Lost in a twilight haze of emotion as he gazed upon Lake City, Taebaek heard footsteps approaching from behind.

Thud, thud.

Before Taebaek could even check the source of the sound, Yu Dahui beat him to it and spoke first.

“All done?”

“More or less. They picked a good night for it. Security was down to less than a quarter of usual. Combat strength was nothing special either. Oh, Rock went to hijack our getaway vehicle. Should join us within three minutes—”

The man replied while massaging his neck side to side. When he spotted Kang Hyeonseong, his face lit up.

“…C-Captain!!”

“Long time no see, Fumito.”

Kang Hyeonseong grinned, and Fumito rushed over. The two men bumped fists in a heartfelt reunion.

“Man, look at you—fat’s melted right off your face. Guess the prison slop agreed with you? You finally look sharp.”

“Don’t even get me started. I couldn’t even get ten meals in that Gaol. The soup was the worst. Bitter as hell, no idea what they put in it. Tax-thief bastards.”

“Hahaha. Should’ve brought you some tofu to celebrate your release. Slipped my mind.”

They bantered warmly. Taebaek thought to himself that the Resistance seemed to have a flat organizational structure—he’d sensed the same from how Yu Dahui treated Kang Hyeonseong.

“Anyway, good work out there, Captain.”

“You too. You carried the most weight in this op.”

“Not more than you, Captain. After three months on beans.”

Meanwhile, Taebaek sized up Fumito.

Unlike the coats of the other two, Fumito’s coat was ridiculously flashy in design. Was this what they called tactical gear?

On top of that, he carried a long Japanese sword, an ootachi, strapped to his back, and a wakizashi for self-defense at his waist.

Judging by that, he was probably a close-quarters assault leader specialized in melee.

A faint sense of wrongness crept over Taebaek.

Fumito’s face and clothes were spotless.

Even his shoes gleamed without a speck of dirt. Had he really just come from a melee skirmish?

“Let’s head back to base quick. I asked Madam to prep your favorite soybean stew, loaded with chili. It’ll clear your throat right out.”

“Mmm! Got my mouth watering already.”

“But anyway…”

Fumito seemed to sense Taebaek’s trembling stare and turned his slit eyes toward him.

“…Who are you?”

“Introduce yourself. Name’s Lee Taebaek. Friend I made in the slammer. Taking him back to Resistance HQ.”

Kang Hyeonseong made the introduction.

“Oh yeah? Onboarded him right from the scene? That’s new. Must be some talent.”

“More than some. He endured the electric chair. Full 360 seconds. Bare-bodied.”

Yu Dahui chimed in unexpectedly.

“Siesta Watchdog alum, he says. No hesitation—just bam! Right between the guard’s eyes. As a fellow gunner, gotta respect that.”

“Even you say that much, Dahui?”

Fumito eyed Taebaek before extending a hand.

“Nice to meet you. Shohei Fumito.”

His full name hit like lightning, goosebumps racing down Taebaek’s spine. The emotional high vanished instantly.

Timeline discrepancy caused the mix-up.

Shohei the Human Butcher.

The most infamous psychopath, a named boss depending on player choices.

Kang Hyeonseong’s escape was five years ago. Right now was the prequel to the main story.

Which meant this mild-mannered biker was the Human Butcher before his notoriety exploded.

“Call me Fumito. Feel free to drop the formalities anytime.”

The man who’d earn that title someday offered a handshake. No telling how much blood those hands would spill ahead.

Or how many he’d just killed.

Same as me.

No bitter taste in his mouth. In this barren dystopia, killing was no big deal. A means to an end. Lukewarm morals invited death. Taebaek had fallen into that world.

“Lee Taebaek.”

So he shook. Even if Fumito was a time bomb, there were gains to be had.

“Pleased to meet you.”

Don’t discriminate on methods. But hold the line. That was basic conscience.

“Here.”

A three-ton truck pulled up, headlights sweeping their feet. A disguised escape vehicle.

Screech.

Yu Dahui flung open the trunk doors and nodded inside as if telling them to get in first.

Taebaek boarded the trunk first, helped by Kang Hyeonseong and Fumito as he limped aboard.

Whoa.

Unlike the shabby exterior, the interior brimmed with weapons and high-tech displays. A mobile command center.

“Fancier than I expected.”

“Our 9th Special Platoon gets top-tier supplies and support in the Resistance.”

Fumito picked up Taebaek’s offhand remark.

“Right. You started informal, so I’ll drop mine too, Taebaek.”

“Whatever works.”

“Missions are tough, but no backing down once you’re in. Might as well get the good gear on the front lines. Feel pride too.”

“Pretty positive outlook.”

“Positivity keeps me going.”

Not the line you’d expect from a psycho-in-training.

“Gotta think positive. Otherwise, guilt creeps in killing City Government scum. Hate that feeling. Even squashing roaches gives me the shivers. Ugh… Just thinking about it grosses me out. Ptoo ptoo.”

