Don't Look for Me (2)
Korean tenants usually break out in shivers at the mere mention of "landlord." Not all of them, sure, but some bad apples spoil the bunch. Money issues are usually involved, which makes the stereotype even worse. But Joo Tae-in isn't your typical sleazy landlord.
No financial pressure from rent or anything mundane like that. No, I find her intimidating for entirely different reasons.
"You free tomorrow by any chance?"
Bright khaki hair—you can't tell if it's natural or dyed. It curls at the ends, looping halfway around her massive chest before falling. Like it's there to hide that explosive physique. Of course, a hidden treasure has its limits.
"Mmph. Mmff!"
"What? Can't hear you."
"Pwease!"
Look at these wicked blobs of fat choking off my air right now. Normally, they're soft and bouncy, perfect for tempting men, but not like this. No man hates boobs. But boob asphyxiation is a crime.
If only she were a bit taller, I wouldn't suffer this humiliation. Why does Ren, with her Western build, barely top the average Korean woman's height?
"Can't... breathe."
"Oops."
"'Oops' my ass..."
She's nearly suffocated me to death multiple times since we met. Does she still not get it? Well, we haven't seen much of each other lately, so maybe she forgot... No, forgetting would be weirder. Forget this? Unforgivable. Today, I'm telling her straight: your tits are violent weapons, sis.
But why do I smell chicken? Did she just eat some?
"Right! I brought chicken! Your favorite crispy kind!"
"Your violent kindness matches your good intentions!"
Bringing a bargaining chip like that—sneaky. She's a whiny crybaby when bored, but she read my mind when I was craving chicken. A scary woman, truly.
"All boneless, right?"
"Of course~."
I speared a piece with the fork and fed it to Tae-in quick. Watched her chew, then popped another in my mouth. This is the taste. That crispy, chewy fried skin that drives people insane. It's no exaggeration to say the chicken's soul is in that skin and batter. The meat's just nutrition.
Health be damned—the unhealthier, the better. I was shoveling chicken into my mouth like mad when Tae-in smiled and asked, "So, busy tomorrow?"
"Cough—hack!"
Chicken nearly lodged in my throat. Stay calm. I saw this coming, so I'd already blocked out my Sunday schedule. Even a dog learns the ways of the world after three years at school, right? After half a year, I've started reading Tae-in's patterns.
She visits every month. Her goal: drag me out and play dress-up. Avoiding this ordeal means sensing her killing intent.
"Sorry. Got work tomorrow. There's a Fighting Spirit event at Hajeong Department Store, and I signed up to help."
"You work Mon-Sat, and now Sunday too?"
"What's wrong with that?"
"No sane person does. You'll wreck your body..."
"I'm fine. See?"
I rolled my shoulders to show off. A slight knot tugged, begging for a gentle rub, but tomorrow's workout would fix it. Promise.
"Jeez. I only charge 100,000 won for rent so you won't stress, and you say even that's too much..."
That's 'cause you keep trying to dress me up like a girl. I swallowed the words rising in my throat and replied sweetly instead.
"Work makes me happy."
"Fix your face first."
"What's wrong with my face?"
"You look like you wanna die and sleep forever..."
"No I don't."
Tae-in eyed me disapprovingly, then sighed and patted my head lightly.
"Tell me if it's too much. Remember? I'd starve before letting you go hungry."
"...Yeah, I remember."
"Good. I'm always waiting... Someday, you'll sleep under the same blanket for sure..."
Never happening. Unless I lose myself and get swallowed by Ren. Tae-in's arms? The second I melt in, I'd be in cat-embroidered pajamas, giggling about girly stuff. Like hell I'd let that happen.
"If you're sleeping alone and thunder crashes... and you think, 'Oh no, so scary!'... come downstairs anytime?"
"......"
I could show her a dizzying hook kick like thunder to the head. But it'd cave in her skull, so no.
"Anyway, enjoy the chicken. Don't overdo it at work tomorrow. Got it?"
She grinned and headed straight for the door.
"Don't get hurt. Tell me if it hurts."
I exhaled shortly and shook my head. With Ren's physique intact, me getting hurt? More likely I'd accidentally punch someone and end up in jail first.
I could predict Tae-in's outing invite because her period started today. Didn't pry. After our first month together, our cycles synced, so I just knew instinctively. Lucky me—no cramps. Thank god. Maybe Astarte's influence.
