That evening, all the S-rank hunters of Seoul gathered at a cozy little café. The occasion? A celebration in my honor.
But truth be told, most of them just came to drink.
There were six hunters besides me — the last of us still alive after Death Icon's bloody onslaught.
As I arrived at the café, Minho greeted me warmly at the entrance.
"Finally, you're here. Come on, the others have been waiting."
A cigarette dangled between his fingers. As we stepped inside, he stubbed it out and tossed it into the trash.
My eyes fell on a long table, filled with plates of meat, steaming dishes, and tall mugs of beer. It was the first time all the S-ranks had gathered in weeks.
"Oh, look who it is — Kihyun!" a black-haired woman called out cheerfully. "Come on, sit down and dig in."
"Miss Hwan. Glad to see you safe and sound."
"No need for the formalities."
"We've been waiting just for you," added a broad-shouldered man, no less imposing than Minho. "Grab a seat."
