The S-Classes That I Raised

Chapter 456: I’m Hospitalized, But (3)

“Awake?”

A woman in a white coat smiled down at me. An unfamiliar face. More than that, there was no one else around her. Instead of answering, I drew a white pistol and aimed it at her. I slowly pushed myself upright and scanned the room again.

The ward hadn’t changed.

“Suspicious, aren’t you.”

“I just came out of surgery — there’s no way my little brother wouldn’t be right here. Not unless an S–class dungeon popped near the hospital.”

And if it were that dangerous, there wouldn’t be a stranger standing here alone.

“Even if you sent the kids out to rest, Yuhyun should be here. This isn’t reality, is it?”

An armchair appeared and the woman sat. A pair of glasses was suddenly in her fingers; she set them on lightly.

“You had a truce.”

I said it low. The shooter and the rest — why do they keep pulling this crap.

“I’m neither side.”

“…Neither?”

“Strictly speaking, I’m on the Unfilial Children side. But they’ve warped a lot now.”

If “now” means recently warped… no way.

“You sound a bit… old–fashioned.”

“Hm? I patched my language to the latest version. Does it sound off?”

“No, you said they’d changed ‘now.’ Miss, even Young Chaos grumbled in that vein.”

“That’s mean.”

She shook her head.

“I’m much younger than Chaos. Well, to you that’s six of one, half a dozen of the other.”

“So. Start with who you are.”

“A lighthouse keeper. In your terms, that’s the closest. One of the original system–makers.”

Said the Lighthouse Keeper. One of the original system creators.

“So you’re… a way, way senior to the Rookie. Why are you here?”

“Not even surprised.”

“What’s the point now. I know the gist. The Source tried to swallow the world, you built a thing called the system to stop it.”

“The first system was just a helper, but now it’s trying to play leader.”

“If we scrapped the system even now, would it keep Transcendents from interfering?”

“No. And your world would be in serious trouble without it. The dungeons would disappear.”

She kept explaining.

“The monsters would come pouring out at once. It’d be chaos. Even if people awakened, the low ranks would die easily, and the mid–high ranks who survive would be left in a collapsed society. If the civilization they enjoyed vanished overnight, even high–rank awakened would be inconvenienced — morale down, efficiency down.”

An apocalypse, literally. With dungeons as they are, you have to admit the system’s usefulness.

“As long as the Source exists and tries to devour the world, it’s better that a basic system exists. There are side effects, but at least until people adapt. It’s not kept well these days, but originally systems were set to fade after about ten years.”

“I heard that too.”

“So we were the best option.”

The Lighthouse Keeper said it with confidence — and pride.

“So people could protect themselves. So they could protect their world. We fed ourselves to the system.”

“…You don’t mean ‘we crunched the engineers’ in the usual sense, do you.”

“That’s why I can only wake when there’s a serious bug or exception. Back when this world’s system froze, I woke once. I handed over a Spirit’s Egg then.”

Right — in that Japanese dungeon, Yerim said she’d met a woman in a suit, not the Rookie. So she was a Lighthouse Keeper.

“So there’s a new bug.”

“This time it’s a bit complicated.”

She furrowed her brow tight.

“A dungeon has been worldified.”

“…What?”

“That dungeon that was made temporarily. The one with only two sapients. It has become a completely separate world.”

Only two people, a temporary dungeon. Don’t tell me—

“From pre–regression info, a made… dungeon…?”

My voice shook a little. She nodded.

“The dungeon made by the Rookie and the King of Harmless — and another Rookie — was closed. Normally, a sealed dungeon leaves the system’s protection, and then the Source swallows it.”

Dungeons — the worlds inside them and their monsters — are the Source’s power. It’s reclaimed, she said.

“The system only wraps the Source’s outflow in packaging called a dungeon. Or, maybe an aquarium is a better fit. A big tank catching the water and fish that pour in. Raiders clean it up before it overflows.”

“So a dungeon not managed by the system — that power should return to the Source…”

“It’s staying as is. I’ve never seen it. In all the Source–worlds, not once.”

My first thought was relief. That world is safe. But why.

“I can’t tell you the reason. Only the Source can create worlds… but why would it sustain the power of a tiny dungeon with only two people.”

“You have no guesses at all?”

“One is the will of the Source. Some say it has a self. Maybe it suddenly wanted a miniature world.”

Ridiculous, she admitted — and her attitude said she thought it very unlikely.

“The other is the existence of someone who can make a world with the Source’s power… which is even more impossible.”

“So you’re saying you don’t know.”

“If I knew exactly, I wouldn’t be here.”

She peered at me like, do you know anything? I stared back.

“I only just learned it got worldified.”

“You were briefly linked. With that world.”

“…Huh? I thought that was a dream.”

So it wasn’t.

“Anyway, that dungeon — that world — will be fine, as long as Transcendents don’t touch it, right?”

“You can’t touch a newborn world. Its membrane is strongest then; even a Young Chaos would need at least a thousand years to bore in.”

“Great.”

So not just me — no one would ever meet those two again. Bittersweet.

“But you were linked.”

“I was in there. Same being — a temporary crosstalk, whatever.”

Chair legs scraped. The Lighthouse Keeper stood and leaned to look down at me, eyes raking me as if to lay me bare. Should I just shoot.

“No matter how I look, you’re just human.”

“Since we’re at a hospital, want a DNA test?”

“Your ‘value as an existent’ has skyrocketed, but your root is ordinary.”

“I’m the firstborn of a very common Han family. The second’s the special one.”

