The S-Classes That I Raised - Chapter 719: Escape (1)

“It echoed.”

“It didn’t!”

Even after wiping with the towel, traces remained. I was pleased—no, relieved that he’d gone smoothly. Why was I crying?

“There’s no leisure to check on pleasantries.”

He staggered to his feet and retrieved the fallen spear. Though unbroken, its once pure white gleam was now dulled. Severing only part of the system had proven no easy task—if it were, the Doting Addicts or other transcendents would’ve tried long ago. Though nearly spent, I tucked it carefully into my inventory in case it proved useful again.

Brrrr—

The ownerless space shuddered and began to collapse. The one granted temporary admiralty was the departed Seong-Hyeonje, not this weary shell of him. I glanced between the two men.

“The kids all returned safely—what are you doing?”

Why was he still seated? Seong-Hyeonje flexed and extended his fingers slowly.

“All four made it back fine, though my body’s tattered.”

“Pardon?”

“My mana’s drained, my power scattered, and my stamina wholly consumed. You’d call me a discarded rag now.”

Goodness. Directing such hollow energy at Seong-Hyeonje for the first time, Director Song supported him upright.

“You shouldn’t lure someone like Seong-Hyeonje so recklessly—he ends up wounded and abandoned. Congratulations on joining his list of discarded bonds!”

Literally a textbook case of self-inflicted misery. In any event, I needed to return to my room… but the system wouldn’t respond. Oh no. Flustered, I explained while Director Song half-lifted Seong-Hyeonje onto his back.

“Is there a problem?”

“…Yes. I can’t teleport to my room. The system—well, before regression Seong-Hyeonje and I severed the connection between the system and our world.”

“Eh?”

Director Song looked startled.

“If the system’s offline, what happens to dungeons? I believe the system alone holds back monsters from pouring in. Without it…”

He was genuinely alarmed. I quickly laid out the situation.

“The system is still installed—it’s just the network that’s severed. Only communications. Nothing else changes. But now the local system is malfunctioning, and this space is collapsing without its master… so I can’t link to my room.”

My power alone couldn’t send me there; I needed system assistance for spatial transit. With it down, I was stuck. To compound things, Myung-woo and the new recruits seemed unable to contact me. The Mer-Queen’s silence was a relief, though.

Rumble—bits of the room’s edges crumbled away. Fragments melted like snow and vanished. My heart pounded at the emptiness beyond. I needed Peace. I missed my sister.

“…I know my room’s location intimately. I’ll have to travel there on foot, Director Song.”

I swallowed and continued.

“Could you open a path?”

I needed to traverse those unknowable intermediate spaces—beyond system domains—to reach my room. Weakened beyond Seong-Hyeonje himself, I lacked the strength to carve a route with mana and system alone. But Director Song could. He wielded the primal force that nullified everything. The system was founded on the Source; Plunder was the Source’s shadow cast to remove Seong-Hyeonje. Now that he was gone, creating a passage should be effortless.

“Tell me what to do.”

Director Song, catching on that I meant Plunder, nodded. He opened the lagging system window, and I applied the Instructor skill to him.

“I’ll link the path to your senses—follow the sensation even if you see nothing.”

The shortest, simplest route. I drank a mana potion and set off for my room. The system creaked back to life. Once more I heard Seong-Hyeonje’s room collapse. A lonely hollow stirred in my chest.

“…Director Song, there should be a painting in your inventory. It belongs to me—please return it.”

Aside from the Plunder he’d given me, it was my only keepsake. His own body was gone, leaving no trace. Could he truly revel in that?

“There’s no painting. But there’s a postcard.”

I turned. Seong-Hyeonje produced a single postcard from his inventory—a scene of the Alps, how or when acquired, I could not guess.

“For Han Yujin.”

“Here.”

I took the postcard. I recalled the nightmare dungeon Seong-Hyeonje there. After so long, he still gave it to me. I glanced at it briefly, then stowed it. Among these tangled emotions, a small smile broke free. He really did give everything.

“Director Song! Prepare yourself! Seong-Hyeonje, have this.”

“A curious taste.”

Accepting the tiny cookie, Seong-Hyeonje murmured.

“I did prefer smaller things. Though half its size might also do nicely… and it cares for the child well.”

“Childcare demands stamina.”

True enough. I shrank Seong-Hyeonje and tucked him at my waist, then clambered onto Director Song’s back, draping myself lightly over one shoulder. Though tempting, I restrained myself from eating a cookie—any potion-like substance in my system risked corrupting the system’s mana.

“Be careful not to fall.”

Crackle—darkness pressed in from behind. Director Song bent slightly, then stomped the floor. He dashed ahead along the path I’d shared. As he ran, platforms formed beneath his steps like Seong-Hyeonje’s had. With a leap, a shadow flickered in Song Taewon’s right hand, darker and broader than before.

