The grand assembly hall at the World Hunter Association's headquarters pulsed with an almost palpable energy. Sunlight streamed through the enormous, reinforced windows, illuminating motes of dust dancing in the air above the polished mahogany table that dominated the room. Around it sat the branch heads, each representing a continent, a nation, an empire of trained hunters. They were figures of immense authority, their faces etched with the experience of battling monstrous threats in the darkest corners of the world. Yet, today, a palpable tension hung in the air, thicker than any monster's stench. The weight of the impending decision pressed down on them, a silent burden shared by all.
At the head of the table, CEO Elias Thorne stood like a granite sentinel. His tailored suit, impeccably cut, did little to soften the hard lines of his face. His jaw was firm, his eyes, sharp and calculating, swept across the assembled faces, gauging their reactions, measuring their resolve. He was a master strategist, a seasoned politician, and above all, a pragmatist. He understood the delicate balance of power that held the world together, and he wouldn't let sentimentality jeopardize it.
"Esteemed colleagues," he began, his voice a resonant baritone that commanded attention, silencing the hushed whispers that had filled the room. "We are gathered here today to address a matter of critical importance, a situation that threatens the delicate balance of our world, a situation that demands our immediate and decisive action."
He paused, allowing his words to sink in, letting the weight of his pronouncement settle upon them. He then proceeded to outline the details of Kang Min-ah's F-rank aptitude test – the disastrous anomaly, the statistical impossibility, the potential catastrophe. He detailed the Korean branch's subsequent proposal, carefully choosing his words, sanitizing the harsh reality of the situation with diplomatic language.
A hushed silence followed his words, the branch heads absorbing the gravity of the situation, their faces masks of carefully controlled emotion. The implications were staggering. The Kang family, one of the founding families of the World Hunter Association, their lineage steeped in generations of powerful hunters, a pillar of stability in the East, had produced an F-rank hunter. It was not merely a disappointment; it was a crack in the foundation.
"This is… unprecedented," the head of the British branch, Lord Alistair Beaumont, remarked, his voice laced with a mixture of disbelief and concern. A distinguished gentleman with silver hair and piercing blue eyes, Alistair exuded an air of old-world authority. "The Kang family… F-rank… it's unthinkable. The ramifications, should this become public, would be… catastrophic."
"Indeed," nodded Frau Schmidt, the head of the German branch, her voice sharp and precise. "The market stability alone will be affected. Stocks of the top potions manufacturers will plummet if the public loses confidence in the Hunter Association."
"The Korean branch proposes a solution," Thorne continued, his voice steady, his gaze unwavering. "The adoption of an S-rank orphan, carefully vetted and raised to embody the Kang family values, and the… discreet removal of Kang Min-ah from the public eye."
A wave of murmurs swept through the hall, the branch heads exchanging uneasy glances. The proposal was audacious, a gamble of epic proportions. It reeked of manipulation, of cold calculation. It was a betrayal of fundamental ethics, a blatant disregard for individual rights. Yet, it also offered a solution, a way to avert a potential crisis, to maintain the status quo.
"Removal?" questioned Jacques Dubois, the head of the French branch, his voice tinged with skepticism. "Are we speaking of… elimination?"
Thorne met his gaze, unflinching. "The method is at the discretion of the Korean branch," he stated, his voice carefully devoid of emotion. "Our concern is the preservation of the Kang family legacy and the stability of our organization."
"But…an S-Rank orphan?" continued Jacques, looking confused, "They will be easily identified."
Lord Beaumont cleared his throat. "The Kang Family are well known, no one can replicate their abilities."
"I understand your concerns," Thorne said, his voice firm, brooking no further dissent. "But we must consider the bigger picture. The Kang family's strength, their influence, is vital to our global stability. We cannot allow their reputation to be tarnished, not when so much is at stake."
