’t thick with predatory instincts and simmering tempers.
Where the biggest concern was whether or not autumn would last long enough to enjoy before winter set in.
“The weather’s been strange lately,” Kyunghye mused, swirling her tea with a thoughtful hum. “I was thinking of switching out Jinah’s blankets for the heavier ones, but then the temperature spiked again.”
Norma nodded in understanding, setting her cup down with quiet grace. “Yes, it’s been an unpredictable season. We might be in for an early winter.”
Haein barely acknowledged the rising noise behind her as she lifted her spoon, absently stirring. “It’s even worse near the Han River. The temperature drops so fast at night, but then by noon, it’s warm again. I started carrying an extra jacket.”
Behind them, a chair scraped violently against the floor.
“If he doesn’t show up in the next five minutes,” Choi Jongin muttered, his voice unnervingly calm, “I will personally set something on fire.”
Baek Yoonho’s tail flicked again, sharper this time, his jaw tightening. “I don’t care if it’s his birthday. He can still die.”
“You’d think someone with unlimited teleportation wouldn’t be late,” Jonas grumbled, rubbing a hand down his face. “It takes me ten hours to fly here. It takes him one second. Where is the justice?”
Lennart, looking increasingly dead inside, sighed. “At this point, I’m convinced he’s just waiting for us to lose patience so he can appear at the last possible moment.”
Thomas Andre, half-sprawled across his chair like a man who had seen too much, let out a low groan. “I spent my entire flight getting an in-flight sales pitch from my pilot. Do you know how much I paid to be here? Fifty grand. Someone needs to wake that man up from whatever black hole of a time loop he’s in.”
Kyunghye, unfazed, took another sip of tea. “It would be nice to get some autumn rain before winter settles in.”
“Oh, definitely,” Norma agreed, adjusting the delicate fold of her shawl. “A bit of rain before the cold sets in is always pleasant.”
At that exact moment, Jinah—who had apparently reached her breaking point—slammed her hands onto the table. “OPPA CAN'T KEEP GETTING AWAY WITH THIS.”
Haein exhaled softly, barely reacting to the latest outburst.
“I should’ve warned you guys about this,” she murmured.
Kyunghye arched a brow, her expression mild but sharp with deep amusement. “Warned them?”
Haein nodded absently, still stirring her tea. “Yeah. He’s always been like this, that one time we were on a date—”
Silence.
The room behind them continued buzzing, a chaotic blend of grievances and increasingly creative threats of retribution against Sung Jinwoo.
But at their table, two women had gone utterly still.
Norma’s fingers hovered above her teacup, her expression neutral, but her amusement undeniable.
Haein went rigid.
Her grip tightened around her spoon, her brain frantically trying to rewind time.
Oh. No.
She had just said that—out loud—to Jinwoo’s mother.
“Ah—” Haein’s voice died in her throat. She swallowed, eyes flicking toward Kyunghye, who was now watching her with far too much interest. “I-I mean—n-not like that. I just—what I meant was—”
Norma took a leisurely sip of her tea, looking deeply entertained.
Kyunghye tilted her head, her expression perfectly neutral, save for the unmistakable sparkle in her eyes. “Oh? Not like what, dear?”
Haein’s ears burned. “J-Just—you know, we weren’t really—well, it wasn’t exactly—”
Her hands twitched in vague, helpless gestures, as if she could physically grab her words and shove them back into her mouth.
Kyunghye simply rested her chin against her hand, nodding encouragingly. “Mm. Go on.”
“I—it’s not like we were officially— I mean, it wasn’t a real—” Haein’s voice dropped into a strangled whisper. “Oh my god.”
Norma chuckled softly. “Ah, but the weather isn’t nearly as fascinating, is it?”
Kyunghye sighed, pleased beyond measure. “No, no, it certainly isn’t.” She smiled, a slow, knowing thing. “The forecast never accidentally reveals secret relationships to a boy’s mother.”
Haein wanted to die.
She clamped her hands over her face, wishing for a gate to open beneath her chair and drag her into the void.
Kyunghye, meanwhile, let out a soft, contemplative hum, tapping a finger against her teacup.
“…How interesting.”
There was something deeply ominous about the way she said it.
Norma, sensing something truly delightful brewing, leaned forward. “Kyunghye-ssi?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.” Kyunghye’s smile was gentle, the kind of warmth that could lull someone into a false sense of security before they realized, too late, that they had already been doomed.
She turned her gaze toward the room—toward the gathered hunters still loudly lamenting Sung Jinwoo’s crimes against punctuality.
