Chapter 7
—
One week.
That was the time Lee Shin received from Lee Sang-byuk before being dispatched to a guild.
It was supposed to be a time of relentless busyness, filled with research and plan reviews. Strangely enough, Lee Shin found himself much more relaxed than expected.
“This… What is all this…?”
“It’s the guild work you’ve dreamed of, hyung. I’m counting on you.”
A true boss knows how to evaluate their subordinates’ abilities and assign them tasks that maximize results.
Lee Shin firmly believed that Chae Dong-ha was a genius ready to shine.
He had no doubt that Dong-ha could handle this much. Go, Donghamon!
Indeed, Dong-ha rose to meet Lee Shin’s expectations, completing the required tasks with precision.
Of course, that didn’t mean Lee Shin was idle.
While he wasn’t physically busy, he took on work that was arguably more important and draining.
Securing funds and proposing investments.
“Breaking your probation without a word… Negotiating directly with the chairman while ignoring protocol… Doing everything your way and now asking for investment?”
“That’s probably it.”
“You’ve done it again, haven’t you?”
The funds Lee Shin had secured from Chairman Lee Sang-byuk were ample, but more money was always better.
Although a small misunderstanding led to a drug test, Lee Shin managed to have a constructive conversation with Vice Chairman Lee Young-bin—who also happened to be his father—and secured a considerable investment.
As long as the results were good, all was forgiven.
However, he couldn’t stop the vice chairman from assigning a supervisor to monitor him. Instead of opposing it, Lee Shin embraced the idea and even requested someone competent.
And so, after a short but productive week, the day finally arrived.
* * *
The cars on the highway sped up, each vying to get ahead by even a second.
Engines revved, RPMs soared.
Amid this chaotic race, there was a particularly serene space—
A vehicle that, by its very presence, discouraged anyone from overtaking.
It was none other than Lee Shin’s Rolls-Royce Phantom.
“I told you this was the answer. Forget Ferrari, Porsche, or Lamborghini. A man needs a sedan, right, hyung?”
“This really is the car of the top 0.1%… The ride quality is incredible. It feels like the road itself is gliding.”
“Wait till you see how it looks when you get out. The exit feels even better. Oh, look! There’s a fridge here. Want a Coke?”
“But, sir.”
“Call me representative.”
“Ahem… Representative, you seem unusually excited today. This is your car, but it feels like it’s your first time riding it.”
“It is my first time.”
It wasn’t just his memories that had been reset.
When Lee Shin had awakened in this body, the previous owner had already lost his license in a spectacular display of drunken driving. As a result, he could only gaze longingly at the collection of supercars in the garage.
“So, hyung, you should thank her. She’s suffering because of you.”
“Why are we suddenly going in this direction?”
“Because you don’t have a driver’s license!”
“When did I say I wasn’t grateful? I’m very thankful, really. Thanks to her, I’m traveling comfortably.”
Dong-ha awkwardly smiled and expressed his gratitude to the woman behind the wheel.
But she didn’t respond. She didn’t even glance at him.
Scratching the side of his head in embarrassment, Dong-ha caught Lee Shin grinning, clearly preparing to tease him.
“Haha, look at that. You’re only talking to her because she’s pretty. I didn’t think you were that type, hyung, but you’re a bit sneaky, aren’t you?”
“No, no! What do you mean sneaky? I was just being polite!”
“Alright, alright. But listen, as your younger brother, let me give you some advice—don’t approach her unless you’re ready. She’s scarier than she looks.”
Lee Shin could see it.
The numbers floating above the woman’s head.
The fact that stats and levels were visible meant she was an awakener.
Indeed, the woman was the supervisor assigned by the vice chairman.
Perhaps because her job was to report Lee Shin’s actions without any personal bias, she refused to engage in any conversation or emotional exchange.
Lee Shin smirked.
“My grandfather treats his grandson like a pawn on a chessboard, and my father places a blade at his son’s throat. What a family, huh?”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“You’re not denying it.”
“Ahem…”
“Let’s stop the small talk here. Things are getting complicated for us, aren’t they?”
“That’s true…”
Lee Shin’s words, though exaggerated, weren’t wrong.
If the vice chairman had placed a blade at his throat by assigning a supervisor, Chairman Lee Sang-byuk was equally, if not more, ruthless.
