After Han Jaeyeong left, not long afterward, Jeong Dajeong, who had gone to the community service center, returned home.
“Guildmaster Han Jaeyeong already left?”
“Yeah. There was no need for them to stay long. We just had to sign the contract.”
“Well, that’s true, but… hmm.” After confirming that Han Jaeyeong was gone, Jeong Dajeong looked around the house and then asked me cautiously, “Are we really allowed to move in and live here?”
“We signed a lease agreement. What’s the problem?”
“There isn’t a problem, but…” Jeong Dajeong scanned the house with a suspicious look. “But is this really okay?”
“Why? You don’t like the place?” Even if he didn’t like it, I wished he’d just live with it. I had just burned about 1.5 billion won setting up a protective spell in this space. And I couldn’t even recover the principal.
Jeong Dajeong, who had no idea I’d done anything like that, waved his hand. “No way. I love the place! It’s spacious, clean, and secure. I can’t believe I get to live somewhere like this. It’s all thanks to you, Daon.”
“Then what’s the issue? Isn’t it more convenient now that your workplace is closer? It used to take an hour and a half; now it’s just thirty minutes.”
“No, I don’t mean me.” Jeong Dajeong frowned. “If you even get a house like this, doesn’t that mean you’ll have no choice but to really become part of the HP Guild once your mandatory service ends?”
“To be precise, we didn’t receive the house. It’s a lease.”
“That’s not the point… You’re just getting started, Daon. I don’t think it’s good for you to be tied down to one place already.”
He talked around the issue in various ways, but in the end, it seemed Jeong Dajeong simply didn’t trust Han Jaeyeong as a person.
“Don’t worry.” It wasn’t as though I’d signed a contract with someone like Han Jaeyeong without thinking. “If I truly end up disliking Han Jaeyeong and want to terminate the contract, I can just file a lawsuit after my mandatory service. I’d probably win.”
Jeong Dajeong’s eyes widened in shock. “A l-lawsuit? What are you talking about?”
“It’s a bit complicated, but… basically, there’s a high chance I’ll be assigned as a public service agent during my mandatory service.”
I’d heard that for Hunters, if the state determines that their potential can’t be properly developed through the national training program, they’re sometimes assigned as public service agents and later dispatched to guilds. For example, if their abilities are extremely specialized, or if their potential stats are so high that a standard curriculum can’t handle them. And with my potential being S-rank, I fell into the latter category.
“Someone like Yu Hanul, who’s a swordsman, might be an exception, but mages use such a wide variety of spells that it’s prohibitively expensive for the state to properly educate them all.”
The spell I’d just used alone consumed about 1.5 billion won worth of jewels. I had only cast a completed spell, so it was a one-time expense, but it wasn’t hard to imagine how much wealth would be required just to practice and perfect such magic.
So what if I were dispatched to a guild as a public service agent?
All of those training costs would be borne by the guild.
From the state’s perspective, it’s good to offload a money sink onto a guild. From the guild’s perspective, it’s good to acquire a guaranteed future asset at a low cost. And if they train someone from a young age, the chances of that person signing with the guild later are even higher. Which is why, realistically, there’s a strong chance I’ll also be mobilized for dungeon raids as a public service agent.
“And the guild I’ll be dispatched to will probably be the HP Guild.”
Since I’d signed a contract with Han Jaeyeong, they would naturally want to bring me into their guild. Even with a three-year contract on paper, they could effectively use me for nearly six years, which explained the massive investment. From the state’s point of view, too, it would seem appropriate for an S-rank mage like Han Jaeyeong to train me.
“But there’s legal precedent saying that if, during mandatory service, a public service agent accumulates a certain level of contribution in that guild’s dungeon raids, it’s considered de facto concurrent employment and counted toward the contract period.”
It happened a few years ago.
A Hunter who had been dispatched to a guild as a public service agent and diligently participated in dungeon raids died in an accident during a raid in the 37th month of his mandatory service.
The guild he’d been dispatched to then filed a damages lawsuit against the Hunter’s bereaved family. They argued that they had prepaid a signing bonus for a contract stating he would work for the guild for one year after completing mandatory service, and since he died before fulfilling the contract, the money should be returned. But the signing bonus had already been spent on living expenses for himself and his family, as well as on items needed for dungeon raids.
Naturally, the lawsuit sparked public outrage. In an incident where a Hunter died while serving the nation—while raiding dungeons, no less—the guild, which had effectively benefited, sued the family to reclaim the signing bonus instead of offering condolences. Worse still, the only surviving family member forced to pay hundreds of millions of won in damages was a minor in their mid-teens. They were the same age I was at the time, which made it even more memorable.
Anyone could see how morally wrong it was. If he’d been undertaking the system’s “Doing Good Deeds Will Bring Blessings” quest at the time, it would surely have been judged as an act of injustice.
No… maybe not?
There would certainly be people who think that in a world where even lives are assigned a price, death is death, and money should still be returned.
Anyway, this is how the judge who handled the case at the time ruled: although the deceased Hunter had been dispatched as part of the state during their mandatory service period, an examination of their dungeon raid records showed that their contribution was by no means insignificant. In fact, it was highly likely that the raid would have failed without that Hunter’s assistance. Furthermore, upon reviewing how the signing bonus had been used, it was determined that it had gone toward the purchase of items essential for dungeon raids and actual living expenses, and thus could be regarded as the payment of necessary costs. In this case, since the majority of the service period had been spent participating in dungeon raids alongside the guild, it could be considered de facto concurrent employment.
And the most important point: for public service agents, secondary employment for the purpose of sustaining one’s livelihood is permitted with the approval of the superior in charge. Therefore, the period during which the Hunter raided dungeons together with the guild was effectively recognized as fulfilling the contract term, and the penalty did not need to be repaid.
