For an eighteen-year-old orphan, having a child carried a self-evident meaning.

It meant that an already penniless life would become far more grueling than before.

He had two choices.

Abandon the child at an orphanage to live as he had grown up, or take the child in without a thought for the consequences and struggle to act as a parent.

The child’s mother chose the former.

However, the father, Jung-woo, chose the latter.

Born and raised as an orphan, he knew all too well how wretched a life without parents could be.

Even if she was born from a mistake, she was still his own flesh and blood.

He did not want to become the same as the faceless parents who had abandoned him out of premature fear.

Above all, the moment he held the child in his arms, the attachment he felt toward that tiny being—so fragile she seemed she would crumble at the slightest pressure—erased the option of abandoning her from his mind entirely.

“Se-gi, your name is Shin Se-gi.”

Shin Se-gi—a name wishing that every day of her life would be surprising and radiant.

And so, Jung-woo became a parent.

Regrettably, with absolutely nothing to his name.

The parenting journey of an underage, orphaned, unmarried father could never be smooth.

The government’s support funds were meager at best, and with his limited education, the only jobs Jung-woo could immediately find were manual labor or part-time work.

He scraped by desperately.

He utilized every available welfare program while hunting for jobs, yet the money earned during those hours was never enough; there were times he had to run delivery jobs while carrying the child in his arms, and whenever she fell ill, he would spend all his savings to nurse her day and night.

After enduring those times, in the summer when he turned twenty-three and the child turned five.

A ray of light finally descended upon him.

Hunter awakening.

“Se-gi, you can go to the academy now. You can make friends, and we can buy toys!”

“Toys?”

“Yeah! Dad will buy you that teddy bear doll you’ve been wanting!”

“Wow!”

At best, D-Rank.

It was a job risking his life gathering resources by wandering through low-level gates, but even that paid better than his combined current income.

If he worked hard, he could earn between three to five million won a month.

Greed took root.

Beyond just surviving day by day, he could finally look toward tomorrow.

He didn’t want to just be a dad who kept her alive; he wanted to be a dad who raised her well.

He wanted to be a parent he could proudly speak of anywhere.

So he worked day and night.

Perhaps due to a low growth limit, he could only develop to the lowest tier of C-Rank even after more than ten years, but he eventually demonstrated enough capability to lead a corporate exploration team for lower gates.

He sent Se-gi to daycare, then to school, and then to academies.

He bought her plenty of new clothes every year.

He let her eat the foods he had wanted but couldn’t afford as a child every single day.

The time he spent with his child decreased, but he told himself it was all for her sake.

He lived by pushing himself, believing he was earning the money to feed, clothe, and raise her.

However, if he were to submit a report card for living that way.

The world would grade him with such cruel marks.

Kugugugugung—!

Jung-woo leaned against the collapsed building wall with hollow eyes and lifted his head.

There was a gate encompassing the entire sky.

It shone with a dark purple light, dyeing every ceiling in sight with its color.

Zero Gate.

An irresistible disaster that had appeared fewer than ten times in human history.

That disaster had completely destroyed Seoul, where half of South Korea’s population once lived.

Every building under the sky had collapsed into rubble.

Above them, fragments that were probably once human and bright red liquids were scattered everywhere, and what walked around the vicinity were grotesque-looking magical beasts.

Chijik! Chijik!

The transceiver crackled.

[All personnel… retreating! Evacuate…! Survive… break out… regroup…!!!]

Static interfered, making it hard to hear properly.

It probably meant they were abandoning Seoul to regroup and then plan a recapture.

But Jung-woo could not go.

Keureok…!

He had no lower body.

The robust body of a hunter granted him a reprieve even in this situation, but at best, it was only a reprieve from a comfortable death and a painful prolongation of life.

Where did it all go wrong?

His thoughts continued endlessly.

He connected his thoughts as if pouring the last sparks of his life into finding the answer.

But Jung-woo also knew.

No matter how many times he tried to deduce the answer, it was the same.

It was just that the answer came in a form he could not accept.

He turned his head.

There was a girl there.

