Chapter 95
Chapter 95: Knock Knock, It’s the NIS.
The previous few days had been a complete whirlwind.
Hours and days slipped past at such a dizzying pace that keeping track of what happened when felt nearly impossible.
That was hardly surprising.
Following the initial bids presented by America and Russia, formal citizenship offers began flooding in from multiple other governments as well, each adding to the surrounding turmoil.
Even so, the primary reason behind my absolute exhaustion was the preposterous, unprecedented spike in my physical regimen.
Just a short while back, Rokan had pushed me straight to death’s doorstep through sheer, brutal conditioning.
Once that hellish session finally wrapped up, he had nonchalantly dropped that spine-chilling remark: ‘Pounding you this thoroughly ought to yield decent results.’
Evidently, he hadn’t been throwing around empty phrases, as Rokan spent the following days subjecting me to nonstop drills of the exact same punishing caliber.
The routine proved so merciless that had Rokan neglected to patch me up with timely restorative spells, waking up strapped to monitors in an intensive care unit wouldn’t have been out of place whatsoever.
A creeping dread had plagued me that I might be forced to endure such lethal workloads on an ongoing basis.
Fortunately, today offered a welcome reprieve.
With my first venture into an S-rank Gate slated for tomorrow, Rokan had granted me leave to unwind and properly calibrate my physical condition.
‘Come to think of it.’
A part of me genuinely wondered how nightmarish an S-rank Gate actually was.
Countless rumors had circulated regarding them.
If memory served, someone had once claimed that the leap in difficulty between an A-rank Gate and an S-rank Gate was so colossal it defied standard comparison.
Considering how grueling the rank evaluation trial had felt previously, anticipating an S-rank Gate that proved far more unforgiving brought on an instant headache.
Still, tomorrow’s troubles belonged to tomorrow; for today, my only plan was to do absolutely nothing and embrace total idle rest.
Dwelling on it wouldn’t change the outcome regardless.
Collapsing back onto my mattress like an inert sloth, I indulged in pure, unhurried relaxation.
With all that accumulated weariness settling in, a warm, soothing heaviness weighed down my eyelids.
Right as I was drifting toward sleep, however.
The jarring ring of my mobile device snapped the quiet.
“Who on earth would be calling right now…?”
I was practically across the threshold of slumber, meaning a telemarketer or scammer would genuinely make my blood boil.
Glancing at the screen, it was neither Sia nor Rokan, but a completely unfamiliar series of digits.
On the surface, it didn’t immediately resemble automated spam.
Yet because it was entirely unrecognized and my head was heavy with sleep, I opted against picking up.
Had it been an actual emergency, whoever it was would surely send a text.
Except.
No sooner had I silenced the alert and attempted to shut my eyes again than the line went dead, only for that exact sequence of numbers to ring back immediately.
Whether this was truly urgent or not, the caller made it obvious they intended to ring incessantly until I picked up.
Resigned, I dragged my finger across the screen.
Whatever this was, it better warrant disturbing my sleep.
“Hello.”
[Hunter Yun Min-jun, greetings. We are reaching out from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Republic of Korea.]
“…Pardon?”
The Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Republic of Korea— hearing that official title caused my sleep-fogged brain to snap fully alert.
Instinctively, suspicion flitted across my thoughts that this might simply be an elaborate voice phishing scam.
A few years prior, an identical scheme had targeted me.
The voice on the other end had claimed to be a district prosecutor inquiring whether I knew my personal bank details were linked to an illicit dummy account; recognizing the classic swindle template at a glance, I playfully claimed full awareness just to toy with them before hanging up on the spot.
I was already scheming how to mock this caller and sever the connection if similar fraud tactics emerged.
[You have recently been tendered extraordinary naturalization proposals by multiple sovereign nations, specifically the United States, Russia, France, the United Kingdom, Brazil, and China. Is this accurate?]
Hearing that precise inventory caused every hair on my arms to stand erect.
While I had mentioned receiving foreign offers to Sia, Rokan, and my household, I had strictly avoided naming any specific country outside of America and Russia.
