Ma Hyuksu, That Crazy Bastard
Ma Hyuksu, that crazy bastard. …………… It was hot. The scorching sunlight burned my face. Dry air filled my lungs. The unique heat of asphalt rose through my soles.
Is this the third world...? I slowly pushed myself up. It wasn't Han Minseo's body or Yeoreum's—it was someone else's again. I checked my limbs first. Thick. My hands were thick and large. Wrists, forearms—nothing like Yeoreum's, and even compared to Han Minseo, it was on another level. I moved slowly, testing. Power surged through me, and everything worked smoothly. Tall. At least 180cm, probably more. Broad shoulders, thick chest. I looked around. A barren road stretched out. On both sides, ochre hills dotted with sparse cacti.
And then a man appeared in front of me. Full tactical gear: sunglasses, bulletproof vest, helmet. Behind him sat a black SUV—clearly no ordinary vehicle. It looked armored.
"Está bien?"
Spanish. But somehow, I understood perfectly. He was asking if I was okay.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
Spanish flowed naturally from my mouth too. Must be a language the body's owner knew.
The man held out a pistol. A black handgun and five spare magazines.
"Tómelo. Lo necesitará."
Take it. You'll need it.
The moment I took the gun, its weight settled into my palm. This was real. No toy, no replica. A loaded pistol with live rounds.
"No cops come even if there's a shootout here. Carrying unlicensed firearms is illegal, but everyone's armed. You won't survive without one."
What the hell? Where the fuck am I?
The man pulled a folded paper from his pocket.
"If you want out, call this. It'll cost extra, but at least you'll save your skin. As long as it's not too late."
I unfolded the paper. A phone number, and below it in Spanish: Emergency Extraction Service.
"Wait, hold on. What the hell is—"
Before I could finish, he opened the car door.
"Don't die, Mr. Ma. Or if you must... pray for an easy one."
The armored SUV's engine growled to life. Tires screeched on asphalt, and it sped off. Leaving me alone.
……………
I sat on the road curb. The hot concrete scorched my ass, but I had no time to care. I opened my hand. Calluses etched into the palm—exactly the kind from deadlifts. Clenching my fist made the forearm muscles bulge hard. I slapped my thigh. Solid. Abs and chest were ripped too. This wasn't a body from a day or two of workouts. At least five years of consistent, hardcore training.
"No joke. The Family Goddess really pulled through."
Compared to Yeoreum's frail frame, it was night and day. Even better than Han Minseo's. She'd kept her promise. With a body like this, I could physically overpower Choi Seori or Kim Bom, no problem. Of course, raw strength wouldn't solve everything.
Third possession already—I was getting the hang of it. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Time to learn who this body belonged to and what life he'd lived.
Ma Hyuksu. The name surfaced in my mind. Then his memories flooded in like a tidal wave.
Twenty-eight years old. Since high school graduation, he'd never taken a month off. Convenience store clerk, package loader, day laborer on construction sites, delivery driver, kitchen hand, food courier. Ma Hyuksu had done it all. Dawn to dusk, weekends doubled or tripled up.
But he hadn't just saved the cash. He'd dumped most of it into stocks. One stock only: a graphics card manufacturer.
Buy stock in the company that sells what you love.
His investment mantra. He loved gaming, and no GPU meant no games. So he'd bought shares in a GPU maker. Steadily, for eight years, every paycheck. Then last year, the AI boom hit, and the stock skyrocketed. He'd sold near the peak.
Damn, that's impressive.
Diligence, patience, a dash of luck. Textbook success story.
But why had this model citizen Ma Hyuksu ditched his steady accumulation and cashed out suddenly? For his lifelong dream.
Travel vlogger. Roaming the world, filming, connecting with people. All his favorite YouTube channels were travel vlogs—he'd envied them.
Top gear: action cam, laptop, editing software. Prep was perfect.
But—
Eight months of travel, grinding videos. Subscribers? Barely 1,557.
Why? I dug deeper into the memories. Editing sucked. Commentary was meh. The YouTube scene was a bloodbath, and he lacked the skills to compete. Zero content planning. Just hit tourist spots and go, "Wow, this place is great!"
Yet he blew cash like water. Guides, business class flights, five-star hotels, fancy local eats.
He'd tried. But no talent for it.
His conclusion?
Go where no one's been... Yeah. Those shithole places. Big channels hit 'em. But they've all done the usual ones. So... the world's most dangerous spot?
First stop: cartel turf in Central America. The kind of place you only see on the news.
Muggings? Daily. Kidnappings? Common. Shootouts? The merciful way to die. Cross a cartel, your whole family gets made an example of. Cops and military? Useless. Lawless zone.
......
All memories checked. One conclusion.
"Ma Hyuksu, that crazy bastard."
Model citizen? Scratch that. Just a lunatic.
……………
I tucked the pistol into my waistband and started walking. The feel of a chunk of metal that could easily end a life pressing my gut was profoundly alien. Weather was brutally clear. In the distance, faint city outlines shimmered at the road's end.
Santa Esperanza. The place Ma Hyuksu had risked it all for. About 10 kilometers away. Tough trek under this sun, but no choice.
Just go. Standing on an empty road solves nothing.
I touched the action cam on my chest. Top-shelf model he'd splurged on. Travel vlogger. That's why he'd come here. Eight months of burning cash and failing, but he believed this time it'd be different.
Well, we're here now...
Click.
Red light on. Recording.
"Hey everyone! Finally made it to Santa Esperanza!"
Forced cheer, waving at the camera.
"As you can see, the guide dropped me outside the city and bailed. Haha. Probably 'cause it's so dangerous... But whatever! What's the worst that can happen—death?"
Walking, filming the surroundings. Ochre hills, scattered cacti, heat-hazy asphalt.
"They say Santa Esperanza is one of the world's most dangerous cities. Cartels fighting for control in a total lawless zone. Even cops and military have given up—"
Words cut off.
Something by the roadside. A charred SUV, metal skeleton left. But... something inside too. Driver's seat: a burned, unrecognizable lump.
A person. Or what was one.
"......"
Camera kept rolling, but I was speechless. I kept walking. More burned vehicles as the city neared. Some riddled with bullets like Swiss cheese, others flipped.
And then.
Something on a roadside lamppost caught my eye. Thought it was rags at first. Tattered cloth flapping in the wind. No. Cloth wrapping something.
A torso. Corpse hanging by a noose around the neck.
A few days old. Decay starting—stench hit from afar. Crows and flies swarmed. Face unrecognizable from rot, but on the chest, blood scrawl:
RATA.
Rat bastard.
Legs buckled.
This is reality?
Never dreamed I'd see news footage for real. But this was it. Raw truth of cartel land. No game, no movie.
Now I got why the guide refused entry. He hadn't ditched me—he'd saved himself.
Nausea surged, but I choked it down. Camera still on.
"Uh, folks? Pausing the recording."
Click. Powered off.
Hand on knee, gasping. Hot air scorched my lungs.
Ma Hyuksu... you absolute psycho...
Really came to this shithole. Necks on lampposts and all. With stock money, just live comfy. Why this bullshit? Fame? Validation? Not worth it. Die here, what happens to the fortune you slaved for? Taking it to hell?
Sun blazed hotter. Throat parched, no water. Only comfort: the pistol. Gripping it steadied me a bit.
Survive first.
Ma Hyuksu's dreams didn't matter. Survival did. Then I could tackle trials, romance, whatever.