Then she sighed, softly, delicately.
“…I just think it’s curious that my son forgot to mention this tiny little detail to me.”
She lifted her teacup to her lips, her expression serene, her tone sugary-sweet.
“I suppose I’ll just have to remind him.”
Norma’s lips curved. “Oh dear.”
Haein let out a quiet, horrified whimper.
.
.
9 March - 1 AM KST
Jinwoo had a very bad feeling.
Not the kind that made him summon his army, not the kind that set his instincts ablaze with incoming danger, but the kind that made him hesitate before stepping into the KHA—an odd, prickling sensation at the back of his mind that told him something was off.
The moment he shadow-stepped back into Seoul, he felt it.
Too many powerful presences clustered in one place.
That alone wasn’t an immediate cause for concern. High-ranked hunters gathered all the time—for government meetings, guild negotiations, dungeon strategy discussions that Jinwoo had spent years avoiding like the plague. But this wasn’t just one or two hunters.
This was… a lot.
More than he’d ever sensed in one place since the Monarchs War.
For a brief moment, he slowed his steps, instincts stirring like an itch beneath his skin. A high concentration of power like this wasn’t normal. If anything, it was a security risk. The last time this much raw destruction had been packed into one location, Antares had been breathing down the world’s neck.
His fingers twitched, instincts sharpening as his thoughts flickered through the possibilities. An emergency meeting? A classified crisis? A world-ending disaster that, for some reason, everyone had collectively forgotten to text him about?
…Should he check?
…No.
Not my problem.
Not yet, anyway.
He had bigger concerns.
The timing was bad, too. He had meant to return to Seoul hours ago, but Johannesburg had delayed him.
And it wasn’t just because of the unstable S-Rank gate. He could clear those blindfolded at this point. That wasn’t what had kept him occupied.
What had kept him occupied was the pattern.
Small, subtle, easy to dismiss if you weren’t looking for it.
But he was.
Mana fluctuations where there shouldn’t have been any. Variations so precise they looked meaningless to anyone else—but to him, they weren’t. To him, they meant something.
Someone was testing something.
And Jinwoo had a very, very bad suspicion about who.
They had always been watching. Not like the Monarchs--nor the Rulers, who had descended in conquest, violent and impatient, revealing themselves the moment they deemed the war inevitable.
This was something else entirely—subtle, methodical, deliberate. They weren’t hunting. They were studying. Not waiting for an opening, but creating one, testing boundaries, mapping something out with unnerving precision.
Jinwoo couldn’t see them. Not yet. But he could feel them.
Like a presence just outside the edges of perception, too distant to confront yet too close to ignore. The weight of unseen eyes, pressing against the back of his neck. A disturbance where there should be stillness. A shadow where no light should exist.
And the patterns were changing.
At first, the mana fluctuations had been minor, small enough to dismiss as coincidence. A spike in energy levels here, an unexpected gate instability there. Anomalies. Nothing outside the realm of possibility.
But now—now they were too frequent, too precise, too deliberate.
Jinwoo had seen enough battles, faced enough enemies, to know the difference between chaos and intent. This wasn’t the world reacting unpredictably to the residual effects of the Monarchs’ War. This was someone running tests.
Someone measuring the limits of this world.
And if he was right—if the pieces fit the way he suspected—then Earth wasn’t just being watched. It was being prepared for something.
His fingers twitched slightly, mana stirring at his command as his thoughts moved faster than words. Igris. Bellion. His shadows responded in an instant, spreading their awareness, scanning for irregularities in gate formations, tracking fluctuations that had deviated from expected patterns. Tusk. The order went deeper, threading into the network of intelligence they had been compiling for months. Cross-reference. Find the points of repetition. Identify the locations where these shifts have occurred before.
He could feel his own thoughts turning toward war, a part of him already constructing the necessary steps, calculating the patterns, predicting the moves he would need to make when the time came.
But not yet.
There was still time. Not much, but enough. He didn’t have a full picture yet, and until he did, all he could do was prepare. For now, there were no confirmed threats.
For now, whatever was happening inside the KHA wasn’t his problem.
Satisfied with this entirely rational decision, he shadow-stepped into the KHA conference room—mid-thought, still half-muttering to himself.
“…Doesn’t make sense. Mana dispersions shouldn’t be that unstable unless—”
And then he froze.
The room was dark.
And full of people.
Sitting in absolute, soul-crushing silence.
Jinwoo’s entire body locked up as his senses caught up to what his eyes were seeing.
