Chapter 2
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: Vagabond Returns
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I opened my eyes again, and a completely different scene unfolded before me than just moments ago.
I was standing on a spacious dueling arena about 1,000 square meters in size. The spectator seats surrounding it were half-filled with fresh-faced students, while the other half were occupied by scouts from various sects and corporations here to spot promising talents.
LED floodlights were installed all over the ceiling looming above the stands.
At first glance, it looked like some grand sports stadium, but I could tell this was a school's training arena.
My alma mater, the Korean Martial Arts Genius Academy, which I'd graduated from over ten years ago.
"And today..."
Was undoubtedly the day of the first class assignment duels.
The day that had crushed my inflated shoulders to the ground after I'd gotten all puffed up about enrolling in the prestigious Korean Martial Arts Genius Academy.
Out of my three years there—over a thousand high school days by rough count—this was the one day I remembered crystal clear, and for a simple reason.
Standing at the opposite end of the vast arena, cracking his knuckles with an indifferent expression, was an opponent whose face was all too familiar to me.
"Baek Chan...?"
Waaaaah—!
The deafening cheers—on par with a Lion Roar, coming from martial arts trainees—rang out as if Baek Chan couldn't even hear them. He muttered in a bored tone,
"If you're gonna forfeit, do it now. I wanna wrap this up quick and get down."
Even that arrogant line, hammered into my brain like a stake for over a decade and refusing to fade, was identical to the Baek Chan from that day.
And I'd faced this exact situation plenty of times before.
In my dreams, that is.
So was this all just a dream now too? Some hallucination cooked up by hormones from my dying brain?
Was Son Ha-rin, who appeared out of nowhere babbling nonsense, part of that illusion too? What kind of deathbed fantasy features a high school classmate I hadn't spoken to in years instead of a crush? It was ridiculous.
"...Are you really seventeen?"
Instead of accepting Baek Chan's forfeit suggestion, I asked the question I'd wanted to throw at him all those years ago on this very day.
My growth spurt had come late—I'd even gained a couple centimeters as an adult—so as a freshman at the Korean Martial Arts Genius Academy, I was a bit shorter than the other boys my age. Even accounting for that, Baek Chan's height was ridiculously massive.
He towered over me by at least two head lengths, and that telephone pole of a body was packed with savage muscles that strained against his uniform shirt. His weight had to be two or three times mine.
It was like watching a cartoonist who only drew buff middle-aged guys scribble a thug and insist it was a high schooler.
Beyond that hulking frame, one other standout fact: his father was Baek Kang-mu, one of Korea's top five masters and tycoons, chairman of Tae-san Group.
In other words, a third-generation chaebol heir. Born with a silver spoon that made my parentless start in life look like poverty incarnate.
And martial arts is an expensive pursuit. You need money for top-tier techniques and rare elixirs. Baek Chan had parents with wealth to spare on both.
I, with nothing but my body and an overinflated sense of my own talent, had the bad luck to draw this top-tier peer in my cohort. And I got crushed.
I knew exactly why I'd lost.
The duel video some paparazzi snuck into the stands and uploaded to YouTube—I'd watched it dozens, hundreds of times, frame by frame.
Not me as the star, of course. Baek Chan. Titled something like "Chaebol Heir's Dazzling Martial Debut." Or whatever.
Anyway, my past self's defeat boiled down to this:
Baek Chan's exclusive arts from Baek Kang-mu were god-tier compared to my third-rate stuff. He'd gorged on premium elixirs like candy, building far more inner energy in his dantian than I had. And on top of that, his absurd physical specs were innate.
Background, skill, talent—I didn't have a single edge.
This fight, which shattered my cocky confidence and planted the first seeds of doubt in my abilities, had lingered like a trauma, tormenting me for years.
I dreamed of it constantly... and lost every time. Even after I'd surpassed seventeen-year-old Baek Chan as a master in my dreams.
"Wonder if today's any different."
My wandering thoughts cut short as the horn signaling the duel’s start blared.
The outcome here would set our class rankings for the semester, deciding which scouts in the stands took notice of whom.
