The original plan was to meet Goeun’s contact in the upper levels. But a brief interruption had thrown the schedule off, leaving him cutting it close to the appointment time.

Taebaek quickened his pace. He wove through the narrow crowd, brushing shoulders with strangers.

Something’s turning my stomach.

The people avoided looking at each other as they went about their way. Their eyes were glazed over, unfocused, yet their steps were precise, like they’d been measured with a ruler. You could believe they’d all undergone separate drill training just for upper-level folk.

They’re dreaming.

If his guess was right, more than half of this massive crowd had their brains numbed. The megacorps and City Government had forcibly installed net sockets on them, then jammed in specific chips without asking.

Taebaek didn’t know what those chips were.

That was part of why he’d come to the upper levels.

Now that the chance has come to mention it, Goeun’s real job was as a broker. More precisely, a “double broker” who connected other brokers.

It worked like this: Fixers looking for work came to her. She’d introduce them to a broker who fit, then take a cut from the advance and success fees.

The percentage wasn’t huge, but it took little effort, and she could make introductions all day. That was how she raked in steady profits.

– Go here.

Just before leaving Eunko Bar, Goeun had handed him a note. It had an address and a stranger’s name. When he reached for it, she snatched it back.

– Don’t take it. Just memorize it.

The address was a somewhat famous spot in the upper levels, and the name was memorable enough. Short-term recall was no problem. Taebaek nodded.

Tap.

The note burst into flame. Samadhi True Fire. The paper must have been flammable; it burned fiercely and vanished without a trace.

In the broker business, where security was life or death, evidence destruction wasn’t optional—it was mandatory. And Goeun, being a former Kergel Magic Tower mage, clearly dealt with brokers who weren’t your average middlemen.

Given her Magic Tower background, they were probably deep in the lawless underworld.

But living in the upper levels now, she’d developed a habit of leaving no footholds if possible.

Taebaek realized anew just how blessed his setup was.

Being with the Resistance meant his identity got refreshed regularly.

Even as an escaped convict, he could make payments smoothly because HQ punched through dummy accounts for him every month.

On top of that, as long as he performed well, they supplied elixirs and success bonuses without stint.

The crowning touch: once he proved his skills, they granted him full freedom of movement. Officially 9th Battalion, but at this point, it was basically separate.

Even today, coming up to the upper levels, he had no obligation to report to Kang Hyeonseong. The call was purely Taebaek’s courtesy to his Battalion Commander. The guy had been thrilled.

Anyway.

He’d met Goeun through the Resistance.

And she was a woman so genuine it was hard to believe she was a mage. Their first impression had been disastrous, but she’d laughed it off. Probably because she was a bit unhinged as a mage… whatever.

Plus, when Taebaek couldn’t swing by the Hundred-Fold Sect due to circumstances, she’d looked after the kids.

Same today.

This broker she was hooking him up with was at her discretion. He’d asked Kang Hyeonseong, who said he’d never heard of them. Taebaek trusted Goeun and was sure there was a reason for the intro.

Certainty and trust were dangerous words in the city. But for Earth-born Lee Taebaek, they were like a treasure chest he kept in his heart. Even now, with concepts like Psychopath (True), Robber (True), Cult Leader (True), and others eroding his humanity, it remained.

This world wasn’t built by its shiny skyscrapers. Ultimately, it was people.

Taebaek loved the world he’d shaped, which meant embracing humanity too. And at humanity’s core was trust. Ironically, money was a prime example—a social promise that kept the system’s gears turning.

“Am I over-rationalizing this?”

Taebaek let out a hollow chuckle and kept walking. Even if it was just self-justification, he wanted to believe it. A parent’s heart couldn’t abandon their child, no matter what.

“A broker here?”

At the entrance to his destination, Taebaek craned his neck back until it hurt. The place was so bizarrely unique that he spent a good while gawking.

A medieval castle, proudly archaic amid cutting-edge skyscrapers.

Cartoonish characters waved exaggeratedly from the pointed spires, while fireworks and balloons burst overhead in dazzling display.

[Wonderland~]

Taebaek had arrived at an amusement park smack in the city center. Think Seoul’s landmark Lotte World, but expanded tenfold.

The Reycons worldview was suffocatingly dark. So this was their tension-relief theme park.

But.

“Didn’t look this big on screen…”

The scale was legit. The gaping entrance alone looked ready to swallow Disneyland’s. The queued crowd trembled like it might burst. To Taebaek, they resembled prisoners leaping into hell’s cauldron.

Entry alone will take forever.

With a place this huge, lost kids would spawn like weeds.

Taebaek just sighed. Who knew a momentary distraction would backfire like this? As he stood there blankly, someone spoke up beside him.

“Man, weekend crowds are crawling like bugs.”

Thinking it might be Goeun’s contact, he turned. Nope—blond kid grinning ear to ear.

