Chapter 3 — Running Because I'm a National Treasure

A fist knocked on the door.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Very gently. Very politely.

No variation in force, rhythmic as if measured with a ruler.

Somehow, that was even creepier.

With just one door between us, I felt like I'd become the most valuable delivery in this entire world.

"This is the Aska Knight Order. We've come to respectfully escort the precious individual inside — to safety."

Escort.

What a lovely word.

First time I'd ever seen kidnapping gift-wrapped this beautifully.

Even the couriers back in my world didn't pad their packages with this much cushioning.

Even the system was exasperated.

A single drop of sarcasm had seeped into its dry, clipped sentences.

A phone with a personality this distinct. Impressive.

I tightened the straps of my backpack.

So I was a National Treasure — I'd thought that meant something good.

Three days into this new life, and it turned out my real profession was running away.

"Stand down."

It was Lena.

The ice princess who'd smiled for the first time in three days over a single can of cola had frozen back over in one night, and now she stood barring the door.

Frost had crept into her voice.

I could tell just from her back.

This woman was very angry right now.

"That man is my guest. Not a registered item, not property, not inventory. A guest. Is that word too difficult for you?"

"My lady, we are only here to provide protec—"

"Protection? If pounding on a door to drag someone out counts as protection, then cite me the exact article and clause of the Rania legal code. Right now. Can't? Then it's unlawful confinement, and confinement is punishable by beheading. How many necks are you planning to put on the chopping block today?"

The knight commander's mouth snapped shut.

At the mention of legal statutes, the tips of their spears wavered ever so slightly.

A world where the law book was scarier than the blade.

I liked it.

"We are... merely following orders from above."

"Then deliver this to your superiors, word for word: the eldest daughter of House Aska blocked your path herself. If you intend to drag my guest away, make sure my name is the very first line on the beheading order."

That one sentence, slipping through the crack in the door, froze the entire corridor solid.

The eyes inside the helmets darted sideways at one another.

Nobody wanted to sign off on an order collateralized by the ducal heir's neck — it was written all over their faces.

The haughty ice princess was laying her own head on the blade today, all because of me.

Three days into this life. There was no reason for her to go this far for a customer who'd only ordered a glass of water.

She was so magnificent I briefly forgot to breathe.

Lena glanced back at me.

Exactly half a beat.

Her eyes said everything.

Back door. Now.

Her fingertips were trembling, just barely.

It was a different tremor from yesterday, when she'd taken the cola can from my hand.

Yesterday's had been the tremor of warmth touched for the first time.

Today's was the tremor of hands buying time — for me.

It was always this woman who paid the price.

"Back door."

All she did was part her lips.

I bowed my head deep.

"The cola, and the time. I'll pay it all back with a delivery. Next time."

Lena's eyebrow moved a fraction of a millimeter.

Instead of answering, she widened the door another handspan, clearing the path behind.

I ran.

The back alleys were a maze.

Laundry lines crisscrossed overhead like nets, and something unidentifiable and soupy slithered along beneath my feet.

Women kept stealing glances at me.

One dropped her water jug.

Another leaned halfway out a window and turned to stone, flowerpot and all.

Hands hanging laundry froze mid-air. Mouths haggling over prices froze mid-sentence. A well bucket froze halfway between earth and sky.

The entire alley had slammed its pause button because of one person: me.

Every passing step left a dozen-odd stares skewered into the back of my skull.

Eight years as a rider, and never once had a mere gaze set my back on fire like this.

"Oh... oh my. A real... a real man?"

"Hey! HEY! Over there! It's an actual person, not a painting!"

Goddammit. In this world, me walking past causes a traffic accident.

A multi-car pileup, no less.

So I ran.

One corner, two corners, over a low wall.

Eight years of rider experience shone at moments exactly like this.

Delivery work was, in the end, nothing but the art of disappearing faster than everyone else.

My body moved exactly the way it did when sprinting to make up a late call.

Only difference was, this time it wasn't a star rating on the line. It was my life.

