29. Princess Run (4)
Minjun had a few personal principles, and one of the most important was this:
"Chief Secretary, I only do what I can."
The elf bowed deeply, an unusually respectful posture.
"Agent, please. There's no one else we can rely on right now."
She bent nearly at a right angle—completely unlike her usual self. It was obvious just how desperate she was.
It seemed there was no room to hide the situation or beat around the bush. Reporting the warehouse theft had likely earned her a thorough grilling from Jenkinson.
'Come to think of it, she's mellowed out a lot. No one wins against time.'
At least both the elf and the fairy in front of him still had all their limbs intact.
Even so, she was acting as if a bigger mistake could truly put them in danger. They were practically begging Minjun to take on the case, which seemed entangled with the Human Rights League.
"…"
Minjun crossed his arms without replying. Blair, still bent forward in a rigid L-shape, showed no sign of straightening up. Larisa flitted her wings anxiously at her side.
Seeing this, Minjun frowned.
"Even the Elder Dragons, with all their power, haven't managed to capture their leadership. And you want me to wage an all-out war against them?"
"The chairman will handle that personally. We just need you to track down as many traces as possible before he returns to Earth."
"Hmm."
Minjun asked when Jenkinson was expected back.
"At least a week. The dimensional jump terminals have been shut down as of today to prevent suspects from fleeing off-world, but if we sit on our hands until the chairman returns, we'll just give them time to destroy the evidence."
"You shut down the terminals?"
This was news to Minjun. It seemed the information hadn't been released to the media yet. He scratched his chin, contemplating for a moment before speaking.
"You do realize this won't be easy, right?"
The Human Rights League was a global terrorist organization that had burrowed even deeper underground after multiple crackdowns. It now operated in a strict cell structure, making it nearly impossible to track its leadership.
Korea's branch hadn't survived this long because Jenkinson was incompetent. The cost-to-benefit ratio of eliminating it entirely had simply been too high, so efforts had been halted and resumed in cycles.
But this time, they had caused real damage. Jenkinson's stance was bound to be different.
'If I'm going to dig these bastards up, I have to start from absolute zero. Work my way up from the bottom…'
Saying it was impossible, even for him, would be a lie. But it was an incredibly tedious and time-consuming job.
He spoke another one of his principles aloud.
"I only work for what I'm paid."
If the elf started stammering about how she couldn't authorize payment on her own, he was prepared to walk away.
"I understand."
Blair's response was unexpectedly swift and decisive.
"We have a blank check prepared for you. It can be cashed in both Earth currency and talents."
"…?!"
It was clear she had already secured the chairman's approval. This showed just how much Jenkinson trusted Minjun—not just anyone would be given such a free hand in negotiations.
'Damn it, that makes it harder to play hard to get.'
Fine. If they were going this far, he'd properly assess the effort and risk involved, slap on a suitable premium, and bill them accordingly.
Minjun nodded.
"Alright. Let's see what we can dig up."
At that, the elf looked as if she had just been pulled back from the brink of death, and even the fairy's ghostly pale face regained some color.
What they didn't realize was that Minjun had his own reason for accepting. He had already calculated a way to avoid a blind chase.
'If it's harder to find leads the higher up you go, then that means the lower ranks are still traceable. Connecting the dots is up to the investigator's skill.'
Even at the very bottom, traces always remained. And coincidentally, Minjun had recently witnessed something that might serve as a crucial lead.
With the elf and the fairy watching, he made a call.
"Lieutenant! Lieutenant Park Jung-pal! We've got another group of squatting goblins over here!"
The one shouting was a vigilante. The same young man who had questioned Ye Minjun's identity during the bank robbery incident.
Jung-pal had spent the entire day leading three vigilantes on patrol along the outskirts of the orc community. But this wasn't a routine patrol for crime prevention—it was an order handed down from the very top.
The mission was summarized in dozens of official documents. If boiled down to a single phrase, it was this:
Urban beautification.
"Grkk! W-We… here… s-stay… Grk! We're sorry… sorry… Please… forgive us…"
A pungent stench filled the narrow alleyway. A mix of sewage, rotting food, and the unbearable odor of bodies unwashed for months.
"Ugh! Fuck, these filthy bastards!"
"S-Sorry… sorry…!"
Turning the corner, they found over thirty goblins huddled together in makeshift shelters.
This alley was the most run-down part of the orc community, a place where the homeless congregated. Despite the name, it wasn't exclusively home to orcs. It was synonymous with slums, crime-ridden zones, and no-go areas—where the dregs of society, regardless of race, gathered.
"Grkk… Grkk!"
Knowing they were dealing with law enforcement—or perhaps due to habits ingrained from long years of street life—the goblins immediately fell to their knees, trembling and begging for forgiveness.
A vigilante raised his arm in irritation, gesturing toward a parked bus.
"Get up already! See that bus? Get on it!"
"S-Sorry… sorry…"
"You fucking idiots!"
Just as the vigilante was about to swing his baton—
"What the hell are you doing?"
Jung-pal's cold voice cut through the tension, making the vigilante flinch. He muttered in weak protest.
"I mean, these morons won't listen…"
Jung-pal let out a deep sigh. It had been a long, exhausting day.
"Get up. Let's walk together."
Supporting one of the crouching goblins by the shoulder, he thought to himself: What the hell are we even doing here?
He tried to keep his voice as calm as possible.
"No one's going to hurt you. There's nothing to be afraid of. Just get on that bus, go to the shelter, get a free meal, wash up, sleep in a warm place for a few days. Then you can come back."
The goblin whimpered in confusion.
"Ah… Aah?"
In truth, that last part was the most important.
After spending a few days in the detention camp, the state would send the homeless back to the streets. Budget constraints were real.
