The dungeon's exit flashed like a mirage as we crossed the final boundary, the simulated realm dissipating into raw, sterile air. My breath came slow and steady, unshaken. Choi Min-Soo's armor exhibited cracks along the edges, and Seo Hana wiped a trail of blood from her cheek—whether hers or a monster's, it didn't matter. We'd won.
As the simulation faded, a mechanical tone resonated through the chamber:
[Trial Complete. Time: 9 minutes, 42 seconds. Team: Arashi, Seo, Choi. Ranking: 1st.]
Seol-Hwa's voice crackled in from above. "Good. The rest of you, try not to shame yourselves in comparison."
Hana gave me a side-eye, but it lacked her earlier edge. "You're not bad, for a rookie."
I grinned. "You're not bad either, for someone who tried to insult me five minutes ago."
Choi Min-Soo gave a grunt that might've been approbation. Or indigestion.
As we stepped out of the simulation chamber, Baek Yoon-Ho was waiting near the entrance. The S-Rank's arms were folded, remained unreadable. But his attention didn't drift from me.
"Arashi," he added, calling me by name for the first time.
I paused.
"You're not only talented. You have instincts. The kind that can't be taught."
I didn't respond. There was a weight to his tone, like he was speaking to a version of someone else.
"Your father," he finally said, "once stood where you stand now. He didn't boast. He didn't beg. He simply was."
There was quiet. Even Choi and Hana didn't move.
Baek's eyes sharpened. "Do you know what they called him?"
I nodded. "The Storm That Never Dies."
His lips twisted into a faint smile. "He loathed that name. Said storms should pass. But he never did."
I met his gaze. "Neither will I."
He chuckled. "Good answer. But remember—storm or not, demons don't care what you're named. They only care what you do."
Then, without another remark, he strolled past us, coat waving like the tail of a beast, and vanished around the corner.
The next three days merged into a cycle of elite training simulations, tactical lectures, and unexpected combat assessments. No coddling. No second chances. Just survival.
I preferred it this way.
Inside the Elite Class, the anxiety was thick. Not hostility—pressure. Like we were being forged rather than trained.
And that's when the murmurs started.
Not in the academy halls.
But in the Guild networks.
I overheard it initially in the rear passage of the observation lounge while grabbing a protein bar.
"...Arashi. Yeah, like the one from twenty years ago. Coincidence?"
"They say he beat Jang Hoon hand-to-hand. First day."
"White Tiger's Guildmaster watched the whole thing…"
I didn't stop them. Let them whisper. Let them ponder.
But not everyone murmured.
Some investigated.
Two days later, while finishing off a one-on-one fake raid, I was called to the surface. A formal request from the Hunter Association—signed and sealed.
Seol-Hwa greeted me soon before I departed.
"They're curious. Your act is drawing too many eyes," she said. "This meeting… it's not just protocol. It's a test."
I raised an eyebrow. "Am I supposed to be scared?"
She chuckled. "No. But some individuals should be."
The Hunter Association HQ in Seoul was a monolith of steel and tinted glass, buzzing with mana detectors, surveillance drones, and A-Rank guards placed like statues.
I was brought inside a quiet chamber on the 31st floor.
Inside sat a table—and two individuals.
One was familiar: Director Han Dae-Sik. A sharp-suited man with eyes like hawks and a temper like a coiled wire.
The other was not a person I anticipated to see yet.
Go Gun-Hee.
Former Association President. Jin-Woo's old ally. Still powerful, still respected—even in retirement.
"You're younger than I thought," he replied without standing. "But then again, so was your father."
I bowed properly. "I didn't expect to meet you so soon, sir."
He motioned to sit. "Let's skip the pleasantries. Your mana… it's old. Heavy. Not simply power. History."
Han Dae-Sik opened a small file and tossed down a photo. It was a hazy surveillance still—of me mid-fight during the raid simulation. Lightning trailing from my hand. Eyes shining faintly.
"This ability…" he murmured, tapping the photo. "There's no record in the database. Not a known skill. Not even an awakened trait we've cataloged."
I stayed mute.
Gun-Hee leaned forward.
"I fought alongside Kael Arashi once. In the Jeju break. Before the world learned what genuine power was. Your mana carries his signature."
Han's voice hardened. "We need the truth. Not rumors. Who are you really?"
I gazed between them.
And I told them.
"Kael Arashi was my father."
Silence. Thick. Complete.
Gun-Hee didn't flinch. If anything, he seemed like he already knew.
Han Dae-Sik breathed sharply. "We suspected. But... there were no records. No official family. Nothing."
"That's how he wanted it," I responded simply. "Hidden. Forgotten. So when the time came... the world wouldn't see it coming."
Gun -Hee's eyes narrowed. "So is this the time?"
I gave a slight smile. "Not yet."
Han Dae-Sik murmured, "God help us when it is."
That night, I returned to the dorms.
The metropolis skyline stretched beyond the window, Gates illuminating the sky like scars in reality.
A message blinked on my system.
[Skill Evolved: Storm Pulse → Storm Monarch's Wrath (Stage 1)] [Dormant State raising...] [Warning: This ability surpasses current rank categorization.]
I stared at it. Then closed the message.
Let the world keep whispering.
Let the Monarchs keep watching.
Let the hunters keep wondering.
Because the truth wasn't arriving.
It was already here.
And its name...
was Kael Arashi.