Chapter 14
[Hello?]
“Can you talk right now?”
[Of course — if it’s Hunter Juhyeok calling, I’m always available!]
Yena’s cheerful voice greeted Juhyeok over the phone.
There was a hint of excitement in her tone.
[So, what did you want to ask all of a sudden? Something about the contract, maybe?]
“No, not that.”
[Ah, I got my hopes up for nothing…]
She sounded a little deflated.
He’d said he had a question, so she probably thought he was finally showing a positive sign toward joining the guild — but no.
Seeing her energy dip slightly, Juhyeok asked:
“Do you happen to know a guild called GGH?”
[GGH?]
GGH Guild.
At that name, Yena let out a faint sigh before answering.
[It’s been around for quite a while. Pretty famous in the industry, actually.]
A guild well-known in the field.
Not quite one of the top guilds, but big enough to be considered mid-tier — and famous for all the wrong reasons.
[You must’ve heard of it too, right? I’m sure even the academy students talk about it.]
“Yeah. Hard not to — the rumors are everywhere.”
At the academy, when someone’s grades dropped, their friends would sometimes tease:
“You’re perfect for GGH.”
And even without context, that was never meant as a compliment.
GGH Guild was infamous — one of the worst of the so-called “black companies.”
Anyone who had glanced at the leaked contracts on online forums knew what kind of place it was.
Late or withheld wages, ignoring legally mandated rest periods, mocking the families of dead hunters…
All kinds of horror stories surrounded the name GGH.
And yet, thanks to the guildmaster’s deep political connections, they always managed to slip through the cracks — not once receiving more than a light fine.
[Why do you ask about GGH, though?]
“I’ve got a meeting with them tomorrow.”
[…Excuse me, what?]
Sure enough, when Juhyeok checked his overflowing inbox of scouting emails, GGH was among them.
A sweetly worded message full of empty flattery, saying they’d love to “discuss future opportunities together.”
He had replied and set up a meeting for the following day.
[You’re not seriously thinking of signing with them, are you…?]
“Hard to say.”
Of course, he had no intention of signing.
He wasn’t planning to join any guild, really — and even if he were, there were plenty with far better conditions.
There was absolutely no reason to go crawling into a corrupt cesspool like GGH.
‘Still… I’d better keep quiet. If word spreads about what I’m actually planning, it could ruin everything.’
The hunter industry in Korea was small — painfully small.
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Yena, but Juhyeok believed that “there’s no such thing as a secret between two people.”
So he kept his purpose to himself.
[Hunter Juhyeok, I’m saying this not as a recruiter, but as a senior giving advice.]
Her tone had calmed.
For once, she spoke not as Mir Guild’s scout, but as someone genuinely concerned for a younger hunter.
[Someone of your ability doesn’t need to risk joining a guild like that.]
“You think so?”
[Of course. Even if it turns out you didn’t reawaken, with your potential, you can definitely climb higher.]
It seemed Yena thought his interest in GGH came from discouragement — that he might have been disappointed by his mana test results.
Of course, Juhyeok knew full well he hadn’t reawakened, so he wasn’t bothered.
But from her point of view, her misunderstanding made sense.
[It’s your decision in the end, but as someone who believes in your potential, I’m certain you can do better than GGH — even if that “better guild” isn’t Mir.]
“…”
Her sincerity was unmistakable.
Hearing her speak so earnestly made Juhyeok feel a twinge of guilt for hiding his true intentions.
‘If she’s this adamant, the rumors must be true after all.’
As someone in the same industry, criticizing another guild directly was taboo.
Yet Yena didn’t even hesitate to tell him not to sign.
That alone spoke volumes about how rotten GGH truly was.
“Thanks for the advice. I’ll think carefully before deciding.”
[Good. I’ll send you some reference materials — comparisons of contract terms from other guilds. Use them to weigh your options.]
Even though he wasn’t one of her guild members, she went out of her way to help.
If not for the artifact bound to his arm, Juhyeok might’ve seriously considered joining Mir Guild.
‘Then again, if it weren’t for the artifact, she probably wouldn’t have noticed me at all.’
Shaking off the pointless thought, he hung up.
Moments later, Yena sent over the promised files.
‘Guess I’ll compare them at tomorrow’s meeting.’
He hadn’t met GGH yet — only heard the rumors.
So Juhyeok decided to go in with as little prejudice as possible, just in case there was some slim chance they were misunderstood.
The next day.
“Here’s the contract we’re proposing.”
“…”
They met in a café near Gangnam Station.
The middle-aged recruiter handed him the printed contract, and Juhyeok carefully scanned through it line by line.
‘Hmm. Slightly below average.’
Typically, hunters earned around 70% of the profits from gate expeditions.