Thomas Andre, arms crossed, slouched deep into his chair, his massive frame practically folded in on itself. Liu Zhigang, face buried in his hands, looking like he’d just witnessed the collapse of his entire stock portfolio.
Siddharth Bachchan sat muttering quietly to himself, the words too soft to catch but carrying the distinct tone of deep, spiritual regret.
Christopher Reed, seated with unnatural stiffness, his posture far too rigid for a man who wasn’t physically restrained. Baek Yoonho, half-awake, blinking sluggishly, looking like he had aged a full decade since entering this room. Beside him, Choi Jong-In absentmindedly flicked small sparks of flame between his fingertips—perpetually tempting fate… or the fire sprinkler above.
Woo Jinchul, seated at the center of it all, was staring at nothing.
Not in the way someone deep in thought might.
No, his expression was too blank, too devoid of reaction, as if he had simply transcended emotions altogether and chosen to detach from reality.
On the couch, Jinah was curled up under a blanket, dead asleep. Jinho, sitting nearby, was slumped sideways against the armrest, occasionally jerking awake with a twitch.
Lennart had given up hours ago.
Completely passed out.
Go Gunhee sat calmly, an amused twinkle in his eyes, as if he was simply enjoying the absurdity of watching world-class hunters mentally deteriorate in real time.
David Brennon and Michael Connor, the heads of the Federal Bureau of Hunters, sat stiffly as if they were questioning every decision that had led them here.
Juhee, seated near Hae-In, looked long past the point of patience, arms crossed and brows furrowed, her usual gentle demeanor replaced with the unmistakable exhaustion of someone who had resigned herself to suffering.
Hae-In sat beside her, her fingers lightly curled around a half-finished cup of tea, her posture relaxed—but her expression unreadable. Unlike the others, she wasn’t fuming, despairing, or outwardly exhausted. Instead, she simply gazed at the scene before her with a quiet, almost knowing exasperation.
Liu Zhigang let out a slow, exhausted breath. “I should have just gone home.”
Jinwoo’s stomach dropped.
This was not the scene of an emergency.
This was something worse.
The air was thick with exhaustion, suffering, and the overwhelming weight of disappointment.
Jinwoo, still processing, let his gaze trail over the absurd guest list.
Korean S-Ranks. National Hunters. The Hunter Bureau’s top brass. His friends. His family. Even Go Gunhee, somehow dragged out of retirement for… whatever this was.
And yet—no one moved.
No one spoke.
The vibes were horrific.
Jinwoo’s stomach dropped further.
Had he missed something critical? Was this a grief gathering? A hostage situation?
Had someone died?
His thoughts were spiraling.
“…Did someone die?”
His words sliced through the silence like a knife.
The reaction was instant.
Jinah, still half-asleep, screamed.
“OH MY GOD.”
Lights snapped on, violently bright.
Jinwoo winced, momentarily blinded as the full force of the scene finally hit him in all its awful clarity.
A fully set table. A cake. Candles, melted down to pathetic stubs.
A room full of exhausted, miserable world-class hunters looking like they had been psychologically tortured for hours.
Jinah, now fully awake, threw her hands in the air.
“ARE YOU SERIOUSLY JUST GETTING HERE NOW?!”
Jinwoo, still not entirely caught up, blinked. “Uh.”
“DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS?!”
Jinwoo glanced toward the nearest clock.
“…Almost one?”
“ALMOST ONE.”
Baek Yoonho let out a sound that was one step removed from a growl. “We were supposed to surprise you at six.”
Jinwoo looked around again, this time fully understanding.
His stomach dropped further.
Oh.
Oh no.
They had been waiting.
For him.
Christopher Reed, rubbing his temple like he had long given up on life, sighed. “Because it’s your birthday, Sung.”
Jinwoo’s entire body locked up.
His brain shut down.
His mouth went dry.
His face went red.
There was a long, painful silence.
Then Thomas Andre groaned, dragging a hand down his face like a man who had suffered one too many disappointments in life.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Jinwoo, feeling deeply unsettled but still not fully convinced he wasn’t hallucinating, let his gaze drift—very discreetly—toward the nearest calendar on the wall.
His eyes landed on the date.
March 9.
A terrible, dawning realization sank into his bones.
“…Oh,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Silence.
A long, excruciating silence.
Jinwoo slowly blinked, his exhausted brain finally catching up.
Another beat.
Then, quieter, almost pitifully small—
“…Wait, It’s already the 9th?”
A second wave of silence crashed over the room, heavier, deadlier.
