Chapter 9

“Slurp. Sip, ahh. Yeah, instant noodles taste best when you’re starving.”

“Even the Association President eats ramen?”

“Oh, of course. It’s not like I was born with a silver spoon. Once you get hooked on ramen, there’s no going back.”

“That’s kind of surprising. I thought rich people only ate gourmet food all the time.”

“Nah, I’m not rich. I skip breakfast and have a shot of soju for dinner, just like anyone else. Though… this is the first time I’ve used a ramen machine.”

The atmosphere had become noticeably more relaxed.

As expected in Korea, meals bring people together—eating is the national rule for getting close.

President Kang Seok-gu quickly devoured one packet of ramen and a triangle kimbap. He surprisingly had some talent for mukbangs.

He eats better than that one president eating gukbap on live TV. He could probably run for president on just his mukbangs.

“But more importantly—”

Kang Seok-gu wiped his mouth with a napkin and changed the subject.

“So you really are the real Midas.”

“Huh? But earlier you wanted me to prove it.”

“Yes, and I truly apologize for that. Given my position, I needed certainty. But there’s no need for proof anymore—not with Lee Woo-jae sitting next to you.”

“Oh.”

That’s kind of disappointing. I was ready to share my S+ grade achievements just in case he doubted me.

But if he says there’s no need, then that’s fine. It’s not like bragging is my thing anyway.

“I’m not really the real Lee Woo-jae—I’m a magic engineering puppet. We share consciousness, though.”

“Ahh… I thought something didn’t add up. There was no news about anyone clearing the Tower, and if someone really had, there’s no way they’d stay quiet.”

“Exactly. I’ve got a truckload of people I need to kill.”

“Haha… Please hold back on that. When I first got your message, I nearly had a heart attack. I thought I might really die.”

“Can’t do anything anyway. I’m tied to the boss.”

“That’s… a relief.”

Apparently, when Lee Woo-jae was still inside the Tower, many hunters mocked him for not even clearing the 90th floor after 24 years.

He responded by saying, “When I get out of here, I’m going to kill every last one of you.”

I talked him out of actually doing it, but clearly, the desire to kill remains.

“Let me get straight to the point. We’d like to recruit you, Mr. Midas.”

“Please just call me Kim Namjoong. ‘Midas’ feels a bit much.”

“Very well. Mr. Kim Namjoong, we want to bring you on board.”

“What are the terms?”

He gulped and replied cautiously.

“Standard industry terms are an 80/20 revenue split between the hunter and the Association, plus loan, interest, and pension benefits. But…”

“Yes?”

“You’re a special case. A fixed annual salary of 1 billion won (approx. $1M USD), and 50 million won (approx. $50K) each time you offer support. What do you think? For reference, S-rank hunters under the Association usually get around 3 billion won a year.”

He looked at me with cautious eyes.

It was undeniably a good offer.

“I refuse.”

But not good enough for me.

“Pfft!”

Lee Woo-jae spat out his ramen.

“Damn, it went up my nose!”

Kang Seok-gu stared at me with a blank expression.

“Then… what should we do…?”

“I don’t really know either.”

Pffft!

“Please… stop making me laugh.”

“I’m not even trying to be funny…”

Then silence fell.

Lee Woo-jae coughed, ramen stuck in his nose and throat, while Kang Seok-gu wiped his nose in deep contemplation.

Did I just kill the mood? Probably should say something.

“I appreciate the offer, but… I could earn 50 million won just selling a few ramen machines.”

“…I’m terribly sorry. The Association’s budget is limited.”

Yeah, that was well known.

S-rank hunters could earn over 10 billion won in major guilds, and even more if they created their own. Meanwhile, the Association capped out around 3 billion won annually.

Naturally, the Association had more low- to mid-level hunters, offering stable pay and pensions—basically like being a civil servant.

But the Association did offer things only they could.

That’s why Woo-jae and I were here in the first place.

“So then, what can the Association offer me—besides salary and pension?”

“Are you asking for political power?”

“Not directly. I’m asking how far you can go to support me.”

“If it’s not presidential-level power, we can provide almost anything. I can operate at minister-level authority, after all.”

“Then can you pressure guilds or corporations to obtain contract rights?”

“Huh…”

My first task is to monetize the Tower’s points.

My second is to get the Elixir to save Lee Woo-jae.

But the Soul-Concentrated Elixir isn’t something easily obtained.

Its other name is the Elixir of Longevity—a potion made by condensing purified monster souls that slightly extends human life.

Naturally, the ultra-rich fought to acquire it through auctions whenever it appeared.

“May I ask which guild or company you’re planning to pressure?”

“HP Company.”

“Do you need the Soul-Concentrated Elixir?”

“Yes. At least 10 units.”

Kang Seok-gu fell silent, pressing his lips with his fingers in thought.

He was weighing the cost of recruiting me versus fulfilling my request.

