It's been a while since all three family members sat together...

“Whoa!”

No, all four family members sat together.

The one making a fuss was Park Yeon.

As Seo-jun looked at him, he awkwardly scratched his head.

“...It's quite edible.”

“Hehehe! I made the dough!”

“Seo-woo made the dough?”

“Yes! It's delicious, right?”

“Ah… no wonder it tastes so good. There’s no off-putting smell from the flour at all.”

“Hehehe. Seo-woo is the best, right?”

“Seo-woo is the best.”

Watching Park Yeon and Seo-woo, Yeon-jun chuckled and picked up his chopsticks.

Slurp—!

“Mmm.”

It was definitely delicious.

Especially for Yeon-jun, it had a particularly special taste.

“It reminds me of Grandma. You followed her recipe, didn’t you?”

“So you remember.”

“How could I forget this taste? Grandma made this for us at least once a week.”

“True… You really wore Grandma out.”

Yeon-jun chuckled as if reminiscing about fond memories.

“And what about you? You kept begging her to make sujebi.”

“Did I?”

“Yeah. When Grandma said she’d make it later, you would throw a fit, insisting she make it today.”

Park Yeon, who had been exchanging banter with Seo-woo, suddenly chimed in.

“Is that true? The Demon King… threw a tantrum? A full-blown tantrum?”

“Of course. He whined so much that even Grandma found it exhausting. No, ‘exhausting’ isn’t even the word—she even asked me to calm him down for her.”

“Puhaha! I can totally picture it. The great Demon King whining for food to Grandma…”

“...We're out of cola.”

“I can just imagine it—still keeping that solemn demeanor.”

Yeon-jun chuckled and resumed eating his kalguksu.

Those two were just like Tom and Jerry.

His brother was Jerry, and Park Yeon was Tom.

Or maybe… like a crocodile and a plover?

He wasn’t sure how best to describe them, but they definitely made a good pair.

‘Though, I still don’t know why he call him the Demon King.’

There was a time when he asked.

Park Yeon’s answer had been a masterpiece.

—Because he’s the Demon King.

Not because he had a terrible personality, just… because he was.

After that, Yeon-jun didn’t bother asking again.

His brother and Park Yeon were returnees.

And while Yeon-jun never showed it in front of them, he had a vague understanding—through TV and various media—of what returnees had gone through.

The government had even implemented rehabilitation programs specifically for returnees.

Case by case, but 74% of returnees suffered from severe PTSD. The remaining 26% had mild PTSD.

Yeon-jun could only guess that these two had endured unimaginably difficult times, to the point where the title ‘Demon King’ had been attached to them.

“By the way, did you check on that?”

In the middle of eating, Seo-jun asked.

“Yeah, I did.”

“And?”

“There are no openings.”

“Is there no other way?”

“If we buy an admission ticket, it’s possible.”

“An admission ticket?”

“Yeah. But do we really need to go that far? It’s just a daycare, not an elementary school.”

Seo-jun fell silent.

Honestly, ever since he had returned, he had been concerned about Seo-woo.

Seo-woo was six years old. Seo-jun still vividly remembered attending daycare at that age.

But Seo-woo was still staying at home. That was what worried him.

There was a friend named Hye-jin in the neighborhood, but they didn’t meet often. Maybe once in a while.

‘That could be a problem later.’

Humans are social creatures. If all the other kids had attended daycare but Seo-woo hadn’t, he could end up feeling isolated.

Without early exposure to social interactions, he might struggle to get along with other children.

That was why Seo-jun had recently brought up the topic of daycare with Yeon-jun.

“How much is it?”

“I didn’t check that far, so I’m not sure. But it’s probably a few hundred at least. And that’s the minimum. Some of the top places parents want to send their kids to cost billions.”

“Hmm.”

“But thanks for thinking about it.”

Nodding, Seo-jun glanced at Seo-woo.

Seo-woo, who had been exchanging banter with Park Yeon, now looked dejected.

Just because he was six years old didn’t mean he didn’t understand the situation. He had clearly picked up on the fact that he wouldn’t be going to daycare.

“Seo-woo, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Even so, he denied it.

“Really? Nothing at all?”

“Yes. I just… I don’t think I’ll be able to play with Hye-jin today.”

“Are you sure?”

“...Yes.”

Since returning, Seo-jun had noticed something—Seo-woo didn’t quite act like a typical six-year-old.

Lately, he had been acting more his age, but there were still moments like this, where he seemed far too mature.

It was heartbreaking.

Yeon-jun must have felt the same, as he quietly put down his chopsticks.

“It’s not because of daycare?”

“No, it’s not because of that.”

“So you don’t want to go?”

“Huh?”

“We were planning to send you to daycare. But if you don’t want to go, that’s fine too.”

Seo-woo, who had been sulking just moments ago, suddenly beamed and started bouncing in his seat.

“Really? Really, I can go to daycare?”

“Of course.”

“Hehehe. I love you, Uncle!”

“You should be thanking your dad, not me. He’s the one sending you, not me.”

“I love you, Dad! Hehehe!”

Seo-woo jumped off his chair and hugged Yeon-jun tightly.

Yeon-jun mouthed silently to Seo-jun.

‘What’s your plan?’

‘Don’t worry.’

Yeon-jun looked puzzled, but Seo-jun had already made up his mind.

