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Too many incidents had occurred over the past three weeks or so.
The joint raid of Jeju Island was victorious, but not without casualties. South Korea suffered the loss of their best S-ranked healer yet the Hunters Association couldn’t afford to mourn too long due to the surge of gate appearances all over the nation. They were also inundated with calls from various countries inquiring about Sung Jinwoo. The so-called ‘hero’ showed no intention to make things easier, deciding to form his own guild and often out of contact.
Lots of people were puzzled by the former E-rank hunter’s decision, and Woo Jinchul was no exception. It could be argued that he was among the few ‘non-family associates’ who were considered ‘close’ to the ‘Korea’s-most-wanted man’. Still, the trust they had built over time didn’t necessarily help him comprehend Jinwoo’s true purpose or source of power. The more witness testimonies he’d gathered, the longer the confidential report Jinchul had to compile, and it became increasingly unbelievable that the ‘Hunter Sung’ profile was even real.
To say that his progress was merely extraordinary would be an insult, he thought, placing a stack of freshly printed documents on his desk.
Those were his days lately. Repetitive, stagnant, and monotonous.
Woo Jinchul was always the dedicated career guy. If he kept doing overtime, it wasn’t about chasing a promotion per se. He rotated his wrist, glancing at his classic watch. Two AM. A weary sigh escaped him, accompanied by the creaking of the rotating chair as the he leaned against the backrest. Jinchul crossed his arms over his chest and blinked, intending to briefly rest his eyes before heading to the sleeping quarters. With such a demanding workload, he was certain he wouldn’t be the only one staying overnight at the company.
Such was the original plan, until he was struck by the pale rays of the morning sun spilling through the window.
“...” Jinchul gasped. “What—” just happened.
For a moment, he didn’t move.
The folder on his desk was exactly as he remembered it from the night before. He was still sitting in the same chair, but his sleeping position—when had he fallen asleep, by the way?—had changed. His both hands were now folded on the table surface, supporting his forehead. Jinchul hesitantly straightened up, and a long, black jacket slipped a little from the curve of his shoulder. He caught the thin garment just before it touched the floor, weighing it in his hands. He didn’t remember owning this kind of casual apparel, let alone wearing it.
It couldn’t belong to any of the other staff; they’d never dare disturb Jinchul when he was holed up in his study. If anyone was daring enough to, then it should be President Go. Jinchul, however, believed that his busy superior had another urgent appointment and didn’t return to headquarters.
“Huh,” he noticed one more sensation. “Strange.” I feel so refreshed.
Jinchul swore that he felt as energized as if he’d slept for eight hours on a proper bed.
As per protocol, he checked all openings. Doors, windows, even the ceiling, then frowned when he found no evidence of trespassing. Jinchul disliked having to speculate based on vague details, so he decided to hold off on drawing any conclusions and started his day.
“Jinchul,” the cordial greeting came as soon as he entered Go Gunhee’s office. Old age didn’t stop him from scrutinizing his subordinate’s appearance. “Ha. Look at you. Staying up like an owl again? Cut back on that bad habit, or else you might never be able to find a wife.”
Woo Jinchul simply nodded in a polite manner, “Good morning, President Go.”
Gunhee shook his head. While it was true that their uniforms offered zero variety, he could recognize the suit Jinchul was wearing—this kid hadn’t changed since yesterday. He was about to playfully scold the inspector when he noticed a subtle difference in his overall look.
“It’s rare to see you looking this well-rested,” he remarked lightly. Jinchul was accustomed to hiding his fatigue behind sunglasses, but Gunhee didn’t spot them that particular morning.
Jinchul was a bit taken aback by Gunhee’s observation, “...do I?”
“You are, indeed,” Gunhee chuckled, “Doesn’t go well with the creases in your shirt, though.”
“I apologize,” Jinchul said, bowing. “In that case, I’d like to ask permission to—”
“I was just joking,” Gunhee dismissed it. “But this one is serious: have I been too generous in providing sleeping facilities?”
“No one who uses it has complained, Sir,” Jinchul replied, as diplomatic as ever. And yet, a hint of sincerity escaped his lips. “But, yes, I must admit that I slept really well last night.”
Gunhee’s smile grew broader and heartier, “Oh?”
“And perhaps, dreaming?” Jinchul added reluctantly since he didn’t normally share any personal details. Gunhee accepted it like a parent listening to his son’s story. The Chairman would surely be more perplexed if Jinchul said he never used the sleeping quarters at all.
“A beautiful one, I wager?” Gunhee questioned, almost teasing.
