IH Ch 125

Chapter 125

“Hey, the Guildmaster you like, Hwang Jae-i, is on TV.”

“…….”

Jihyeon, who was working her shift at the café, frowned at the slightly mocking tone. When she glared sharply, the jerk—her household register mate and sworn enemy—lifted both arms in an exaggerated gesture.

“Oh wow, scary. You’re gonna scare someone to death with those eyes?”

“……You little—”

If there were no customers around, she would have cracked his skull with the broom she was holding.

Maybe because he knew she was barely restraining herself, he kept provoking her.

“Hey, don’t you dare date any guy without bringing him to me first. I’ll check if he’s decent or trash.”

Jihyeon snorted and shot back,

“Don’t be ridiculous. Trash recognizes trash. Your approval’s worth nothing.”

“What? You—!”

He contorted his face as if ready to lunge, but when a customer glanced over, he turned his head away. Even then, he muttered “We’ll talk later,” earning another snort and a raised middle finger from Jihyeon. She immediately turned away and went to clean a table in the corner.

“…….”

Ugh, irritating. It always ruined her mood working with that guy, but today was somehow worse.

Jihyeon was a fan of Hwang Jae-i.

People laughed, saying the only thing worth looking at was his face, but she’d always thought, That’s enough, and had liked him for five years now.

Lately, when Jae-i—who rarely did anything outside gate exploration—started appearing nonstop in ads, CFs, photoshoots, and magazines, it felt like a feast.

It made her fangirl life extremely fulfilling.

She spent her days happily chatting with longtime fans like herself:

Have you seen our boy in this photo? Why is he so pretty even when he moves in that CF? The photoshoot is insane. I spent almost a thousand at that store and took everything home.

But then, suddenly, on Saturday evening, breaking news appeared.

The death of Pungjin’s chairman and his eldest son? Well—men who were bound to die eventually had simply died.

But the Pohang incident—shouldn’t people hear Hwang Jae-i’s side first?

The media was painting the residents as thugs extorting money through illegal land squatting, but none of that had been verified.

A friend who used to live by the sea said the land there had already been swallowed up by outsiders, leaving locals no way to survive economically. Wealthy people would hire thugs, drive land prices sky-high at absurd levels, forcefully buy land, and push people out.

Her friend’s father had been severely injured during such a dispute and still had trouble walking.

It was probably the same here.

Those men crying on TV were probably wearing fake casts. Otherwise, how could they move like that?

The reporters and anchors seemed strange too.

It was obvious—they were trying the same old tactic of tarnishing Hwang Jae-i’s reputation.

With his popularity rising too fast for their comfort, they were trying to drag him down.

As if that would work. Their boy was stronger than they thought.

Jihyeon scrubbed the table harder.

That was when—

“Huh?”

She frowned and turned around.

If he was about to start another argument, she was ready to lock the door and fight him properly.

But she froze.

Someone she never expected appeared on the café TV screen—

And he was wearing the hunter uniform he had only worn once, back when he first became Guildmaster.

Moving at the speed of light, Jihyeon took out her phone from her apron and snapped rapid-fire photos before confirming with her own eyes:

“It’s him?”

He looked stunning—but why was he appearing at this hour?

A wave of unease rushed in.

Jihyeon shoved her registry mate aside and grabbed the remote from under the counter.

“Hey, what are you doing? We have customers—”

Ignoring him, she turned the volume up sharply.

Then, as if on cue, Hwang Jae-i spoke.

[Good afternoon, citizens. I am Hwang Jae-i, Guildmaster of the Jae-i Guild.]

2 p.m. When he appeared on TV without warning, people everywhere froze and gathered around screens.

Even though it was the post-lunch slump, everyone’s eyes sparkled intensely.

After the reports from Saturday evening, he had released no statement for almost a full day. And now—he appeared after two days.

Everyone in Korea knew his face even without introduction, yet he formally introduced himself before continuing calmly:

[First, I would like to apologize to those who have felt fatigued by the numerous rumors concerning me recently.]

Inside buildings and out on the streets, people stopped moving as if time had frozen.

Workers paused what they were doing and switched channels to watch him.

Reporters tried to find out what was happening, but even staff at the broadcasting station showing him were clueless and frantically asking their higher-ups.

Whether he knew the chaos he was causing or not, Jae-i continued:

[I am standing before you today to address various suspicions tied to me. First, regarding the incident at the seaside village near Pohang, there is something I would like all of you to see for yourselves.]

The moment he finished speaking, the screen changed.

A quiet, worn-down one-story building on a coastal road.

Elderly villagers sat on a wooden platform trimming greens.

It looked peaceful—like a slice of a drama set.

But the mood shifted within seconds.

The camera rose, following the road upward.

Two black sedans sped down the road at alarming speed, heading straight for the platform.

Some viewers instinctively imagined them hitting the elders—it was that reckless.

Once the cars stopped, dangerous-looking men got out—the kind that had disappeared from big cities but still lingered in the provinces.

Gangster-types.

They pointed baseball bats at the elders.

One elder stood up, only to be roughly shoved, collapsing backward.

Stunned, the elder didn’t rise immediately. The thugs laughed.

Then they rushed the building.

Old wood couldn’t withstand the assault.

Glass shattered. Frames splintered.

Pots and belongings were thrown out like trash.

It was raw violence—nothing like the staged kind in movies.

One elder suddenly stood, clutching the small kitchen knife used for preparing greens.

But it was no match for those brutes.

Viewers felt their hearts sink, afraid he would be hurt—

And then the camera moved again.

Down a dirt path behind the building, someone approached.

A man wearing thick glasses.

People watching felt a thought spark: No way…

He clashed with the gangsters.

They were nothing to him.

A flick of his hand sent them flying.

His glasses slid off—

and a chiseled, impossibly handsome face appeared.

Everyone thought the same thing: I knew it.

Relief washed over them.

Some even shouted at their screens for him to beat the thugs harder.

He did not hear them, of course, but he obliged—sending a hunter-looking man flying with a clean strike.

Realizing their disadvantage, the thugs tried to flee, only to be blocked by a tractor approaching from the other direction.

Viewers cheered—

But their joy was cut short when the screen changed again.

Suddenly: a dark mountain forest at dusk.

People murmured, confused.

Was the signal broken?

Then, figures appeared—moving covertly in the shadows.

They looked like soldiers, geared for nighttime operations, carrying large backpacks.

People leaned closer to watch.

Something felt important.

And then horror unfolded.

One separated man set down his backpack, worked with his hands, opened it—and fled.

From the open pack, something black slowly emerged.

A grotesquely long arm reached out, touching the grass.

Then the creature crawled out—

a beast.