Episode 29 – Grind Never Ends
Episode 29 – Grind Never Ends
The hallway felt quieter now, though the tension from earlier still lingered like smoke after a fire. Han Jin-woo had stopped walking, his arms resting across the edge of the reinforced guardrail that overlooked the lower section of the Hunter Center's administrative floor. The filtered air around them hummed with recycled mana residue, and the faint glimmer of invisible warding lines blinked overhead like stars embedded into the ceiling tiles. It was quiet, yet the quiet felt dense.
He glanced sideways, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the boy beside him—not with suspicion anymore, not exactly. There was still a flicker of calculation, yes, but now something else had joined it. Curiosity. That quiet itch that came when a man knew he'd seen the surface of something, but not yet the depths.
"Alright," Han Jin-woo said finally, his voice casual but laced with a familiar edge. "Tell me something, kid. Why'd you choose WN Agency?"
His tone wasn't aggressive, but it held weight. The question wasn't thrown out for small talk. He wanted a real answer. Maybe he needed one.
Kim Do-hyun (김도현) didn't answer immediately. His gaze was steady, calm, unflinching. He looked off to the side as if thinking it through, but the way his hand remained inside his jacket pocket showed he had already made up his mind about the answer long before being asked.
After a moment, he turned his head slightly, meeting Han Jin-woo's eyes.
"I read the payout terms," he said, voice low but certain. "Eight-to-two cut. That's better than anything else I've seen."
Han's eyebrows rose slightly, a reaction so small most people would've missed it. But he wasn't surprised at the words. He was surprised at the lack of hesitation.
Then, Han laughed. Not in mockery, not in amusement—but in that dry, tired way that came from too many years hearing the same promises on paper that never survived contact with reality.
"Hah… yeah. Sure," he said under his breath, shaking his head faintly. "Eight-to-two. That's the line on the recruitment poster. Sounds good, doesn't it?"
Do-hyun didn't blink.
Han's eyes drifted back out toward the hallway, his tone dropping just a little.
"They all know there's garbage behind the curtains," he continued, voice tinged with something darker now. "You think the boardroom actually signs off on those cuts without hiding their fingers under the table? That percentage is real, but what they don't print is how much gets subtracted in 'operational costs,' 'gate tax,' and 'risk balancing fees.' Half of it's smoke."
He glanced at Do-hyun again, measuring his expression.
"You still think we're worth it?"
Do-hyun shrugged, but the gesture was deliberate, not dismissive.
"I've seen worse," he said plainly, then added, "At least you're honest about how much lying is going on."
Han stared at him for a second longer, and then—without realizing it—smiled. Just a little.
"Tch... Arigato, I guess," he muttered, not knowing whether to be annoyed or impressed.
Elsewhere…
In a dimly lit gym far from the clinical shine of the Hunter Center, chaos was unfolding in its quietest form.
The gym was old—not falling apart, but well-worn. Rubber mats were peeling at the corners, sweat stains never quite came off the benches, and the industrial fans creaked slightly every time they rotated. And yet, there was a reverent silence settling in the air like a storm cloud waiting to drop. Not a single member dared to make a sound too loud, as if any noise might trigger whatever beast was currently squatting in the far corner under the dim yellow lighting.
Number 2—the clone of Kim Do-hyun—was training.
And he wasn't just lifting weights.
He was punishing them.
The squat bar bent under the load, the plates rattling like they were protesting their own existence. Blood from his torn palms had smeared across the steel shaft of the bar, leaving vivid crimson streaks that looked like ancient battle markings. Veins pulsed like cables under his skin, his calves rigid and carved as if molded from raw wire and stone. Every movement he made was slow and precise, like a machine made for one purpose only.
His breathing was measured but intense, and even the smallest exhale felt like it carried the weight of a full day's grind. He wasn't rushing through reps. He was dominating them. One calculated movement after another, each more painful than the last, but his face didn't show even a flicker of discomfort.
Near the desk, Ma Dong-sik—the gym's head trainer and former D-rank Tanker—was frozen. His thick arms were crossed so tightly they looked like tree trunks knotted together, but his hand was halfway to his mouth, thumb pressed against his teeth as he nervously bit his nail.
