Episode 64: The Yi Ho-kyung Rites (2)
“Have you seen the report?”
S's question drew a nod from Jeong Yeong-gi.
“Rumors are circulating that Dae Jeong San Jang was involved in the Yang Do-hwa incident.”
“The motive is clear enough. When will we get identities on those bodies that turned up?”
“We're pushing as hard as we can, but it'll take at least a few days to ID them all. We might have one by tomorrow.”
“What about the media?”
S flicked on the TV and switched to Murim TV.
They flipped channels. Every Murim-related station was consumed by the Yang Do-hwa case.
“What a shitstorm.”
Murim incidents cropped up several times a day. Even with Yang Do-hwa's recent TV buzz, this level of frenzy was unprecedented.
“Someone's pulling strings with the press.”
“Gangnam-il-mun?”
“Who else?”
S started to mention Jang Cheon but stopped. It was simpler to assume he was tangled up in it somehow.
“Confirm if Gangnam-il-mun's leaning on the networks.”
“Got it.”
After S left, Jeong Yeong-gi gazed out the window. Naturally, Jang Cheon was behind it all.
On this bright spring day, a typhoon raged somewhere in the city below.
That's right—since you're here, sweep them all away! Take every last villain in this land with you! I'll clean up the wreckage myself.
Bishop called, his voice drained.
“Boss, I think it's time I submitted my resignation.”
“Why?”
“Gangnam-il-mun beat me to it. They've already leaked to Korea's—and Asia's—info networks that Dae Jeong San Jang's behind Yang Do-hwa's disappearance.”
Haha.
“And they're pulling every media trick in the book for a full press blitz.”
“Dae Jeong San Jang's response?”
“They're throwing everything they've got at it too, but they're outmatched.”
“People eat up the juicy stuff.”
“No smoking gun yet, so no knockout blow.”
That figured. Even if the bodies linked back to Dae Jeong San Jang, it wasn't enough. They could just claim the victims were protectors who got offed.
“Both sides are leaning on police, prosecutors, even the Murim Alliance—anywhere they can.”
“Keep monitoring. Call if anything new pops.”
“Roger!”
After hanging up with Bishop, Jang Cheon headed straight to the Murim Alliance to meet Cheon Myeong-jin in person.
They could talk directly by phone now, but face-to-face carried more weight. He needed to gauge Cheon Myeong-jin's subtle shifts—not a matter of trust, but Jang Cheon's style: always picking the optimal path.
“Heard about Yang Do-hwa's disappearance?”
“I've been briefed.”
The whole country was abuzz; of course the alliance leader knew.
“Any idea who's behind it?”
“Dae Jeong San Jang tried to kill her.”
“Really?”
Cheon Myeong-jin was stunned. The reports were speculative; he'd never bought them wholesale.
Jang Cheon gave a concise rundown: Dae Jeong San Jang's attempt on her life, but she'd already allied with Gangnam-il-mun.
“She died by my hand in the end.”
“I see.”
Cheon Myeong-jin nodded, well aware of the Jang sword clan's grudge with Gwang-sa-mun.
“Well done.”
Words no one else would dare utter.
Word of the Murim Alliance leader praising Yang Do-hwa's death could spark massive backlash if twisted.
His willingness to voice such vulnerability was a bid for Jang Cheon's trust.
Jang Cheon, however, held back one detail: Actor. Not distrust of Cheon Myeong-jin, but to protect the double agent. Secrecy was paramount for him.
Jang Cheon made a proposal.
“Pretend you're buckling to public pressure and investigate this case.”
“Investigate?”
“Yes. With Korea's two great sects at odds for now, doesn't that benefit me—and you?”
“Naturally.”
“Once the alliance launches an inquiry, the media frenzy amps up, tension between the sects skyrockets.”
“Ah.”
Cheon Myeong-jin's face lit up. He harbored no love for the two sects.
As alliance leader, he couldn't welcome rivals as mighty as they—Korea needed the Murim Alliance at the helm, not them.
“Start with Dae Jeong San Jang, then pivot to Gangnam-il-mun as things unfold.”
A sweeter deal for Cheon Myeong-jin, given his rift with Gangnam-il-mun.
“I get it. Use this to kneecap both sects for good?”
“Exactly.”
“Consider it done.”
Cheon Myeong-jin couldn't hide his grin; meeting Jang Cheon felt like the luckiest break of his life.