This meant the call was undeniably authentic.
“Yes… that is correct.”
Though thoroughly rattled inside, I kept my tone level and answered with measured composure.
[We are simply contacting you to establish the factual baseline; the relevant authority handling this matter, the NIS, will be reaching out to you momentarily.]
“Wait, what? For what reason?”
The mention of the foreign affairs office had provoked simple bewilderment.
Yet bringing the NIS into the picture triggered an instinctive chill of apprehension, even though I hadn’t committed a single crime.
[You shall receive the specifics shortly.]
The connection severed before I could even probe what this entailed.
Then, barely sixty seconds later, a call from the NIS arrived.
[Hunter Yun Min-jun. This is the National Intelligence Service.]
A formidable presence resonated through the speaker, commanding authority through the audio alone.
A momentary shiver traced down my spine.
Yet that reaction proved fleeting.
The words that followed promptly dismantled the tension.
[Our bureau has become aware of the naturalization overtures extended to you by various foreign powers, Hunter. We are reaching out to inquire if you have reached any definitive conclusions regarding them.]
Assessing the underlying mood across the connection alongside his careful phrasing, the reality dawned on me at once.
Ah, they were merely testing the waters.
The NIS had evidently uncovered the foreign solicitations, but they possessed zero insight into my personal perspective.
In all probability, their internal assessment assumed I looked upon those propositions with serious temptation.
I was youthful, and my ascent from an obscure D-rank Hunter up to A-rank had transpired over an extraordinarily brief window.
From the viewpoint of any detached onlooker, there appeared to be no rational motivation for a young man to decline an unprecedented path to astronomical wealth and global prestige.
Naturally, none of those assumptions aligned with my reality.
Hmm.
At this stage, neither wealth nor public acclaim held any particular allure for me, nor did I actively seek them; nonetheless, curiosity gnawed at me regarding what sort of counter-incentives the state planned to dangle.
Choosing direct outreach over clandestine surveillance strongly suggested an intention to actively entice me to stay.
Eager to gauge their reaction, I decided to feign a sliver of genuine contemplation toward leaving.
“At the moment, I’m still weighing my options.”
I deliberately kept my phrasing ambiguous.
Though perhaps that sounded slightly too noncommittal.
“The terms offered were considerably more lavish than I anticipated.”
An awkward pause lingered over the line.
[…Understood.]
“So, what is the precise purpose of this call?”
Acting oblivious, I began prodding the NIS operative on the opposite end.
[There is no formal pressure; we simply wished to gather candid insights directly from Hunters who have found themselves targeted by foreign recruitment.]
Ultimately, it truly was nothing more than an exploratory probe.
[Provided your schedule allows, we would appreciate the opportunity to confer in person at a venue of your preference, Hunter. What hour might suit you?]
How should I handle this?
I hesitated over agreeing to an encounter, yet upon further consideration, agreeing posed absolutely zero disadvantage to me.
Gauging their actual intentions sounded somewhat entertaining as well.
“Would six-thirty this evening be acceptable?”
Given that it was my allocated rest day anyway, dropping by somewhere close to my apartment for a brief chat seemed painless enough.
[Yes, that schedule is agreeable.]
“I will meet you then. I’ll transmit the exact location via text.”
Hanging up, I messaged over the address of a café situated just down the road from my place.
‘I wonder what kind of pitch they’re preparing.’
While the exact details remained unknown, their core motive was blatantly obvious: they would dangle enticing perks in hopes of extinguishing any urge I had to emigrate.
Whatever the offer turned out to be, from my standpoint, having options laid at my feet was a privileged dilemma.
With several hours remaining before the designated time, sinking back into slumber seemed the most sensible course.
When my eyes finally fluttered open, a glance at the clock revealed merely half an hour remaining before the meeting.
It was fortunate that the café stood barely a five-minute stroll from my doorstep; otherwise, I would have had to dash out the door with disheveled, messy hair.
Thanks to the generous nap, my exhaustion had completely dissipated, leaving me remarkably refreshed.