Jinchul opened his mouth to answer,
Instead of words, a faint, almost imperceptible smile preceded his response.
“...it was.”
Jinchul’s gentle expression vanished as quickly as it had emerged, and Gunhee interpreted it as a shift from an ordinary civilian to a professional executive. Knowing better, he didn’t pursue the matter any further and began their day as superior and subordinate. It didn’t take long before the wide screen displayed data and images from various locations in Seoul, along with the mitigation measures they would implement to address the possible risks.
Nonetheless, the uncanny sensation lingered with him throughout the day. A tender, fleeting presence, inoffensive yet strangely protective. It was once there, and then nowhere.
Hunter Sung.
He had no proof, but the likelihood was too tempting to ignore.
Jinchul pondered how Jinwoo managed to reach his office without triggering the building’s security alarms. Unbeknownst to him, the shadow beneath his feet wriggled unnervingly, as if attempting to detach itself completely.
Sung Jinwoo’s proposal to remove the minimum participant requirement for high-difficulty explorations caused many Association officials to work overtime, including Woo Jinchul.
No. Especially Woo Jinchul.
Not only did he have to schedule meetings and curate the long lists of invitees, he was also responsible for drafting the speech that President Go would deliver. This exemption—or even, preferential treatment—undoubtedly would cause polemics within the existing Guilds and the Ministry of Defense. Jinchul didn’t bother himself regarding public opinion, which had been polarized since the very start. Those who had never witnessed Hunter Sung’s combat skills would certainly not understand why the Association decided to fully support whatever bold moves he decided to take. He himself was determined to trust Jinwoo until the end.
As usual, he chose to look over the reports and have a quick dinner in his office, while his fellow agents went out for a cigarette break. Jinchul was busy comparing two newly printed photographs when he noticed the peculiar phenomenon. He glanced at the primary lighting, then the secondary, to ensure that what he was witnessing wasn’t a mere optical illusion.
Jinchul adjusted his position, sat down, and crossed one leg over the other.
His shadow didn’t move with him.
“...huh.”
He snapped the file in his hand.
The abrupt movement caused the dark matter to hastily follow. Jinchul was mildly amused by the ironic comedy: the supposedly mysterious shadow, trying his absolute best to match the speed of the original motion. He placed the papers on the table. His reflection rippled.
“Mm,” he hummed. “Are you really mine? Or is this another trick set up by Hunter Sung?”
The shadow froze in place.
Coincidentally, the image Jinchul was studying was a screenshot of the fight on Jeju Island. There, massive black shapes were clearly seen, none other than Jinwoo’s shadow army. It wasn’t hard to imagine him quietly spying on anyone—or anything—that still possessed one.
“I take your silence as confirmation,” Jinchul stated, his voice flat.
Again, the shadow fidgeted in unease.
Slowly, the bleak material emerged from the surface, creating a shape resembling a knight in plate armor. Two massive horns protruded from his helmet. A battle axe and shield in each hand, wrapped in gauntlets. A bluish-indigo radiance enveloped his frame, but despite how intimidating the creature appeared, Jinchul didn’t sense a malicious aura emanating from it.
…or, should he say, ‘him’—?
“I know you,” Jinchul said. “I saw you inside the A-rank gate back then.”
The incident Jinchul was referring to was Jinwoo’s disguise as a member of the excavation team. He’d never forget how stunned he was, bearing witness to such a gruesome scene without a chance to blink. That said, seeing Jinwoo’s loyal soldier up close like this, when he wasn’t posing as an enemy, Jinchul found himself feeling... sympathetic? How could he not, when the presence before him looked like a puppy being yelled at for biting a shoe?
“Please do not look so… sad? It makes me feel guilty,” the young inspector rubbed the bridge of his nose, then returned his gaze upward. “Before we get into discussion, let us get acquainted. My name is Woo Jinchul. How may I address you?”
The shadow tilted its head adorably.
“...you can’t talk?”
Then it shook its head in an innocent manner.
“Ah,” Jinchul chewed his inner cheeks, clearly holding back his laughter. “How about this?”
Not at a loss for ideas, he then laid out the classified documents on the table.
There, several high-ranking shadow commanders (that Jinwoo had been low-key ‘forced’ to report to the Association) were listed, along with their respective blurry photos.
“Which one are you?”
Seeing his picture taken in a pose he thought was cool—flexing his biceps like a seasoned bodybuilder—the bulky shadow enthusiastically pointed at one of them. Jinchul spotted the similarities between the two, then acknowledged the simple name written there.
