Chapter 89

“I don’t know.”

“Excuse me?”

“When I registered as an Awakened, they called me from the registration desk straight to the Spear of Thunderclouds, so I don’t know, you little brat.”

Kang Ha-neul cut my question off with a single, sharp sentence.

Are there Awakened who have their epithet from birth?

Despite his cynical tone, there was a self-deprecating laugh buried in his words.

Having immediately perceived the inferiority and bruised pride behind it, I spoke to him without hesitation:

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Since Deputy Commander Kang Cho-won and Agent Kang Nabi wield the Spear of Lightning and the Spear of Thunder, respectively, you’re called the Spear of Thunderclouds, even without any remarkable feats—just for being an Awakened.”

Scorn, neglect, and the wall of endless effort and talent.

Kang Ha-neul, a descendant of the Confinement Immortal, had a story that would have drawn tears just to hear, so I didn’t.

“The chance that you’ll inherit the next seat of the Thunderline compared to them is remarkably low, and even if you’re constantly compared, there’s no real reason to care.”

“You little—!”

“In the long race of life, the one who survives longest is ultimately the winner.”

Instead, through my thoughts, I commanded my tentacles:

Attack Kang Ha-neul with full force every time he enters the Necropolis.

There’s a saying in this world:

A tentacle that cannot kill me only makes me stronger.

Of course, I might die in the process, but in the end, everything becomes blood and flesh for growth.

“You weren’t helpful today either. I’ll see you next time.”

“Don’t ever visit me again.”

I saw him off as he entered the treatment room for physical therapy, then immediately left the ward.

Even during afternoon patrols, my mind was filled with only one thought: how can I get an epithet?

An Awakened’s epithet isn’t officially given by the Ability Management Bureau or guilds.

It’s something that arises naturally over time, spoken by the public or colleagues after significant feats.

Generally, once you reach a middle-to-upper rank, your unique ability, magic, or martial style will make an epithet stick.

It can also come from surviving fierce battles or notable achievements.

But when Moon Ah-rin received the epithet “Saint of Salvation,” I had consoled myself, thinking I would get one too—and it had been over half a year since then.

Even within the Special Unit, I was only called Hayan, Sae Hayan, or, at most, “that strange guy from Division 3.”

When I became obsessed with epithets, the ever-sensitive Mala-nim personally asked me, coming out from her sleeve:

『Fear~?』

“No! Not at all! It’s absolutely not because I’m jealous of Alexei! And it’s definitely not because every time I turn on the TV, there’s footage of him holding a mic saying, ‘All Korean Awakened are good, Korea is the best country, I love kimchi,’ and it annoys me!”

Not long ago, we entered a Gate together and saved Yeon Parang.

I wasn’t jealous that my brother-in-arms got public attention first.

At most, I left about fifty malicious comments on news articles.

Or posted over a hundred complaints in the Special Unit Bamboo Tree forum about him snoring while sleeping, until I got blocked by the administrator.

I never craved others’ attention to begin with.

Just like friends starting their social life carry a business card in their wallet, I simply wanted an epithet that middle-level Awakened typically have.

“I’m not even hoping for an interview. I just want a cool name.”

『Fear not~?』

“Why? Because showing my face would cause more harm than good.”

I wanted to be famous, but it would be troublesome if my face appeared on TV.

I wasn’t suffering from celebrity fever.

Since arriving on Earth, I had already been juggling three personas… no, titles: Sae Hayan, Patel, and Apostle of the Outer God.

What if even one demon in the Council had faced the Apostle of the Outer God firsthand?

The moment I appeared on a broadcast, all my carefully hidden identities would be exposed.

In fact, there had been a few times I was caught on camera, but so far, none of my identities had been revealed.

Looking back, the reasons were mostly luck.

The first time was surprisingly when I first came to Earth.

The moment I came out of the Gate, cameras flooded the scene, but Park Mu-cheol quickly had me pixelated before being taken to the Bureau.

The second time was during the Tower of Proof broadcast with Yoo Se-byeol.

However, all of that footage is now private and cannot be found anywhere.

The host, Perez, had summoned a Basilisk and caused a commotion, so the Yellow Tower immediately removed every video he was involved in.

Thanks to that, I could still enjoy my double—or rather, triple—life freely. But an epithet was still necessary.

No, I wanted one.

“Secret missions were fun at first, but now I’ve realized—moving under the radar a hundred times gets you no recognition at all.”

The best way to get one, of course, was to tackle a big incident.

But recently, no significant events had occurred.

