Surviving Restructuring

“That’s unexpected.” The assistant instructor furrowed his brow slightly, obviously puzzled. “There’s still plenty of time left, though.”

“There’s more than enough,” Eun-Ho replied calmly.

He had cleared the eight-hundred-hour intermediate course in just two hours, and the two-thousand-five-hundred-hour advanced course in five. Of course, if he counted the time he’d spent collapsed, the total would be much higher—but that was beside the point. Two new records meant he’d pushed himself as far as he could within the allotted time.

“But the condition values changed,” Eun-Ho said.

“Condition values?”

“Variables popped up that weren’t in the original plan.”

The assistant instructor tilted his head slightly, still creased with confusion. “You must have expected your swordsmanship skill to grow.”

“Well, yes.”

“At most, those variables would be extra abilities or items. Wouldn’t it be better to get as many of those as possible, no matter what?”

Seeing that the man genuinely didn’t understand, Eun-Ho explained, “In that trial just now, it took two hours just to unlock and master the Sword Thread.”

He kept it brief and to the point since time was of an essence. As a side note, he was referring to the one that had taken five hours to clear, earning even the shortest-clear bonus.

“I see... No I mean, I didn’t realize that. That’s an astonishing record.”

Whether it was astonishing or not wasn’t for the assistant instructor to decide.

“Don’t you think it could’ve been shorter?” Eun-Ho asked.

“What?!”

Eun-Ho found it slightly bothersome because he could have cleared it faster. “If it had been an ability I was already familiar with, I wouldn’t have needed even two hours.”

“You’re saying it’s a shame you couldn’t shave off more time? Even though it was already a record?”

“Well that’s true, but I’m not talking about the record. It’s proficiency.”

Since every stat in this system could be converted into numbers, some abilities didn’t stand out much at first glance. In truth, what mattered most was how well he could wield them. Ji-Eun’s Psychokinesis and his Sword Thread were the perfect examples of that.

Stacking abilities alone doesn’t win fights.

Even the world’s greatest sword was useless if one couldn’t wield it properly, while a lifetime-trained swordsman could dominate the world with a chipped iron blade.

“But isn’t low proficiency inevitable? You practically just acquired it.”

Certainly, Eun-Ho’s argument just now couldn’t excuse his shortcomings. Still, he would die on this hill. “The battlefield doesn’t care about that. Real combat isn’t a lecture.”

In real combat, everyone only had one life and one chance.

The assistant instructor’s pupils widened. “Right.”

Eun-Ho found himself oddly surprised that eyes could open that wide.

The assistant instructor asked again, neither frowning nor surprised, “So how do you plan to use the remaining time?”

“I’m going to train here.”

“Alone? You’ve already achieved all your objectives.”

“Yeah. So don’t worry about it.”

“Even if you say that...”

“If you can’t help worrying, then help me out. Don’t you have some elixir stashed away somewhere?”

The assistant instructor slowly swept his gaze from Eun-Ho’s head to his toes. “In your current state, it doesn’t look like you need anything in particular.”

That was true. He’d gained everything he reasonably could, except one thing.

Eun-Ho straightened from his slanted sitting position. Skeleton Knight Number One immediately stepped in to support him, helping him stand upright.

Finally, Eun-Ho stared straight into the assistant instructor’s eyes. “You.”

This was the core of his week-long plan, the climax that hadn’t changed despite all the additions, subtractions, and recalculations. A recruitment offer.

“How about coming with me?”

The assistant instructor flinched. He, who was about to leave, froze in place. His frown, trembling pupils, and restless tongue all went still. Then, a dry question followed.

“To where?”

“Outside the Training Institute.”

Silence flowed like a river.

“I’m going to form a guild. One that can officially stand against the company system. I want you to be part of it.”

In the stillness where time itself seemed to have stopped, only those dark-brown eyes trembled slightly, sending faint ripples across the surface. “A guild... You’ve picked the wrong person to ask.”

Eun-Ho tossed a stone into a river that had stagnated for too long—rotted, dried, and lonely. Regardless, he wasn’t reckless enough to make recruitment offers to people he had no chance of persuading.

“These Skeletons here would be more useful than someone trapped like me,” the assistant instructor finally said again.

“You think so?”

“A sealed ward.”

