Chapter 766
Chapter 766
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 766
Chapter Title: Present World Picnic (5)
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1.
Dropped out of sports high school, multiple stints in juvenile detention, eight prior convictions, countless street brawls, and fifty million won spent just on assault settlements.
Irezumi tattoos sprawling across both arms and his back, and currently the front man for a trendy illegal hold'em poker den.
Park Hyung-chil was the type they called a street punk.
He'd gathered his buddies for drinks in broad daylight when, mid-smoke, he casually flicked his cigarette butt.
"Whoa, fuck, check out that babe."
His gaze locked onto a woman strolling down the bar alley.
No exaggeration—she was the most beautiful woman in Park Hyung-chil's twenty-eight years of life.
Petite stature, but with proportions so perfect she never seemed small. Striking features, and even in her loose-fitting clothes, her toned figure was impossible to hide.
Up to that point, Hyung-chil figured he must be wasted or seeing things.
Because the ponytail tied tight, swaying like a tail, was a soft pink hue.
In a neighborhood full of trendy kids decked out in flashy styles, that shade was rare as hell.
Not some bleached-and-dyed disaster with frizzy, damaged ends.
Straight, lustrous hair boasting the tender pink of freshly bloomed cherry blossoms.
All those elements combined into a beauty that didn't seem human.
"Haa... suck... she don't speak Korean? How you do? Nice to meet you?"
She looked foreign at a glance.
But he couldn't just let someone that stunning slip away.
He'd heard K-pop and all that hype had foreign women crazy for Korean guys these days.
Unlike Korean girls with their weird parasite twink fetish, abroad they went nuts for big, bearish builds like his.
In other words, Park Hyung-chil thought he had a shot.
He quickly checked his look in the rearview of his illegally parked baby BMW.
Then, wracking his booze-soaked brain for some English lines, he belatedly spotted the guy next to her.
And the dopey grin he'd plastered on twisted into a scowl.
Around 180 cm tall.
Casually dressed, but carrying it with effortless style, muscles subtly pumped under his clothes.
And above all, that face was no joke.
Exactly the pretty-boy parasite type Park Hyung-chil despised most.
"That bitch looks like total slut material."
He'd never admit it out loud, but deep down, he'd conceded defeat.
Suddenly, the woman who'd seemed so gorgeous now looked ugly and twisted.
Obviously the airheaded whore who spread her legs for any hot guy.
And that prick next to her? Bet his dick was a pathetic three centimeters.
Inferiority complex and jealousy, spiked with booze, boiled into raw irritation.
Watching them back-hug and smooch all cutesy just flipped his lid.
And Park Hyung-chil was a real man who ditched his brain filter whenever shit hit the fan.
Right on cue, his crew—who'd come out following him for smokes—bolstered his confidence. He picked a fight loud enough for them to hear.
"Fuck, you two rented the whole street? Go hit a motel or some shit."
"Don't~ Oppa~ Why you gotta~ They'll hear~"
"What, fuck it. Let 'em hear."
Perfect timing—the girl was right there too.
To show off his alpha side, Hyung-chil swaggered, hawking loud loogies, secretly hoping the guy would bite.
"Me?"
One look at the pretty boy's dumbfounded expression, and Hyung-chil knew the matchup.
Sheltered face that'd never seen a real scrap.
With his girl watching, backing down felt lame, but he didn't wanna fight either—hence the half-assed stance.
Hyung-chil stood 185 cm, 110 kg of natural beef.
Never went to college for it, but back in sports high, he'd done judo.
Street fights? No one matched his physique.
Seeing things escalate, the girl tried to intervene while the guy grumbled and turned away.
That instant, Hyung-chil was the king.
Best case, the guy charges and he beats him senseless. But chickening out in front of her? Total L.
His buddies felt the same, jeering the guy together.
Savoring the deepening bromance, ready to wrap up the minor drama...
"You that good at fighting?"
The guy he'd pegged for a runner wheeled back, rolling up his sleeves as he approached.
2.
The café owner A who witnessed and reported the incident described the scene like this.
"A fight? Doesn't happen that often."
"Still, with all the bars around, shit pops off sometimes."
"Matchup was obvious at a glance. Any guy knows that vibe—like, oh shit, this is going down. So I called it in first, then watched."
"Pretty boy versus a pack of punks—felt bad for him back then. They were coming on strong, looked ready to rumble. Honestly, figured he'd get wrecked."
"Street fights, weight class is half the battle, right? The guy looked a solid 40 kg lighter than the tattoo pig."
Bait taken, just as planned.
