Chapter 7

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Translator: penny

Chapter: 7

Chapter Title: Blue Armband

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That afternoon, I called Son Ha-rin to the empty lot behind the school building.

Back when I was attending Han Muyoung Academy, it was a smoking spot where delinquent students gathered year-round, puffing away on cigarettes. But since it was the first day of the semester, it was deserted today.

Son Ha-rin followed me obediently, shouldering her golf bag without a word.

Baek ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Chan, Veronica Lionheart, Son Ha-rin. They were my classmates at Han Muyoung Academy and the three geniuses who made my cohort famous as the "Golden Generation."

And as usual, anyone born with extraordinary genius in one field tends to have equally extraordinary flaws in personality.

Those three perfectly exemplified that hypothesis.

'If you're gonna forfeit, do it quick.'

'Did you really beat that guy?'

While Baek Chan and Veronica Lionheart were infamous just for their rudeness—with only a difference in intensity—Son Ha-rin was... strangely unremarkable, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠despite her incredible skills.

Though calling it a lack of presence might be inaccurate for a master whose aura leaked out even when standing still. She was just... socially awkward, perhaps.

I'd spoken to Son Ha-rin a few times myself, and conversations always felt choppy.

Normally, if you lure someone to a secluded spot and they follow without question, you'd assume they suspect the purpose. But with Son Ha-rin, even basic social rules didn't apply.

So, there were two possibilities I had to consider.

Either Son Ha-rin remembered her past life like I did and came for this conversation.

Or I was the only one who'd returned to the past, and she'd just followed me without a thought.

Personally, I hoped for the former. I'd returned to the past via the Return Bead's power, but I didn't know the details of that deal or what I was supposed to do next.

And Son Ha-rin was probably the only one who could answer that.

I spread my senses to confirm no one was listening, then cut straight to the chase.

"You know me, right?"

"Yeah."

As expected!

I cheered inwardly.

Now it was time to grill her properly: why send me back, and if someone had to go, why pick me...

"Kim Hoon. Attendance number 4."

"...What?"

Her next words hit me like a punch to the head, freezing me solid.

After a brief silence, I decided it was Son Ha-rin's idea of a joke.

'Not funny at all.'

Still, I smiled and asked again.

"No, not that."

"Not that...?"

But Son Ha-rin just tilted her head innocently, as if she truly had no idea, then spoke.

"Height 175.5cm, reach 177cm. Your breathing suggests orthodox qi cultivation—no Taoist, Buddhist, or Christian martial arts aura—so probably the Three Talents Art lineage. Main weapon is a standard 99cm three-foot sword. Your balance isn't biased, so your stance mixes orthodox and southpaw appropriately. Or maybe it hasn't solidified yet. Callus on the edge of your right palm. You've trained a slashing sword style that uses the wrist a lot. Scar on your left thumb suggests a dagger as off-hand, gripped reverse. Fewer scars or calluses on your knuckles compared to palms or fingers, so in bare-hand combat, you prefer grappling over fist techniques... That's all I got."

They say a master's breathing is deeper than a whale's. Son Ha-rin delivered her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠monologue without a single breath, then casually tilted her head again.

Only after hearing that absurd, spine-chilling analysis did I realize the truth.

'Son Ha-rin...'

She doesn't remember me.

Her deductions, straight out of a detective novel, were spot-on and chilling—but not because she knew my past life self. It was pure reasoning from my current appearance, the duel clues, and observations.

It wasn't even deep analysis from special interest in me.

Just "natural" insights from less than a minute of sparring, hours sitting next to me in class, and minutes walking here.

Not impossible for a genius like her. Even a dullard like me could do it with effort.

"So, what's up?"

"...Just wanted an autograph. I'm a country bumpkin; first time meeting a celebrity like you."

With mixed feelings, I pulled a pen and paper from my bag and held them out.

Watching her take the pen familiarly and scribble away made my blood boil.

Why follow a stranger to a secluded spot behind the school and then ask what it's about? Didn't she learn not to go with strangers in elementary school?

Well, Son Ha-rin could probably turn kidnappers into ground meat once she was old enough to think straight. And who'd dare abduct the only granddaughter of an EX-rank master anyway? Curiosity might outweigh danger here.

"Here. See you tomorrow then. Bye."

She handed back the pen and turned. Before I could grab her, she vanished in a whoosh of wind with her movement technique.

I looked at the paper she'd given me.

Besides her name, something else was written.

[Delay the timing of stepping off the back foot by half a beat.]

- Son Ha-rin

"Argh, damn it..."

It couldn't have been a more earnest autograph.

HAO Corporation.

True to its name—literally "Lower Filth Gate"—it's a sect of those in lowly social positions handling dirty work.

Traditionally, members included thieves, pickpockets, gamblers, prostitutes, pimps, coachmen, porters, sailors, butchers, thugs, gangsters, hitmen, waiters, and more.

Basically, every bottom-rung life except giants, since beggars have their own sect, the Beggars' Sect.

If you're wondering why honest waiters count as bottom-rung: unlike modern servers swallowing tears for bad reviews over hair in dumplings, old-school waiters were testosterone-fueled types who'd turn rude customers into dumpling filling if provoked.

Anyway, as courtesans evolved into OnlyFans earners rivaling corporate salaries, and waiters risking hygiene law shutdowns for customer-dumplings, HAO adapted and survived.

While sects like Wudang and Shaolin rushed into corporatization amid turbulent times, HAO's aggressive expansion spread it worldwide.

From trade, brokerage, prostitution, casinos, entertainment agencies, arms manufacturing, to pharmaceuticals—HAO touches countless legit and shady businesses.

But HAO's longest-held top spot, even against powerhouse rival Beggars' Sect, is "information."

Drunken tycoons' boasts to courtesans, merchants' chats in inns, nobles' plots overheard by sweeping servants as "ears"—all flow downward, fueling HAO.

Those who control information control money and power. That's how HAO stands shoulder-to-shoulder with the Nine Great Sects and Ten Great Clans despite weak individual martial prowess.

Rare, actionable info fetches high prices, but humans sometimes trade it for trifles.

Such as views, likes, or comments in online communities—worthless to normies.

This "Murim Gallery" is a net cast by HAO Network, HAO's holding company, to fish premium info from the info ocean.

Just toss minor bait, and users deliver the fish.

Most fall for HAO's comment bots or like manipulators exploiting vanity, spilling valuables cheap. But I planned to game the system.

Failed to get regression answers from Son Ha-rin, but maybe here.

One unrevealed fact: before joining the Vagabond Guild, I worked for HAO. Vagabond might mean unemployed now, but I got paid properly back then.

'Ah, this familiar feeling.'

Proud HAO "paid employee."

Time to return as Murim Gallery moderator, Blue Armband.