"This is already crazy," he muttered to himself, barely audible to the regulars standing behind him. "This guy's legs... what the hell. I've seen monster hunters train in this place before, but nothing like that."
Standing next to him was Nam Tae-joon, the gym's most competitive meathead, who had once declared he'd never be outlifted in his own turf. But right now, Tae-joon looked like a kid who had just watched his hero get bodied on live television. His eyes hadn't blinked in minutes.
"I think he just repped my PR," Tae-joon whispered. "Not matched it. Repped it."
Even Yoo Hye-jin, who usually never cared about anything happening outside her playlist and mirror, had stopped mid-set. Her dumbbells lay forgotten at her feet.
"Isn't that dangerous?" she asked, turning toward Dong-sik. "The guy's palms are literally bleeding through the bandages. He's gonna blow out his knees if he keeps squatting like that."
Dong-sik let out a soundless sigh. "You think I didn't try to stop him?"
"What'd he say?"
"Nothing. I went up to him, right? Told him he was bleeding. Told him to ease up. Asked if he even knew the limits of human physiology. You know what he did?"
She raised an eyebrow.
"He didn't even look at me."
They stared in silence for a moment.
"He just... kept going."
Meanwhile, in the center of it all, Number 2's body finally reached a moment of stillness. He gently set the bar back into the rack, exhaling with a slow hiss. The metal groaned slightly under the weight as it settled. He didn't collapse. He didn't wobble. He simply stepped away from the rack with the steady rhythm of someone following a timetable.
As his boots hit the rubber matting, the rest of the gym exhaled together.
"Finally," someone muttered under their breath. "The lunatic's done."
Number 2 didn't speak. He reached down, retrieved the burner phone tucked into the side pocket of his sweatpants, and activated the screen with a tap.
A single notification.
New Message – From: 0
"Shower. Be out front by 4PM. Don't be late."
It wasn't a system prompt. It was just a text message. No greetings. No extra words. No concern. Just pure instruction from the real Kim Do-hyun.
The clone stared at the message for a second longer before slipping the phone back into his pocket. His footsteps were soft but firm as he walked toward the locker rooms, leaving small crimson footprints trailing behind him.
As he disappeared through the locker room doors, someone whispered from the back, "That wasn't even training. That was war."
Somewhere Else — Slime Field Dungeon
Beneath a murky green sky, inside one of the most disgustingly unpopular dungeons in the lower districts, Kim Do-hyun moved like a man born for the grind.
The terrain around him was an absolute mess. Slime. Just endless, squirming, twitching piles of translucent sludge. Pools of semi-sentient ooze sprawled across uneven, mossy terrain, pulsing with leftover mana energy that hadn't yet dispersed.
Do-hyun's boots sank ankle-deep into the squelching muck with every step. His gloves were soaked, his shirt clung to his back, and the lower half of his pants was practically dyed green from repeated splashes.
He looked miserable.
But his eyes were focused.
In one hand, he gripped a dull-edged mace—basic equipment, barely worth more than scrap, but perfect for smashing soft, squishy targets like the dungeon spawn that surrounded him.
A slime lunged toward him with a wet, gurgling sound. He turned his shoulder, slammed the mace downward, and popped it like a water balloon.
Another squirmed closer from behind. Without looking, he pivoted on his heel and dragged the mace sideways, smashing its gelatinous body straight into the dirt.
He moved slowly, methodically, collecting monster cores in a crude vacuum siphon provided by the agency.
One hand fought. The other collected.
It wasn't pretty. It wasn't heroic. But it was progress.
This was the grind.
And Do-hyun embraced it with every swing.
Author's Note:
What if you had your own clone—one to handle training, one to take all the boring hits, and one to grind for loot in the dirtiest slime-infested dungeons while you just chill and read Webnovel chapters? Sounds like a dream, right?
Until then, your clicks matter. Every vote, comment, gift, or Golden Ticket brings this world to life just a bit more. Unlock Privileges if you're feeling spicy and want to jump ahead of the curve.
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LittleLYTA
Clone #17 is still wrestling slimes. Give him some love.