Pitch-black curly hair, fair skin, sharply upturned eyes—a girl so pretty she made him swell with pride every time he saw her—was curled up, blankly staring at this hell while wrapped in a black substance somewhere between an unfathomable gas and liquid like a dress.

“…Se-gi.”

Se-gi.

He tried to speak, but his voice broke.

He couldn’t tell if what choked his throat was bloody phlegm or a sob.

This child was the culprit of the apocalypse.

The daughter he had vowed to raise as a child loved more than anyone had caused this catastrophe.

Did she harbor malicious intent?

No.

“Se… Se-gi. Stop… it…”

It was the influence of the Zero Gate.

That disaster was different from normal gates.

Instead of simply spewing out magical beasts, it parasitized the sentient being with the greatest potential among those who had not yet awakened, turning them into the host of a legion.

It altered their cognition and thoughts, forcing them to live as a harbinger of destruction.

Se-gi had fallen victim to such a thing.

Even seeing it with his own eyes, he didn’t want to believe it.

It was a sight that made him endlessly question where exactly things had gone wrong.

Jung-woo’s lips trembled.

“Why…”

Why did it have to be you?

Why didn’t I know until you ended up like this?

“Why…”

Did you have to be ruined all alone like this?

If you had just said a word, or given a hint that something was wrong, would things be different from now?

Like that, several times, he breathed his dying breaths to ask the reason.

He did so even knowing an answer would never come back.

His vision gradually blurred.

He felt the blood draining from his body and the end approaching.

It was then.

“You know.”

“…!”

Se-gi spoke.

She shouldn’t have any reason left, and even now, her expression should be like something wearing a human shell, yet she uttered human words.

The moment he reached out, wondering if Se-gi’s ego might still remain—

“I actually didn’t want to be alone.”

The words, tossed out casually, stopped his movement.

Jung-woo felt his breath catch as he stared at Se-gi.

‘Tears…’

A single tear was streaming down Se-gi’s right cheek.

He didn’t even have time to sort out his confusion.

The time he could afford to be robbed of his reason by those tears was fleeting.

A wedge shot out from Se-gi’s dress.

Kwajik!

Jung-woo’s world went dark.

It felt like being submerged in water.

Jung-woo didn’t even know why he could still continue thinking.

He merely constantly revisited the final moments of his life.

—I actually didn’t want to be alone.

Only those words eroded Jung-woo’s thoughts.

It was a process of facing original sin.

—Have a good day!

In almost every moment Jung-woo remembered, Se-gi would always bow her head at the entrance with her hands on her belly.

Then, when he returned from work very late, she would come out nodding off in the bedroom and smile brightly.

He only remembered her like that.

So few were the moments Jung-woo spent with Se-gi that he only remembered her looking like that.

Because he had to raise her well.

Because he had to work harder so the child could grow up comfortably.

Because he had to be a proud father.

All those moments he had pushed himself overlapped one by one on his memories.

‘…Ah.’

Even without his body remaining, his chest tightened.

An illusion of his heart beating wildly arose.

It was agonizing.

His eyes grew hot.

‘No.’

That wasn’t for Se-gi’s sake.

‘It was for me. That… was so I wouldn’t feel ashamed.’

Being a proud father meant being a father who looked respectable to others.

Not wanting the child to be pointed at as a motherless child was the selfish desire of an adult who hated the child being seen that way.

Making the child smile and making her happy wasn’t about that.

Jung-woo already knew the answer to what Se-gi desperately wanted.

‘I should have stayed by her side.’

He looked at the eyes of the world, not the eyes of the child.

He, of all people, who had lamented why he was the only one without parents, should have known this, but he failed to do so.

He was so obsessed with becoming a proud father that he didn’t try to be a good dad.

He didn’t even consider that the two were different.

What if he hadn’t done that?

Belated, meaningless delusions continued.

When the nation was in an uproar over the precursor to the Zero Gate, Se-gi must have felt the change.

She might have told him instead of suffering alone in silence.

Even before that, if he had paid more attention to the child and spent time with her from the start, he might have been able to awaken the talent within her in advance.

No, even if it wasn’t for that reason.

‘…I should have made her smile.’