After swiftly tidying myself up, I made my way toward the rendezvous point.
Even though our prior telephone exchange had subtly left me holding the cards, walking into a face-to-face meeting with NIS agents inevitably stirred a touch of nervous anticipation.
After all, ordinary citizens rarely crossed paths with intelligence operatives.
Pushing through the entrance and scanning the café’s interior, my gaze immediately locked onto a man and woman positioned at an unobtrusive corner table; their bearing radiated the unmistakable presence of intelligence personnel.
Despite wearing casual civilian clothing instead of stiff suits, an aura of sharp authority bled unmistakably through their understated garments.
The moment our eyes met, both individuals promptly set aside their beverages and approached me.
“Are you Hunter Yun Min-jun?”
“I am.”
“We ask for your understanding that, due to operational constraints, we are barred from formally introducing our identities.”
The male operative, likely the one who had spoken to me earlier over the receiver, inclined his head respectfully, while his female colleague gestured toward the street.
“This setting is hardly conducive to sensitive dialogue, so we have secured a private accommodation nearby.”
“Do you enjoy tuna, by any chance?”
“I do.”
“Let us head over. We will guide the way.”
True to their intelligence background, lingering in an open public space clearly clashed with their operational comfort.
Following behind them, we made our way toward a high-end tuna establishment.
It was a refined, upscale venue, the sort typically reserved for corporate executives or prominent politicians to conduct private affairs.
If the culinary quality proved exceptional, I resolved to bring Sia along on a future date.
Sia harbored a genuine fondness for tuna.
“Plunging straight into bureaucratic affairs would merely ruin the meal, so we can converse at our leisure once you have enjoyed some food.”
The gesture seemed intended to ease any perceived tension, yet enduring that silence while postponing the core topic felt far more taxing to me.
Sitting directly across from two total strangers—especially intelligence agents—in sustained quietude felt distinctly awkward and uncomfortable.
Consequently, I cut right through the formalities.
“There’s no need to delay on my account, so let’s discuss it straight away.”
My bluntness had solely been aimed at dispersing the awkward stillness, yet they appeared to read unintended gravity into my words, their expressions shifting with subtle intensity.
“If that is your preference, we shall proceed.”
Reaching into a carrier, one of the agents retrieved a digital tablet and slid it toward me.
Accepting the screen, I observed a prepared presentation file displayed across it.
None of the foreign emissaries attempting to sway me had ever produced a formal slide deck, so with curious bemusement, I began flicking through the pages; it systematically laid out comprehensive state-backed sponsorship frameworks designed to facilitate my Hunter career.
“Every provision detailed here has already been coordinated and approved alongside the Hunter Association.”
They plainly wanted to assure me this was no hollow, speculative blueprint.
Dishes began arriving while I skimmed the contents, preventing me from reviewing the full document, yet absorbing roughly half of it made it evident that the package held immense appeal for the typical Hunter.
Of course, that applied strictly to conventional Hunters.
From my personal standpoint, the proposals held minimal allure.
Certain administrative perks weren’t entirely terrible.
For instance, modest institutional perks like coordinating regular international sparring sessions with prominent global Hunters to cultivate diplomatic ties—those seemed somewhat practical.
Conversely, incentives that would make ordinary Hunters salivate proved completely redundant for me.
The most glaring example was complimentary access to leased S-rank armaments and mystical relics.
Any weapon or artifact Sia had gifted me inherently outclassed anything on that bureaucratic roster by leagues.
Even so, evaluating the overall initiative, it was a remarkably solid overture.
While it didn’t match the absurdly lavish promises dangled by foreign delegates, it remained an undeniably generous pitch.
“Understood.”
I offered a lukewarm nod without much enthusiasm.
Unfortunately, my nonchalance seemed to trigger an entirely skewed interpretation on their end.
“Is there some other necessity we have overlooked?”
My casual nod had merely signified mild acknowledgment, along the lines of ‘ah, so this exists.’
Yet they had evidently misread my reaction in a completely different light.
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