“Iron,” he pronounced. “Nice to meet you, Iron-ssi.”
Iron grinned happily.
“So, Iron-ssi,” Jinchul returned to his seat. He crossed his right leg over his left with grace, his fingers intertwined on his lap. “Do you know why Hunter Sung sent you here?”
Iron, once again, seemed confused. He shook his helmeted head from side to side, rubbing the back of his neck before giving a dim-witted expression.
“I don’t seem to be able to ask him anything too complicated,” Jinchul muttered to himself, deciding to settle for simpler questions. “How long have you been following me?”
Three fingers extended from Iron’s hand.
Jinchul raised an eyebrow, “Three? Three days?”
Iron shook his head.
“Three weeks?”
The answer was a firm nod.
“Three weeks, and he hasn’t contacted me directly at all?” Jincul couldn’t help but raise his voice, then quickly diminished it when he saw Iron flinched. “Ah, my apologies. I didn’t mean to snap at you, Iron-ssi. It’s just... three weeks? What is Hunter Sung thinking?”
Reflecting back, three weeks ago fell within the time frame before and during the Jeju Island Raid took place. They had met quite often, but most of the encounters involved President Go and other agents, so when—oh. Jinchul pursed his lips. Of course, when he’d deliberately gotten drunk and fallen asleep after letting Jinwoo escort him to his sleeping quarters. Since that time, they had hardly ever spoken again. If he said he wasn’t upset, he’d be lying.
Even so, he was still the same Jinchul who displayed barely any change in his mannerisms. Rather than his own bewilderment, what he noticed was Iron’s transparent restlessness. His colossal stature paced back and forth across his office. The elite knight occasionally glanced at the night sky outside the window, then went toward the door, but he stopped just before the connection between himself and Jinchul’s shadow was severed. His behavior reminded the blond man of a puppy suffering from separation anxiety from its human owner.
“You’re uncomfortable,” his tone softened.
Iron stopped wandering around. His head bowed and his shoulders slumped.
Jinchul studied him, saying, “You’d rather be by your master’s side.”
A spark of excitement flashed across his should-be-blank face, and he nodded once more.
“Unfortunately,” Jinchul sighed. His smile was faint, but the melancholy was obvious. “Hunter Sung has been avoiding the Association for the past two weeks.”
Or avoiding me, but he didn’t verbalize it.
Oddly enough, Iron seemed to pick up on the sentiment.
He approached Jinchul and lowered his body slightly. Not quite kneeling as a sign of respect for his true lord, but enough to convey his intention to comfort Jinchul. The Chief muttered his gratitude, and the silhouette stood up proudly. From all the information he could gather, he concluded that Iron wasn't able to leave him, be it due to orders or some kind of spell.
“...unbelievable.”
Giving up, Jinchul reached for his phone and typed in Sung Jinwoo’s name.
Iron looked curious and tried to peek at the screen.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Jinchul glanced at the sturdy shadow before pressing the ‘call’ button. For some reason, he felt like Iron was somewhat teasing him, and he was compelled to set the situation straight. “I’m doing this because I can’t bear to see you suffer, that’s all.”
The dialing tone sounded faintly.
Once, twice, Jinchul had mentally prepared himself for the call to be relayed to the voicemail, but the receiver on the other side finally picked up on the fourth ring.
“Good evening,” Jinchul greeted with his usual formal, polite tone. “Hunter Sung.”
Sung Jinwoo’s low, masculine vocal crept into his ear.
Recognizing the familiar voice, Iron couldn’t hide his elation. He jumped up and down on the spot, clenched his large, gloved fists in front of his chest, as if shouting, ‘Master, I’m here, I’ve done my job well!’—Jinchul took some effort to overlook his exuberant energy.
“I believe you left something at the Association headquarters,” Jinchul informed, his tone remaining composed. “Something quite massive and... expressive, I might add.”
There was an ear-piercing silence that substituted for Jinwoo’s answer.
// “I don’t remember having done anything like that.” //
Jinchul saw the immense sorrow in the crack of Iron’s helmet.
“Are you sure?” Jinchul sensed his own voice exuding a piercing ice-cold aura. He resumed, “Because as far as I know, Iron-ssi has been here with me for three. Whole. Weeks.”
A long, heavy sigh escaped from the other end.
Iron twiddled his huge fingers, and Jinchul gestured to reassure him.
“I suppose you’d want him back,” the Chief was well-versed in negotiation, even when his counterpart was a notoriously stubborn individual. “I imagine he’s eager to see you again.”
