Chapter 35
Community (4)
“Wow⋯⋯.”
Foundation Headquarters.
As soon as they stepped inside, Inha let out a gasp of admiration at the spring scenery spread before her eyes.
However, Sehyun didn’t even glance at it and walked straight to the front desk.
It wasn’t because he’d seen the view before.
‘Why the hell⋯⋯?’
His community proposal—which he had been certain would be approved—had been rejected.
There was no way something had gone wrong.
He had followed exactly the same process as Ha Ilhwan had. There shouldn’t have been a single point of failure.
Clearly, something else was going on.
‘Even the review being finished that quickly was suspicious. A full internal review should take at least a day. Which means someone intervened midway⋯⋯.’
He shook his head.
‘No—don’t jump to conclusions.’
He didn’t know the circumstances yet.
Maybe it had been rejected over something trivial.
Taking a deep breath, Sehyun calmed his thoughts and called to a passing employee.
“Excuse me.”
“Yes, how can I⋯⋯ ah, you’re⋯⋯!”
“I just wanted to ask something. How can I meet the community affairs officer⋯⋯?”
“I-I’m sorry.”
The employee suddenly turned and bolted away.
Sehyun blinked, dumbfounded, looking around him.
The other employees did the same—avoiding his eyes and hurrying off in the opposite direction.
“⋯⋯What the hell?”
Their reactions were far too suspicious.
Not only were they acting strange, but they looked at him as if he were the problem—like he was some kind of troublemaker to avoid.
The atmosphere screamed “don’t get involved with that guy.”
‘Yeah, something’s definitely up.’
But what?
Who could bypass higher review procedures and not face any backlash?
‘Abe’s retired from operations already. The Sagan sisters wouldn’t bother with something this petty. Mrs. McClane wasn’t even taken seriously before the Apocalypse⋯⋯.’
He was retracing the higher-ups of the Foundation in his mind when—
“I heard you were looking for the person in charge.”
Click, click.
A pair of firm, confident footsteps echoed as someone approached.
“Who’s that⋯⋯?”
Inha recognized him first, prompting Sehyun to turn his head.
A blond man with cold blue eyes, wearing a perfectly tailored suit, looked at them impassively.
The Foundation’s Administrative Team Leader—Rachel.
They’d crossed paths a few times recently, but meeting here was unexpected.
‘What’s he doing here?’
“It’s been a while, Mr. Nam Sehyun.”
Rachel smiled and held out his hand.
Sehyun ignored the handshake. “What’s the Korean branch’s administrative head doing here? I was looking for the community approval officer⋯⋯.”
Rachel raised his hand, cutting him off.
In that same hand was a business card.
“Ah, well, you see—this matter happens to fall under my authority.”
“⋯⋯What?”
When Sehyun finally took the card, his eyes widened in disbelief.
Rachel Adams — Acting Authority of the Adams Family.
⋯⋯Acting authority of the head of the Adams family?
“What the hell⋯⋯.”
“Shall we move somewhere more private, Mr. Sehyun?”
Rachel smiled—a thin, victorious smile.
Foundation Reception Room.
Across the table lay the application Sehyun had submitted earlier.
“Community establishment⋯⋯,” Rachel murmured, drumming his fingers on the armrest.
“You must be disappointed to hear it was deemed ineligible.”
“⋯⋯.”
“If you wish to appeal the result, you may request a reassessment at any time. If there was a mistake, it’ll be corrected swiftly. If there was, of course.”
Crack.
Sehyun gritted his teeth.
“⋯⋯What are you trying to pull?”
“Pardon? What do you mean?”
“Cut the act. This is your doing, isn’t it?”
Rachel didn’t deny it—he just smiled faintly and sipped his tea.
“To put it simply, you won’t be allowed to create a community.”
“⋯⋯Because I’m not part of the Foundation?”
Rachel gestured for him to go on.
“That’s ridiculous. If that’s true, it means the Foundation is bullying lower-tier communities.”
