Chapter 96

Chapter 96
## Chapter 96: A Tense Invitation to Wonder Club

—

In the midst of our travel, Han Sang-ah interjected herself into the conversation.

“I’ve heard rumors about Wonder Club before. Apparently, even the Geumyang Group provides them with financial backing. My grandfather’s perspective is that the capital poured into them is essentially a sunk cost.”

“A sunk cost? Why is that?” I asked.

Han Sang-ah looked at me as she explained the logic.

“Typically, corporations only have one motivation for funding hunters.”

In this current era, hunters were a mandatory requirement for any company wishing to maintain its profit margins and operate safely.

“However, the vast majority of the individuals associated with Wonder Club rarely step into the field or perform actual duties.”

“Then why would a massive conglomerate continue to bankroll them?”

Han Sang-ah didn’t hesitate with her answer.

“It isn’t about what the companies gain from the partnership. It’s about the catastrophic damage they would suffer if they stopped the payments. These hunters don’t clear gates themselves, but their reach and reputation within the industry are immense.”

It made sense; a collective formed by the highest-ranked individuals would naturally possess a staggering amount of leverage. They were essentially using their status to extort the corporate world through social and professional pressure.

I could already visualize the kind of personalities I was about to encounter. A gut feeling told me that finding common ground with these people was going to be an uphill battle.

Whatever message they had for me was likely predictable: “Hey, stop trying so hard and join the elite circle—let’s just enjoy the high life together.”

And while “ranker” sounds like a prestigious title, my personal interactions with the top-tier hunters—Lee Se-eun being the notable exception—had been consistently underwhelming.

“The absolute worst kind of criminals are those who demand a paycheck while refusing to work.”

The fact that they also wielded systemic power made them more than just simple thugs; there wasn’t a word strong enough to describe that level of entitlement. It was genuinely sickening.

“I suppose we should go and see for ourselves first.”

I couldn’t let my personal distaste dictate my professional moves. Furthermore, if the hunters ranked second through fourth—the ones holding the actual reins of power—were involved, I had to make an appearance.

I was genuinely curious. Did they possess a level of combat prowess that truly eclipsed Lee Se-eun, or were they merely relics of the past, clinging to fading glory and acting important while they lounged in luxury?

There was also the slim, optimistic possibility that one of them might actually want to discuss a serious alliance for the greater good.

“Did you hear anything else from your grandfather?”

Han Sang-ah gave her phone a quick shake as she replied.

“I reached out, but his only instruction was to prioritize the meeting with Wonder Club since they were the ones who initiated contact.”

“Is that all he said?”

No matter how dominant the Geumyang Group was, they were still beholden to the hunters to keep their operations running.

For him to suggest I ignore a direct summons from the Wonder Club—a gathering of the world’s most powerful individuals—to meet him instead would have probably put too much strain on their relationship.

“So, where exactly is this prestigious Wonder Club located?”

Jeong Oh-hoon provided the details.

“Jangchung-dong. Their private estate covers about 2,500 pyeong. It’s famous for housing three world-class restaurants, a luxury pool, saunas, and several other amenities.”

The hunters didn’t pay a cent for membership; the entire operation was subsidized by outside entities.

Government grants, corporate sponsorships…

Because of that influx of cash, every single luxury within that building was free for the members to use at their leisure, Jeong Oh-hoon noted.

“…”

The more details I learned, the more my irritation grew. Still, if they were truly top-ranked hunters, they should at least have the capability to handle mid-level threats, like the officers of the undead legion I had recently fought.

Yet, despite having that level of power, they chose to hide away in Seoul, draining the resources of others and wasting their lives in comfort.

—We’re approaching Seoul. What’s our destination?

Han Sang-ah gave the helicopter pilot her instructions.

“Head to the Wonder Club clubhouse in Jangchung-dong. I’ve already cleared our arrival with their security, so we’re authorized to land.”

—Understood, ma’am.

Jeong Oh-hoon let out a small, mocking laugh as he looked over at me.

“Well, look on the bright side. At least the paparazzi and news crews won’t be able to swarm you inside a private club.”

“I guess I’ll take what I can get.”

Han Sang-ah leaned her head on her hand, staring out at the passing clouds through the window.

“Don’t get too comfortable. The moment you two step back out of those gates, every reporter you’re worried about will be there waiting in ambush.”

“Did you really have to ruin the mood?” Jeong Oh-hoon grumbled.

The helicopter eventually reached the airspace above the Jangchung-dong estate and began a controlled descent toward the private landing pad on the grounds.

“Looks like a welcoming committee is already waiting for us.”

“Ranks 77, 67, and 91.”

Jeong Oh-hoon identified them by face immediately. He squinted at them for a few more seconds, a look of confusion crossing his features.

“That’s strange.”

“What is?”

Jeong Oh-hoon rubbed the back of his neck before continuing.

“Looking at those guys… I get the feeling that if I went all out with my best gear and abilities, I wouldn’t actually lose to them. It’s just an instinct.”

I watched them through the glass and gave my own assessment.

“I agree with you. You wouldn’t just hold your own—you’d win.”

And it wouldn’t even be close. These people were far less intimidating in person than their reputations suggested. Without a transparent system of metrics, rankings were often subjective and stagnant.

Since there were no visible status windows for the public to see, it wasn’t surprising that some people could claim a high rank and then simply coast on that reputation for years. Their entire philosophy seemed to be centered on a “too big to fail” mentality.

It’s a phenomenon you see in corporate offices or among high-ranking military staff.

The helicopter touched down, the pressurized doors hissed open, and we walked out. The three waiting men immediately fixed their eyes on us.

