Fang smirked and leaned over his shoulder. "Bethany Killer. Kinda has a ring to it. They'll love you."
"I am not putting that in a legal document!"
"It's not illegal if they laugh," Anomaly chimed in. "Besides, marketing is everything."
Another glitch, and the form now had fake reviews flashing across it:
"He deleted a girl with his feelings."
— Fang
"Trauma made manifest. Hire him."
— Anomaly
"Unnecessary eye contact."
— Bethany (deceased)
Marcus covered his face with his hands. "This is career suicide."
"Correction," Anomaly said, smugness dialed to 9000, "this is career homicide. You've already made a killer first impression."
Fang let out the most dramatic groan.
"I hate that I laughed."
"Too late," Anomaly replied. "Sending application… now."
With a dramatic, theatrical "WHOOSH", the form vanished into the digital ether.
"I even bypassed their background check security," Anomaly added, "because, surprise—I wrote it."
"You hacked the Hunter Guild too?" Marcus asked.
"I hack reality, Marcus. This is child's play."
Fang snapped his fingers.
"Add 'Bank Fraud Level: God' to your résumé."
"Done," Anomaly said without missing a beat.
Marcus groaned and collapsed face-down into a silk pillow imported from a country he couldn't pronounce.
"Oh look," Fang said, kicking his leg, "our newly unemployed, wanted-in-two-realms 'Bethany Killer' is having a nap. Should I tuck you in, or do I let the existential dread do it?"
"No talking," Marcus mumbled. "Only regret."
The TV pinged one last time.
Application Approved.
Welcome, Marcus. You've been registered as a Hunter Candidate – Special Evaluation Class.
Report to the Seoul Central Hunter Guild HQ in 24 hours.
A beat.
Fang smirked again. "Special Evaluation? Sounds like they're expecting fireworks."
"Good," Anomaly purred, his voice turning low and dangerous. "Because that's exactly what I'm planning."
Marcus stood outside the Seoul Central Hunter Guild, a towering glass structure that looked like a bank, a megachurch, and a luxury gym had a baby raised by capitalism. Above the entrance, a digital banner flickered ominously:
WELCOME TO THE SPECIAL EVALUATION TRACK
No Refunds. No Crying. No Reanimation Requests.
Marcus adjusted the collar of his borrowed (read: conjured) designer coat. "I don't belong here."
Fang leaned beside him, dagger twirling in one hand, a devilish grin stretched across his smug face.
"You belong in a padded cell, but this is close enough."
"Comforting."
"You smell like guilt and body spray. Perfect hunter blend."
Behind them, a sleek black car zipped away, the driver not looking back—probably because the man in the rear seat had glitched into static before disappearing into Marcus' phone.
Anomaly's voice buzzed from Marcus' earpiece.
"Deep breaths. Don't mention Bethany. Don't eat anyone in public. And remember: you're just a normal boy with a perfectly normal skillset."
"You put 'Bethany Killer' on my profile!"
"It was a nickname. You don't have to use it."
"It was in Comic Sans," he groaned.
"Exactly. Lighthearted branding," Anomaly said in a knowing tone.
Marcus groaned, stepping toward the Guild's giant doors. "Just—try not to hack reality while I'm in there, okay?"
"No promises. But I will monitor for spicy individuals."
Fang gave him a dramatic thumbs-up. "Make us proud, Regret McSnackPack."
"I hate you."
"I know."
Inside the Guild…
The main lobby was all polished marble and glowing holograms. Screens floated in the air, showcasing recent raid footage and Hunter stats. Most people were geared in sleek armor, radiating confidence and clearly not dying inside like Marcus.
The front desk lady smiled.
"Name?"
Marcus swallowed.
"Marcus."
She typed, paused, then blinked. "Oh. You're the… Special Candidate."
A few nearby Hunters turned.
"Oh no," Marcus whispered.
One guy raised an eyebrow. "Is that the Bethany Killer?"
Marcus turned to leave.
Fang, from outside the glass wall, held up a sign that said "SMILE FOR THE FANS" in glitter marker.
Anomaly's voice crackled:
"They already printed your badge. Just survive. Maybe impress someone. Or at least don't accidentally consume anyone this time."
"Ugh, I hate my life."
