At that moment, On Suhyeong firmly grabbed Guru’s hand and stood up.
Clatter— As the chair scraped back, everyone turned to look at Suhyeong.
He simply looked down at his granddaughter and spoke gently with his usual blank expression.
“Guru-ya, let’s get up now. The more we listen, the more our ears rot.”
“Chairman On, if you leave like this...”
Still holding hands with Suhyeong, Guru stood up and said with a terrifying expression:
“Gwuu not makin’ no agweement wiff a meanie who can’t even say sowwy.”
“Yes. Do what you want to do.”
Suhyeong said this loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear.
“I’ve heard that Representative Ham Jinpyeong is currently waiting on a call from above.”
In the midst of confused looks, Ahn Seonyeong’s shoulders twitched ever so slightly.
Suhyeong curved his lips in a barely-there smirk.
“You hear things when you sit in places like this.”
“Chairman On, I’m at my wit’s end because of my useless son. Just once, please be generous and let this go quietly.”
“I don’t have any intention of blowing this up either.”
They could drag it out and fight if they really wanted to, but if it got too big, the one people would talk about was Guru.
“Then...?”
Suhyeong turned back and said coldly:
“Ham Honggi? You’re going to do that community service thing as an Awakened, right? I’ll be watching closely to see just how well you do. It’d be best if you showed some real sincerity.”
He wouldn’t make a public scene.
But that was a declaration of war: he’d grab hold of every thread and follow it all the way to the end.
“Hey, Gyuri, what are we supposed to do about this?”
Chun Gyuri looked at her mother-in-law, who was gulping down ice water while slumped on the sofa.
Ahn Seonyeong let out a theatrical moan when her daughter-in-law didn’t give a satisfying reaction.
But Gyuri could only think, That little bastard, of course he would. There wasn’t much else to say. They’d spoiled him rotten, and look how he turned out...
“At this rate, your father-in-law’s minister position might get torpedoed. We can’t let that happen.”
“True...”
Ham Jinpyeong was currently being floated as a candidate for Minister of Justice.
And now they had a scandal where that candidate’s son had scammed Chairman On Suhyeong’s granddaughter—On Jurim’s daughter?
That was the kind of scandal so juicy, no one could resist biting into it.
And that wasn’t even the worst-case scenario.
If someone started digging and word got out that “Ham Honggi needed the money to buy drugs,” then it’d really be over.
“I heard from the lawyer he could just do a few low-level dungeon runs. Can’t you take him around with some guild kids? Chairman On’s spoiling for a fight, so make sure it’s A-rank or higher so they don’t find a reason to pounce. From the look in his eyes, I think nothing less than losing a whole arm would satisfy him. But we can’t have that. Honggi’s our son...”
A-rank, huh... Chun Gyuri let out a deep sigh.
Even if he was officially B-rank, dragging a whining deadweight like that into a real dungeon was crueler to the guild members than to him.
“But, Mother... Jurim doesn’t know about this, right?”
The problem wasn’t taking that deadweight into an A-rank dungeon.
The problem was that the moment On Jurim found out, there might not be any dungeons left to enter...
Hyeonak didn’t earn its infamy for crossing lines for nothing.
Usually, guilds maintained businesslike, cordial relations. No one picked fights over small stuff. But when it came to actual dungeon operations, things got personal.
There’d once been an incident with a certain guild that clashed with Hyeonak over a dungeon raid involving Hyeonak’s newbies.
After catching wind of it, Hyeonak showed up at every single one of that guild’s raids, wiped the floor with the monsters before the other team could lift a finger, and then shipped all the dungeon loot directly to that guild’s headquarters.
Most disputes like this were over loot ownership, so by preemptively surrendering the byproducts via delivery, Hyeonak ended it on their terms.
Their message was clear:
“You want what comes out of your dungeon? Fine, take it. We don’t need it. But we’re going to make sure you never grow.”
When the Administration tried to mediate, Hyeonak just shrugged and said,
“We thought the other side was struggling, so we helped out. We even gave them all the loot.”
Since most mediations ended by handing the byproducts to the offended party, people might’ve called them bastards—but there wasn’t any better alternative.
Not long after that, one guild completely disbanded.
There was another case with a different guild.
They specialized in fire dungeons. Hyeonak bought out all of that guild’s essential dungeon gear.
They pressured suppliers into cutting ties and jacked up the prices of remaining items in the market through proxy bids.
Trying to get items themselves was futile, since Hyeonak was sweeping every dungeon that dropped those materials.
Even the Association couldn’t step in easily.
“It’s our money, our dungeons. You telling us not to buy or enter them is overreach.”
It became a well-known urban legend that Gidan personally went to a fire dungeon entrance to sell those items to the opposing guild.
Rumor had it he offered them at 100 times the market price, and when they refused, he dumped the entire load on the ground.
In the end, the other guildmaster had to come out, bow his head, and publicly surrender. It was utter humiliation.
All the cocky troublemakers with real power had flocked to Hyeonak. Jurim, as the face of the guild, got slapped around for it, but thanks to his nature, he always played the calm tank.
It was basically neglect masquerading as leadership.
There used to be five top guilds in Korea. Now there were three. Hyeonak had a huge role in shrinking that number.
Whatever the cause, those bastards really had bullied people like thugs.
Jurim himself had never made the first move. But if Hyeonak were just rude, Jurim was the King of Bastards. He’d grind people down until they broke.
“I mean... Guildmastuh On hasn’t called or shown up. Maybe there’s no emotional attachment to the kid since she’s adopted.”
“That’s not what Gu Shinhoo said...”
“When has that guy ever said anything honest?”
“Still, Gu Shinhoo always knows exactly where to plant his ass.”
He was a pure opportunist—always pretending to be chummy with everyone and sniffing out which direction to lean.
Talking about Jurim or Hyeonak publicly worked in NAG’s favor—made them look like equals. And Jurim himself didn’t seem to care, so Shinhoo took advantage of that.
That snake probably understood the situation far better than the Association President, who was too busy fawning over her younger son and husband.
And then both their phones started ringing furiously.
An emergency alert from the disaster messaging system. Urgent calls from guild members and association staff.
They looked up from their screens, eyes locking.
“Mother. Let’s just send Honggi here.”
“But still, this...”
“You know dungeon ranks aren’t about how dangerous they feel.”
Dungeons were ranked based on how much damage a dungeon break could cause to the real world. And this one had risks different from normal.
“This might actually be better. I’ll be [N O V E L I G H T] there too. And maybe it’s about time he pulled his own weight and learned a little. If we let this go, it won’t be the end of it.”
Would this really end with just this incident? Chun Gyuri wasn’t wrong.
The Association President sighed and nodded slightly, picturing that damn lawyer who just couldn’t shut up earlier.
On Suhyeong
How are you feeling?
(Emoji: Squirrel sending a heart)
I’m okay!
(Emoji: Squirrel shooting a heart-arrow)
Despite his intimidating appearance—barely any facial expressions, rarely spoke, and had a commanding presence—Chairman On was a surprisingly gentle and attentive person.
Guru sniffled a little, comforted by his worried message.
As she scrolled down her phone screen, she opened her chat with Jurim.
When you comin’, Guildmastuh?
On Jurim
Sleep first today.
Did’ja buy da stwawbewwy thingy?
[Strawberry Creamy Sweet Fairy Blast Bomb Light Hue Candy]
On Jurim
Yeah.

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