Hyung-chil inwardly cheered while keep-sniping.
Puffing his chest like a gorilla thumping to intimidate, shoulders squared wide.
"Why you skulking and eavesdropping like a bitch? Oh? Want me to clock ya?"
"Yeah, you need a beating."
"I'll give you one. Got cash? Try me."
Café owner A (34) shook his head.
"After that, the tattoo pig kept provoking. Seemed like he wanted the other guy to swing first. In assault cases, it's less about who started talking shit and more who threw the first punch, y'know?"
"Pretty boy was pissed too—charged right in. Kinda tragic..."
Meanwhile, Si-woo was feeling awkward.
To him, fighting meant epic clashes with otherworldly witches.
He'd thrown hands once against slavers when Diana nearly got kidnapped, but those were scum he'd happily beaten half to death.
But paralyzing some punk for trash-talking from behind? That felt excessive.
He was pissed and needed to make a point, but no clue how hard to hit.
So he went for a slap.
Least likely to kill or cripple.
-Smack!!!
"Kuak!"
Café owner A (34, virgin) continued.
"Hard to describe... didn't sound like a slap. More like popping a thick rubber balloon?"
"That big lug staggered from one hit."
"Still, he lived up to his size—grabbed the guy's right sleeve and collar."
"I'm a five-year judo vet myself. I saw it clear: psycho tried an ura nage on asphalt."
"Judo on mats versus pavement? Night and day. With the weight gap, figured at least fractures."
Park Hyung-chil stared blankly, ears still ringing from the blow to his temple.
No idea what hit him, but his legs nearly buckled.
Still, adrenaline from the pain snapped him back. He lunged to slam the pretty boy down.
Gripped the right sleeve and collar tight.
At this point, victory was sealed.
"Rai-rai-cha-cha-cha!!!"
But...
Full-throated kiai, max effort—and nothing budged.
Like trying to lift a utility pole with a rope around it?
Never happened before; total shock.
"Let go, asshole, you're stretching my shirt."
"Th-this f-fuck..."
Technique failing utterly, monstrous grip strength in that split second.
Casual eyes locking wrists, unflappable calm—Hyung-chil knew it instinctively.
I'm fucked.
Café owner A (34, virgin, early M-bald) said with a dazed look.
"No clue how... but then the guy shook off the grip, grabbed the pig by the hair."
"And unloaded slaps non-stop."
"Thought hair-pulling and slapping were girl fights... damn, brutal as hell."
"Whap! Whap! Each one sprayed rainbows. Yeah, real rainbows."
"Blood from his busted mouth hit the neon signs, painting bloody arcs."
Punks have their code and pride.
Can't stand by while a bro gets wrecked.
The four who'd been laughing with smokes charged Si-woo at once.
"Holy shit! Our boss Hyung-chil's getting dog-walked like it's the dog days!"
"Our turn now!"
"Behold the power of friendship! Parasite twink!"
"I wanted to be born a pretty boy too!"
"Giga drill break!"
Café owner A shuddered, wrapping up his recollection.
"Felt like a Hong Kong flick."
"Four on one? You'd flinch, but he footworked cool as ice."
"That's when I knew. Dude's a pro."
"No reckless swings, brushed off grabs easy, dodged every attack... damn, blood was pumping."
"Retired from the scene to run this café now, but rediscovered I'm just a primal male chasing raw power."
When the dust settled: guy dusting his hands, five dudes groaning on the ground.
One was a chick, but no need to hit girls, so he let her be.
"Oppa! Hyung-chil oppa!"
The girl rushed to Hyung-chil only after confirming Si-woo meant no harm...
"Sinchon precinct here. Got a assault report, checking it out."
Two cops arrived in a flash, surveying the scene with wide eyes.
Street brawls don't hinge on who started mouthing off.
One-vs-many? Not the point.
First punch is assault; even a shove makes it mutual.
Report came in—gotta act.
Hyung-chil, playing dead on the pavement, bolted up at the sight of cops.
"Officer! That fucker hit first! CCTV over there! Look! Blood! Fuck, my teeth are loose!"
"Easy, sir. Calm down. Come to the station, we'll write it up."
Truth be told, they could bail clean.
Si-woo and Eloa were witches, after all.
Humans untouched by "mystery" forget them after a little time passes.
Or deploy a barrier and vanish on the spot...
But Si-woo didn't bother.
His master, who'd been watching, stepped up and flashed her ID.
"I'm Eloa Tiferet, First Secretary at the U.S. Embassy in Korea. Mind if I make a call?"
Trusting his master's connections.