Bam!
Baek Chan apparently meant it about wanting to end this quick. The instant the horn blew, he stomped the ground with a ground-shaking advance, launching his massive frame forward.
In the countless video replays, my past self had planted his feet firm here, thrusting his sword tip forward to counter.
Big mistake. I'd underestimated the synergy of his bulk and overflowing inner energy producing monstrous strength, misjudging that I could check his charge with a toothpick of a blade against that giant body.
The sword tip glanced off his inner energy barrier, then his shoulder rammed me like a truck. Merciless ground-and-pound followed. Duel over. That was the "original" flow.
So I reacted differently. I lifted lightly onto my toes and angled the sword downward.
Baek Chan charged straight on, no variation, fists pulled back, no guard up.
His stance looked sloppy at a glance, but head-on, there were no openings. It was close to a textbook tackle integrating offense and defense.
A solid shield becomes the most threatening bludgeon when paired with three times my body weight.
Best to think of him not as a martial artist, but a tank or a fortress on legs. It could shrug off average attacks and counter hard.
Not an official title, but he'd swept the youth tournaments pre-enrollment, earning the nickname "Absolute Defense" Baek Chan. At student level, maybe.
Naturally, he trusted his external arts, the inner energy armor cloaking his body—his Protective Aura.
But calling a seventeen-year-old kid who'd just hit late-stage foundational realm "absolute" anything?
"Pretty solid."
At the moment of clash, I twisted my waist like a bullfighter dodging horns. A precise step shifted my center of gravity, completing a flawless evasion technique without waste.
Baek Chan's cannonball shoulder cleaved empty air. I channeled the twist's momentum straight from my waist into the hand gripping the hilt.
His Protective Aura projected most inner energy forward for offense-defense unity, so from the side or rear, his presence—though still huge—wasn't as overwhelming as a frontal charge.
"Back then, I'd have frozen up and played passive."
Instead of fearing the enemy's strengths, relentlessly hunt their weaknesses. A hard lesson from my vagabond days.
And for now, at least, Baek Chan's defense didn't warrant "absolute." Unlike his monster father who could deflect bullets with his corneas.
My blade tip grazed the rear of his Protective Aura where it was slacker—specifically the heel joint, forced to have gaps.
Splat! Blood sprayed a beat late, tracing the sword's arc. I felt it connect.
Unable to slow his charge, Baek Chan's body jerked to a forced halt.
Overcome by momentum, his frame tumbled across the arena floor, kicking up a cloud of dust.
"Urgh..."
A guttural groan and writhing silhouette in the dust showed he hadn't lost consciousness despite the vital hit.
Tempting to rush in and pummel him while he was down, but beating a kid wouldn't settle years of heartburn.
Seventeen-year-old Baek Chan apparently wasn't the type to admit defeat gracefully, just like my younger self.
"It's not over yet...!"
"It is, you punk."
I slammed the reversed hilt down like an axe. His head cracked against the arena floor with a thud, and he went out cold.
The teacher acting as referee below the platform frantically called for medics.
"Winner: Kim Hoon!"
Medics loaded Baek Chan's bulk onto a stretcher and body-flickered off the arena. The teacher declared my victory.
"Holy shit, he beat Baek Chan!"
"Kim Hoon? What sect's he from? How come I've never heard of him?"
A buzz like a swarm of bees erupted in the stands, exploding into thunderous cheers.
The video from this duel over a decade ago had ended with Baek Chan, having demolished me with overwhelming skill, silently descending the silent arena. This was a stark contrast.
I couldn't even remember most of these classmates' faces, yet here they were cheering me like we'd been buddies forever.
"Underdog effect, huh. Yeah, to them, a Baek Chan win would've been too predictable."
I'd woken up on the arena and drawn my sword on reflex, but actually beating a kid left me feeling awkward.
Still...
The feeling of shedding that long tormenting defeat—the stale heart demon always lurking in a corner of my mind...
"Not bad at all!"
I flashed a grin and descended the arena, thinking,
"So this dream..."
...when does it end?