// “...fine.” //
// “I’ll come by tomorrow.” //
Jinchul didn’t linger on the conversation and hung up afterwards.
“Let’s wait until the next day,” he told Iron, who flashed a satisfied snicker. “Now, I still have some work to do. Wouldn’t it be better for you to rest, uh, in my… shadow?
Is that how Hunter Sung’s troops work? He wondered.
Unexpectedly, Iron vigorously shook his head. He pointed at himself, at the files, then at the table, and finally at Jinchul. Next, he patted his puffed chest, making Jinchul think hard about how to interpret it. Did Hunter Sung have to go through all this in the middle of a battle, or was there a more effective method of communication? He squinted before making a guess.
“Do you want to wait for me while I work?”
Iron, delighted to have successfully conveyed his message, raised two thumbs.
“Fine then,” it was getting harder and harder for Jinchul to contain his fondness for Iron. “You can wait there. Sit, stand, be as comfortable as you want. But don’t make a fuss, don’t squash anything, and don’t move around too much. Do you understand me?”
Without needing to be told twice, Iron gleefully strode over to the seating area. His physique was clearly too much for the couch, but the spatial laws didn’t seem to apply to shadow beings. He appeared curious about everything in the study, which sent a chill down Jinchul’s spine. If Iron could experience boredom, no wonder he was frustrated after being confined for three weeks under Jinchul’s feet. For a warrior accustomed to accompanying his master on the front lines, life in this paper-filled building must be utterly torturous.
That being the case—how capable are these shadows of feeling human emotions? Jinchul was unsure if he wanted to find out the answer.
“Sung Jinwoo-ssi,” he softly hissed. “What are you getting me into?”
No matter how Jinchul looked at it, Iron acted like a miserable child of divorce, desperately wanting his parents to reconcile as fast as possible.
On the promised evening, Woo Jinchul encouraged himself to complete his daily tasks more quickly than usual. It appeared that he’d overdone it, as he ended up with too much time on his hands without any pressing matters requiring his attention. That might’ve been a relief for some, but for him, it was somewhat unsettling. And perhaps, it was that exact sentiment that caused the shadow beneath his feet to once again stir, as if absorbing the host’s emotions.
“Good evening,” he greeted, “Iron-ssi.”
The black matter rippled.
In some way, Jinchul felt a sense of joy from it. Uh, him. Probably because, after a long day of meetings, he was finally able to interact with the shadow, (who was nearly dying twice from boredom.) Iron rose just above the head, as if asking approval to manifest itself fully.
“Sure. You can show yourself,” Jinchul said, smiling subconsciously. “When no one else is around, you don’t need my permission to do so. Just make sure you don’t startle me, deal?”
Iron’s helmeted head bobbed before materializing. He didn’t have his weapon or shield with him, and immediately fixed his gaze on the files on Jinchul’s desk. He seemed to have a keen interest in anything related to his master.
“He’ll be here soon,” the Chief’s comforting words prompted Iron to turn his head towards his direction. “Hunter Sung is a bit of a free spirit, but I’m sure he won’t break his promise.”
Hearing this, the lines that formed Iron’s mouth widened.
“While waiting, why don’t you watch this?” Jinchul reached for the remote to turn on the giant monitor in the center of the room. There, a compilation of broadcasts from the Jeju Island Raid was on display, including the appearance of Sung Jinwoo and his shadow army.
As expected, Iron watched with great interest. His fist flew through the air when the screen was filled with images of him exterminating giant ants in their nests. Jinchul felt soft for him. He’d once thought that defeating just one of Jinwoo’s shadows should cost him an arm or a leg, if not his life. Never did he expect that behind the terrifying appearance lay an adorable persona, much like a toddler discovering the world’s color for the first time.
Speaking of horror, Jinchul couldn’t help but reminisce. The overwhelming drowsiness and the feeling of freshness when he woke up. He might’ve been hallucinating, but he recalled the pleasant sensation on his shoulders and across his face—the similar warmth he felt on his fingers when the young man kept him company weeks ago. If his hunch was spot on, that meant Jinwoo had stopped by this room several times when he wasn’t paying attention.
Talking about creepy.
Approximately thirty minutes passed until Iron suddenly jolted and stared towards the door.
Jinchul had returned to his working desk when the colossal figure hurriedly retreated behind him. Confused, he looked alternately at Iron and the entrance, finally comprehending when his ears caught the faint noise of footsteps. Sung Jinwoo could’ve erased his presence if he wanted to, but that night, he chose not to. In fact, he seemed to be announcing his arrival.
The office door opened quietly.