Demons who learned that the Apostle of the Outer God had crossed to Earth and defeated Flauros were all laying low.

Guilds, in turn, avoided reckless strategies.

Probably because of the accident during Parang’s ceremony.

In fact, the best way to earn a reputation in times like these was the mission board.

“This won’t do. If nobody causes problems, I’ll create an incident and resolve it myself.”

『Fear not!?』

“Luckily, I recently got a useful tool as well.”

I sat up on the bed.

Then I took out the Witch Trade Association catalog I had received from Rubietta and showed it to Mala-nim.

“Look at this. It has everything I need for a Gate—monsters, witches’ curses, basically everything except Star Scars.”

The plan I drafted went roughly like this:

A crowded weekend at a shopping mall.

Suddenly, a masked black mage, Patel, appears.

He devours all the food at the tasting booths, buys nothing, connects all the carts together, and rigs them so that the handles won’t separate unless a 500-won coin from 1998 is inserted.

After causing such chaos multiple times, I would intervene, land a decisive blow, and make him flee.

“Of course, I need to indirectly provoke the Apostle of the Outer God mid-way and get a reaction. This will signal to the demons that he isn’t being attacked like Flauros, prompting them to resume their activity.”

A blockbuster guaranteed to keep the palms of bored Seoul citizens sweaty during the year-end.

I was the lead actor, the director, the producer, even the lighting crew—all of it was me.

Everything would have been perfect once I got approval from Mala-nim, my investor.

“If you sacrifice just a little of your tentacles as payment, you can even summon curses or monsters. How about it? Maybe tempt Digestion into dieting for once, and–”

『Not!』

However, contrary to my expectations, Mala-nim strongly opposed the plan.

『Not! Not! Not!』

The reason was simple: for such petty personal gain, Mala-nim couldn’t allow even a single tentacle—an extension of herself—to fall into the hands of corrupted witches.

She reminded me that the reason she allowed me to use her abilities was to restore order in this chaotic world, not to create chaos myself and gain fame from solving it.

Even using the identity of Patel to infiltrate the Council was one thing, but acting openly would tarnish the pride of the Special Unit, she said, shouting with what sounded like blood from her throat that I must return to my pure self, Hayan.

It was a fair argument—I had no counter—but something felt off.

Since her exile into Digestion’s stomach and return, Mala-nim had become strangely slender.

Her size had returned to normal, and even the aura visible outside when she had three Star Scars was now feeble.

From this, I deduced a likely hypothesis.

“Mala-nim.”

『Fear not~?』

“Could it be that you made some kind of deal with Digestion?”

『……!!』

Mala-nim trembled violently, clearly struck at the heart of the matter.

As I suspected, she must have shared Star Scars with Digestion.

I immediately pressed her.

“You mean you colluded with it just because being inside its stomach for a few hours was inconvenient!?”

『N-not! Fear not!』

“That’s not true? Then transform into your Avatar now.”

『Not~!?』

She strongly denied it, but there was undeniable evidence.

If she had kept all her Star Scars intact, she would appear as a grown form when transforming into her Avatar, just like in front of the mural.

『Fe-fea—!』

“Quickly. It’s useless to talk your way out now.”

With my urging, Mala-nim glowed and collapsed onto the mattress, appearing almost as the young girl she once resembled.

Puffing out her cheeks in a pout, she looked exactly like a child caught in a lie.

“See? Who told you to lie? I’m disappointed, Mala-nim. Where on earth did you learn such bad behavior?”

“S—.”

“S? You mean the Tentacle of Suggestion?”

“Ssi, s-ssi…”

Oh no, bad word!¹

I hastily covered Mala-nim’s mouth with my hand.

She was still learning human language, and I couldn’t let her utter a curse before even learning my name.

“S-si, s-si—!”

“No, no!”

Mala-nim, apparently built up over time, began to get angry.

It felt like a parent watching a child they raised turn rebellious.

I threw every ounce of my energy into preventing her from becoming a delinquent tentacle.

Then, tap!

A letter fell onto my head.

“Huh?”

“……?”

It was Witch Mail, Daily Express.

A letter I could now receive after registering as a customer at the Witch Trade Association.

Even outside the Council, it allowed communication with demons.

The seal on the envelope belonged to the Seat of Flame, and the recipient was addressed as “Lord Patel.”

“This is…”

I carefully opened the letter and checked the sender at the very top line.

Norkel.

She was currently—or at one point—the heir to the Nightmare Demon faction, a group that once commanded the largest force in Korea.