The fluorescent lights of the all-night convenience store hummed like angry insects. Seong-Jin sat at the small counter by the window, a cold cup of cheap coffee turning to acid in his stomach. On his tablet, spreadsheets glowed with a depressing red hue.
5.2 million won.
550 million won.
The numbers danced in his vision, underscored by the persistent, silent presence of the [Manager System]. It had been forty-eight hours since it appeared. It didn't speak, it didn't give quests. It simply was. A constant, analytical companion that offered only cold data and impossibly expensive solutions.
He had spent the day researching. High-grade mana crystals weren't just expensive; they were controlled. Only B-Rank or higher Hunters, registered Guilds, or licensed research institutions could purchase them through the Hunter Association's official channels. The black market was an option, but the price inflated tenfold, and the risk of buying a fissured or unstable crystal was high. It could kill Yuri instead of healing her.
The foundation repair was more straightforward, just obscenely costly. 50 million per nodal point. It was like paying for seven life-saving surgeries.
Where do you find that kind of money? He wasn't a Hunter who could dive into a high-rank dungeon for a windfall. He was a broke, fired talent manager with a system that saw gold in rust.
His phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number.
'It's Kang Yuri. I… cleaned my apartment.'
A simple message. But he read the subtext. I am waiting. I am trying. Please don't let this be a dream.
He typed back, his fingers sure. 'Good. Be ready at 7 AM tomorrow. Wear something you can move in. We begin.'
He sent it before he could doubt. He had to project absolute confidence. He was the rock now. Her foundation.
But a rock needed money.
He scrolled through his contacts, a graveyard of professional connections who would now see him as a failure. Then, he stopped at a name. Not a friend. A potential resource. 'Song Mi-Young.' The listing was old, from his early days. 'Finance & Liquidity Solutions.' A polite euphemism. Song Mi-Young was a loan shark. A very particular, very dangerous one. She was rumored to cater exclusively to the Hunter underbelly—those with potential but no capital, those needing a desperate stake for a dungeon run or gear upgrade. Her interest rates were predatory, her collection methods were legendarily persuasive, but she was said to have an eye for talent. She only bet on those she thought could pay her back.
It was a terrible idea. It was the only idea.
He made the call.
The place was called "The Gilded Cage." It was a high-end lounge in the Gangnam district, masquerading as an art gallery. The art was all dungeon-related: abstract sculptures made from mana-charged ore, paintings that subtly shifted color based on the viewer's latent magic. It was tasteful, intimidating, and screamed of money that didn't need to announce itself.
Seong-Jin, in his off-the-rack suit, felt like a stain on the pristine marble floor.
A hostess with an evaluative smile led him to a private room. Inside, a woman sat on a low divan, sipping a glass of amber liquid. Song Mi-Young was in her forties, elegant in a sharp, black pantsuit. Her hair was perfectly silver, cut in a severe bob. She wasn't beautiful in a conventional sense; she was compelling. Her eyes were the color of wet slate, and they missed nothing.
"Lee Seong-Jin," she said, her voice a smooth contralto. "I heard Apex let you go. A shame. You had a certain… sentimental approach to the business."
"Madam Song," he bowed slightly. "Thank you for seeing me."
"Sentiment doesn't pay my bills. But curiosity does. Sit." She gestured. "You need money. A lot of it, if you're coming to me. You are not a Hunter. You have no collateral but your future earnings, which are currently zero. Convince me you are not a waste of my time."
He sat, back straight. He had rehearsed this. He was a manager. This was a pitch.
"I have secured my first client. An S-Rank talent."
One of Madam Song's perfectly sculpted eyebrows rose a millimeter. "There are seventeen registered S-Rank Hunters in Korea. I know all of their managers. You are not one of them."
"She is unregistered. Her talent is concealed. Fractured. Society sees a broken D-Rank. I see an 'Unbreakable Fortress.'" He used the System's term, letting it hang in the air.
Madam Song took a slow sip. "Kang Yuri."
Seong-Jin's blood went cold. How?
A faint, cold smile touched her lips. "The Goblin's Crown. A tragedy. I had analysts look at it. The math of her survival was… statistically fascinating. A flicker of interest. Then she faded. You think you can rekindle that?"
"I don't think. I know. I have a method. But it requires capital. 550 million won. For her foundation repair and a high-grade mana crystal."
She let out a soft, genuine laugh. "Half a billion won. For a ghost with potential. That is not a loan, Mr. Lee. That is a venture capital investment in a moonshot. My terms would be steep."
"Name them."
"The principal. Plus 120% interest, compounded monthly. To be repaid in full within one year."
Seong-Jin's stomach lurked. It was suicidal. If he failed, the debt would spiral into the billions.
"Secondly," she continued, swirling her glass. "My firm takes a 25% equity stake in your… agency. All future profits. In perpetuity."
"15%," he countered, his voice tight.