Soon enough, he looked up at me.

“It’s possible, but Elixirs are rare. Even if I pull strings, we might only get 1 or 2 per year. Why do you need so many?”

“That’s a secret.”

“Understood. Then… if I manage to obtain 1 or 2, would you consider joining the Association?”

“That’s not enough. How about a business deal instead?”

If what he said was true, it’d take 5 to 10 years to gather enough Elixirs to save Lee Woo-jae.

Elixirs are rare, sure—but not unobtainable. Countries like the U.S. have three manufacturers.

Tying myself down to the Association would be a loss. It’s better to negotiate with multiple guilds and nations.

“What kind of business deal?”

“I mean a one-on-one contract—not belonging to the Association or a guild.”

“You want to become a one-man guild.”

“Something like that. Or two-man, including Woo-jae.”

Kang Seok-gu nodded in understanding.

“What are your terms?”

“One Elixir per year minimum. For each Elixir, the Association can send up to 10 items into the Tower. I get free item rentals for climbs. I take a 1% fee for each item I support. Full confidentiality about me. And I reserve the right to reject item deliveries.”

“What…!”

Kang Seok-gu stared at me, aghast.

Ten items per Elixir was clearly excessive.

He probably expected my terms to be lighter than before since I wasn’t officially joining.

But what I just offered was far heavier than his original proposal.

An Elixir usually goes for around 10 billion won at auction—so each item delivery would cost 1 billion, plus a fee.

Not that I said this blindly.

[He’s hiding something, boss. Probably trying to tilt the contract in his favor.]

[But isn’t this risky? He might blackball me.]

[No way. He has to make a deal with you. I’ll protect you.]

I had a mind-reader on my team. Gotta appreciate my employee.

Kang Seok-gu frowned deeply.

“This is too much. Each Elixir already costs over 10 billion won. Adding these restrictions and a service fee? It’s insane.”

Did I overshoot?

Even if he had to make a deal, pushing too hard could cause it to fall apart.

If that happened, I’d have to find another way to monetize and secure Elixirs—a serious pain.

Should I lower my terms?

[Yeah, he thinks it’s too much. But he’s still considering it. That means he might agree. Also, if he uses government pressure, he can get Elixirs for way cheaper.]

[Why is he even considering it? What’s he hiding?]

[Not sure. But it’s something big—and bad. Maybe consider softening the terms a little.]

[Yeah, probably a good idea.]

If I knew what he was hiding, I could push harder. But even Woo-jae couldn’t figure it out.

“Then which part would you—”

BOOM!

“Aaaaah!”

“Run! It’s a monster!”

“Please help us!”

Just as I was about to renegotiate, a commotion broke out outside the convenience store.

A monster?

Unless it was during early gate crises, monsters hadn’t appeared in Seoul for years.

But this didn’t look staged—too many people were running.

My body froze with fear.

“W-What the hell…”

“Don’t worry, boss. I’ll protect you.”

Kang Seok-gu’s phone suddenly rang loudly.

He picked up, looking panicked.

“What’s going on?”

“President! Where are you? A Gate Break has occurred near Noryangjin!”

“What!?”

Kang Seok-gu jumped up, knocking over his chair.

A Gate Break? That’s when monsters spill out after hunters fail to clear a dungeon.

I’d only ever heard of it online.

They occurred fairly often in places like China or India, but not here. It’d been decades since one hit Seoul.

This was the first since the gates and the Association were established.

And it just had to be two subway stops away in Noryangjin.

Not immediate danger—but still close.

“President, what’s happening?”

“…Apparently, the gate was misclassified.”

“How do you misclassify a gate? What’s the Association even doing?”

“It wasn’t a mistake. It’s a mutated gate. A C-rank gate shifted into a B-rank.”

He explained that gates around the world were growing stronger—and mutating.

It was the first time in Korea that a C-rank gate had upgraded to B.

“We’ve seen this in other countries, but they managed to handle it. The Association tried assigning a stronger team, but it wasn’t enough…”

“That’s why you wanted to recruit me.”

“…Yes.”

So this was what he was hiding.

It made sense. If they were facing higher-level gates, they’d want me to empower more awakeners through the Tower.

That would reduce civilian casualties.

Kang Seok-gu bowed his head slightly and pleaded.

“I’m truly sorry. It was state-classified information… but I also wanted a more favorable deal. I’ll agree to your terms. Just—please stop the Gate.”

“Wait. You want us to stop it?”

“The Association has very few S- or A-rank hunters available right now. And it’s 3 AM—mobilizing takes time. You’re the fastest option.”

I was completely thrown off.

Me? Clear a Gate?

I’m all about safety-first.

But still… I’m human. Watching innocent people die while running for their lives didn’t sit right with me.

“What now?”

“You’re confident, right?”

“Piece of cake.”

“Seriously?”

“One of the contract terms was your guaranteed safety.”

“Then let’s go.”