Ripples spread outward.

“The arena.”

Eun-Ho was startled. “W-what are you talking about all of a sudden?”

“It’s not something you don’t know.”

—Ayasa... It seems like that child has finally managed to dig up the past.

—Time has passed, after all.

When Eun-Ho discovered that Cheong Ryeon-Hwa was tied to secret research, he’d planted a recorder in her room. One of the things he had heard back then had stuck with him ever since.

—Well, it’s been a hundred years.

—Or six thousand years, depending on how you look at it.

A hundred years ago, a child had been taken into the Sealed Ward. Eun-Ho knew well the condition under which a hundred years could become six thousand. It was the Training Institute, where one hour outside was equal to a single minute inside.

Though I wasn’t completely certain.

At first, he suspected there was another doppelgänger besides the one in front of him. Perhaps everyone affiliated with the Training Institute was the same. Therefore, he’d asked around in advance.

“And there’s something I’d like to ask of all of you.”

“Just say the word, Hyungnim!”

“When you go to the Training Institute...”

He’d had them attend every Training Institute class they could and check whether any instructors there possessed intelligence. However, the results were clear.

Choi Jae-Hyuk: No instructors for physical training, throwing techniques, or spear arts!

Kim Ji-Eun: Same here. It’s all system-run.

Cha Jin-Sol: None here.

...

That was how he confirmed that the only exile of the Training Institute was this one.

Eun-Ho smiled faintly. “So? You feel like talking now?”

***

The massive chandelier flickered to life, bathing a rectangular, old-fashioned table in warm light. The illumination revealed a middle-aged man seated at its head, surrounded by his subordinates.

“Then that concludes today’s agenda, does it not?” he asked.

The moment his voice fell, everyone turned their heads toward him. Perhaps it was the constant fear of falling out of favor. The way they leaned in with sharpened eyes and pricked ears didn’t suit them at all, especially considering the vipers coiled inside their chests.

Someone at the farthest seat from the director chimed in. “Ah, there is one small issue left,”

Among the elite department heads of the Personnel Bureau, he was the lowest-ranking one.

“What is it?”

He said as if he had drawn the short straw and been forced to deliver bad news, “It’s a grievance that has been raised across all departments in the Personnel Bureau.”

This wasn’t just his problem because everyone here was affected. Emphasizing that point, he cautiously set the topic on the table. “The Operations Bureau reports that the number of anonymous reports has grown so large that it’s starting to disrupt their work.”

The director’s face twisted in irritation. “I see. If that many are making their way to me, I can’t even imagine how many are flooding your end.”

After all, operations Bureau and anonymous reports were an issue the director himself was dealing with as well.

Encouraged by his superior’s reaction, the timid reporter pressed on. “I hesitate to say this, but we believe it’s due to those loose-lipped bastards.”

Gulp.

The director swallowed his dry saliva, leaned forward slightly, and lowered his voice. “Loose-lipped bastards?”

The eyes around the table wavered. Then, naturally, those unsteady gazes all drifted toward the director.

“You mean the Labor-Management Cooperation Team?” the director asked to confirm.

“Y-yes, sir.”

Sssss—

At that moment, black smoke seeped out from the director as his displeasure crossed a threshold. The nearby department heads flinched as a chill crept up from their feet.

Then, slowly, the director asked, “And what is your basis for that conclusion?”

“Ever since they took over the Hall of Fame and made a name for themselves, the number of reports has skyrocketed. More importantly, the public sentiment feels off.”

The black smoke thickened, swelling with each word spoken and each deepening crease between the director’s brows.

“P-people are saying things like, if you’re dissatisfied with the company, you should speak up, or if you don’t have the courage, you should support those who step forward like that team...”

The director had begun to sense the shift in his employees’ reactions day by day. It was spreading like a mold infestation. He knew if he didn’t root it out quickly, it would spread beyond control.

Ssssh!

He pulled back the released aura in an instant and dismissed everyone. “Leave.”

No one dared show displeasure at the sudden order. If anything, their legs trembled from the lingering malignant aura as they hurriedly fled the room.

“Y-yes, Director!”

“Thank you sir!”

The director was left alone, or so it seemed

Sssss—

Just then, beside him, a figure stepped out from the darkness. His presence was unnoticed by any of the department heads who had occupied the room moments before.