The S-rank hunter entered as if he’d been expected. Which, indeed, he had.
Woo Jinchul tensed up. Not out of fear, nor out of reluctance. He’d never regarded Sung Jinwoo like most did—with exaggerated admiration or excessive contempt. His respect was data-driven, and his loyalty was grounded in logic. Consequently, it was only natural for him to treat Jinwoo as a professional colleague or an equal friend. And, if he chose to stay in his chair, not getting up and allowing his guest to sit down, it was because Jinchul was about to announce that he hadn’t invited him in a pleasant mood. Jinwoo should’ve known that.
Well, the message was well-received.
Beneath the indoor lighting, Jinwoo’s expression was as unreadable as it always was. Both hands were tucked into his pants pockets, color-coordinated with the black shirt he wore. His short steps halted within conversational range, intentionally not drawing any closer as his high-level perception caught on to just how displeased Jinchul was at the moment.
“...you noticed.”
The Chief set down his stylus-pen, “Should I not?”
This won’t be easy, Jinwoo thought.
He was accustomed to Jinchul being the first to greet him, initiating conversation, and even stepping in so that he wouldn’t have to do so in public. Jinwoo realized he’d taken this man for granted when the latter opted to remain silent, clearly demanding that he explain himself.
“It was a precaution,” Jinwoo started. “Just in case.”
Jinchul didn’t buy it, “Of?”
“...things.”
Figured.
Jinwoo rubbed his nape. Iron must’ve copied his master’s behavior, Jinchul surmised.
The piercing silence stretched too long, even for someone like him. Though Jinwoo knew he didn’t do anything wrong, he was aware that the approach he’d taken was indeed... wrong.
“It’s not like I was questioning your ability,” he started, voice low. “I didn’t intend to—”
“—belittle me,” Jinchul finished what Jinwoo couldn’t.
It was frightening how calm he was as he said it.
“Yes,” Jinwoo confirmed.
Very few would have the nerve to engage in a staring contest against the strongest hunter, yet there was Woo Jinchul. Knowing he wouldn’t get the answer so easily from Jinwoo, the investigator glanced over his shoulder. The time had come to play the trump card.
“Iron-ssi.”
Jinwoo stiffened when their dialogue involved a third party. Just like his master, Iron seemed panicked. His frame tilted toward Jinchul and Jinwoo, as if he wanted to escape the situation altogether. Alas, the Shadow Monarch’s orders carried absolute authority. The command now became a double-edged sword, as Iron could do nothing but remain by Jinchul’s side.
“Did you hold my hand the other night?”
Not anticipating such a question, Jinwoo nearly choked.
Jinchul carried on. His pitch remained steady, contrary to the subtle reaction of the man he now had his back to. “When someone brushed my hair while I was sleeping, was that you?”
Despite Jinchul’s torso and gaze being completely directed at Iron, Jinwoo felt as if his fellow combatant had eyes in the back of his head. He tried not to be provoked, regardless of Iron’s strong reactiveness, which made Jinwoo criticize his own decision to reanimate him.
“Well?” Jinchul stressed his words.
Thus, Iron shook his head.
Hard.
Very hard.
It was so violent that Jinchul was worried the headgear would come off.
“...Iron.”
The massive silhouette straightened up almost instinctively. Jinchul looked over, sensing a noticeable shift in magical energy coming from Jinwoo’s standing position. Sure enough, he had raised his hand, a silent command for his shadow to return.
Just before Iron was summoned, however, Jinchul stepped forward.
Directly between them.
“Sung Jinwoo.”
The way Jinchul pronounced his name prompted its owner to revoke the command. Jinwoo grunted, unsure whether to be frustrated with Iron’s cluelessness, Jinchul’s astute intuition, or himself, who’d naively assumed that the blond would be as dense as the other hunters.
Besides, what kind of situation is this?
What developments had occurred while Jinwoo wasn’t monitoring, to the point where Iron and Jinchul looked comfortable being around each other? As absurd as it seemed, Iron and his towering, almost floor-to-ceiling height, seemed to make Jinchul his shield. Like a child who realized he was in trouble and took refuge behind his parents.
Wait—shouldn’t I be the one playing that role?
Jinwoo realized his mind was wandering. He took a sharp breath.
“Don’t blame Iron-ssi. It’s not his fault that he can’t lie,” unlike you. Jinchul folded his arms across his chest. “As his master, Hunter Sung, I’d say you’ve set a terrible example.”
Behind him, Iron nodded, wholeheartedly agreeing with the allegation.