“Well, some lower-level bug spawn must be mixed in, so not entirely wrong.”

The boy chattered like a fish in water.

“You know? Lower-level kids save for months just to come once? Heh, beggar trash. Funniest part? They scrape it together, come, then ditch their own brats. Too busy feeding themselves to handle it. Lowly mindsets never cease to amaze. Why no law for that? Like, biologically neuter the poor.”

“…”

“‘Us’ upper folks? Time? Buy it with cash. They know about tiered entry passes? Mine’s B-grade. Annual membership’s 2 billion won. Wait time’s one hour flat.”

Overinflated ego, looking down on others. Textbook upper-level teen. Nothing like Ban.

“Face says well-off family…”

No reply, so the boy stroked his chin, scanning Taebaek up and down. The sudden appraisal nearly made Taebaek burst out laughing.

“Outfit and smell ain’t classy. Oh! Halloween lower-bug cosplay? Damn, even the stench is spot-on. Where’d you get the cologne? Got a party with classmates tomorrow. If I spray that…”

No idiot like this super-idiot. No malice, just exasperating. Sigh-worthy.

Taebaek ignored him to join the line. The kid scowled and yelled.

“Hey, you ignoring me?!”

A hand clamped his shoulder.

Just handled three punks.

For a split second, he debated: slice or snap? As brutal fantasies unfolded, another presence closed in.

“Welcome, Mr. Imugi.”

“S-Rank Free Pass includes a greeting escort. Please, come in. Welcome drinks are prepared.”

She’d appeared and immediately flicked the hand off his shoulder. The kid, arm flopping, had no room for humiliation—just startled lip-quivering.

“S-S-S… grade?!”

The legendary entry tier.

Even megacorp exec heirs drew numbers for A-grade. S was above that, and true megacorp brass were rare in the city…

“Gasp!”

The kid was speechless. Onlookers buzzed about him.

“You, no, sir…”

“Need something?”

Taebaek narrowed his eyes. Hers were inorganic, like carved glacial ice.

Eye contact, and she faintly smiled. Taebaek scratched his nape and stepped forward.

Pausing, he spoke.

“Proprietor.”

“Yes.”

“You taking just anyone while I was gone? ‘Bugs’ getting B-grade passes? How’s Wonderland keeping its title?”

She bowed. Taebaek walked off from the kid and crowd.

“My apologies.”

Moments later, she shot the kid a cold glance.

“From this moment, you’re blacklisted. No entry till you die. Await your next life.”

The kid looked lost. Piercing stares he gave lower-folk were now turned on him, laced with scorn.

“No grade? Same as lower bugs?”

“Bug, even lower. Buuuugs~.”

He followed the proprietor into the reception room. The interior was gaudy, but Taebaek didn’t care. He spoke first, preemptively.

“Didn’t know cross-dressing was your hobby.”

“Hoho, cross-dressing? Sit first.”

The voice was feminine, but the hearty laugh was aged. It felt viscerally off. Taebaek frowned and sat.

“An old geezer puppeteering a granddaughter-lookalike? World’d laugh. Good thing it’s me—keep it from your underlings.”

This woman was the Great Master.

That body was one of his puppets. No comparison to the previous ones. Aside from the glossy eyes, it brimmed with life. Less puppet, more clone. If not for the spot-on “Imugi” address, I wouldn’t have noticed.

“Your speech never gets easier. At least I helped you.”

The Great Master sat opposite.

“Surveillance disguised as help. Expected it once I cooperated. A schemer like you wouldn’t leave me uninsured.”

“Understand. We staked our lives too.”

“If I seemed Death Gate, you’d discard me ruthlessly.”

“Not ruthlessly—after deliberation.”

The Great Master pulled over the tea set dominating the desk corner. He checked the pot’s heat with his palm, then lifted it. Then he finally asked.

“Tea?”

“Pass.”

“Cold.”

He pouted. Fuck. That’s why I couldn’t drink—nauseating.

“You came for a purpose.”

“Need to find someone. Don’t ask why. You spying constantly sours my mood too. Mutual privacy, yeah?”

“Got it. Name the target. Staff search pulls everyone except short-term temps.”

The Great Master tapped the desk with slender fingers. A plain search bar bloomed on the marble surface.

“If you want payment, forget it.”

“Payment? Think of it as the S-Rank Free Pass package.”

What a prickly concept.

Lee Taebaek pressed his temple with his thumb and named the person. Swallowing curses, but use what you can. Unexpected route, but this was why he’d roped in the Beggar Clan.

Ten seconds passed.

Search done, the Great Master furrowed his brow. He tilted his head quizzically. It made Taebaek’s gut twist to watch.

“…You good with scary rides?”

She—no, he. Fuck, whatever.

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“I see…”

The Great Master dismissed the search bar, downed the half-left tea, and stood with a grim face.

“Follow. I’ll guide you.”

Taebaek followed, his steps inexplicably heavy.