Click.
U Myeong-hwan switched off the TV. Compared to smashing it when Yang Do-hwa first appeared on screen, he was calm now.
As the crisis peaked, he embodied the sect lord's poise.
From behind the screen, An Bae-su murmured apologetically.
“I'm sorry.”
“Gangnam-il-mun's doing?”
“Yes.”
“Certain?”
“Absolutely.”
An Bae-su was convinced they were the puppet masters. The press blitz hit right after the incident, like they'd been waiting.
“Yang Do-hwa might still be alive.”
“I think so too.”
“They're coming in hard.”
U Myeong-hwan closed his eyes briefly. No surprise there.
Clash with Gangnam-il-mun was inevitable. Regrettable only that they'd struck first.
“It's fine,” he said evenly. “First punch matters in a kids' scrap. Take one? Land two.”
An Bae-su, hidden behind the screen, swelled with loyalty. No blame, just resolve—how could he not pledge his life?
“Time to show them who they fucked with.”
Actor stood alone on a small theater stage.
Empty seats, bare boards.
The unchanging space felt different today.
His life had shifted; so had the stage.
A vague hunch: new roles awaited.
He gazed at the ceiling. No lights yet—no schedule—but come showtime, spotlights would blaze.
“...Jang Cheon.”
From center stage, he whispered the name that changed his fate. No longer writing his own script; Jang Cheon held the pen now.
His phone rang. The homburg boss—his direct superior, the one loose end as he turned to Jang Cheon. They'd synced for years.
“Yes, it's me.”
The superior snapped without preamble.
“What the hell kind of job are you running? How does this shit happen?”
“Beyond my control. Bulldog went rogue on the probe and got hit.”
“You should've warned Bulldog about Jang Cheon.”
“I did, multiple times.”
“Special inspector's coming. Team leader level, rumor has it.”
“Who?”
“No clue. But yeah, big shot.”
“Understood.”
“They'll start with you. Watch your back.”
“Yes.”
As Actor opened his mouth, the line went dead.
He stared at the silent phone. The tone felt off—like a farewell, mindful of old ties.
Actor knew: his superior was cutting loose.
The special inspector would demand a scapegoat. He'd pegged Actor for it.
Now the superior would lobby for survival.
Actor understood. Close, but not die together close.
He called Jang Cheon right away.
“They're sending a special inspector. Team leader rank means HQ's taking it seriously.”
“Does this inspector have summary execution rights over targets?”
“Not by the book, but...”
“But?”
“Situation's fluid. Who knows.”
Especially at team leader level—major clout, unpredictable.
“Worried about me?”
“Can't have you dying before you're useful.”
“Don't sweat it. I won't go down till the debt's paid.”
“Where are you?”
“Theater.”
“On my way.”
Actor gazed at the phone again post-call.
The chill of one talk versus the warmth of the other stirred joy and sorrow.
Soon, a pleased smile broke through.
New boss Jang Cheon's spark outshone the sting of a long bond severed.
A masked man lay gasping on the floor.
His internal energy drained dry—not a finger could twitch.
He'd fought all-out. Defeat. He'd never imagined losing, yet here he was, full throttle and floored.
Total loss. The final clash's gale had shredded his clothes to rags.
Only his face mask remained intact. Consideration from the foe—proof of superior mastery.
How? How could he?
He had every right to that lament.
The man struggled up.
A woman in a goblin mask stood watching him.
He bowed deeply toward her.
“...Thank you for mercy in your strikes.”
Gratitude to one who'd spared him—and salute to this year's Real Championship winner.
This defeat was the finals.
She nodded lightly to the runner-up, then turned.
Pausing before the cameras en route off-stage, she offered a poised clasp of fists to the lens. Crisp, elegant.
The crowd erupted.
Gamblers cheered wild. Different masks yearly, but that greatsword gave her away.
Four straight wins.
Prize money alone: 4 trillion. The Real Championship legend endured.
New powerhouses this tourney, but as before, she was leagues above.
Parading continent-shakers as "dogs" was unfair—she was the tiger, they mere hounds.
Some gamblers cashed in, others busted, but all savored the finale's thrill. Till next year.
Across the ocean in Korea, Jang Cheon watched her on his laptop in his room.
Raising his whiskey to her on-screen bow.
“Congrats on the win.”