It didn't take much to find her again.
The bakery lights were off this time, a soft hum from the back room the only sign it was still open for prep. Harin stood across the street, leaned against the same concrete post, one hand in her jacket pocket, the other holding a half-eaten egg bun she clearly didn't plan to share.
"Did you follow me?" Taesung asked, stopping a few steps away.
She didn't answer immediately, just took another bite.
"I knew you'd come," she said, mouth half-full.
"You said I had three days."
"That was yesterday."
"So I have two."
She smiled. "You're learning."
He didn't smile back.
He wasn't in the mood for games.
Harin must've noticed, because the teasing edge in her voice softened.
"You're nervous."
"No," he said too quickly, then added, "...yeah."
"Good."
"Good?"
"Means you're not stupid."
He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "I thought you were going to show me the rift."
"I am," she said. "Tomorrow."
"Then why?"
"Tonight," she said, pushing off the wall, "you're going to learn something else."
The café she picked wasn't fancy. Second floor, one working heater, and the kind of chairs that made your back hurt if you stayed longer than an hour. But it was quiet. Warm. Smelled faintly of cinnamon and old coffee grounds.
They sat by the window.
She didn't order anything. Neither did he.
"You think it's just about the fight," she said, arms crossed. "The monsters, the risk, the excitement."
"I don't," Taesung said. "I haven't even"
She raised a hand. "I mean people like you. The ones who haven't been in yet."
He didn't answer.
She continued.
"You see the news. You think Hunters are ranked, licensed, paid, tracked. You think it's a system. Clean. Regulated."
He nodded slowly. "Isn't it?"
She leaned back, expression unreadable. "Yes. On paper."
"And off paper?"
"That's what you need to know before you go anywhere near a rift."
He waited.
She didn't hesitate.
"There are rules," she said. "Some real. Some unspoken. You break the wrong one and you're done—system or not."
He sat up a little straighter.
For the next hour, Harin laid it all out.
"First rule."
She held up a single finger.
"Never enter a rift alone. Ever."
Taesung blinked. "But some people"
"Pros. Veterans. And even they don't always make it out. Doesn't matter if it's a low-tier or minor breach. Solo gets you killed."
He nodded slowly. "Got it."
"Second rule," she continued. "Watch the chain."
"The what?"
"The Rank chain. Everyone higher than you can override your orders, if they want. Doesn't matter if you're right. Doesn't matter if they're reckless. You speak up too loud, and they drop you from the raid—or worse."
"Worse how?"
"Guilds talk. Word gets around. You get blacklisted from entry squads. No one wants a disobedient rookie."
He frowned. "So just follow orders even if they're wrong?"
"Depends," she said. "On how much you want to live. And how much you trust the people giving them."
"Third rule."
"No one cares about your potential."
Taesung blinked. "That's not a rule."
"It is," Harin said flatly. "It's just the cruel kind. You think the world's waiting for some hidden prodigy to shine? It's not. You're a C. That's what they see."
"But what if—"
"They'll still see a C," she said, cutting him off. "Even if you save a whole team. Even if you bleed for them. It takes years to change that kind of stain."
He didn't respond. Just looked out the window, where the rain had returned, gentler this time.
"Don't chase respect," she said. "Earn safety. Build consistency. Let your record speak before your mouth does."
"Fourth rule: loot is politics."
He raised an eyebrow. "I thought loot was split by guild rules."
She scoffed. "Officially, yeah. But there's always grey areas. Who gets the core? Who tagged the kill? Who was support, who was front?"
"So it's negotiable?"
"It's negotiable the way bribes are negotiable."
He winced.
"Stick with people you trust," she said. "And never reach for more than your share. That's how people end up 'missing' mid-raid."
"You're kidding."
"I'm not."
He looked at her. "You've seen it?"
She didn't answer.
"Fifth rule."
"Monsters aren't the only threat."
This one she said quieter. Slower.
Taesung tensed. "You mean guild politics?"
"I mean people," she said. "Not all of them. But enough. Some of them… they like the blood. Like what it feels like to kill. And in a rift, when the rules blur—"
She let the silence finish the sentence.
Taesung swallowed.
"You stay alert," she said. "Even after the rift closes. Especially after."
He let the rules settle.
They weren't what he expected.
He thought she'd talk about formations, or gear loadouts, or how to check for fracture lines near spawns.
But these were the real rules.
The ones they didn't teach.
The ones you learned from surviving.
"You still want to see it?" she asked finally.
He didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
They stepped out into the night.
The rain had stopped again.
The air smelled like wet asphalt and burnt chestnuts from a vendor down the block.
"You won't go inside," she said. "Not this time. But when you see it, you'll understand why people do."
He glanced at her. "You make it sound addictive."
"It is," she said. "Not the danger. The feeling. Like standing at the edge of a world that isn't yours. Like maybe you could belong to something bigger, even if just for a moment."
Taesung didn't say anything.
Because deep down, he already knew what she meant.
Not from experience.
But from longing.
From the quiet ache that had followed him since the day of his evaluation.
From the thing inside him that kept waiting.
And tomorrow, maybe it would get a little closer to waking up.