He spoke of the upcoming surge of monsters, predicted by the ancient prophecies, the growing unrest among the lower-ranked hunters, the increasing dependence on the Kang family's unique abilities to contain the most dangerous threats. He painted a grim picture, a world teetering on the brink of chaos, a world that only the World Hunter Association, with the support of the great families, could hope to save.
He then called for a vote, each branch head casting their decision electronically. The atmosphere in the room grew thick with anticipation as the holographic display on the wall flickered to life, tallying the results. The faces of the branch heads, illuminated by the blue glow of the screen, were etched with anxiety, each keenly aware of the weight of their decision.
The numbers crawled across the screen, slowly, agonizingly, until finally, the results flashed: a majority vote in favor of the Korean branch's proposal. A collective sigh swept through the room, a mixture of relief and resignation. The decision had been made, the die had been cast.
Thorne nodded, his expression resolute. "The decision has been made," he declared. "We will proceed with the plan. The Korean branch will be given our full support and cooperation."
He then turned his attention to a separate, secure communication channel, a shielded network that bypassed all external systems. "Connect me with the heads of the ten great families," he instructed his aide, a young woman with a sharp mind and unwavering loyalty.
Within moments, the faces of the family heads flickered to life on a series of screens lining the wall.
"Esteemed colleagues," Thorne began, addressing the assembled family heads, his voice respectful yet firm. "I have called you here today to discuss a matter of great importance, a situation that concerns one of our own, a situation that, if left unchecked, could have far-reaching consequences for us all."
He proceeded to explain the situation with the Kang family, carefully emphasizing the potential damage to their collective reputation, the disruption to the established order, the weakening of the hunter network. He presented the Korean branch's proposal, framing it as a necessary measure to protect the Kang family's legacy, to ensure the continued stability of the world, to safeguard the future of humanity.
The family heads listened intently, their expressions unreadable, their thoughts concealed behind centuries of tradition and ingrained stoicism. They were masters of manipulation, experts at the subtle art of political maneuvering. They understood the game, the delicate dance of power, and they were not easily swayed.
When Thorne finished speaking, a heavy silence filled the virtual chamber, broken only by the hum of the communication system. The air crackled with unspoken tension, with the anticipation of their response. The fate of the Kang family, and perhaps the world, hung in the balance.
Finally, one patriarch spoke, his voice measured, his tone carefully neutral. "This is a Kang family matter," he said, his words echoing through the virtual chamber. "We will not interfere."
The other family heads echoed his sentiment, their responses a chorus of non-interference, a symphony of carefully worded neutrality. They acknowledged the situation, they expressed their concern, but they refused to take sides, to express either approval or disapproval. They would not risk upsetting the delicate balance of power, they would not meddle in the affairs of another family, they would not involve themselves in a potentially messy and dangerous situation.
Thorne, anticipating this reaction, nodded curtly, his disappointment barely concealed. He had hoped for a stronger show of support, for a unified front against the looming crisis. But he understood the nature of power, the inherent selfishness of the great families, their reluctance to risk their own positions for the sake of another.
"Very well," he said, his voice firm, masking his frustration. "I understand your position. However, the World Hunter Association cannot stand idly by while one of our founding families faces such a crisis. We have a responsibility to act, to protect the interests of our organization, to safeguard the future of humanity."
"Connect me with Kang Dae-hyun," he instructed, his voice devoid of emotion.
The screen flickered once more, and the imposing figure of Kang Dae-hyun materialized, his face a mask of stoic indifference, his eyes burning with an inner fire. He was a man of immense power, a legend in the hunter community, the head of the Kang family. He was also a man of unwavering pride, fiercely protective of his family's honor, and deeply suspicious of outsiders.
The stage was set for a confrontation, a clash between the individual power of a family and the collective will of the world's hunter organization. The stakes were high, the potential consequences dire. The fate of Kang Min-ah, the future of the Kang family, and perhaps the stability of the world, hung in the balance.
"Kang Dae-hyun," Thorne began, his voice formal, his tone respectful. "We have much to discuss."