The last Se-gi he remembered was shedding tears.

Thoughts intertwined to become regret.

They wrapped around Jung-woo’s neck like chains and tightened.

Thus, they dragged him down to the deeper depths of the sea.

Sinking and sinking, his thoughts blurred.

Even as his very sense of self faded, only the face of the child he had utterly failed to care for surfaced.

He was a father who failed to the very end.

Only that fact cast a sharp shadow over him.

Just like that, tuk—

From the bottom of the deep sea he had finally reached.

Hwak!

“Have a good day!”

A young voice was heard, and suddenly all his senses became vivid.

Jung-woo startled and lifted his head.

A familiar yet faint scene was before his eyes.

Yellowed, grime-stained wallpaper, a narrow hallway and entrance, an old shoe rack, and the large and small shoes placed on it.

He recognized this scene.

‘Ten years ago…?’

It was the small studio apartment he lived in before becoming a hunter, when he was wandering from one day labor job to another.

‘Then, the voice I just heard was…?’

Jung-woo’s eyes trembled.

He turned his head.

She was there.

“Se-gi?”

“Hm?”

It wasn’t the fifteen-year-old Se-gi who had been shedding tears, but the still young five-year-old Se-gi, standing at the entrance with her hand on her belly, looking up to meet his eyes.

Curly hair, eyes round and wide because she was still young, fair and chubby cheeks, short limbs.

The adorable, tiny child was mumbling with her lips, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Why, for what reason.

After pondering, he deduced an answer.

‘A dream?’

It was probably the last dream of his life.

An illusion created by the bottomless regret that surged at the moment of his death.

“Dad, aren’t you going to work?”

The child’s question tore at Jung-woo’s heart.

He realized belatedly that he had never once gone to the child’s side from here.

Se-gi’s words about not wanting to be alone must have been layered up over a lifetime of being placed in such moments.

“I should go to work, but…”

It was pitiful to see her glancing up, trying to read his mood.

Jung-woo thought.

If this was a phantom created by the regret he reached at the end of his life, shouldn’t he at least now give the answer he had never been able to give in his entire life?

He spoke, desperately suppressing the stabbing pain in his chest.

“…Should I stay with Se-gi today?”

The change was dramatic.

“Really!?”

Se-gi’s eyes sparkled.

A bright smile spread across her face.

Thanks to that, her front teeth, which had fallen out a little earlier than others, were revealed.

He had no idea how she had been holding it in; her face, which had looked unnaturally mature until then, instantly reverted to that of a child.

“You’re not going to work today!?”

Tong-tong-tong, she ran over and clung to his leg.

Jung-woo knelt down and hugged Se-gi.

She was so small and light.

That weight made his heart ache as if it had been gouged out.

“…Yeah, Dad wants to play too. I should play with Se-gi.”

Why was doing this even once so difficult?

When he couldn’t do it his entire life.

Self-reproach surged within him.

He felt like he would burst into tears if someone so much as tapped him.

Even if it was just a dream, he wished for it to stay like this for just one day.

Desperately wishing for it, he pulled the child into a tighter embrace.

At that very moment.

Ttiring!

A familiar alarm sound.

Something flashed before his eyes.

【Connecting to the world.】

Startled by the translucent, surreal interface, Jung-woo looked at the wall.

The date on the hanging calendar was April 8, 2032.

It was an unforgettable day.

‘…Ah, the day I awakened.’

On this day, he had rejoiced that he wouldn’t have to live so pathetically anymore, and immediately reported his awakening to undergo an evaluation.

After that, he became even more neglectful of Se-gi.

Why did he have to dream of this day of all days?

While he was thinking, an anomaly occurred.

【Acquiring connection authority!】

【Opening Aptitude!】

【Registering Perfect Caregiver (L)!】

“…Huh?”

“Hm?”

【Generating skill unlock conditions!】

【Registering [Quest: Great Caregiver]!】

Ppyorong!

【Effect activation!】

【”A child needs a guardian!” Spending time with the child! One Praise Sticker is distributed! [Great Caregiver (1/10)] *Collect stickers to unlock skills!*】

Something was strange.