The Pleasure of Watching (2)

Actor was waiting at the airport for the plane to arrive. Due to heavy rain, an announcement came that the flight would be delayed by thirty minutes.

Sitting in a chair, Actor recalled his phone conversation with his fedora-wearing superior.

While in the organization, Actor had faced investigations from inspectors about four times. Field agents rarely went through such scrutiny.

It was mainly those like Actor, who planned and commanded operations, who had to endure it.

He had navigated them all unscathed so far, so this time would be no different—or so he thought. But the mention of Bulldog made his chest tighten.

He had never met the man face-to-face, but Bulldog's notoriety was legendary. Even Actor, confident in handling people, found Bulldog ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠an uncomfortable opponent.

Thirty minutes later, he met Bulldog after he cleared immigration. He didn't look the part at all—timid impression, strict bureaucrat style.

"Pleased to meet you."

"You've had a long journey."

They shook hands and exchanged greetings. No grip strength in the handshake, but Actor steeled himself inwardly.

The war starts now.

If he didn't keep his wits sharp, this Bulldog would tear him to shreds.

Right now, Jang Cheon was far away—this Bulldog before him was the enemy. His life hung on a single report from this man.

"Shall we grab a meal first?"

Bulldog smiled at Actor's question.

"Let's do that. Perfect weather for drinks with some good snacks, with this rain."

Most inspectors charged in demanding work right away to avoid seeming lenient. They were always strict. But Bulldog was different. This was composure, confidence.

"Haha, there's a great spot. Let's go."

The war with this battle-hardened hound had begun. Time to play the dog trainer to perfection.

Jang Cheon entered the secret audience chamber of the Korea Murim Alliance Lord's residence. He was guided by Joo Won, now leader of the Bi Ryong Dae.

"Please, have a talk."

"Thank you."

Just seeing Joo Won in the Bi Ryong Dae leader position showed that Alliance Lord Cheon Myeong-jin had firmly seized control of the Murim Alliance.

"Have you been well?"

"Thanks to you, yes."

Cheon Myeong-jin treated Jang Cheon with great warmth.

It was only natural—he had saved his granddaughter's life and enabled him to retain the Alliance Lord position.

Of course, Jang Cheon had received ample compensation. Geum Sa-cheon's testament he had given was greatly aiding his martial achievements.

"I've reclaimed the Murim Alliance."

"Well done."

"I called you to ask what we should do next."

Did a veteran like Cheon Myeong-jin truly not know what to do?

No, he was just showing Jang Cheon that he wasn't flipping faces now that power was restored.

The secret organization that had suppressed him through Im Yeon-sin was vast, meticulous, and evil. To confront them ahead, he absolutely needed Jang Cheon's help.

"They're watching Korean Murim right now."

Jang Cheon briefly explained about Death. Cheon Myeong-jin was shocked to learn the World Integrated Martial Tournament champion was one of them.

He thought once more that meeting Jang Cheon again was the right call.

"They're using the two major sects to eliminate me."

"How can I help?"

"I'm still observing them too. I'll need your help soon, Alliance Lord.

In the meantime, focus on solidifying real power within the Murim Alliance.

Strengthening existing structures over creating new ones won't provoke them."

"Understood."

"Then take care."

"You too."

Before parting, Cheon Myeong-jin asked,

"By the way, how's what I gave you? Any help?"

Jang Cheon smiled in reply.

"Yes, very much. But it's difficult for me, so fully grasping the deceased's insights will take time."

No need to reveal his full prowess, so he stopped there.

Cheon Myeong-jin nodded, as if it were expected.

"You'll have to solve the Sohyeon Ilgi-gong the World Alliance released first."

"Yes. You've created a valuable connection—I'll put in more effort."

"Glad you see it that way. Until next time."

Guided by Joo Won, Jang Cheon quietly left.

Back at the residence, as he poured whiskey over ice, Bishop called. His voice was slightly excited.

Hanging up, Jang Cheon savored a sip with pleasure and walked to the window.

What Bishop had trailed off on was surely to reconcile with Queen when she came.

There was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠no real rift, but he had kept distance from her lately, so everyone was like that.

His musing on Queen continued until the ice fully melted.

"Field work is dangerous, right?"

Actor replied to Bulldog's question.

"I'm one step removed, so it's milder for me."

He wanted to snark that they'd need to cross one more bridge to the inspector role to fully escape danger, but kept it to himself.

"Commanders have it tough too."

"Thank you for understanding."