The reason the government, which normally ignored the slums, had suddenly taken an interest in "cleaning up" the area was to prepare for Princess Vermi's upcoming tour of Seoul and her official meetings.
Even though the probability of her setting foot anywhere near this place was zero, the government reacted hysterically, preparing a curfew.
The biggest obstacle to its execution? The homeless, who had no roof over their heads to hide under in self-restraint. The government, deeming the possibility of them being exposed to foreign media a disgrace, planned to isolate them until the princess's official schedule was over.
That was why Jeongpal and the militia were roaming the slums.
"Yesterday, they restricted traffic for 40 kilometers from the terminal to the hotel... Now it's getting worse."
After loading all the goblins onto the bus, they started moving to the next location. A militia member sitting next to an orc muttered irritably.
"Aren't they really just a 'mistake'?"
Jeongpal silently stared at the young man. A look that said, "Are you about to misspeak in front of me again?" But the militia member continued unabashed.
"I mean, honestly, all the other races... Hmm, how should I put this? They're dumb as rocks, so it's hard to think of the right words. They have roles? Contribute? Fulfill a purpose? Yeah, a purpose. They all serve some kind of purpose."
At least he must have paid attention in elementary school—his argument was lifted straight from a textbook at that level.
"Elves teach magic, orcs boost population, trolls heal the sick, dwarves make luxury handbags… Okay, that last one is completely useless to me."
After grumbling, he spoke as if justifying himself.
"But those damn goblins are absolutely useless. The ones who get scammed onto deep-sea fishing boats or work as salt field slaves, fine, whatever… But the rest? You can't use them for anything, right? I mean, even for idiots, they're just too damn dumb."
Jeongpal was well aware that many young people referred to goblins as the "Committee's mistake." For those who hadn't lived through the old times, such a perspective might even seem natural.
He gestured for the young man to lower his voice and calmly replied,
"It wasn't always like this."
Goblins, accustomed to underground living, had instincts perfectly suited for mining. In the early days of immigration, there was high demand for them as coal miners—because, naturally, coal mining accounted for the majority of underground industry.
The problem arose after the Seventh Mass Immigration, when magic stones became widespread, causing the coal market to collapse.
Following their instincts, thousands of goblins had clustered around mines, living communally and raising children together. But with the mines gone, they lost their jobs, homes, and communities, forced to wander the streets. Outside of mining, they rarely excelled in any other profession.
The Committee must have seen this outcome coming. And yet, during the arduous negotiations of the Seventh Immigration deal, they had ultimately thrown in magic stones. It was no surprise that rumors spread about the Committee effectively abandoning the goblins.
To their race, the Committee was both a savior that had rescued them from their original dimension and the very force that had driven them into ruin on Earth. The most tragic part? Most goblins lived without even realizing this truth.
"Krrk... Krrk!"
Jeongpal glanced back.
The homeless on the bus were trembling with unease, carefully watching their surroundings. Among them, there were no teenagers or children. A distinct contrast from the homeless of other races—like orcs, who still had children even while living in tents.
"Goblin women temporarily become infertile when they sense environmental instability."
The result? The total fertility rate of modern goblins: 0.3 children per woman.
Scholars predicted that without additional immigration, goblins would be functionally extinct on Earth within five generations. And the cause wasn't war, famine, or extreme climate change.
It was something unprecedented in history: social extinction. A species driven to extreme population decline simply because they couldn't adapt to the changing socioeconomic landscape.
And some people were quietly waiting for that day to come.
Beep-beep-beep!
Jeongpal's phone rang.
"Hm?"
Seeing the caller ID, he answered immediately.
"Yes, hyungnim."
The caller was Minjun. His voice came through the receiver.
"Jeongpal, you busy?"
"Just enough to take this call. What's up, hyungnim?"
"What are you doing right now?"
"Street cleaning."
"Huh?"
After hearing the context, Minjun let out a deep sigh.
"...The government really pulls all sorts of shit. Listen, sorry to bother you, but I need you to check something. Remember when we visited the orc community? The day we caught that Society bastard?"
"Yeah."
That day, while tracking warp traces from Jang Taejun's house, they had ended up in Jeongpal's jurisdiction—the slums.
"You remember that thug we met at the playground? The biggest guy in the group? I can't quite recall his name… Was it Gang Gamchan?"
Jeongpal quickly realized who he was talking about.
"Ah, you mean Kim Yushin?"
A young man in his twenties, spending his time smoking at the playground, his head shaved and covered in tattoos.
But then Jeongpal's expression hardened.
"Why are you looking for him, hyungnim? Did he get into some serious trouble?"
It was unusual for an immigration officer to take interest in an orc. Sensing the concern in Jeongpal's voice, Minjun quickly reassured him.
"No, it's not that. It's about his tattoo."
That tattoo had caught Minjun's eyes the moment he first saw it.
But it wasn't because of its bold placement or unusual colors.
"Has anyone ever mentioned it? Either in the police department or among the orcs?"
"Huh? The tattoo? I just thought it was unique, but... Why, what about it?"
"Yeah… If nobody noticed, that explains why he's been walking around with it so casually. The one who inked him must have known exactly what they were doing."
"?"
"Can you call him and ask where he got it?"
"Alright, will do."
Jeongpal was about to hang up but hesitated.
"Wait… What does the tattoo mean?"
Something told him he needed to ask.
Minjun paused for a moment, then replied.
"...He definitely didn't understand what he picked. The tattoo artist must have nudged him toward it. Hardly anyone on Earth can read it nowadays. Even a dragon probably wouldn't recognize it. When I looked at it closely, it was a poorly constructed phrase, like someone forced it together using a dictionary—completely butchered the grammar."
"Huh? So it's not just a design? It's actual writing? What does it say?"
Moments later, after hearing Minjun's answer, the orc's face twisted into something monstrous.