I pressed my back to a wall and strangled my breathing.

My heart clattered up and down like the zipper on my delivery backpack.

I rummaged through the bag.

My fingers closed around a single can of cola.

In this world, one can of this stuff was a laborer's weekly wage.

Pouring a week's wages down my throat, I reflected:

The most expensive thirst-quencher on the planet.

Emptying one can consumed more than a stranger's whole week of labor. Fry one chicken and you got a knight's monthly salary. Boil a single pack of instant ramen and you had a noble's banquet. Pop one bottle of soju and you'd just burned the Magic Tower's quarterly research budget.

My backpack was, in effect, a walking national treasury.

One zipper tooth held an entire country.

The problem was that the treasury ran on two legs.

Which was exactly why everyone was desperate to catch me.

I caught my breath.

The phone in my pocket buzzed.

A gallery notification.

Anonymous forums in this world are terrifying.

I'd seen real-time trending searches on Earth too, but this was the first time the trending topic was me.

With GPS coordinates attached, no less.

My movement route was being live-broadcast as we spoke.

Witness reports refreshed every thirty seconds.

The comment section shadowed me like a CCTV feed.

The words "HAND OVER THE COORDINATES" papered the entire scroll.

The women of an entire continent were begging for coordinates, all to catch one man.

In a world where a can of cola was a week's wages, I was a National Treasure with no price tag at all.

And because no one could put a number on me, everyone just wanted to... pick me up and take me home.

I wasn't even a dropped wallet.

I know. I know.

The higher my price climbs, the faster I have to run.

Bursting out into the market street was my mistake.

I figured a crowd was the best place to hide.

Wrong.

Where there are lots of people — there are lots of hands.

"Oppa, are you lost? You've got an unfamiliar face."

"Come this way. We'll guide you somewhere safe."

"That bag looks heavy. Here, give it to me — I'll carry it for you."

Three women boxed me in a neat circle.

They were smiling.

Smiles on their mouths, but nothing smiling in their eyes.

First time in my life kindness had been this terrifying.

For the first time ever, the system had appended the word "STRONGLY" to its advice to run.

It was read-only and couldn't fight for me, but its instincts were frighteningly sharp.

The problem was that sharp instincts didn't make my legs faster than three women's.

One hand snatched my backpack strap.

Another seized my collar.

A third hooked my ankle.

I pitched forward.

And in the split second before I hit the ground —

Someone yanked my wrist, hard.

"Take your hands off my customer."

A small, fast shadow.

The shadow's foot found a pickpocket's shin with surgical precision.

"Gakh—!"

Another heel stomped down on an instep, and the last one got slammed full-force — with a delivery bag.

An Earth-made thermal bag, solid as a brick.

I'd only known it for its insulation, but its impact rating was excellent too.

"Registered Delivery Guild member. That man's cargo is goods I just accepted into custody. Touch another courier's accepted goods and that's theft, robbery, AND obstruction of business — three strikes in a row. All three of you, enjoy the cells."

The pickpockets faltered.

A world where everyone crumbled in front of legal clauses.

So convenient.

The shadow hauled my arm.

"Run, customer!"

Twenty, maybe. Short hair. Eyes that sparkled like a freshly struck match.

A name tag was pinned to her chest.

Delivery Guild Rookie — Mia.

Somehow, the word "rookie" was strangely comforting.

We ran together.

Our footsteps fell perfectly in sync.

"Customer — your name! Give me your name first!"

"First time anyone's made me do a self-introduction mid-sprint."

"Delivery people do everything while running! You of all people should know that!"

Fair point. No room for a rebuttal.

"Kang Dohyun. Twenty-seven. Used to deliver things."

"Customer Kang Dohyun!"

Her voice rang out with every ounce of strength she had.

The voice of a rookie who'd just accepted the most precious call of her life.

The alley dead-ended in a wall.

Pickpockets behind us.

And in the side alley — of all people — the helmets of the Aska Knight Order gleamed again.