“Greetings, Director.”

His clothing was designed for mobility rather than defense. A black mask concealed everything but his eyes. A greatsword was strapped across his back, and several daggers hung at his waist.

It was an appearance far too dangerous for someone standing so boldly in the director’s office. Yet neither the director nor the secretary at his side showed the slightest hint of alarm.

“Are you ready for combat?” the director asked.

“This will be sufficient.”

“If you say so, then I’ll trust it.”

He was a trusted subordinate of a man who trusted no one. He was a loyal hound who would bring back severed heads at the slightest sign of displeasure.

“So, three days left until the scheduled date?” the masked man asked.

“Let’s move it up.” The director issued his command. He had no intention of granting even a three-day grace period. “Tomorrow afternoon should do.”

“Understood.”

Neither the issuer nor the recipient of the order was fazed.

The secretary, however, was visibly shaken. “My apologies for interrupting, but wasn’t the ambush date deliberately chosen for the day the chairman would be away?”

After all, he managed the director’s schedule and handled all affairs at his side. For someone of the director’s stature, the most important factor in choosing a date was always the chairman’s whereabouts. That was especially true when dealing with pests that were, at best, easy to eliminate and, at worst, a lingering nuisance if mishandled. Hence why he had carefully selected a day when the chairman would be absent.

Nevertheless, the director’s decision did not waver. “Isn’t there a workshop at the Sky Tower tomorrow afternoon?”

“Ah...”

“That’s our window.”

Waiting three days would allow a full day of operations, while tomorrow would only allow half a day. They would have less time to focus on combat, but the difference was negligible.

“There’s no need to drag it out.”

No matter how he looked at Lee Eun-Ho and the rabble of the Labor-Management Cooperation Team, they weren’t opponents worth fighting all day.

***

The Wailing Forest was noisy as ever.

“Good grief, Mr. Kim! Hand me the hammer over here!” the cleaning lady shouted.

“Oh, Ms. Song, you’re here already?” the security guard replied.

“I’m late, aren’t I? That intermediate thing looked like nothing, but damn was it hard.”

“Min Yeo-Jin! I’m back,” Sol-Ah called out.

“Huh? You’re already done?” Yeo-Jin asked in surprise.

“Yeah. The healing test ended fast.”

Upon hearing that, Min Yeo-Jin burst into laughter. “There was a test for that too?”

“Doesn’t this feel exactly like going to a cram school? Or maybe field training?” asked Sol-Ah.

Their days were packed down to the hour, without a moment to breathe. Each day rolled forward like a wheel stuck in motion.

Some were already used to it, others clearly overwhelmed, but somehow the Labor-Management Cooperation Team’s own brand of compressed studying kept grinding forward.

“Is this what a Korean academy is like?”

“It’s way too exhausting!”

“I heard Korean students live like this for years...”

Even among them, there was someone who seemed to compress that compressed time even further. It was Lee Eun-Ho. Ever since the new system had been introduced, he hadn’t stepped outside the Training Institute even once.

Bo-Ra’s pale-purple eyes went wide as she covered her gaping mouth with slender white fingers. “What about Oppa? He really hasn’t come out even once?”

Ji-Eun shrugged, carefully hiding her concern. “He’s the type who commits once he decides to.”

“Um... Unnie?” Yeon Bo-Ra said hesitantly.

“Yes?” Ji-Eun answered.

Bo-Ra fidgeted with her fingertips. “There’s something I wanted to ask.”

Kim Ji-Eun looked down at her, the hair gathered into a neat bun atop Bo-Ra’s head swayed cutely as she moved.

Twitch. Twitch. Twitch...

Huh?

At last, Yeon Bo-Ra’s lips that were pressed shut like a clamshell finally parted. “About Eun-Ho Oppa and—”

Kaboom—!

The reinforced wall suddenly collapsed.

“Enemies!”

“It’s an ambush!”

Debris crashed down as stone shattered and walls gave way. Dust surged through the air and people screamed.

“B-Bo-Ra? Bo-Ra! What’s wrong?!” Kim Ji-Eun shouted.

“Kehek!”

Plop—

Yeon Bo-Ra fell silent as bright red blood began to pour from her eyes, nose, mouth, and ears.