Han Joon-seok woke up to the sound of something hitting his forehead.
Soft.Light.Annoying.
"…Oi."
He opened one eye.
A folded towel bounced off his face and slid down onto his chest.
"Wake up," Han Se-rin's voice said from the doorway. "You're going to be late."
Joon-seok groaned and rolled onto his side. "You say that every morning."
"And every morning, you're late."
"I'm efficiently timed."
"You're unemployed."
"Temporarily unaffiliated," he corrected, eyes still closed.
There was a pause.
Then Se-rin walked over and flicked his forehead.
Harder.
Joon-seok sat up immediately. "Violence against support types is frowned upon."
"You're not deployed," she said flatly. "You're my brother. Get dressed."
He squinted at her. "You're unusually energetic."
"I'm in a good mood."
"That's suspicious."
She smiled.
That was more suspicious.
Breakfast was… loud.
Not because of shouting, but because Se-rin had decided to cook.
Which meant explosions were possible.
Joon-seok sat at the table, calmly eating cereal, while the kitchen behind him sounded like a low-grade dungeon break.
"You know," he said casually, "most people hire help."
"I don't trust strangers in my kitchen."
"You trust me."
"You don't cook."
"That hurts."
"That's survival."
She set a plate down in front of him with unnecessary force. Eggs. Rice. Soup.
Perfectly cooked.
Joon-seok blinked. "…You practiced."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You're planning something."
Se-rin sat across from him. "You're going to White Fang's main operation today."
He paused mid-bite. "I thought I was still auxiliary."
"You are."
"That sounded like a 'but.'"
"It's a larger gate. Mixed ranks. Association oversight."
"…That's not auxiliary."
"That's political insulation."
Joon-seok sighed. "I knew being unremarkable wouldn't last."
She studied him. "You can still back out."
"No," he said calmly. "I shouldn't."
That answer surprised her.
She didn't comment.
White Fang's main operation hub was a different beast entirely.
If the training center was controlled chaos, this place was organized pressure.
Hunters moved with purpose. Screens tracked dungeon stability. Logistics teams coordinated gear and rotations. The air itself felt tighter, heavier.
Joon-seok stepped inside and immediately felt eyes on him.
Not hostility.
Assessment.
"Is that him?"
"The E-rank?"
"Why is he here?"
"He's walking like he belongs."
"That's the scary part."
Joon-seok ignored all of it.
He had learned that the fastest way to escalate attention was to acknowledge it.
Instead, he followed Se-rin to the briefing room.
Inside, several people paused mid-conversation.
An A-rank tank.Two veteran supports.A strategist with Association credentials.
And one man Joon-seok didn't recognize.
Older. Calm. Sharp eyes.
The man looked at him.
Then smiled faintly.
"Ah," he said. "So you're the quiet one."
Joon-seok inclined his head. "I try."
"That's already too much," the man replied.
Se-rin took a seat. "This is Director Park. Association liaison."
Joon-seok bowed politely.
Director Park observed him for a moment longer than necessary.
"…Interesting," he murmured.
Joon-seok pretended not to hear.
The briefing began.
Mid-tier dungeon.Unstable mana fluctuations.Recent abnormal readings.
Standard on paper.
Less so in reality.
"We've cleared similar gates," the strategist said, tapping the screen. "But the fluctuation pattern is irregular."
"So?" the tank asked.
"So something inside is interfering."
Joon-seok's gaze lingered on the graph.
The rise and fall weren't random.
They were reactive.
He didn't say anything.
Yet.
They entered the dungeon an hour later.
The environment was immediately wrong.
Too quiet.Too still.
Joon-seok activated his skill at minimal output.
Skill Activated
The thread connected.
And something tugged back.
He stiffened.
That was new.
Not hostile.
Not friendly.
Aware.
"…Interesting," he whispered.
"What?" Se-rin asked sharply.
"Nothing," he said quickly. "Just… keep formation tighter."
She did.
Because she trusted him.
Which made the weight on his chest heavier.
They advanced.
Monsters appeared—but not aggressively.
They circled.
Observed.
Adjusted.
"Why aren't they attacking?" someone muttered.
Joon-seok felt it again.
That pull.
Not from a person.
From the dungeon itself.
"…We're being tested," he said quietly.
Director Park glanced at him. "By what?"
Joon-seok hesitated.
"I don't know."
That was the worst answer in the room.
The mistake happened ten minutes later.
Small.
Almost invisible.
A support misjudged timing.A formation gap widened.A spike of mana surged—
And the dungeon reacted.
The floor collapsed.
Chaos followed.
Joon-seok's heart slammed.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
This wasn't a pattern he recognized.
"Se-rin!" he shouted.
She moved instantly.
Too fast.
Too far.
For the first time since awakening, Joon-seok felt fear—not for himself.
But for the fact that he hadn't seen it coming.
The collapse didn't roar.
It whispered.
Stone folded inward like wet paper. Mana surged—not violently, but with a cold, deliberate intent. The kind that didn't explode… but waited.
"Formation break!" someone shouted.
Too late.
Joon-seok felt the thread strain.
For the first time since awakening, it wasn't just relaying information.
It was resisting him.
His breath caught.
That's not a monster.
The dungeon floor split, revealing a hollow chamber below. Hunters scrambled, grappling hooks firing, barriers flashing into existence.
Se-rin landed first.
Clean. Controlled. Furious.
"Status!" she barked.
"No fatalities!""Two injured!""Support's down—no, recovered!"
Joon-seok hit the ground hard, rolled, and came up coughing dust.