Days had passed, yet the news articles continued to flood the portal sites.

Every single one of them was about him.

If it had been the Kim Chul-jun of just a few days ago, he might have secretly enjoyed reading such articles.

But not anymore.

Crunch—!

He couldn't understand it.

There was no such thing as an unbreakable safe in this world.

But the 12-K98 safe was different. It couldn't be broken, nor could it be cut open.

This was the very reason Kim Chul-jun had gone into hiding.

As far as he knew, there was no barrier master in Korea capable of constructing such an advanced barrier.

'What the hell is this? What could it be?'

He had been pondering over this for days.

Shutting himself inside his house.

He had even gone through every research paper on barriers published in the past ten years. Yet, he still couldn't find an answer.

'Did an external force intervene after all...'

Or perhaps the government itself had stepped in.

Maybe the Bureau of Management had hired a high-level barrier master, hoping that he would fail to break through.

That was actually the most reasonable assumption. He had no solid proof, only suspicions, so he couldn't voice his claims recklessly.

Korea had been the fastest country in the world to restore its social infrastructure after the Cataclysm.

This was largely thanks to the unity of its people.

Just like the gold collection campaign during the IMF crisis, the solidarity of the people during the Cataclysm had become the driving force behind complete national reconstruction.

Early Awakeners shared information with each other, and—something unthinkable now—if they acquired an item they didn't need, they would either pass it on or trade it with someone who could make better use of it.

Countries around the world had used Korea as a model for their own national reconstruction projects.

The closest example was Japan, followed by Taiwan and Singapore, which also succeeded in rebuilding.

Ironically, however, after stabilization, Korea's influence in the international community declined.

The reason? Awakeners.

Since Korea had fewer Awakeners than other nations, its national competitiveness inevitably suffered.

To put it in perspective, Korea had fewer Awakeners than Ethiopia, which was classified as a third-world country.

Of course, this was partly due to population differences.

In response, the Korean government had secretly conducted experiments in the past.

The experiments were based on the discovery that small amounts of radiation could be detected in ether. The theory was that artificial Awakening might be possible.

The experiments were conducted in Sector 13, the most underdeveloped area after the Cataclysm.

Ultimately, the government's experiments failed.

Had they merely failed, it would have been one thing. But in the process, 200 local residents were either killed or injured.

Yet, the government at the time had attempted to cover up the incident under the pretext of the greater good. Kim Chul-jun, who had participated in the experiment as an advisor, was disgusted by this and exposed the truth.

And that wasn’t all.

In the early days of the Cataclysm, the government had considered shutting down Sector 12.

They had deemed it infeasible to continue allocating manpower and resources to support the small number of residents in Sector 12.

The ones who opposed this decision were Kim Chul-jun and his colleagues.

“Nothing can be compared to the life of a living person. Are the lives of the people in Itaewon not worth saving?”

“We live in a world where even pet dogs and cats are rescued from the dangers of monsters. How could such a policy even be considered? As an Awakener, I refuse to cooperate with the government any further.”

“We have already lost too many people. They were taken by an overwhelming force of nature, but this time, it’s different. This time, we would be the ones letting go of their hands. Morally, we cannot do that.”

Eventually, the government retracted its decision and launched an operation to restore Itaewon.

A massive amount of manpower and resources were deployed to eliminate the monsters infesting the area, sealing off the gates and channels in the process.

Considering all of this, it was entirely plausible that the government was involved in this current affair.

'The question is, who orchestrated it? The Blue House? The opposition party?'

Both were possible suspects.

He had clashed with the opposition during the early Cataclysm and later with the ruling party.

After racking his brain over and over, he still couldn’t reach a conclusion.

And then—

“Guild Master!”

It was Security Captain Lee Jin-dong.

“What’s the matter?”

“Something’s happened!”

“Oh?”

“Yes! Please, come quickly!”

Setting aside his thoughts about the force behind the 12-K98 barrier, Chul-jun followed Lee Jin-dong.

They arrived at Dungeon 12-Q.

“Look at this.”

Where Lee Jin-dong was pointing, there wasn’t a single Krekseg in sight.

“It’s true.”

“Looks like we’ve finally cleared our name.”

“I never suspected you or the other guards to begin with.”

“The folks in seemed to, though.”

“Abyss no longer owns this place. It belongs to Hydra now, and you’re a member of Hydra as well.”

Lee Jin-dong looked a bit embarrassed but nodded.

“Still, something seems strange this time.”

“Strange?”

“Usually, the guards get knocked out, and only the Kreksegs get raided. But this time, monsters from other floors were taken down as well.”

“Have you checked the CCTV?”

“Of course. But, as expected, the footage was wiped.”

Chul-jun let out a deep sigh.

There were always grave robbers—people who attempted raids timed with the respawn of dungeon bosses.

But grave robbers didn’t bother with normal monsters. That is, unless they were hunting an Epic monster.

“Could this mysterious incident be related to that barrier?”

“It’s possible.”

“Then that would mean an incredibly powerful individual is involved... Ah! My apologies.”

“No need to apologize. You’re not wrong. But next time, they won’t stand a chance.”

“Huh?”

“There’s a reason I was called the Demon King.”

“What?”

At that moment, a surge of light erupted from Chul-jun’s hands.

'I don’t know who you are, but let’s at least take a look at your face.'