Baek Yoonho, staring at him with the hollow eyes of a man who had endured seven hours of wasted life, let out a sharp exhale through his nose.
Jinah inhaled sharply, her nostrils flaring, her hands curling into fists.
“WHOSE FAULT IS THAT?!”
.
.
The dam burst.
The moment Jinah’s voice ripped through the tension, the entire room seemed to snap back to life.
Jinho, who had been clinging to consciousness by sheer willpower alone, wailed and slumped face-first onto the table. “HYUNGNIM. I waited seven hours for this. Seven. Hours.”
Liu Zhigang exhaled, stretching his neck with a slow pop. “I’m getting too old for this.”
Siddharth, looking genuinely mystified, leaned back in his chair. “This is what happens when a man works too much. His entire sense of time collapses.”
“Shocking.” Lennart, who had just woken up from his emergency nap, ran a hand through his messy hair with a slow sigh, somehow still looking effortlessly handsome. “Who could have seen this coming?”
“Not me, apparently.” Norma Selner sipped her tea, giving Jinwoo a pointed look.
Jinwoo, still standing awkwardly in the middle of the chaos, looked genuinely guilty now.
The realization was slowly sinking in—that all of these people, people who barely had time to breathe in their own countries, had come all the way here just for him.
And he had completely forgotten.
His birthday.
A lump formed in his throat, something heavy settling in his chest as his gaze swept over the table, the cake with its half-melted candles, the exhausted but still bickering Korean S-Ranks, the foreign hunters and officials who had somehow called him a friend, and the downright murderous expression on Jinah’s face.
“…Sorry?” he offered weakly.
Jinah immediately launched herself at him, hands wrapping around his coat with righteous fury.
“OPPA. I SWEAR TO GOD.”
“WHO LETS GO OF THEIR SENSE OF TIME LIKE THIS?!”
“HOW DO YOU JUST FORGET YOUR OWN BIRTHDAY?!”
Jinwoo, now slightly concerned for his own safety, lifted his hands in an appeasing gesture. “Jinah. Think of the witnesses.”
“I HAVE PLENTY OF WITNESSES.”
“That’s what makes it worse.”
Woo Jinchul, who had clearly lost his ability to care, clapped his hands together once. “Alright. Enough. We’re eating before I personally throw Hunter Sung into another dimension.”
The room groaned in relief.
The food—miraculously still warm thanks to the fire magic—was finally uncovered, and people dug in with the desperation of men who had suffered far too long.
Go Gunhee, chuckling as he reached for his plate, patted Jinwoo on the back with a knowing glint in his eyes. “If this was your master plan to make all of us suffer together, you succeeded spectacularly.”
Jinwoo sighed. “I swear it wasn’t.”
His mother, who had been watching the entire thing unfold with the distinct air of someone who had long since accepted her son’s chaos as a permanent state of life, finally spoke, shaking her head with fond exasperation.
“I’m just amazed you didn’t forget to eat, too.”
“Ah.” Jinwoo hesitated. “About that…”
Kyung-hye’s expression did not change.
“…Jinwoo.”
He immediately shoved food in his mouth as a distraction.
Jinho, watching from the sidelines, muttered under his breath, “I’ve never seen a man fold so fast.”
Across the table, Juhee, who had been idly picking at her cake, let out a quiet sigh, tilting her head.
“You know, I used to think nothing could top watching you pass out mid-raid. But somehow, this is worse.”
Jinwoo, still chewing, narrowed his eyes. “You realize you’re saying that like it was a weekly occurrence.”
Juhee raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t it?”
Jinwoo pointedly ignored her, returning his focus to his food.
Juhee, undeterred, reached over and dropped another generous helping of jap-chae onto his plate.
“Eat. Before your mom adds this to her list of disappointments.”
Jinwoo sighed but relented, picking up his fork.
Juhee, satisfied, leaned back in her chair. “Good. Now I can stop feeling bad for you and start making fun of you again.”
Jinwoo shot her a flat look. “Glad to know your priorities.”
David Brennon, watching Thomas Andre tear through his food like a starving man, shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the National Hunters this emotionally damaged.”
Michael Connor, exhausted but still clearly entertained, smirked. “Sung Jinwoo. The only man in existence who can gather all of the world’s strongest hunters in one room and make them suffer without even trying.”
Jinwoo groaned into his plate. “This is going to haunt me forever, isn’t it?”
Laura, from across the table, grinned. “Absolutely.”