Looking only at the conclusion, this was fortunate for the deceased Hunter’s bereaved family. However, the precedent itself did not have only positive aspects. If examined closely, it ultimately meant that the state had failed to properly provide even the essential costs required for dungeon raids and had effectively made the Hunter work without pay. The court must have struggled considerably over this.
In South Korea, public service agents hold the exceedingly vague status of being civilians while still considered to be in active service, and when combined with the special circumstances of being a Hunter, the unfairness of a mandatory service period more than twice as long as that of other public service agents was also at issue.
Yet without imposing such long mandatory service periods on Hunters, there was no way to manage dungeons and maintain the state, so things continued to limp along in this half-baked manner.
And at the same time, there wasn’t enough fiscal capacity to pay proper wages.
No matter how unreal monsters and dungeons may be, human society ultimately ends up colliding with the massive wall of reality.
In short, what this means is that if I, too, serve with the HP Guild, there is room to argue that this period should be considered part of the contract term.
“So I drafted the contract clauses with that lawsuit’s key points in mind. If we filed a similar lawsuit, there’s a high chance we’d win.” Of course, lawsuits are never one hundred percent guaranteed, but the fact that someone had already fought and won a similar battle was crucial.
Jeong Dajeong looked shocked after hearing me. “You… you even researched things like that before signing a contract with the HP Guild?”
“What are you talking about? Of course you check things like this before signing.”
Fundamentally, trusting others in human society is something that should never be taken for granted. There’s a reason the phrase inhuman and heartless exists, especially in a world where all values can be measured in money. Humans themselves are the greatest enemy, particularly when something people value more than life itself, money, is involved.
“When you step out into society, you should deal with others assuming that anyone could deceive you.”
“I see…” Jeong Dajeong wore a complicated expression after hearing this. It seemed to be a mix of pride and bitterness. “…I’m sorry, Daon.”
I blinked at the sudden change in direction. “Sorry for what?”
“For leaving you to handle everything on your own. I’m supposed to be your older brother, so I should’ve looked into these details first…”
“Oh, come on. When would you have had time to look into any of that?”
From Jeong Dajeong’s perspective, everything had happened far too suddenly. It hadn’t even been three weeks since I did the Supernatural Test and awakened as S-rank. Considering that he was also a new employee who hadn’t been at his company for long, it wouldn’t have been strange if his head had exploded from stress.
But Jeong Dajeong didn’t seem willing to accept that explanation. His lips pressed into a firm line. “No. Even so, you’re still a kid. I wasn’t prepared enough.”
That sounded less like something he was saying to me and more like something he was saying to himself.
“Still, it was really good that you looked into things so thoroughly. If there’s precedent like this… then if the worst happens, we should file a lawsuit too. I’ll look into the procedures and costs in more detail, and dig up more cases…”
“Hey, wait.” His expression was so serious that I waved my hands. “I haven’t decided to sue no matter what. I have to do my mandatory service anyway, and I’ll be dispatched to some guild regardless, so I just chose the HP Guild since it had the best conditions.”
If you’re going to get beaten anyway, isn’t it better to at least choose the material of the switch?
That was all the preparation amounted to, and honestly, I wasn’t that worried.
And Han Jaeyeong isn’t an idiot either.
Han Jaeyeong was no different from a child who had discovered a monster so bizarre it fascinated them, and was now observing it with curiosity. That was why they were poking and prodding in every way they could think of. It was annoying, but not yet to the point where I wanted to kill them.
Well… not yet, anyway.
“Right. In the end, things like this depend most on the person’s own opinion.” Still looking uneasy, Jeong Dajeong nevertheless nodded after hearing me out. “Still, Daon, if something really hard happens, tell your brother, okay? I’ll do whatever I can.”
How, exactly?
The words surged up to my throat, but I’d learned enough social restraint over the past nineteen years not to let them slip out. Anyway, the fact that he was worried about me was touching. So I nodded. “Yeah. I got it.”
Only then did Jeong Dajeong break into a bright smile. Come to think of it, this might have been the first time I’d seen him smile in the past three weeks. A lot really had happened…
“Hmm, then… what should we do now? Oh, we should eat jjajangmyeon to celebrate moving in.”
“Mya!”
“Jjajangmyeon? What’s that?”
Leo, who had been yawning quietly, lifted his head at the unfamiliar word. Finding the sight cute, Jeong Dajeong tried to pet Leo, only to fail again.
“Looks like Leo wants to eat too. Cats… no, monsters—what do they eat?”
“Basically, they don’t need to eat anything, but…”
Leo’s body moved through magic power, and magic power existed everywhere in the air. That magic was constantly being drawn in by the fragment of my soul embedded in his body, so in theory, he could keep moving forever. So external nutrition shouldn’t really be necessary…
“Grrr!”
“I’m curious! I’m curious!”
“…Let’s just order an extra bowl. Eating human food shouldn’t cause any problems.”
No, actually, I kind of wish it would. It felt like his mind had gotten younger along with his smaller body.
“Alright. Hmm, I wonder if there’s even a jjajangmyeon place in a wealthy neighborhood like this. Wait, where do people even order delivery from in places like this?”
“How should I know? Figure it out yourself.”
Saying that, I flopped down onto the sofa in the living room.
Han Jaeyeong had said they’d taken care of furnishing the essentials for the house, and the sofa alone was soft yet firm enough to support the body properly… Whatever their personality might be like, Han Jaeyeong certainly had good taste.
Well, even dog shit has its uses. Someone like that had to have at least one redeeming quality.
“Wait a second, Yu Hanul.” Han Jaeyeong stopped mid-call and pulled the phone away from their ear.
“What is it?”
“No, my ear was itching.”
Is someone talking behind my back?