Jinwoo looked past Jinchul at the monstrous shadow soldier.
“...traitor.”
At his lord’s penetrating glare, Iron trembled. He squatted, making an effort to shrink himself even further behind the Chief’s lean figure. A poor attempt that, obviously, ended in failure, resulting in a comical spectacle that almost made Jinchul lose his composure.
“You’re not helping your case, Iron-ssi,” he whispered. “And you too, Hunter Sung.”
Iron bowed his head awkwardly. Similarly, Jinwoo’s gaze lost its focus. For a solid moment, the three of them simply stood there in silence. As the most level-headed party—if not the only one—in the group, Jinchul was the one who resumed the discussion.
“Three weeks.”
It wasn’t a question. More like an accusation.
“Yes,” Jinwoo hummed. Half-heartedly.
“You had no intention of telling me,” again, an indictment.
“You’d refuse,” a response difficult to argue with.
Jinchul frowned. Not that it was wrong, but—“Yet you still sent him.”
“I did.”
Talking to Sung Jinwoo felt more akin to a military interrogation than a two-way discussion. His responses were always brief and straightforward, yet at the same time, causing Jinchul to doubt everything he’d learned at the academy. He pondered for a moment. Regarding the facts, he’d gathered them all. No questions asked. It was unusual for Jinchul to adopt such an emotional approach, yet he decided to do so solely to bring himself some relief.
“You did something that made me believe that you don’t trust me to protect myself,” Jinchul stated bluntly, conveying his discontent. “And on top of that, you did it without my consent. Trespassing is a legitimate and serious crime, I must say.”
“I’m aware,” Jinwoo muttered. “However, I never thought about you that way.”
“Then, what is?” Jinchul pressed.
“You know a lot,” a pause. “Too much. About me.”
He didn’t expect such a response.
As the leader of the surveillance team and as Woo Jinchul, he personally believed that what he’d learned about Sung Jinwoo was always insufficient. However, it was a whole different story if what he meant was the intelligence he’d gathered within the organization. Jinchul stared at the monitor that was still on and the pile of reports ready for internal distribution.
“The Association depends on you and President Go,” Jinwoo elaborated, though there was still a hint of mystery in his vocals. “You protect my identity, and I’m very grateful for that. But do you know to what extent the other nations will go if you keep refusing their requests?”
Jinchul didn’t need to verbalize his answer.
“You’ll be the one they’re going after.”
Those spineless cowards would rather eliminate you than confront me directly.
Jinchul could feel his expressions gradually softening.
“That’s why you stationed your shadow in my shadow.”
“I don’t regret it.”
“You thought I wouldn’t notice.”
“I had hoped.”
Behind Jinchul, Iron peeked at the two hunters with concern. He looked a bit more relieved to detect that the tension had lessened, though he still didn’t dare to go near his master.
“Iron-ssi,” Jinchul started. “Having trouble adapting to me.”
Jinwoo seemed just as taken aback as Iron.
“I suppose he enjoys being with you more. Exploring gates, massacring magic beasts, things that are no longer part of my daily life,” he reached behind him, patting the mountain of papers. “Iron-ssi got bored. At one point, he was about to separate himself from my shadow, but he couldn’t do it. I assume that’s due to you not allowing him to break away from me.”
Silence was his answer.
Jinwoo didn’t expect Jinchul to be so accurate in his assessment.
“This isn’t simply about whether or not I’m willing to accept your protection, Hunter Sung,” Jinchul exhaled before advancing. A step away from Jinwoo, the blond made a remark that he’d never predicted. “Have you ever considered if Iron-ssi is suitable for this assignment?”
Suitable.
It was Jinwoo’s turn to be at a loss for words.
"I don’t know how your power operates and I swear I wouldn’t ask. Still, from what I can tell, Iron-ssi has a personality. Preferences, even. Perhaps not much, but it does exist,” again, he sighed. “I think it’d be best for him to stay with you. And if you still believe that I need your assistance, I bet there’s another shadow that’s more fitting for such a tedious task.”
Jinwoo, unfamiliar with this kind of candid communication, kept his ears open.
“Besides, don’t you need Iron-ssi to fight alongside you?”
“I do,” Jinwoo affirmed, as that was the case. He just didn’t reveal that every time he needed a powerful tanker, he’d replace the shadow beneath Jinchul’s feet before heading into battle. He deemed such technical details unworthy of disclosure. “Well, I have methods.”
“Then, that being said—”
“Say, Chief Woo.”
Jinchul wasn’t emotionally prepared to witness Jinwoo’s smile from such close proximity.