Jinwoo, still feeling guilty but now also realizing this was getting ridiculous, looked at Jinah, who was still grumbling under her breath, stabbing at her cake like it had personally offended her.
“…It looks good?” he tried weakly, eyeing the ruined remains of the candles and his birthday cake– that Jinah apparently had baked for him. That little gremlin.
Jinah glared at him.
Jinho, now half-conscious again, groaned. “Eat the cake before Jinah stabs someone with the fork.”
With great caution, Jinwoo picked up his fork and took a bite.
…And then another.
He blinked.
Oh.
“…This is good.”
Baek Yoonho, sinking into his seat, sighed. “We know. We’ve been staring at it for seven hours.”
The teasing continued—loud, merciless, full of genuine laughter.
The S-Ranks were still bickering, their voices rising and falling in familiar rhythms of grievance and rivalry. The National Hunters, battered by a seven-hour siege of sheer boredom and hunger, had finally surrendered to their meals, eating in contented silence. The tension that had once held the room hostage had unraveled into something looser, lighter, almost peaceful.
Jinwoo, despite being ruthlessly roasted for the last half hour, felt something warm settle in his chest.
It was a strange thing, this feeling.
Familiar, yet distant.
Something he hadn’t let himself embrace in a long time.
Then, just beside him, a quiet voice.
“Happy birthday, Jinwoo.”
He turned.
Cha Haein sat beside him, just close enough that the warmth of her presence curled at the edge of his awareness.
The dim glow of the overhead lights caught in her golden hair, the soft strands reflecting a warmth that seemed almost unreal. There was no sharpness in her expression, none of the quiet intensity she carried in battle—only something gentler, softer. A quiet fondness that settled in her gaze, in the subtle curve of her lips as she looked at him.
For a brief moment, Jinwoo forgot how to function.
Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face.
Not his usual smirk. Not the teasing grin he used to deflect embarrassment or hide behind humor.
Just a genuine, quiet kind of happiness.
He tilted his head slightly, voice dropping into something softer, more intimate.
“Thanks for waiting.”
Haein blinked once, then smiled.
It was a small thing—barely there, barely noticeable. But it was warm. And it was real.
“You were always worth the wait.”
Jinwoo, who had fought Monarchs and rewritten the course of history, promptly forgot how to breathe.
The noise of the party faded, the laughter and bickering blurring into a background hum as silence stretched between them—not awkward, not uncertain, but comfortable.
And yet, beneath it, something unspoken lingered.
Something neither of them had the words for, not yet.
Jinwoo exhaled softly, gaze lowering for just a moment, before he spoke again—so quiet, just for her.
“It wouldn’t have been the same without you.”
Haein’s breath caught.
Her fingers twitched against her plate, the faintest shift of movement—like she wanted to reach for something, but wasn’t quite sure if she should.
Jinwoo felt it too, that fragile moment between hesitation and understanding, where the distance between them felt both small and impossibly vast.
Then—
A loud, suspicious huff from across the table.
Jinah, watching this unfold with growing scrutiny, narrowed her eyes.
“Why do you look weird?”
Jinwoo blinked, immediately snapping back to reality.
Haein, caught off guard, quickly reached for her drink.
Jinwoo cleared his throat, schooling his expression into careful indifference. “What? No reason. Eat your cake.”
Jinah squinted harder, befurning back to Jinho and continuing their conversation animatedly.
The party carried on, the warmth of it seeping into every corner of the room. Laughter rang out—loud, unrestrained, full of the kind of exhaustion that came from waiting too long, but also the kind that only existed among people who truly knew one another. Conversations overlapped, filling the space with teasing, arguing, reminiscing, the occasional clatter of chopsticks against plates, and the steady hum of familiarity.
It was a lot. Too many voices, too much power gathered in one room, too many eyes on him.
It should have felt overwhelming.
And yet—
For once, Jinwoo didn’t feel like an outsider looking in.
He wasn’t the hunter standing at the edge of the battlefield, waiting for the next fight. He wasn’t the last line of defense, the one who had to move while everyone else stood still. He wasn’t running ahead, wasn’t chasing something only he could see.
For once, he wasn’t alone.
And for once, he let himself believe that maybe, he didn’t always have to be.
Maybe it was okay to sit still, to let the moment hold him in place.
Maybe it was okay to just be here.
The laughter rose again, bright and relentless, echoing through the space like a memory he wanted to keep.
And maybe, just maybe—
This was a feeling worth remembering.
.
Happy Birthday, Sung Jinwoo ~ 08 / 03 / 2025