The Tone-Deaf Healer Kills with a Song

“That’ll be 4,700 won. Oh, please scan your Hunter Pay barcode over there.”

“Thank you.”

“Have a good day.”

Ten years ago, a supermassive gate dubbed ‘Ragnarok’ appeared.

Creatures poured out of it, indiscriminately slaughtering people. Perhaps to counter this threat, individuals with special abilities—the Awakened—emerged.

A story straight out of a modern fantasy novel had become reality. At one writer’s suggestion, the familiar term ‘Hunter’ was adopted.

Ranks were assigned, abilities were classified, and people rushed in to manage the countless gates that sprang up in Ragnarok’s wake.

It took about three years for all that chaos to settle down.

“Don’t you have strawberry flavor?”

“Ah, that’s not available at Hunter Chain. There’s some conflict with the potions, yeah.”

Hunters earned astronomical sums for risking their lives to protect people. Naturally, Awakening became the path of choice for those who could.

Hunter-exclusive websites, stores, apartments, and convenience stores sprang up in clusters, especially in areas where gates frequently appeared. Awakening academies and Hunter prep schools could be found in nearly every other building.

Except for those who chose not to become Hunters for religious reasons, retirement, physical limitations, personal beliefs, or other circumstances.

[No potions in stock today!!]

“Oh, all sold out?”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

In this world, I’m just your average part-timer at a Hunter-specific convenience store.

Hunters are divided into attack, crafting, healing, and other types. Of course, the attack type is overwhelmingly common.

Healers are said to be even rarer than S-rank Hunters. With the salary of an average Hunter, recruiting a dedicated healer—let alone joining a guild—is nearly impossible.

Every Awakened desperately prays for at least one healing skill.

With late Awakenings being so common, at twenty-three, I thought I’d do anything to Awaken and turn my life around.

After paying the monthly emergency loan interest, covering the debt collection for additional loans taken out to pay off debts at home, and covering rent, I was left eating convenience store food to get by.

“No potions.”

“Ah, out again today!”

During the day, I’d mutter curses under my breath as I watched irritated customers stomp out.

Then, the moment I’d been longing for suddenly arrived as I was walking home, having swapped shifts and tidied my half-loosened hair.

A static-filled noise appeared before my eyes, distorting for a moment before a blue window popped up.

The Awakening window I’d only heard about—the one I’d seen others staring at in mid-air, now visible to me.

[Congratulations, ‘Yeom Ye-ah,’ on acquiring your new ability. 

As of today, all of Yeom Ye-ah’s abilities are attributed to the Ragnarok Countermeasures Committee, commonly known as ‘Baldur.’ 

We ask that you comply with a series of contractual terms until the end of Ragnarok.

Hereafter, we disclose Yeom Ye-ah’s abilities.]

It was undoubtedly an Awakening window.

I dropped the bag I was holding.

I didn’t even hear my phone screen shatter. Light scattered in all directions, and just like that, at twenty-three, I became an Awakened.

* * *

“So that’s the story up until now, Ms. Ye-ah. But you haven’t officially registered as a Hunter?”

“While reporting an Awakening is mandatory, registering as a Hunter isn’t. To register, you need to demonstrate your skills in person…”

The interviewer nodded, but his expression remained skeptical.

He glanced up from the Awakened resume I had submitted.

“If you’re in the healer class, you must have received plenty of offers by now. It’s been almost a year since you Awakened, so why haven’t you registered? You seem to be struggling financially, too.”

“That’s… noted in my resume.”

“That’s what I don’t understand. I know each skill has a different activation method. Some require dancing, others involve manipulating their own blood. Needing to sing seems quite normal to me.”

Plus, if it uses your voice, there should be plenty of ways to amplify it. He was making the kind of common-sense remarks anyone would.

Then came the utterly baffling silence.

I knew what was coming next. Really, it was the same sensible question everyone I’d met so far had asked.

“Yes?”

“But…”

He repeated the exact same question.

“Are you serious that you can’t heal because you’re… tone-deaf?”

* * *

“Have you ever scored below 50 points singing your heart out on a karaoke machine?”

“Usually, that’s an error…”

“I have.”

He blinked, seemingly unable to believe my answer.

It was the same reaction my friends had when they asked if you couldn’t score at least that by simply playing the song.

Yeom Ye-ah, twenty-four years old this year. A historically tone-deaf person who makes everyone else look like they’ve made some kind of grave mistake just by picking up a microphone.

“It used to be just, ‘Oh, they’re tone-deaf,’ but now it’s even worse than that.”

“Are you saying you’ve gotten worse at singing over time?”

“It’s not so much that I’ve gotten worse, but people seem increasingly unable to endure my singing.”

I haven’t seen anyone faint yet, but…

In the past, when I sang, people would laugh it off, saying, “Why are you so bad?” During singing evaluations, they’d try to match my pitch, only to sigh, “Oh boy.”

After becoming an adult, I consoled my lonely heart by going to coin karaoke alone.

In other words, I hardly ever had to sing in front of others, but I kept at it, believing my singing skills wouldn’t deteriorate further.

“What happened?”

“Well, people who hear it seem to be in real pain. That’s why I checked several times to see if my skill was actually for attacking.”

“Ah…”

He nodded repeatedly, though it was clear he still couldn’t comprehend. That look in his eyes soon turned to suspicion.

A look that clearly indicated he believed I must be lying about my skill or hiding some flaw in its activation while aiming to join the guild. I had faced countless such looks over the past year.

Now he was going to ask me to demonstrate my skill.

“We’re not doubting you, but we need to verify thoroughly.”

“You want me to activate it here and now, right?”

“Yes.”

He picked up the pen he had been holding and lightly scratched the back of his hand. Looking at the beads of blood forming there, I felt a chill run down my spine.

I had already confirmed that I could heal people with my singing. This was a chance to turn my life around, so a secondary verification was only natural, right?

Typical healing skills only mend wounds created inside gates. For everything else, it’s often more beneficial to drink potions or use other methods.

The fact that he was making me heal such a trivial wound like this felt like an insult.

But what power did I have?

For half a year, I couldn’t even quit my part-time job at the convenience store and could barely afford meals while trying to pay the increased rent on my studio apartment.

“Should I just use it right now?”

“Yes, feel free to use it.”

That look in his eyes was all too familiar—a gaze that suggested he believed I was desperately trying to buy time. Familiarity didn’t make it any easier.

I stood up straight and tensed my stomach muscles. I read somewhere that abdominal breathing could help improve singing.

The song I chose was my go-to number: a rather old trot song, You, My Romantic One. It’s a song hardly anyone knows, but it became my favorite after hearing it at a rest stop when I was young.

“In this world, the one and only! My precious! That man!”

[Skill activation conditions met. Currently reducing forced output to minimize the contractor’s mana consumption outside the Ragnarok domain.]
[Searching for skills matching the current vocal wave output.]
[Activating Mermaid Out of Water! May Baldur’s divinity be with you!]

Heavily distorted sheet music began to appear around me. Musical notes that looked thoroughly beaten up rose and etched themselves in time with my singing.

Each Hunter has their own unique effects like this.

Wouldn’t I have sung my heart out in front of a full-length mirror when I created my own karaoke room at home, seeing this floating around?

The sheet music shook violently back and forth before finally charging toward the interviewer, precisely toward his wound.

“You are my! …Hey! Hey!”

What I saw next was him foaming at the mouth, falling backward, and trembling violently.

The wound on the back of his hand had been cleanly healed in a matter of seconds. But it was evident that something far worse than merely healing had occurred.

I rushed toward him, shouting,

“Hey! Is anyone there? Someone’s collapsed here!”