"There he is! Secure him!"

Wall in front. Hands behind. Hands to the side. Hands, hands, hands.

Mia gripped my sleeve tight.

"Customer, this is... this is really bad."

Really bad.

What an adorable way to summarize the situation.

My phone grew hot in that moment.

Both options were "YES."

This system knew how to read a room.

Considerate enough not to build a "decline" button in the first place.

It had also kindly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠underlined that the free trial was exactly once — right now, only.

Meaning that from here on out, even the price of my life would be calculated in Coins.

In a world where a cola can cost a week's wages, who knew what five Coins amounted to? I had no time to run the numbers anyway.

This was the moment to spend the free trial without a shred of regret.

I took Mia's hands in mine.

"Close your eyes."

"Huh? Why all of a sud— in THIS situation?"

"Out for delivery. One passenger, destination: up there."

"Up where, customer?! What on earth are you talking ab—"

The world folded shut like a sheet of paper, then snapped open again.

The wall vanished. The hands vanished. The shouting vanished —

And we dropped, plop, onto a rooftop three alleys away.

My knees buckled on their own — was landing shock included in the delivery fee?

The knights' shouts echoed faintly from far below.

The helmets swiveled, glaring at nothing but a dead-end alley.

A ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠National Treasure that had been in their grasp one heartbeat ago had evaporated into thin air. Chaos down there, guaranteed.

Mia opened her eyes.

Her mouth fell slowly, slackly open.

"What... did you just do? Did we just teleport?"

"Delivered. Destination: this rooftop. Passengers: one. Zero damage on arrival."

"What kind of delivery is that?! That's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a straight-up miracle!"

"A miracle that arrives on time is just called a delivery."

Mia looked me up and down.

With eyes I couldn't read — awe, or pure excitement.

The phone slyly floated one more line across the screen.

The free trial ended, and the honest system promptly delivered a cold dose of reality.

"Customer, seriously — what are you?"

"Well. Just a guy who used to deliver things."

It wasn't a lie.

A guy who used to deliver things had simply escaped — by delivery.

The coordinate market had collapsed in half a day.

I'd become the man who vanished along with his own coordinates.

Who, exactly, would buy a product that teleported out of stock the instant it was sold?

And the gossip-loving anonymous masses had already slapped a new nickname on me.

"Teleporting Delivery Guy."

A full rank up from "Cola Guy."

The nickname I'd earned through eyewitness reports was now being renewed on the strength of my escape record.

I liked it.

Of course, a cooler nickname didn't make my life any cheaper.

If anything, my price just kept climbing.

Beside me, Mia stared up at me, unblinking.

Hardly daring to breathe too loud.

A lower-class rookie who'd lived her whole life being ignored.

And in those eyes, a kind of fire I'd never seen before was burning.

"Customer."

"Yes?"

"Today, for the first time in my life, I took a man on as a Delivery Guild customer. Officially. With my own hands."

Pressing her thumb firmly against her name tag, Mia grinned.

"Nobody's ever trusted me with anything. Not once. Always 'rookie,' always 'lower-class.'"

She was smiling, but the end of her voice trembled, just slightly.

"So you — be my guild's Customer Number One. Okay?"

The hand holding up the name tag looked more tense than it had when she'd smashed it into the pickpocket.

Her fists hadn't trembled. The asking did.

She'd left me no gap to refuse, no room to haggle.

The women of this world — haughty or shameless — all reached out their hands first.

With men at 0.8% of the population, apparently nobody could afford the luxury of holding back in front of precious stock.

Lena had guarded me with ice. Mia had snatched me up with fire.

Different methods, but both of them terrifyingly direct.

The evening wind gusted across the rooftop.

The system quietly floated up a line.

Here we go again.

Every question mark that filled in the relationship column, my escape distance grew right along with it.

One ice, one fire.

Three days into this world, and I was already carrying two question marks on my back.

Such was the fate of a National Treasure: not a single quiet day.