“Yoo Chan-seok, Han Sang-ah, and Jeong Oh-hoon. Correct?”

“That’s us. It’s a pleasure.”

One of them scowled at my casual greeting.

“You should learn some manners. Everyone standing here has been in this industry far longer than you have—we are your seniors.”

Show some respect? What was he expecting? A deep bow and a formal apology? As I looked them over, the man kept talking.

“Going forward, your introductions need to start with your ‘Class Year’ followed by your name. That is the baseline requirement here.”

He continued to drone on about various petty regulations, none of which had any practical value.

What was the point of this? Had I come to a professional organization or wandered into some pathetic, ego-driven fraternity? I let out a tired sigh and cut him off.

“If your job is to show us the way, then start walking. Save the ‘senior’ lecture for someone who cares.”

My voice lacked even a hint of the deference they felt entitled to, and their expressions soured instantly.

In that moment, I realized exactly how I needed to handle this club.

“Why are you still standing there? Move.”

I began to walk past them with total indifference. Suddenly, the air behind me shifted as a weapon was swung. I spun around to find a shimmering, translucent blade—likely made of enchanted ice—descending toward me. I reached out and clamped my hand around the attacker’s wrist.

“What the—?!”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. I brought my foot down hard on his instep, grabbed his head, and used it as a pivot point to throw his weight off balance.

A sickening snap signaled his ankle giving way, followed immediately by his agonized yell. The entire exchange was over in a heartbeat.

“Honestly, I don’t even enjoy doing this.”

I muttered to myself, turning my gaze toward the other two. They were completely paralyzed with shock.

The script they had written in their heads probably involved me being the one on the ground, not their comrade clutching a shattered ankle.

“I sent you out there to act as guides, not to start a brawl.”

A woman dressed in equestrian gear with a vibrant red ponytail was leaning over the clubhouse balcony, watching the scene with blatant boredom. She held the hose of a hookah, a cloud of white smoke escaping her lips. A shisha pipe sat on a small table next to her.

“Choi Yeoreum.”

Jeong Oh-hoon clearly recognized her. I glanced at him for a brief briefing, and he didn’t disappoint.

“She’s the 3rd ranked hunter.”

“Yeah, she looks the part.”

She possessed an undeniable aura of strength. Choi Yeoreum. The redhead looked down at us, gave a dismissive wave, took another drag from her pipe, and spoke.

“Get inside, kids. Quickly.”

As she inhaled, the water in the pipe bubbled loudly. She blew out a thick plume of smoke, let out a lazy yawn, and propped her chin on her hand for a moment before disappearing back into the building.

The three of us traded looks and then headed through the main entrance.

“The atmosphere here is intense.”

The interior was a gaudy explosion of crimson and gold. Red silk wallpaper with gold embroidery covered the walls, and the ceilings were heavy with massive chandeliers and gilded statues.

There wasn’t a digital clock in sight; instead, towering grandfather clocks lined the halls. Marble staircases spiraled upward around a central stone fountain.

The air was thick with the heavy scent of musky incense. It was an attempt at an antique aesthetic.

However, the vibe didn’t feel like true old-world nobility; it felt more like a stage play of a medieval palace.

“It’s a bit overwhelming, isn’t it?”

“Not particularly,” Han Sang-ah replied to Jeong Oh-hoon’s comment.

“Well, you’re from a billionaire family. What do you think, Chan-seok?”

Me? I had seen this exact kind of posturing many times in the other world. After taking a final look at the decor, I gave my honest assessment.

“It’s too loud. It actually makes the place look cheap.”

The decorations were over-the-top, screaming for attention. It wasn’t elegant or classic; it was a desperate attempt to look sophisticated.

At best, it looked like a child playing dress-up in their parents’ clothes. At worst, it was the home of a nouveau riche merchant trying to buy a personality with gold leaf.

I’d seen this often in the mansions of traders who had purchased their titles with gold rather than earning them through service.

“Even tiger pelts would look out of place in a room this cluttered.”

As we critiqued the room, another person approached us.

“The meeting is ready. Follow me.”

This was the replacement for the man with the broken ankle. We followed him without making a scene.

We were led to a boardroom with a plaque on the door that read “Amber.”

“…”

The room lived up to its name—the walls were entirely paneled in polished, yellowed gemstones. It was a clear imitation of the famous Amber Room from the Catherine Palace.

In the center of this amber-and-gold chamber were several deep red sofas arranged around a low table. Choi Yeoreum was sprawled out on one of them.

“Take a seat.”

She gestured lazily with her hookah mouthpiece. Her voice was thick with the arrogance of someone used to being in charge.

With a single clap of her hands, attendants appeared with refreshments.

Turkish coffee and lokum. Serving Middle Eastern treats in the heart of Korea. As I examined the spread, Choi Yeoreum gave a small, mocking smile and pointed to her pipe.

“If I’m going to enjoy my shisha, the snacks should match the theme.”

Despite the theme, she was still wearing a riding outfit. I took a sip of the coffee—it was incredibly bitter—and followed it with a piece of the jelly, which was cloyingly sweet.

“Join the Wonder Club. I’ll provide your sponsorship. In exchange, you need to stop what you’re doing, effective immediately.”

“Stop what? Are you accusing me of schoolyard bullying?”

Choi Yeoreum let out a sharp snort and locked eyes with me.

“You know exactly what I’m telling you to stop.”

I did. And unlike some empty threat from a school official, her demand carried the weight of someone who had the power to make it stick.

But what would happen if I just said no?

I had zero intention of letting her dictate my life.

I just needed to figure out the most effective way to make my exit.