Marcus stood in front of a mirror inside their fancy Seoul apartment—one Anomaly paid for using a probably-illegal magic bank account—trying not to vomit.
He pulled at his shirt collar. "I don't think I can do this."
Behind him, Fang lounged on the couch, flipping through Korean snack wrappers like it was the easiest day in the world.
"Relax," Fang said, mouth full of choco pie. "You've fought monsters. This is just a job interview."
Marcus glared. "Yeah, but monsters don't ask for your five-year plan!"
Anomaly's voice crackled from the TV screen, his avatar dancing smugly.
"You're welcome, by the way. I optimized your application to make you look irresistible."
"You called me 'Battle-Hardened Survivalist With Above-Average Looks.'"
"Am I wrong?" Anomaly asked.
"You also said I once 'wrestled a giant wolf for gym membership privileges.'"
"I spiced it up," Anomaly said, smirking.
Marcus groaned, grabbing his bag. "If I pass out mid-sentence, it's your fault."
Marcus sat in a sleek lobby next to other applicants who looked like they trained by lifting cars. One guy had a greatsword the size of a surfboard. A girl was sharpening throwing knives like she was peeling apples.
Meanwhile, Marcus? Sweating through his nice shirt and quietly trying not to faint.
He whispered to himself, "Normal. Be normal. Say normal things."
Receptionist: "Marcus S? You're up."
He stood. Walked. Almost tripped. Definitely fake-laughed.
Inside the room sat three interviewers: A sharp-eyed woman in a dark blazer, a sleepy guy with glasses and a tablet, and a buff dude with more scars than expressions.
"Good morning," the woman said. "Please have a seat."
Marcus sat down too fast. The chair creaked. He squeaked.
The sleepy guy looked up. "So… Marcus. We've reviewed your application. It's… creative."
She pulled up his file. Marcus saw it reflected in her glasses.
Name: Marcus Smith
Experience: "Freelance Survival Expert & Small-Time Problem Solver."
Skills:
– Moderate Sword Swinging
– Above-Average Running Away
– Conflict Resolution (with Daggers)
– Basic Cooking (Unless Under Pressure)
Personality Traits: "Quiet, Determined, Slightly Unhinged but in a Fun Way"
Quote: "Sometimes I win fights. Sometimes I scream and run. Adaptability!"
Marcus winced. "Look, I didn't write that."
The woman raised a brow. "It says here you were trained by a… 'grumpy demon dagger with trust issues'?"
"…He's real," Marcus muttered.
The buff guy finally spoke. "You say you've never officially joined a guild, but you've 'definitely punched a skeleton.' Can you explain?"
"I was lost in a cave and panicked."
The sleepy one tried to hide a smile. "You listed 'can do taxes' under survival skills."
"That was meant to be a joke, I swear—"
Suddenly, the TV screen in the corner turned on. It was Anomaly's smug cartoon face, waving.
"Hello, dear panel! Just popping in to say this young man is full of potential, mental instability, and light jog endurance! You'd be a fool not to hire him!"
The TV turned off.
Everyone stared.
Marcus covered his face. "I. Am. Going. To. Die."
The woman cleared her throat. "Okay, last question. Why do you want to join this guild?"
Marcus blinked. His brain screamed say something cool! What came out was—
"…because I like… stability? And… lunch breaks?"
There was silence.
Then the sleepy guy burst into laughter.
"You're the weirdest applicant we've had today," he said, grinning. "But also the most honest."
The buff guy nodded. "At least you didn't come in swinging a sword and shouting about honor. I respect that."
The woman tapped her pen. "You'll hear from us soon."
Marcus stood, bowed awkwardly, and walked out—sweating through his back and questioning all his life choices.
Marcus returned to the apartment after the interview.
He collapsed face-first onto the couch.
"I died," he mumbled into the pillow. "I died in there."
Fang walked over with a smug smirk. "So, how'd the 'stable lunch-break seeker' do?"
Marcus didn't move. "I think one of them liked me. I think another might put me on a government watch list."
Anomaly popped up on every screen again.
"Let's see... they marked your status as 'Consider for field trial.' That's practically a yes!"
"ARE YOU SERIOUS?"
"See? My application magic works. You're welcome."
Marcus rolled over and screamed into the couch.