“You’ve said a lot of things about Iron,” his gaze was intense, yet tender at the same time. Jinwoo then gestured behind Jinchul, where Iron’s tears of happiness seemed ready to burst at any moment. “With your degree of comprehension, won’t it be best to ask him in person?”
Huh?
Jinchul blinked in disbelief.
“Did I just,” he pointed his finger at the shadow, “...make him cry?”
The black-haired replied with his signature nonchalant shrug. Once Jinchul turned around to calm Iron down, only then did he hide his amused chuckle behind his clenched fist.
Jinwoo thought he’d seen everything until he witnessed the way Jinchul interacted with Iron. He recalled various reactions, both from fellow hunters and civilians, when they encountered his shadow soldiers the first time. Frightened, fascinated, perplexed, but not to the extent of understanding as Jinchul had. Jinwoo wagered that it was the true nature of a veteran from the investigation unit, or perhaps that was simply how sincere Jinchul was as a person. If he knew the history of Iron’s ‘rebirth’, could he still be as welcoming as he was to its master?
It might be best for him to bury the secret deep inside and never let Jinchul learn about it.
“...fine.”
Fine?
It appeared that the negotiations had finally concluded. Jinwoo adopted his calm composure, watching in silence. Somewhat sympathetic to Jinchul’s obvious distress, while Iron seemed to have established a strong bond with his ‘second master’.
“He can stay,” Jinchul decided. “He wants to.”
Jinwoo merely wore a bland expression that seemed to say, ‘Told you.’
“But if he’s going to remain here,” the Chief quickly added. “He’d better act like a proper guardian. Iron-ssi will defend me from any external threats, regardless of who they are.”
Iron straightened instantly.
Jinwoo concurred, a little smug considering he’d trained all his troops for this exact purpose.
“That includes you, Hunter Sung.”
The menacing aura that flashed from Jinchul’s sharp eyes froze the huge shadow. Jinwoo, on the other hand, seemed equally surprised. Apparently, he messed with the wrong person.
“In the future, if someone sneaks up on me while I’m asleep, you know what to do, Iron-ssi?” Jinchul commanded loudly, and Jinwoo sensed that he had to be wary of the Association elite’s quick adaptability. “Yes, you wake me up and give me a warning. No one is allowed to touch my face or put a jacket over me then simply leave. Are my instructions clear?”
Either it was a survival instinct or pure partisanship, Iron nodded unhesitatingly.
Jinwoo was once firmly convinced that he’d never fall victim to betrayal a second time, only to be proven otherwise. The specific terms Jinchul had proposed were clearly aimed at him. Jinwoo averted his gaze, his hand was again thrown behind his neck, rubbing awkwardly.
“...noted,” he muttered quietly.
Jinchul plastered on a corporate smile. “Good.”
Because he knew.
Oh, of course he knew.
Iron’s gauntlets were incredibly bulky and weighty. Too large compared to the gentleness of the fingers that stroked his hair the night before. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.
But still, Jinchul decided not to explicitly expose Jinwoo.
The suspense in the room gradually returned to normal. Jinchul casually returned to his desk and resumed his delayed task. Iron positioned himself behind the swivel chair, occasionally peeking at the files from behind the Chief’s shoulder. Jinwoo was the most stiff among the three, but he couldn’t protest due to his guilt. Familiar with Jinchul’s practicality, he decided to withdraw, which was approved by the proprietor of the office with a courteous nod.
“By the way, Jinwoo-ssi.”
He almost choked on his own spittle. No longer the polite ‘Hunter Sung’, but his first name. Jinwoo stood still with his hand on the doorknob, waiting for Jinchul’s next sentence.
“Next time you wish to visit, use that,” he pointed to the door before the younger man. “...or the window, whichever feels most comfortable. Just make sure you don’t trigger the alarm.”
Jinchul looked up slightly, examining Jinwoo’s back within the frame of his perspective.
His gaze subconsciously softened, as a genuine smile radiated his face. Jinchul wondered what kind of expression the S-ranked hunter was wearing right now, but the way those broad shoulders slightly slumped provided the only confirmation he needed.
“I’ll make sure it’s unlocked.”
—two days ago.
As a Chief Inspector facing a national crisis, he didn’t intend to easily give in to drowsiness, sitting behind his desk with a stack of reports that had gradually turned into a pillow. The Association building never truly slept, contrary to its users who still needed one. Eventually, Woo Jinchul was unable to distinguish between consciousness and slumber; all he could recall was his nape pressing against the backrest, and suddenly, dawn was an inch away.
