The Director of the Hunter Registry was a man named Choi Byung-Soo.
He was sixty one years old. He had survived two Red Gates, one dimensional collapse event, and seventeen years of government bureaucracy which was widely considered the most dangerous of the three. He had the posture of someone who had long ago made peace with the fact that his job was mostly paperwork about things that should not exist.
He read Ms. Yoon's report at seven forty three AM on Friday morning.
He read it again at seven forty four.
He read it a third time at seven forty five with his coffee halfway to his mouth and then put the coffee down because he felt it would be disrespectful to the situation to be drinking coffee while reading this.
He picked up his phone.
"Get me Ms. Yoon," he said.
Ms. Yoon had been expecting this call since approximately nine PM the previous evening. She picked up on the first ring with the energy of someone who has been professionally right about something for four years and has prepared extensively for this moment.
"Ms. Yoon," said the Director.
"Director Choi," said Ms. Yoon.
"This report."
"Yes."
"Subject 4471-B."
"Yes."
"Kang Han-Ho. Rank F. Mana-Janitor."
"Yes."
A pause.
"Ms. Yoon this report says that an F-Rank Mana-Janitor neutralized a Class A Frost Giant incident in Gangnam yesterday evening using his registered skill."
"Yes."
"His registered skill is Stain Removal."
"Yes."
"He cleaned the Frost Giant."
"That is the conclusion supported by the available evidence yes."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"Ms. Yoon how long have you been tracking this individual."
"Four years sir."
"Four years."
"Since his initial complaint about his status window error which nobody followed up on."
"Why didn't anyone follow up on it."
"He's Rank F sir. Nobody follows up on Rank F complaints."
The Director was quiet for a moment with the specific quality of someone performing a rapid internal review of institutional failures.
"Send me everything you have," he said.
"I sent it at nine fourteen PM last night sir."
"...I'll read it now."
"I thought you might."
She had been right about something for four years.
It felt exactly as good as she had imagined.
Han-Ho's Friday morning started the way most of his Friday mornings started.
His alarm went off at six thirty. He turned it off. Lay still for approximately ninety seconds performing the daily internal calculation of whether getting up was worth it and concluding, as always, that it was because the floor wasn't going to clean itself and nobody else was going to clean it for him.
He sat up.
Moru was already awake on the corner of the couch because Moru did not sleep and had spent the night doing something he described as contemplating and Han-Ho described as staring at the wall which was fine as long as he didn't disturb anything.
Kjor was near the window in what appeared to be a similar state of wakeful stillness, looking at the wall of the building next door with the focused attention of something that had previously interacted with architecture exclusively by freezing it and was finding the experience of simply looking at it quite different.
Min-Seo was asleep on the floor.
Han-Ho looked at Min-Seo.
Min-Seo was an S-Rank Hunter. He had Re-Awakened twice. He had forty million views. He was currently asleep on the floor of a basement apartment in Mapo-gu with his jacket rolled under his head and his expression, even in sleep, carrying the faint dignified suffering of someone who knows they are on a floor and has feelings about it.
He had asked approximately forty questions the previous evening. Han-Ho had answered most of them with some variation of "I'm a Mana-Janitor" and "it needed cleaning" and "I don't know what you want me to tell you." Eventually Min-Seo had run out of questions and fallen asleep mid-sentence, which Han-Ho respected because it had been a long Thursday for everyone.
Han-Ho stepped carefully over Min-Seo.
Went to the kitchen.
Opened the refrigerator.
One egg. Half a block of tofu. The water bottle. The green onion had made a final decision overnight and he threw it away.
He looked at this inventory.
He looked at the three additional occupants of his apartment.
He closed the refrigerator.
"I need to go to the convenience store," he said.
"I will come," said Moru immediately.
"You don't need to come."
"I want to come."
"It's around the corner."
"I know where it is Master I have been there twice."
Han-Ho looked at him.
Moru looked back with enormous red eyes that communicated very clearly that this was not a negotiation.
"Fine," said Han-Ho.
"I also want to come," said Kjor, from the window.
"You were just there last night."
"I am aware. I would like to go again."
"It's six thirty in the morning."
"The chips do not have a time restriction," said Kjor, with the reasonable tone of something making a factual observation.
Han-Ho looked at Kjor.
Looked at Moru.
Looked at Min-Seo asleep on his floor.
"Nobody wake him up," he said.
"Agreed," said Moru.
"Agreed," said Kjor.
They left very quietly.
The GS25 at six thirty AM had a different clerk. Younger. First week based on the expression. He looked up when the door opened and saw Han-Ho in his work uniform and then saw Moru floating at shoulder height with glowing red eyes and then saw Kjor also floating at shoulder height on the other side with different glowing red eyes and then looked back at his register with the focused determination of someone deciding which things they were going to process today and which things they were going to file under not my problem.