Besides them, Seong Hyunjae and Song Taewon are special from birth. Chief Song’s the unwilling special. She sighed big and sat again.

“To think we have to leave an anomaly like this alone. Time’s short; I’ll patch the system and sleep again.”

“Then tell me some stories. About the Crescent Moon or the White Bird. Especially the Crescent Moon — they’ve been toying with people, playing sly games.”

Her eyes went round.

“The Crescent Moon? If anything, the opposite. They worried a lot about the system too. They disliked meddling with people’s fates for the excuse of protecting them from the Source.”

…Wrong person? Because they’ve grabbed a perfectly decent person and run them ragged.

“Even a ‘helper’ sets people’s limits once applied. Even if it lifts after years or a decade. Oracles with lighter touch are the same. In the end, those the Transcendents deem promising get more chances.”

“So the Crescent Moon balked,” she finished — and I was even more baffled. I mean, people can change, but… that much?

“The Crescent Moon was originally an ordinary human — or a race like that, right?”

“Of course. We all were. I can’t share others’ details, but… the Crescent Moon was lovable to anyone.”

I tried to conjure the pre–regression Crescent Moon the jellyfish had shown me. Lovable… hm. Either her taste in beauty was broken, or the Crescent Moon had changed a lot.

“Cute and adorable.”

Yeah, the first one. Unique taste.

“The White Bird, on the other hand, was hard to know. Few words, often standing there blankly alone — I never knew what they were thinking. We had no real exchange, then one day came to me and said, ‘Chaos will give a sword to fire, and you will meet a young water.’”

Fire would be Yuhyun, water Yerim?

“They also made a few requests I couldn’t refuse. Because they’re a future–sight species.”

She scratched her cheek with a fingertip.

“I’d pledged myself to the system, but I was still a little afraid of losing me. But if the White Bird said I’d meet a young water in the distant future… that means my self survives until then. If that prophecy comes true.”

So she had to cooperate.

“For my own selfishness. That’s what future–sight species are. Most of them had short lifespans.”

The silent White Bird. For that, they set up a lot. Then again, they lived so long — maybe they spoke once every centuries, millennia.

She stood again. A faint nimbus spread from her toes.

“I’m sure it’s related to you, but I don’t have time to investigate. My ability might not even reach.”

“Ask the Rookie instead. I’m really just caught up in this, okay? The Chatterbox and the other Transcendents are already trying to screw me — if I had any world–hacking power, I’d have started with them.”

“Things are moving in a weird way, that’s for sure. I hope we won’t meet again. Mmm, I kind of want to, though. It’s nice getting out this often.” She smiled. “Then I’ll tell you one thing. The Chatterbox seems to be planning to bring in the strongest person in your world.”

She’d overheard while checking the system. The strongest… Seong Hyunjae? The cult had already approached him. He’s not someone who’d fall easily, but now I’m nervous…

Leaving a “see you next time,” the Lighthouse Keeper vanished — and my eyes opened. I was in the ward again, but this time Yuhyun was by my side.

“Hyung, you okay? Anything hurt?”

“Uh… I’m fine.”

I blinked. Not only did nothing hurt, I couldn’t feel one leg at all.

“We can’t use painkillers, so we numbed it. You won’t be able to move for a day.”

Mr. Hoyeon told me. The cast went up above my knee, so I wouldn’t be moving even if I felt fine.

“The surgery went well. Other than the leg being numbed, you’re fine, but eat porridge today. And take the meds. There are types that ignore Poison Resistance.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

“The cast is just to maintain the numb state; we can remove it tomorrow. After the numbness wears off, walk carefully for a week.”

Dr. Kang showed me the leg bones on film.

“Very pretty — I mean, perfect, right?”

“Perfectly restored,” he said, pleased. Side by side, you couldn’t even tell which leg had been injured, he added, eyes sparkling.

“I really can’t. Amazing!”

“Alignment wasn’t easy, but I have a support skill. It shows me the proper place in the body like a puzzle board.”

He could even suture skin perfectly.

“The scar won’t be big.”

If I felt any pain, press the bell right away, they said, and left.

“Should I bring porridge? Want it now?”

– Right, Dad. You must be hungry.

From the sofa, Gyeol fluttered onto the bed. Peace didn’t climb up — he sat below. The others, worried they’d bump my leg, were out in the indoor garden. The Horned Fox was plastered to the glass, staring yearningly toward Peace.

“I’m not that hungry yet. Ah, Yuhyun — want to doodle?”

“Huh? Doodle?”

“On the cast. People do it a lot.”

When else am I going to try this. Hunters don’t exactly spend time in casts; by mid–grade they just use potion. Yuhyun tilted his head like he didn’t get it.

“Here, here. People write ‘get well soon’ or ‘fighting’ and stuff. Try it, once.”

After a tiny pause, he pulled a pen from his inventory. After thinking, he wrote on my cast.

[Love you, hyung]

…A little embarrassing. We’ll take it off tomorrow anyway. Staring at what he’d written, he asked,

“Can I write more?”

“Of course.”

[Han Yuhyun hyung]

Then he looked satisfied. Seeing that, Gyeol reached out a paw.

– Can I write too?

“Sure. Here’s a pen.”

Cradling the pen like a toy, the fairy dragon scrawled:

[Dad, be healthy]

When did she learn Hangul. It was wobbly, but every character was right.

After school, Yerim visited and wrote, [Mister, stop getting kidnapped already!]. At night, Moon Hyunah came and, big and bold, wrote, [Go, Monster Daddy!]. I’m already getting misunderstood — did you have to.