For a long while, nothing moved.
Then the shadow beneath his chair rippled. Nothing violent. Just a quiet distortion, like a stone dropped into still water. A tall, masculine figure emerged, then stepped out of it.
Perfectly concealing his presence, Sung Jinwoo stood motionless.
Jinchul was already sound asleep in such an uncomfortable position, with pieces of paper crumpled under his elbow and a notepad still clenched between his fingers. To be fair, it was hardly an extraordinary sight. Still, Jinwoo approached the suit-clad man and closely assessed his breathing, ignoring the alien sensation stirred within his stomach. You’re going to ruin your spine, he mused, grabbing those slim wrists with great care. Just because you’re a hunter, doesn’t mean you’re immune to colds, either. Thus, Jinwoo gently folded Jinchul’s arms on the table, then lowered his drooping head on top of them.
Up close, he could see the fatigue in the older man’s face. The dark circles under his eyes that came from weeks of long nights no one else could fully carry. For someone who rarely allowed himself a moment of vulnerability, Jinchul looked unexpectedly younger like this.
Human,
He looked, utterly, human.
Jinwoo studied him for a moment longer than necessary.
Before he knew it, Jinwoo had already discarded his outerwear and draped it over those lean shoulders, mimicking a makeshift blanket. The subtle movement made Jinchul shift slightly in his sleep, brows furrowed before slowly relaxing. Jinwoo paused, hesitating. For one reason or another, his palm hovered over the bewitching face, uncertain of what to do with it.
He brushed a few stray hairs away from Jinchul’s forehead.
The gesture was brief. Almost absentminded. As if he hadn’t realized he was doing it.
Many nights long before, Sung Jinwoo had satisfied his observations by merely watching the sleeping Woo Jinchul from a fairly safe distance. And a few nights after, tonight, he’d finally mustered the courage to brush aside the strand of blond that fell out of his well-kept hairdo.
Then Jinwoo stepped back,
Before the foreign tenderness swallowed him once more, he glanced at the man slumped over the desk. And then he disappeared. The shadow, the night, returned to stillness.
Nothing much changed in the following evenings.
The lights in Woo Jinchul’s office never went out before the day ended. The amount of reports didn’t decrease, if not the other way around, with overwhelmingly tight deadlines. The difference was, he wasn’t doing it alone. While his fingers were nimble on the keyboard, there was Iron who began memorizing the titles of books on the shelves, or glued to the screen displaying a draft presentation on the gate-countermeasures plan. Jinchul glanced, smiling mildly, before returning his focus to reviewing the legal division’s budget request.
As Sung Jinwoo had hoped, he felt safer with Iron by his side—just not in the way the S-rank hunter might’ve speculated. With Iron here, it meant Jinwoo wasn’t in the middle of a fierce battle that required a tanker with high durability. If Jinchul were to assume further, perhaps the man of few words wasn’t in the middle of a fight at all.
And that relieved him, regardless of how insanely skilled Jinwoo was in his field.
Every now and then, Iron would approach him, as if reminding him to take a brief respite. And once he did, Jinchul felt that familiar sensation washed over him. Nothing hostile, just enough to prompt him to stop typing. He then stared at the surge in the connection between his shadow and the spot where Iron stood.
“Good evening, Hunter Sung,” he greeted. “Mm. Not long. I’ll be done in about half an hour.”
The dark material beneath his feet rippled faintly.
Somewhere, a few kilometers away from the Association headquarters, someone exhaled. Tenderly, as close as his own pulse. Jinchul chuckled. His shadow returned to normal.
He got up from his chair and walked to the window. The Chief took light stretches before deactivating several layers of security, confirmed by the sound of mechanical creaking and electronic buzzing. Jinchul swung open a single, manually-opening pane. He closed his eyes as the night breeze hit his face, followed by a soft sigh when he caught Iron’s reflection in one of the glass panels.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I simply prefer fresh air while my work gets too complicated.”
It seemed he’d picked up this lying tendency from Hunter Sung.
Jinchul continued auditing the documents as if nothing unusual had ever happened. What was clear that night, was that the window remained open, as if to quote Jinwoo’s words:
—just in case.
“Do you know him?” Haein asked.
Jinchul had asked about Jinwoo’s ability, not his identity. Jinchul was also a member of the Association, which was currently keeping information regarding Jinwoo under lock and key.
“I know a little bit.”
“Who exactly is he?”
Jinchul put his sunglasses back on, “I’m afraid that’s classified information.”
—Solo Leveling vol 3, 6th chapter: Fang