The S-Classes That I Raised - Chapter 535: New York (1)

“New York’s chilly, so bundle up.”

“You’re the only one likely to catch a cold here,” Yerim said, pressed against the window. We were landing at JFK—John F. Kennedy Airport, I think. Airports there often take regional names, but America seems to like naming them after people.

“Watch out for the paparazzi,” she added. Both Haeyeon Guild and the Hunter Association warned us repeatedly: laws differ in Korea, and S-Rank Hunter info sells for a high price. They said there were even A-Rank paparazzi with special skills. At that rank it’s half a hobby. Maybe they awakened optimized for paparazzi work.

“How does Seong Hyunjae travel abroad quietly… oh.”

Seong Hyunjae sparked a bit of electricity at his fingertips. He’d fried every camera. Would it work on film? These days it’s mostly digital.

“Never got sued?” I asked.

“Electronics break down all the time. Bad luck, or nature’s whim.”

True—broken cameras leave no evidence, and you can’t arrest on suspicion alone. In Hong Kong it was just blamed on thunder. Someone with even low-tier Electric Resistance gear wouldn’t have fared well… likely struck by a literal bolt from the blue.

Seong Hyunjae’s skill is always useful, as ever. It recharges too. You could carry a fridge and AC to a deserted island and use them. Must remember it for that desert island trip.

We’d be broadcast entering, so I changed and put on light makeup. The cold meant I could wear an overcoat—that hid me better among the S-Ranks. If it got colder, I’d layer more while they stayed thin. No fear of freezing to death. If you ask why not use Cold Resistance gear—well, I prefer padding.

“I’m excited! The kids said Central Park and Times Square are must-sees. But a park is just a park, right?”

“Times Square’s just a plaza too,” I said. Though I’m no expert. Maybe Yerim would enjoy an amusement park more.

“Seong Hyunjae, here’s Han-gyeol’s bag.”

I handed him the small backpack for the child. Gyeol would remain in dragon form, but I’d brought his bag. If Seong Hyunjae fries all the cameras, maybe it’s safe for Gyeol to shift to human form occasionally.

“Don’t give him too many snacks. Keep phone use moderate, TV age-appropriate. Never leave him alone.”

“- Daddy…” Gyeol whimpered, clinging to me. But the moment he spoke I’d say it’s fine and dismiss him.

“Peace, stick with Yuhyun like during dungeon runs. Got it?”

“- Woof.”

“Yuhyun, look after Peace.”

“Hyung, Peace’s an adult.”

“He still can’t talk. If he gets lost, he can’t call the police. Maybe in China or Japan, but here he can’t just fly home. Peace, stay close to Yuhyun.”

I looked back at Director Song. He’d put a huge bag beside him—it tugged at me. Seong Hyunjae said he and the kids could buy things locally, so he’d brought little. I’d packed just enough.

“Please take care of Yerim, Director Song.”

“Yes. …I can’t promise you won’t worry, but I’ll do my best.”

“Yerim, listen to Director Song and stay with him always.”

“Don’t worry. I can’t read English well. Too lazy to run translation apps. Abroad, you stick by someone who knows English.”

Just as the plane touched down, Evelyn emerged from her seat. As always, impeccably dressed with a warm shawl. She nodded slightly to me and Director Song.

“Thank you for a comfortable flight.”

For a moment I felt like a flight attendant. She carried only a small handbag—lived a pampered life with no rough edges. And yet she’s an S-Rank Hunter.

Even after the plane stopped, the doors remained shut. Yerim peeked out.

“Soldiers lined up.”

“Oh?” I moved to the window. Yerim was right—armed troops stood outside. Closer to the fuselage, a guard of honor presented arms. The U.S. flag billowed grandly in the wind.

“Must be because we’re S-Rank Hunters,” I said.

Even in a big city. I checked the broadcast on my phone.

[Following yesterday’s report, twenty-five S-Rank Hunters are arriving in New York today. The U.S. government has shown its capacity by securing safe venues for so many S-Ranks—]

The White House flashed on screen. They touted that only America could host such an event, and promised to treat the visiting Hunters like royalty. Some Americans resented it, but others said, “Why not recruit foreign S-Ranks?”

In short: “America is the best!”

“Even your birthday party had tons of S-Rank Hunters,” Seong Hyunjae noted. True enough. Feels nice to be well-treated. The plane doors opened, and we stepped onto the stairs. The guard of honor broke into music. Ah, yes… thank you for the welcome. Between the honor guard, a sharply dressed blonde man stood, smiling brightly. He opened his mouth to speak—

Thrum thrum thrum!

A helicopter’s roar cut in. Beyond the guard, the troops stirred.

“ALL H!”

Probably an All H shout. Then a thunderous explosion. A helicopter took a direct hit, and soldiers with giant nets leapt up. Just as the net would envelop it, the helicopter passengers jumped out, unfolding a massive banner mid-air:

[Expel Hunters from U.S. soil! Awakened must stop dungeon raids!]

My translation item worked well. The aerial troops safely netted the helicopter, and the banner-wielders were apprehended. The blonde man calmly turned to us.