Almost fell for it. Yeah, he’s the real deal.

“You’re ex-Siesta Watchdog, right, Taebaek? You get me?”

No, I’m not a psycho like you. But to avoid friction, play along.

“Don’t ask the obvious.”

“Ooh—!”

More enthusiasm than expected. Must’ve hooked him. Ignore the sinking feeling.

The three men took seats in order. Yu Dahui shut the door last.

“Ahh. Mic test. One two, one two.”

She yanked a mic from the ceiling.

“Let’s roll, Rock. Got a guest, so take it ‘slow’ on speed. Route as briefed.”

[Static—roger.]

The engine roared to life on cue. The truck spewed exhaust and shot off like the wind.

Taillights stretched long. A crimson streak leading the way, the vehicle sliced through the elevated highway.

Soon, the truck’s glow was swallowed by Lake City’s lights.

Sirens wailed in their wake, filling the void. Flashing lights danced alternately.

The City Government’s airborne unit had arrived.

“Commander Rahankel!”

The panting man snapped a crisp salute.

“Situation report, sir.”

“No radio. Verbal.”

Rahankel half-turned. Medals gleamed blindingly on his chest and shoulders—proof of heroic reversals.

Beside him stood a woman of ethereal beauty, hood pulled low.

“This breakout looks like Resistance work. They planted Kang Hyeonseong—Danger Level 5—inside ahead of time.”

The young soldier continued his report.

“I see.”

Rahankel showed no surprise. He glanced aside and asked deferentially.

“Your orders?”

Lips moved beneath the hood.

“What else? Stifle the press first.”

The soldier swallowed hard. Few dared address the commander so casually. Megacorp execs, for one.

Decision swift. He straightened.

“You there, young soldier.”

The woman called. Her voice was sweet.

“Y-Yes…!”

“That report you just gave. Anyone else know besides you?”

“N-No, sir! Checked the Gaol data center and ran straight here!”

“I see~ You did well.”

Her interest faded, gaze shifting to the guard whose forehead Taebaek had pierced.

A slender finger slipped into the hole. Pulling it out hooked a deformed bullet.

“Colt’s MK5 Python. Rare gem even money can’t always buy.”

Identified from shape alone. Even veterans couldn’t ID that fast.

She pocketed the bullet, rose bracing her knees, and commanded Rahankel.

“Silence them.”

“…Yes.”

Rahankel’s shoulders blurred. A shuriken from his hand neatly slit the soldier’s throat.

“Guhhh—Co… mma… nder…!”

The soldier clawed his neck. Rahankel placed a palm on his crown.

“As your superior… I failed you. I’ll see your family compensated. Truly sorry.”

A crunch. Blood and brains splattered Rahankel’s face evenly. Skull crushed bare-handed.

“Next mission—you know it. Bring them.”

She offered a handkerchief.

“Operation name?”

He clasped his hands behind his back, rejecting. Filth streaked his stern cheeks like bloody tears.

“Python. Perfect.”

“Understood.”

Rahankel bowed, hand on medal. Fury etched his nape.

The rough asphalt grated against his soles. His bizarre spatial sense induced constant nausea.

“Urk…!”

Vomit battered his throat like a speed bag. Impressive he’d held it down.

“Bag?”

“…N-No… fine.”

He waved off Yu Dahui’s offer. Puking now would mean a bucket of blood too.

That’d waste the buffs propping his stats. A death knell.

“Not like Korea’s flat roads, huh?”

Yu Dahui crossed her legs.

“Lake City’s design is infamous for motion sickness. You’re holding up well, though. Me and Hyeonseong hurled all over the seats first time.”

“When did I—?!”

“CCTV footage somewhere~.”

Already dizzy, he felt his forehead throb at their bickering.

Anyway, it’s five years ago.

Taebaek leaned back, reflecting.

Worldview shared with original Raken’s, but details likely shifted.

Blind reliance on game knowledge was foolish.

Variables abounded. Transmigrator perks like lore were partially voided.

But.

Flip it: I can preempt named bosses’ weapons and items.

Raken’s bosses wielded overpowered, unique gear. To hook players for challenges.

Taebaek knew their specs cold.

He’d made them.

Character designer in his past life—his specialty.

He’d lost fixed knowledge and gained flexible intel in its place.

He glanced at Fumito, dozing with nods. A smile tugged his lips.

Pored over every weapon.

Masterpieces stood out. Human Butcher’s was one.

Para Blade.

Peerless umbrella sword design. Stellar performance and versatility—company darling.

Team Leader gushed.

– Para Blade’s a hitmaker in Raken’s, Assistant Manager Lee! Bet on it.

He’d steal that pride and joy.

Synergizes perfectly with my nerf/buff authority. No better pick.

Issue: unknown location/source. But timeline said soon.

“Sorry, Shohei.”

Call it friendship tax.

Don’t hate me too much.