"Good morning," said Han-Ho.
"Good morning," said the clerk, to the register.
Han-Ho got two triangle kimbap. Looked at the refrigerator section. Added two more. Looked at Moru and Kjor browsing the snack aisle with the focused collaboration of two beings who have found common ground in honey butter chips and are now exploring adjacent territories.
"What is this one," said Kjor, holding up a bag of something.
"Shrimp flavor," said Moru.
"Is it good."
"I don't know. I have not tried it."
"Should we try it."
"Master," said Moru, without turning around, "may we try the shrimp flavor chips."
"One bag," said Han-Ho.
They brought the shrimp chips to the counter along with two bags of honey butter chips because apparently that was now a baseline requirement for leaving the apartment.
The clerk scanned everything without making eye contact with anything above Han-Ho's shoulders.
"Eleven thousand won," he said.
Han-Ho paid.
"New?" said Han-Ho.
"Third day," said the clerk.
"It gets easier."
The clerk looked up briefly at Moru and Kjor who were examining a display of phone charms near the door with twin expressions of ancient beings encountering the concept of decorative miniatures for the first time.
"Does it," said the clerk.
"A little," said Han-Ho honestly.
He collected the bag. Moru and Kjor followed him out. The clerk watched them go and then wrote something in the small notebook he kept under the counter that his supervisor had told him was for inventory notes but which he was actually using to document things he had witnessed that he needed to process privately before discussing with anyone.
The third day entry was the longest so far.
Min-Seo was awake when they got back.
He was sitting up on the floor with his phone and the expression of a man who has woken up somewhere unexpected and is taking a moment to remember how he got there and then remembering and having feelings about it.
He looked up when the door opened.
Han-Ho put the bag on the table.
"Kimbap," he said.
Min-Seo looked at the kimbap.
Looked at Han-Ho.
"You went to the convenience store," he said.
"Yes."
"At six thirty AM."
"I needed food."
"You took them with you." He gestured at Moru and Kjor who were settling back into their respective positions with the chips.
"They wanted to come."
Min-Seo watched Kjor open the shrimp chips with the careful reverence of something approaching a new experience with appropriate respect.
"I have so many questions," said Min-Seo.
"You said that last night."
"I still have them. I fell asleep before I finished."
"I know. You were mid-sentence."
"What was I asking."
"You were asking why the Frost Giant is small now."
"Right." Min-Seo looked at Kjor. "Why is the Frost Giant small now."
"I cleaned him," said Han-Ho.
"Right but why did cleaning him make him small."
Han-Ho thought about this.
"The ice was his power," he said. "The size was the ice. I cleaned the ice."
"So he's just." Min-Seo gestured. "The part that was left."
"Yes."
Min-Seo looked at Kjor.
Kjor looked back at him while eating a shrimp chip.
"These are also good," said Kjor, to Moru.
"Different," said Moru judiciously. "But good."
"Not as good as honey butter."
"Nothing is as good as honey butter."
"This is true."
Min-Seo watched two formerly apocalyptic entities have a chip comparison discussion and felt the specific feeling of a man whose understanding of the world is being gently but firmly restructured around him whether he consents to it or not.
His phone buzzed.
He looked at it.
His face changed.
"Han-Ho," he said.
"What."
"The Hunter Registry just sent me a priority notification." He looked up. "They want to meet with you."
Han-Ho took a bite of his kimbap.
"About what," he said.
"About you." Min-Seo turned the phone around. "Specifically about your file. Apparently someone named Ms. Yoon has been building a case about you for four years and the Director read it this morning and—"
"I filed a complaint about my status window four years ago," said Han-Ho. "Nobody responded."
"They're responding now."
"Four years later."
"Han-Ho—"
"Four years," said Han-Ho, with the specific flat energy of a man who has made peace with institutional indifference and is now being asked to unmake that peace. "I wrote it out carefully. I included my registration number."
"I know but—"
"Nobody responded Moru," said Han-Ho.
"I know Master," said Moru solemnly.
"Four years."
"It is quite a long time," agreed Kjor.
Min-Seo looked at all three of them expressing solidarity about bureaucratic response times and felt very tired.
"Han-Ho the Director of the Hunter Registry wants to meet with you personally."
"About my status window."
"About considerably more than your status window."
Han-Ho finished his kimbap. Folded the wrapper. Put it in the bin.
"I have floors to clean today," he said.
"Han-Ho—"
"I have a schedule."
"The DIRECTOR—"
"They had four years," said Han-Ho, and picked up his work bag.