Who would have thought he’d place Lee Shin in this guild, of all places?
Lee Shin chuckled bitterly.
“<Mir Guild>… I didn’t think the old man was this vindictive.”
Mir Guild.
A prestigious guild based in Busan.
Regardless of their current performance, the guild had an interesting backstory.
First, it was one of the twenty founding guilds of the Guild War Korea League, established over 60 years ago.
Second, it brought glory to Busan by winning the inaugural championship, instantly making the city a haven for Hunters.
History, tradition, and meaning—it was a guild overflowing with the foundational qualities of prestige.
But that’s it. That’s where it ends!
What does that mean? Without its history, tradition, and meaning, it had nothing left.
“But didn’t you already know? It matches the conditions you mentioned before.”
“What? What conditions?”
“Don’t you remember? When we first met, you said it yourself—a once-renowned local guild, now fallen from grace, burdened with debt, and lacking talent.”
“Only up to that point. I didn’t think it’d be this bad.”
Who would have thought the guild wasn’t just in decline but on the verge of dissolution?
Dong-ha pulled out the materials he had prepared and began reading.
“…One championship win. That’s all. They were relegated the following season. After years of bouncing between Leagues 1 and 2, they were relegated to League 3 on their 40th anniversary. Now they’re in League 4.”
“Whew~ What a downward spiral. I bet their stock chart looks like a heart attack.”
“You’ve never invested in stocks, have you? At this level of decline, they’d just be delisted.”
It’s just as it seems.
The plummeting performance of Mir Guild has fallen beyond the mantle and outer core to rock bottom.
Currently, they’re barely scraping by in League 4.
Considering their history and tradition, their performance is utterly disgraceful.
How could they have fallen this far…?
Perhaps because the more he thought about it, the less he liked it, Chae Dong-ha’s tone grew sharper.
“After looking into it, their management is absurd. Their main sponsor disappeared ages ago. Even the smaller sponsors they had have seemingly turned their backs.”
“What about funding? What’s keeping them afloat now?”
“It seems to be running on broadcast rights and season ticket sales, but it’s suspicious.”
Given the nature of League 4, broadcast rights wouldn’t amount to much.
Broadcast networks aren’t charities; why would they bother signing contracts for League 4 raids?
If that’s the case, most of their income must come from season ticket sales, but…
That too raises questions. Why would anyone buy season tickets for a League 4 guild?
“But they do. For some strange reason, Mir Guild has an unusually high season ticket purchase rate.”
“Haha, right? This place is truly baffling.”
To be honest, Mir Guild’s financial state is bad—so bad it’s beyond despair.
Yet no matter how you look at it, the incoming funds—
In other words, their income itself isn’t completely hopeless.
Even without an aggressive merchandise business or a unique business model, they’ve somehow managed to survive in this harsh league environment for decades.
This would be impossible without some kind of emergency reserve.
Yet, nothing seems to improve. They’re always starving.
Which means…
“…There’s a 99% chance the money is leaking somewhere in the middle.”
And that, in turn, means—
“This is clearly a failure of the management team.”
“Oh, so that’s where your thoughts have led? Well, you’re not wrong.”
“Do you not think the same, Representative?”
“This is a time for me to listen to your thoughts, hyung. I’m intrigued. Keep going.”
Despite Lee Shin’s lukewarm attitude, Chae Dong-ha continued to explain his thoughts.
History and tradition might seem insignificant, but they’re significant advantages.
Even if they couldn’t produce results, the social infrastructure built over 60 years is an invaluable asset that money can’t buy.
If they had utilized it properly, their finances wouldn’t have become this dire.
That was Chae Dong-ha’s conclusion.
“How could this not be due to the management team’s incompetence?”
“Hmm, not wrong.”
“And that’s not all. The personnel management is a disaster too.”
Ironically, this incompetent management team is unnecessarily bloated.
A League 4 guild should tighten its belt and operate within its means.
Yet Mir Guild inexplicably retains the same management scale as it did during its League 2 days.
“That money should’ve been redirected elsewhere. If they wanted better results, they should’ve strengthened their roster. If they wanted to expand their business, they should’ve reinvested. But look at this guild—it’s mediocre at everything. Recruitment, business, everything. Is this even a guild? Is this what a guild is supposed to be?”
“Let me see that.”