GGH’s contract, however, offered only 60%.
If they skimmed off any more than that, he’d immediately peg them as completely insane — but even this much was already a red flag.
Seeing him hesitate, the recruiter said carefully:
“Of course, since you’re still an F-rank hunter, the terms are a bit below standard. But if you gain experience and renew your contract later, we’ll be happy to offer better conditions.”
“Is that so.”
He turned back to the document.
The contract period: five years.
Average rookie contracts lasted two to three years.
Five was outrageous.
‘They must really want to squeeze every last drop out of me.’
It was a textbook predatory contract — the kind they used on clueless rookies.
The only reason his terms weren’t worse was because of his current reputation.
If he were just an average F-rank, they’d probably have handed him something even crueler.
‘What a lovely guild.’
They knew exactly what people said about them, yet still tried to take advantage of him for being “low-ranked.”
There was nothing admirable about it.
And internally, the scales in Juhyeok’s mind began tipping hard in one direction.
“I understand the conditions. But there’s something I should mention.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“There’s a chance I might have reawakened recently.”
Mir Guild hadn’t breathed a word about that possibility to anyone.
As expected, the recruiter’s eyes widened slightly.
“…You haven’t gone through the reawakening verification process yet?”
“No. Between training and home, I’ve been busy — I just forgot.”
To GGH, the situation must have seemed strange.
Why would a promising young hunter like him reach out to a guild with such a terrible reputation when there were far better options?
They’d probably come to one conclusion:
He hadn’t actually reawakened.
Otherwise, someone of his level would never come to them.
“The verification process through the Hunter Association is a bit of a hassle, so I put it off.”
He didn’t show a single sign of bluffing.
And really, if it were a lie, it would unravel soon enough — the moment reawakening was confirmed, it would automatically appear in the Hunter Association database and spread like wildfire.
So saying something that could easily be proven false later would make no sense.
“In that case… why don’t we hold off finalizing the contract until GGH verifies your reawakening status?”
“…”
The man noticed that Juhyeok was completely serious — this wasn’t some empty bluff.
“Understood. In that case, are you available today for the verification?”
“Yes. I’ve kept my schedule open.”
Sensing opportunity, the recruiter immediately took him to the guild building.
To his credit, Juhyeok’s calmness convinced him further — even if it had seemed strange that someone who’d beaten a third-year vice-representative hadn’t taken the test yet.
They drove to the guild.
The building wasn’t as impressive as Mir’s, but not completely shabby either.
Just as they were about to enter, Juhyeok noticed someone near the entrance — a woman around his mother’s age, wearing a protest placard and looking utterly exhausted.
The sign read:
“Is it justice that GGH Guild — who ignored mandated rest periods and worked my son to death — walks free?”
Her face was ashen, her posture frail — like she could collapse any second.
It was impossible not to stare.
“Let’s head in,” the recruiter said quickly.
“Who’s that woman?”
“…Ah.”
At Juhyeok’s question, the man’s expression twisted uncomfortably — like he’d just seen a roach.
“There was… an unfortunate incident at the guild some time ago. The victim’s guardian has taken it pretty hard.”
“We already provided full compensation according to the contract terms, but… she insists on making a big scene about it.”
Making a big scene.
At those words, Juhyeok turned his gaze back to the woman.
Her eyes were hollow.
The empty, shattered gaze of a mother who had lost her child.
In them, he felt a depth of grief impossible to measure.
“Don’t worry about it. There are always people like that.”
“…”
The recruiter’s forced smile made something inside him tighten.
His expression nearly broke, but he held it together and followed inside.
“Please wait here a moment. I’ll check if the measurement room’s ready.”
“Sure. I’ll wait.”
Sitting quietly in the lobby, Juhyeok pulled out his phone and searched:
“GGH Guild overwork death.”
Several recent articles popped up.
The victim was a male hunter, around Juhyeok’s age.
An F-rank graduate — just like him — who had joined GGH right after leaving the academy.
After signing, he was denied legally required rest periods and sent into gates every other day.
Eventually, he collapsed from exhaustion… and never got back up.
Beneath the article was a photo — the same woman he’d just seen outside.
“All they gave me was two million won as ‘compensation.’ My son died because of the guild’s negligence, and they tried to cover it up with money — without even an apology.”
“…”
The more he read, the deeper the crease between his brows grew.
He looked back out the window at the woman still protesting alone.
Her face looked even more haggard than in the article photo.
A storm of indescribable emotion welled up in his chest.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. We can start the test upstairs now.”
“…All right.”
Any hesitation left inside him was gone.
When he looked up again, Juhyeok smiled at the recruiter — a calm, confident smile.
This time, he would have no regrets.