“That would be the Foundation’s problem to handle, wouldn’t it?”
“Even then, there’s no reason for this to be rejected.”
“And why is that?”
“I made generous donations as proof of community competence. At least enough to be considered for—”
“My, you know quite a bit, Mr. Nam Sehyun.”
Rachel cut him off with a smirk, and Sehyun’s face twisted.
“But unfortunately, the ‘competence’ you mentioned is severely lacking.”
“⋯⋯Ha.”
So that was it—they just moved the goalposts for him alone.
It was absurd double standards, and anger flared in Sehyun’s chest. But he forced himself to stay calm.
Losing his temper now would only mean defeat.
He exhaled slowly and opened his eyes.
“⋯⋯Fine. Maybe you’re right.”
“⋯⋯?”
“I’ll prepare more, then. I’ll cancel the application and request a refund of the donation—”
“Refund? That’s not possible, of course.”
Crack.
Sehyun clenched his jaw again.
“What do you mean not possible—”
“Do you not understand what ‘donation’ means? It’s a voluntary gift for the public good—without expectation of return, isn’t it?”
“⋯⋯.”
“The donation has nothing to do with the review. But I’ll be sure to remember your generous heart.”
“⋯⋯You bastard.”
“I hear such abusive practices used to be common, but isn’t it good we’re rooting out corruption?”
Bang!
Sehyun slammed his hand on the table.
“Why bring that up now⋯⋯!”
Rachel chuckled softly.
‘Serves you right, Nam Sehyun.’
The man must have realized by now that he’d walked right into a trap.
No way he’d expected interference like this.
Even Rachel had to admit this move was a little extreme.
‘But if I don’t stop him here, things will get much worse.’
A player’s treatment varied drastically depending on whether or not they belonged to a community.
Especially when the Foundation decided to pursue them—being in a community made them almost untouchable.
Even a one-person community would cause major political headaches if the Foundation was accused of oppression.
So Rachel had made sure Nam Sehyun would never form one.
Letting him create a new organization was absolutely out of the question.
‘It’s over, Nam Sehyun.’
The Foundation’s leadership was already in Rachel’s hands.
In exchange for inheriting the family head’s seat, he’d secured full authority over this matter.
No one could help Sehyun now.
If he tried to expose it publicly, they could simply arrest him for “spreading instability.”
Rachel was suppressing a grin when Sehyun finally exhaled and leaned back in his chair.
“⋯⋯So that’s all you had to say?”
“That’s all. Would you like me to print you an appeal form?”
“No thanks.”
His tone had turned rough, but Rachel didn’t care.
After all, a barking dog couldn’t bite—
‘⋯⋯What the?’
Suddenly, a chill ran down Rachel’s spine.
Sehyun’s expression wasn’t angry anymore—it was calm, eerily calm.
That uneasy feeling again.
That same dread that he might slip through his grasp—again.
‘No. Impossible.’
The visa he held was only valid for a week, and Rachel had made sure it couldn’t be extended.
Even if Sehyun tried something, he couldn’t do much in that short time.
Every escape route was already sealed.
‘Stop bluffing and accept your defeat⋯⋯!’
But Sehyun rose from his seat, walked toward the door, and glanced back.
“It won’t go the way you think.”
Even as he left, his eyes burned with resolve.
When Rachel was left alone, a chill lingered in the air.
Step, step.
‘I was careless.’
He’d known that just because he’d returned in time, things wouldn’t go exactly as before.
Seongcheol, Phantom, Chester, even Inha—everything had changed.
‘⋯⋯Rachel Adams.’
In his previous life, the current family head, Abe Adams, had died a year later—then the position was inherited by his daughters.
They’d tried to hold the collapsing Foundation together but failed.
The Foundation fell, and Ha Ilhwan swooped in to claim the remains.
‘But now someone who didn’t exist in my last life has appeared.’