Lee Shin took the documents from the agitated Dong-ha and began reviewing them.
It was a roster of their affiliated Hunters, complete with photos and brief descriptions.
A smile slowly spread across his face.
All familiar names.
He nodded.
This was the Mir Guild he knew.
‘The Dragon of the ICU.’
“What do you think of them?”
“You mean Raid Captain Yang Pan-seok and the raid team?”
“Yeah. I’m curious about your thoughts.”
Dong-ha, though still slightly agitated, answered in a calmer tone.
“They’re not high-level. To be frank, they’re below average. If you compare them to their prime in their youth, they might’ve been average or slightly above, but age has definitely taken a toll. That said, by the standards of League 4, they’re still adequate.”
“And Yang Pan-seok?”
“I was just about to get to him. As a raid captain, Yang Pan-seok is well-regarded both for his personality and his skills. Considering he could’ve aimed for the majors yet chose to remain a guild legend, it speaks volumes.”
“Oh? High praise.”
“While investigating, I realized… he’s a rather charismatic Hunter. It’s no wonder fans call him a legend. He’s honestly too good for Mir Guild.”
Thus, Dong-ha’s conclusion:
A raid team whose prime was wasted due to the management team’s blunders.
A guild doomed to decline.
Their golden era was long past.
“To be honest, I don’t even understand why this guild is still alive.”
It was at that moment.
Lee Shin, who had been listening quietly, suddenly smiled.
“Want me to tell you why?”
“…You know?”
“Of course!”
Despite its chaotic management and dismal performance, Mir Guild still managed to survive, clinging to life on the verge of dissolution.
And the reason for that was simple.
“The fans.”
The ones keeping the Dragon of the ICU on life support were none other than the fans.
* * *
South Korea’s largest guild community, “Gulld Korea” (Guild Korea), was bustling as usual on Mir Gallery.
[ A 20-year Mir fan, I’m so fed up I’m leaving the gallery. ]
“Mir fan” is the affectionate term for supporters of Mir Guild.
A 20-year fan’s declaration of departure from the gallery. To summarize, the post expressed deep disappointment over the guild’s failure to secure promotion this time.
[ Was I asking for too much? League 3. Not League 1, just League 3!
I only wanted them to climb to the measly League 3 that major guilds don’t even recognize.
That’s why, for 20 years, I bought those expensive season tickets every year and supported them.
But at the end, they made such an unbelievable mistake… Ugh… I don’t even want to talk about it.
I’ve completely lost all attachment.
If I support this godforsaken guild again, I’m not human. ]
For most League 4 guilds, it’s normal not to even have a gallery. But Mir Guild has maintained a massive fandom since its founding, never falling from its place as a “Hot Gallery.”
And as always, the millions of furious Mir fans erupted in anger at the post.
└ ??: Congratulations, you’ve gained intelligence.
└ I’m done for. You survive, my friend. (roughly translated meme of waving someone off)
└ I’ve been a fan of this guild since my dad introduced me 10 years ago. Ten years is enough for a landscape to change, but why hasn’t my guild changed? Haha… sob.
└ This is so unfair. They’re the ones failing, so why do we have to suffer?
└ I completely agree. My mom made me a fan, and I don’t know why I have to endure this pain.
└ When will we finally be happy…?
Then, as if on cue, their collective rage began targeting one specific place.
└ The management team are complete *****.
└ Those guys are just incompetent.
└ Ugh, in my next life, I want to work for Mir’s management team. Get a nice paycheck without doing anything. What a sweet gig.
It’s been eight years.
Eight years without even catching a whiff of League 3.
Isn’t it common sense to introduce some kind of change after this long? Yet, the management stubbornly sticks to their strategy, ignoring the outcries.
If that’s how it’s going to be, they shouldn’t make a big fuss every season with claims like “This year will be different.”
At this point, Mir fans could only rely on one thing.
└ Pan-seok, pleaseㅠㅠㅠ
└ Pan-seok, I’m sorry, and thank you. For protecting this godforsaken guild.
Despite Mir Guild’s downfall, the one who stayed and devoted his youth to protecting it.
The Guardian Dragon of Mir.
The Legend of Mir.
Yang Pan-seok.
He was the only one they could believe in.
.
.
“What do you mean there’s no reinforcement for the roster!!”
—
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