“This happens occasionally—please ignore it.”

He introduced himself as Sam Perry, an S-Rank working with the New York Hunter Association. “It happens often?” I thought. I’d heard U.S. Hunter facilities faced frequent terror threats.

“America and the New York Hunter Association welcome our Korean Hunters.”

From somewhere came a loud shout:

[Magic stones are demon blood drops!]

Mr. Perry shrugged. “Some awakened get obsessed with such nonsense—mostly lower-tier.”

Well… absurd claims are almost comforting. “You’re a swindler” stings; “you’re the Great Demon King” just sounds ridiculous. People would think, “He’s lost it,” rather than “He must be dangerous.”

“Earlier, they shouted ‘All H’—did they mean the helicopter riders were awakened?”

“That denotes awakening at Stat E or above. E-rank and up are considered Hunters even if they don’t operate commercially.”

A line of sleek black limos arrived. “Please board by team.”

“Already?”

“Traveling together is fine. The destination’s the same, and rooms are assigned by team.”

“Brother—” Yuhyun began, then shut up, sympathy in his eyes. He’d surely rather keep me beside him.

“A quick drive, and it’s part of the schedule.” Within the party timetable, I’m protected. If I stray without notice, they disclaim responsibility—but a simple outing is okay if pre-approved.

“Come on, let’s go. Peace, you ride here.”

I opened the door for Yuhyun.

“- Woof.”

“Good boy. Daddy will be right there.”

I coaxed Peace into the first limo. Then Yerim and Director Song took the second. A third arrived; Gyeol grabbed my hand and drooped his ears, then darted to Seong Hyunjae with a look like a child dragged to the dentist.

“- Waaaa…”

Seong Hyunjae, yellow bag in hand, boarded with Gyeol.

“I’ll take good care of him—don’t worry.”

Finally, I climbed into the limo.

‘No bodyguards?’ I thought. Maybe the driver, hidden, is a Hunter. The interior was vast and empty; I sat by the door. As we left the tarmac, protesters with placards appeared. They crossed out “Hunters” in red, dressed as blood-soaked monsters, wore big Hunter badges and devil horns.

[Dungeon is divine gift!]

[Embrace the apocalypse!]

[Stop monster cruelty!]

[Awakened are the result of human experiments!]

…Huh? The earlier slogans I’d heard, but “human experiments”?

“Did the U.S. government create the awakened?”

Well. They’ve watched too many movies. Transcendents, origins—these might sound like experiments. But military or medical experiments birthing dungeons and the awakened? Sounds more plausible to them.

Yet if they could create the awakened, America would already rule the world.

The protesters receded as we entered a wide avenue. The sprawling vehicle felt oddly lonely.

‘It’s been a while since I was alone in a foreign land.’ Even during the kidnapping I was under surveillance. Now I can’t even see the driver—truly alone. I fiddled with my phone. Maybe call the kids? No, they only just left. Too much worry. Better check the broadcast—

“Enjoying your ride?”

I snapped upright. At the far end of the opposite seat, In-young appeared. Chatterbox. Likely. Dressed in a black suit with a white flower at his lapel, no mask or veil. Pale, lean, slightly aged despite a wrinkle-free face—white hair slicked back impeccably.

“That can’t be your true form,” I said.

“I borrowed it. Fully mastering it took more effort.”

Chatterbox smiled. His face seemed familiar—perhaps a foreign actor, maybe a musical star.

“You say you borrowed it—did the original owner consent?”

“Of course—gladly. With pleasure.”

A zealot, perhaps. I shivered, not quite fear but revulsion. A white mask appeared at his fingertips; he spun it.

“People are amusing. They stuff others into their molds.”

“Shall I now call you Phantom?” I offered.

“More than that.”

Suddenly his form vanished, and a long arm draped across my shoulder. The Phantom, beside me, continued:

“You suit [N O V E L I G H T] the ghost role better. Don’t you agree?”

“I have no hobby building underground mazes.”

“My mists dissect ghosts and dismantle mazes for fun. I’d have taxidermied them and displayed them. I watched and aided.”

…Though not real, I felt sorry for Christine and Raoul. Yes, the King of No Harm wasn’t normal either—the best ending made all the difference.

“So you’ll taxidermy me instead?”

“Please enjoy my funeral.”

He whispered, smiling.

“As promised, your safety is guaranteed.”

He returned to the opposite seat, donning the mask, legs crossed, immobile. Damn, I wanted to fling open the door and jump. Heavy silence stretched until we reached a river. I couldn’t even enjoy the unfamiliar scenery through the window—just more buildings, which I see enough of already.

I prayed we’d reach the hotel soon. My phone lit up with notifications, but I couldn’t check them. Before that masked presence, I couldn’t bear to express any affection.

In the dry air, the limo finally stopped. As I lifted my bag, Chatterbox stepped out first, striking a grand pose. Camera flashes erupted from all sides. The crowd shouted:

“Chatterbox!”

“Phantom!!”

Amid cheers like greeting a star, Chatterbox bowed politely to the crowd. Flashes and eager voices buzzed around, and an inexplicable sense of unease washed over me.

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