Thunk!

His fist struck the air, rending it like clay to form a corridor. Seizing the gap, Song Taewon surged forward. The great body that carried me cut lightly through space speckled with light, darkness, and every hue.

“Good—keep going like this!”

My domain, my room, drew nearer. At the same time, I felt Seong-Hyeonje’s space vanish entirely. I did not look back; the past sank once more into oblivion.

Thunk!

Shadow spread, opening yet another passage. The fragments of a departing past paved my way forward.

“…There’s still work to be done, though.”

I explained to both of them that, once all traces of the connection were erased, transcendents could no longer meddle in our world.

“But the seeds of ruin remain.”

I spoke of the transcendent seed the Crescent had planted in the life-game.

“…I hope it’s no one we know.”

“At least not Director Song or me, nor those who died before regression.”

Not Hyun or Myung-woo or Noah. As a transcendent seed, it would stand out. It might be Riette, born S-Rank, or someone unknown—but the prime suspect was…

“I suspect it’s Mari.”

Mari Taylor—the S-Rank hunter the Crescent had tried to wed to Seong-Hyeonje. She wielded the power of Fantasy Manifestation, deeply tied to the moon.

“She wasn’t there before regression. Then she appeared suddenly, an S-Rank with unique moon-linked power. The Crescent likely lacked the interference to create a new S-Rank; instead, it probably awakened its planted seed in her.”

“Mari was indeed distinctive.”

“What do you think, Director Song? You lived with her.”

“I never had the chance to converse with her—she attacked me.”

…Director Song ruefully admitted missing out on friendly conversation.

“If the link’s gone, the seed might never hatch. Should we see it through intact, we’ll gain time—leeway.”

Seong-Hyeonje would have time to heal himself; Song Taewon would gain breathing room.

“We’ll hold back the dungeons and forge a stable world. You won’t need to dash about as you do now. More senior hunters will rise in Korea, more will enter the Council chambers. There are people who look up to you, Director Song.”

The Council’s Awakener Administration had endured far better than expected after Song Taewon’s death because he had been there. More aspirants longed to emulate the wealthy, famous hunters, but many also admired Song Taewon’s broad dedication to society.

Children grow watching Guildmasters Haeyeon and Sesung-Breaker—but also the one who stands between them and danger.

“You could share the workload. As people grow accustomed, work will lessen. How about a side role?”

“Dual employment is forbidden.”

“I’ll sort that out. How about principal? If it’s too much, you can be ‘Teacher Song’—we’ll lobby for a public post.”

Director Song’s lips pressed into a line. Seong-Hyeonje chimed in from my waist.

“You could be Principal Song. Tempting.”

“If you decline, I’ll take the role. And Seong-Hyeonje… hm, let’s make you the nutrition teacher.”

“I should find Han Yujin a university gift.”

“A university—oh!”

To teach in academia, I needed a degree. Even an Awakened-only college would require graduation. While principal «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» was a jest, I had to plan realistically.

“We already have three students of schooling age, and more will come—including goblins and other Awakened. A new school could spring up overnight.”

Director Song remained silent.

“And the meals will be delicious. Right, our nutritionist and supply coordinator?”

“I’ll serve with care.”

Children must be well-fed above all. I felt my room close at hand, and the welcoming faces awaiting me beyond.

“…I don’t know.”

Thrum—Song Taewon sprinted forward along the carved path. His gaze fixed on the deepening shadow in his hand; his eyes trembled at the sight of that would-be Plunder.

“He’s unpredictable.”

My racing footsteps halted before the final wall. No need to break it—this was my domain. I climbed down from Director Song’s back. Song Taewon looked at Seong-Hyeonje peeking from the little bag.

“From beginning to end.”

“Yes—”

I tried to concur, but his eyes turned on me, and I fell silent as memories of my deeds flashed through my mind.

“This time, I was honestly angry.”

“…I’m sorry. Seong-Hyeonje, you should apologize too.”

“I won’t. I might have done the same, so no apologies from me.”

Seong-Hyeonje looked up brazenly at Director Song.

“I like Song Taewon.”

“I like Director Song too.”

Director Song sighed deeply and turned away.

“…I don’t dislike you. But I can’t give you an answer.”

“That’s fine. Now you have time to decide. So for now…”

I stepped closer to the wall and placed my fingertip upon it. My space opened, revealing the familiar view.

“Let’s focus on returning safely after all this.”

“Hyung!”

A joyful voice and two arms swept me in. I was drawn into the crowd in an instant.

“What on earth happened to your face? And why are you—crying?”

“Uncle! Did you cry?”

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