Actor flashed a moved smile but never let his guard down. Falling for such cheap pity would loosen him up for slip-ups.

"Why did you call Death?"

"Knowing the one who killed Doctor Woo was no ordinary foe, I brought in someone of matching skill."

"That Jang Cheon guy?"

"Yes."

He knew it all from reports yet asked like an ignorant man. Actor knew it was to gauge reactions.

Inspectors were trained to spot lies.

Of course, it wouldn't work on him. His acting from theater days, plus one more thing.

He wouldn't lie outright. If forced, mix truth to hide it.

"You said Death acted alone—why?"

Real Championship.

That was what Death had told only him. The organizer eliminates leakers too.

The leaker was dead, so low risk of discovery, but who knew.

Mixing truth and lies per plan, he feigned ignorance of the exact name.

"He mentioned a secret martial tournament."

"Secret tournament?"

"Yes. Not official—an unofficial one. Said it was soon."

"So the World Integrated Martial Tournament champion, Death, rushed the mission to join that? That's your claim?"

Bulldog's tone sneered, though his face didn't show it.

"It's so absurd it sounds true."

"I don't know if it was for that. But he mentioned it before going solo—that much is fact."

"Hm. I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠see."

"I can't tell what you inspectors want. Is it that I planned poorly and got Death killed?"

"Is that it?"

"No."

Actor met Bulldog's eyes squarely.

"I did my job. This isn't the time.

If we can't use the two major sects to remove Jang Cheon and drag out the Korea Murim Alliance Lord, all our Korean efforts go to waste."

"This investigation a waste of time?"

"Not what I said. When pointing at the moon, look at the moon, not the finger."

"As expected of a planner."

"Mocking me?"

"If so worried, you should've kept Im Yeon-sin alive. Killed him, killed Death. Who's next?"

Actor bristled inwardly.

You, you bastard!

For that moment, yes.

Maybe just toss him to Jang Cheon. See if he runs his mouth there too.

Actor recalled the gas-masked Jang Cheon from drone footage. Strangely, it instilled fear in him.

"Two major sects and Murim Alliance aren't my purview—tell headquarters. Now, again: why call Death?"

"I told you."

He knew it was to shatter his calm, but anger surged anyway.

Actor realized Bulldog's fame wasn't from genius intellect or lie-piercing insight.

He was the type to rile opponents relentlessly until they crumbled.

"Alright, tell me again about that absurd—er, secret—martial tournament."

Australia's Great Victoria Desert.

In the underground arena amid sand dunes and plains, the Real Championship began.

Arenas varied.

Standard ones, cramped steel-walled ones, ponds with dozens of wooden pillars protruding, maze-like ones—many forms.

Dozens of cameras surrounded each, capturing every angle.

Varied arenas, but participants chose none.

All decided by organizers: brackets, arenas, even numbers. Everything theirs.

Participants controlled one thing: win or lose.

Slam!

No. 16 hit the floor, eyes wide. No. 7 in a goblin mask loomed over him. Loose clothes, but clearly a woman.

"No. 7 wins!"

The referee's call made him realize defeat.

"How?"

How dodge so easily? More: she evaded his sword, grabbed his wrist, slammed him down.

Judo? Aikido? First time facing such grappling.

Resisted, but she used his force against him—faster fall.

Goblin mask bore a huge sword on back, undrawn. Pride should sting, but No. 16 felt ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠awe.

He knew: not bad luck or ambush.

A true master!

A master shocking even him, invited to Real Championship.

Gazing at her retreating back, No. 16 startled.

This woman...?

He knew too: three-time consecutive winner was female. Excitement surged.

If right, he had dueled one of Real Championship's two legends.

Bad draw? No—good luck.

Arena silent, no applause, but cheers erupted elsewhere.

"Bravo!"

"Amazing!"

Dinner show vibe stage.

Two dozen large round tables, masked guests in small groups enjoying exotic dishes and fine liquor, eyes on giant screens.

These were the Real Championship gamblers.

Too strong, too quick end—boring bets? No.

Bets finely tuned.

Not just winner/loser: predict champion, runner-up, 3rd-5th, 10th; full rankings.

Per match: win in 1 min, 2 min, etc.

Weapons used? First valid hit where? Finely segmented.

That year, few lucky aside, most gamblers lost money.

They knew winners: champion and organizers.

Yet they thrilled, addicted deep to martial gambling.

And another watched.

Lounging on bed, laptop screen showing all: Jang Cheon.