His heart hammered.
This wasn't chaos.
This was response.
The dungeon reacted to them.
Joon-seok's eyes darted across the chamber.
Walls pulsed faintly. Mana flowed like veins beneath translucent stone. The monsters that emerged weren't charging.
They were positioning.
"…They're adapting," he muttered.
Director Park heard him.
"Say that again."
"They're not guarding territory," Joon-seok said, voice tight. "They're studying us."
The A-rank tank cursed. "Dungeons don't do that."
Joon-seok swallowed.
"I think this one does."
A creature moved.
Not large.
Not flashy.
But when it struck, it did so after a hunter acted—always a fraction of a second later.
Countering.
Learning.
Joon-seok's skill flared instinctively.
Skill Output Increased (Unintentional)
Pain lanced through his temples.
Information flooded in—not clean, not organized.
Movement patterns.Mana flow.Intent.
And something else.
Awareness.
The dungeon wasn't just observing them.
It was observing him.
Joon-seok staggered.
"Joon-seok!" Se-rin snapped.
"I'm fine," he lied.
He wasn't.
Comedy, unfortunately, arrived at the worst possible time.
"Support!" a B-ranker yelled while blocking a strike. "Do the thing!"
"…What thing?"
"The thing where everything goes better!"
Joon-seok nearly laughed hysterically.
"I don't have a button for that!"
"Well, find one!"
Another monster lunged.
Se-rin cleaved it in half mid-air, glare sharp enough to kill.
"Focus!" she shouted. "This isn't training!"
I know, Joon-seok thought desperately. That's the problem.
He forced himself to breathe.
The thread stabilized slightly.
The pain eased.
And then he realized something terrifying.
The dungeon wasn't reacting to their strength.
It was reacting to coordination.
Every time his skill subtly aligned the team, the dungeon adjusted.
Not faster.
Smarter.
"…It's me," he whispered.
Director Park heard that too.
"What?"
"My skill," Joon-seok said, voice steady despite the shaking in his hands. "It's teaching the dungeon how we function."
Silence.
That landed harder than any monster.
Se-rin turned slowly.
Her eyes locked onto him.
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
"Can you stop?"
Joon-seok hesitated.
He had never fully disengaged mid-operation.
"I… think so."
She didn't hesitate.
"Do it."
He cut output to the bare minimum.
The thread thinned.
The dungeon hesitated.
Monsters became clumsier. Attacks lost precision.
The team breathed.
For exactly three seconds.
Then something changed.
The dungeon stopped reacting.
It acted.
A massive surge rippled through the chamber, warping terrain, forcing hunters to scatter.
"This wasn't the plan!" someone yelled.
"There was no plan!" someone else shouted back.
Joon-seok's knees buckled.
He realized the truth too late.
By stopping, he hadn't blinded the dungeon.
He had confirmed his importance.
"…I messed up," he said quietly.
Se-rin was suddenly in front of him.
Close enough that he could see the tension in her jaw.
"You're alive," she said. "That means we adapt."
Her hand gripped his shoulder.
Hard.
"You trust me?"
He nodded.
"Good," she said. "Because I'm about to do something stupid."
"That's usually my line."
She smirked.
Then she stepped forward.
Se-rin went all out.
Not recklessly.
Decisively.
Her aura flared, overwhelming, S-rank pressure flooding the chamber.
The dungeon reacted violently.
Cracks spiderwebbed across the walls.
Monsters surged.
And in that chaos—
Joon-seok saw it.
A rhythm.
The dungeon prioritized Se-rin.
Always her first.
Always adjusting around her presence.
His mind clicked.
You don't learn from noise.
You learn from focus.
"Director Park!" Joon-seok shouted.
"What?!"
"It can't track everything at once!" Joon-seok said. "It chooses the biggest threat!"
Park stared.
"…You want to use your sister as bait?"
Se-rin laughed mid-swing. "I like him."
Joon-seok swallowed.
"Not bait," he said. "A blindfold."
He reactivated his skill.
Not on the team.
On Se-rin.
Minimal.
Precise.
For the first time, the thread locked onto her completely.
The feedback nearly knocked him unconscious.
But he held on.
The dungeon overloaded.
Mana spiked erratically.
Monsters faltered.
Se-rin moved like a storm given form, her presence overwhelming the dungeon's ability to adapt.
The team pushed through.
Clean. Focused.
The exit stabilized.
"Now!" Se-rin roared.
They ran.
The gate collapsed behind them with a sound like a door slamming shut.
Silence.
Then breathing.
Then laughter.
The hysterical kind.
Joon-seok collapsed onto his back, staring at the ceiling.
"…I hate dungeons," he muttered.
Se-rin dropped beside him, chest heaving.
"You did good."
"I almost got you killed."
She elbowed him. "Try harder next time."
He snorted weakly.
Director Park stood over them, expression unreadable.
"Han Joon-seok."
"Yes?"
"You are officially a headache."
Joon-seok smiled faintly. "I get that a lot."
Park exhaled slowly.
"…We'll be talking again."
"I figured."
Later, as medics worked and reports were filed, Se-rin sat beside her brother.
"You felt it, didn't you?" she asked quietly.
"Yes."
"You didn't tell me everything."
"No."
She didn't push.
She only said, "Next time, tell me sooner."
He nodded.
That night, alone, Joon-seok stared at his system interface.
His skill description flickered.
Expanded.
Changed.
Not upgraded.
Clarified.
He swallowed.
"…So that's what you are."
A support.
An observer.
And something dungeons could learn from.
That wasn't comforting.
Not at all.