Not just anyone—an acting head of the Adams family.
That changed everything.
Among the three ruling families that controlled the Foundation, the Adams family held the highest authority.
Which meant Rachel could move the entire Foundation with a single word.
‘⋯⋯I should’ve used every resource I had.’
Was refusing Randellof’s help just arrogance?
But he couldn’t rely on others forever if he was to carry out his long-term plans.
He had to build strength on his own.
‘Now there’s no choice.’
This was bigger than expected—but so be it.
If the enemy was using the Foundation itself to block him, then the only way forward was to shake the Foundation to its core.
“I’ll have to bring the whole damn Foundation down.”
Ring ring!
“Yes, Jack Baker, Baker Law Office speaking.”
A client’s frustrated voice droned from the other end.
“Hmm⋯⋯ I see. Then I’ll see you in a week.”
The man rubbed his sunken face, dark circles heavy under his eyes.
He looked exhausted—but in truth, he was bored out of his mind.
It had been nothing but trivial complaints for days.
Click.
He hung up the phone and downed his whiskey in one gulp.
“Haah. Isn’t there a real case anywhere?”
Crunching the ice between his teeth, he stared blankly at the ceiling.
Jack Baker.
A lawyer specializing in player disputes.
Ever since the Foundation rose to power as the so-called “government of players,” community conflicts had been handled by them.
Their governing principle was autonomy.
They claimed to guarantee the freedom of players who had been oppressed under noble hierarchies.
As long as no one violated the core rule—“never reveal yourself to outsiders”—they left everything to self-governance.
But that created blind spots.
Weak players and communities were trampled by the strong.
The Foundation, which should’ve mediated, instead hid behind its “non-intervention” policy and did nothing.
“This level of incompetence is almost impressive.”
Encouraging fights but banning murder—it was the height of hypocrisy.
And those driven to desperation came to people like him—Jack Baker, player attorney.
But even that had dried up lately.
The Foundation was now paying off players just to keep them quiet.
Which meant endless streams of meaningless complaints.
“Ugh⋯⋯ I need a real case. Should I make one myself at this point⋯⋯?”
He snorted at his own thought.
Then—
Ring ring!
“Damn it, I was thinking!”
He glared at the phone.
Probably another useless call.
“Sorry, out of office—call again later, yeah? Yaaaawn⋯⋯.”
Just as the ringing stopped and he yawned—
BANG BANG BANG!
Someone pounded on his office door.
“⋯⋯What the hell?”
He wasn’t expecting anyone today.
“Don’t tell me⋯⋯.”
He set down his glass and grabbed the revolver on his desk.
Given his line of work, he had plenty of enemies who’d love to see him dead.
Pressing his back to the wall, he aimed at the door.
‘I was ready for this.’
The doorknob was reinforced with a special stellar barrier—no one could open it but him.
If it was a client, they’d realize he wasn’t in and leave.
If it was an intruder, they’d force the door—and then get a few holes in them.
The pounding stopped. Voices followed.
“Maybe he’s not home?”
“It’s broad daylight. He’s definitely inside—he only works at night.”
Baker swallowed hard.
‘They know my schedule? Damn it, they’re here for me!’
“Guess there’s no choice. Inha, if you please.”
“⋯⋯Are you sure about this?”
“If you’d picked up the phone, this wouldn’t be happening.”
Shing—
BOOM!!
The door exploded in a burst of steel and smoke.
“You bastards!”
Baker fired blindly into the haze.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three shots.
But the shadow in the smoke didn’t even flinch.
Instead, a calm voice answered.
“Ugh⋯⋯ yeah, that stings a little. Guess these aren’t normal bullets.”
The smoke cleared to reveal a tall woman with a sword—and an Asian man casually brushing the air with his hand.
Even with three bullets lodged cleanly in his chest, the man looked completely unfazed.
“What the⋯⋯ you blocked that?”
Baker could only gape in disbelief at the sight before him.