"25%. You are not negotiating from strength. You are holding a lottery ticket you cannot cash without me."
He was silent. The numbers screamed at him. It was a devil's bargain.
"And the third condition?" he asked, knowing there would be one.
Madam Song's slate eyes locked onto his. "If you default—if in one year you cannot repay the principal and interest—I do not just take your agency. Kang Yuri's contract transfers to me. She becomes my asset, to manage or dispose of as I see fit. Her life, her talent, her future. Mine."
The air left the room. It was a clause born of profound cynicism. She didn't just believe in his project; she was hedging. If he succeeded, she owned a piece of a golden goose. If he failed, she still took the potentially S-Rank talent, likely to sell her contract to a major guild for experimentation or worse. She won either way.
He thought of Yuri. The tremor in her hand as she took the card. The spark in her dead eyes. He was about to gamble her life, not just his own.
"Do you need to consult with your client?" Madam Song asked, a razor's edge of mockery in her tone.
"No," Seong-Jin said, the word leaving his lips before his fear could stop it. "I am her manager. This is my decision. My responsibility. I accept your terms."
Madam Song watched him for a long, silent moment. Then, she set down her glass. "The money will be in your account in one hour. The contract will be drawn up. Do not disappoint me, Lee Seong-Jin. I dislike the smell of wasted potential."
The training ground was a rented, outdoor facility used by low-rank party guilds for drills. It was just bare, hard-packed earth and a few crumbling concrete barriers. The morning mist was still clinging to the ground.
Yuri stood in the center, wearing simple training sweats. She looked nervous, but also… present. Her hair was tied back neatly. She met his eyes.
"You got the money," she said. It wasn't a question.
"I did." He didn't elaborate. The weight of how was his to carry. "Before we spend a single won, we need a baseline. I need to see the fracture points. I need you to channel your mana. Not to cast a skill. Just to circulate it. Until you can't."
Her face paled further. "It will hurt."
"I know. I need to see it. Trust me."
She closed her eyes. A faint, brownish-gold glow—the color of earth mana—began to emanate from her skin. It was weak, flickering. She breathed in, and the glow traveled down her arms, towards her core. Then, it hit the first blockage.
[Observer Note: Nodal Point 1 (Right Shoulder) - Mana Backflow Detected.]
On cue, Yuri gasped. Her right shoulder jerked violently, as if stabbed. The glow sputtered. Sweat beaded on her forehead.
"Keep going," Seong-Jin said, his voice calm, even as his heart ached.
She gritted her teeth, forcing the mana flow. It moved sluggishly past the first point, down her spine. Then, the second point, near her kidney. She cried out, a short, sharp sound of agony, and doubled over.
"Stop!" he ordered.
She collapsed to her knees, breathing in ragged, wet sobs. The mana glow vanished. She was shaking all over, tears of pure, physical pain mixing with the sweat on her face.
Seong-Jin walked over and knelt in front of her, ignoring the dirt. He didn't touch her. He just waited.
"See?" she spat, the word full of self-loathing. "Broken. Useless."
"No," he said, his voice low and intense. "I saw seven points where a brilliant light is being strangled. I didn't see a broken thing. I saw a lock with seven keys. And now," he stood up, offering a hand, "I have the keys."
She looked up at his hand, then at his face. The pain in her eyes was now mixed with a desperate, furious hope.
He pulled out his tablet, interfacing with the System only he could see. He initiated the process.
[Foundation Repair Protocol: Nodal Point 1. Cost: 50,000,000 Won. Confirm?]
Confirm.
The money vanished from the account in a digital blink. A new prompt appeared.
[Require Physical Contact with Subject at repair locus.]
"Give me your right hand," Seong-Jin said.
Puzzled, she did. Her hand was calloused, strong, but still trembling from the recent pain.
He placed his hand over her shoulder, where the System interface highlighted the fractured node. "This will feel strange."
He willed the repair to begin.
A warmth, not from him but through him, flowed from his palm into her shoulder. It was a deep, resonant, golden warmth. Yuri's eyes flew wide. She let out a shuddering breath.
It wasn't a healing spell. It was more fundamental. It was like watching a time-lapse of a shattered bone knitting itself perfectly back together, cell by cell. A deep, internal click echoed not in the air, but in her very soul.
The chronic, dull ache that had been a part of her for two years—a background noise of suffering—vanished from that one spot. It left behind not just an absence of pain, but a profound, solid wholeness.
A single tear, clean and clear this time, traced a path down her dirty cheek.
"One down," Seong-Jin said softly, removing his hand. The System showed the node was now a steady, glowing green. "Six to go."
He looked at the remaining balance. 500 million won to go. A year to repay over a billion. The mountain was still there.
But as he looked at Kang Yuri, now staring at her own shoulder with the awe of someone witnessing a miracle, he saw the first true step on the path.
He had bought a dream. Now, he had to make it pay.