But humans are slaves to hormones. This time of month, my irritation, complaints, and swears spike for no reason. Hard to explain. Like wanting to kick anyone who starts shit? But in modern society, you can't just beat random people. And I don't lose control enough for fists to fly anyway.
So on those days, I hole up and beat people in games. The game back then? Fighting Spirit, the 3D fighter that took over after League of Consil's global boom. Huge in Korea as Tuhon.
Coming back from Death Tower to Korea, I was shocked by Fighting Spirit's popularity. Before I got trapped in that tower world, it was ancient history. Full of noobs-friendly players saying "learn by getting hit," but how many newbies actually stuck? Userbase shrank, survivors formed cliques, covered for their own, endless faction wars.
Then League of Consil hit a massive scandal, and Fighting Spirit skyrocketed... to its current hype. Who'd believe it? Looks like the world twisted when I became Ren, and everyone went nuts with it.
Anyway, booming Fighting Spirit league. Top ranker pulls 5 billion won a year easy. My old world's #1 self made 50 million annually from streams. 100 times more. Insane.
"When's Mixer arriving?"
"Soon, they said."
"All event participants ready?"
"Yes. Prelims done. Semis, finals... then Mixer event match left."
"Good. Tell the kids no route screw-ups."
My old Fighting Spirit nick was MIXER. Not at first, but I loved "mixing" all opponents, so I changed it. And this world's #1 is also MIXER. Some curse on top nicks? How else this coincidence?
"What about that foreigner?"
"Send her anywhere backstage."
"Yeah... She speaks Korean well, but..."
"Koreans study English forever but panic in front of whites. Imagine if that white girl suddenly speaks Korean. No need to mess up other part-timers' routes."
"True. I was shocked earlier."
"Yeah."
Different worldline, so no guarantees, but seeing this world's MIXER—Cheon No-ah—stirs grudges. Like he scooped up the future I left behind. If not for the tower, I'd be Fighting Spirit's top dog raking 5 billion yearly. Without this flashy face, I could've challenged No-ah, toppled him. His wealth and fame? Mine.
Gritting my teeth, trembling, I glared at the central battle station when the event manager approached.
"Um, Elena?"
"Yes."
"Backstage there. See the stacked boxes?"
"Yes."
"That's today's player list. Check if everyone's waiting. If missing, check bathrooms. If can't start right away, radio in. Know how?"
"Yes. Got it."
The manager smiled awkwardly at my fluent Korean. I hustled to the spot. Mouthed "here?" and she nodded fast.
Nice to dodge real work, but annoying being treated like a foreigner every time.
Whatever. Work all week, chill one day—not bad.
Life where every word plants a flag—qucka plyat. Try to rest, shit happens. Even solo ladies' room raid. First sticky spot in six months as a girl. No escape.
"Find her quick. She was fine gaming till event match... where'd she go?!"
"Found her, I think."
"Really? Where?"
"Second-floor ladies' room."
"Thank god... Can you bring her quick?"
"......I'll try."
SuitOrc, Jericho main, swept semis and finals 3-0 easy. But vanished before Mixer event. All part-timers scoured the store for five minutes. I found her. Venue on 6F, she fled to 2F? What the hell?
"What do I do. What do I do. What do I do..."
Trembling footsteps and nail-biting from the stall. I slipped into the next one, peeked over. Girl on toilet lid, hood deep, mask and shades hiding everything—gender unknown. Ladies' room, thin voice: girl.
"Hey. Not competing?"
"Eek!"
Even gentle, SuitOrc startled, dropped shades. Whoa—shades under shades. What circus is this?
"You scared me..."
"No time. Competing or not?"
"Thinking! Don't nag..."
Her visible hand slick with sweat.
"Nervous?"
"Yeah. Gonna die. Already dead. Can't play like this. Ah... Shouldn't have entered. Die. Gotta die."
Hard to believe she breezed semis/finals. Mixer's the issue?
"So... you're out?"
"Yes. Can't. Absolutely not. No way."
Future forecast: I reported finding her. She's no-go. Event flops? I'm fluent, but to organizers, I'm ditzy foreigner part-timer. Beating on part-timers? Easy for staff.
"Communication issues with foreign part-timer. Event bombed." They'd spin it.
Fuck, annoying just thinking. Skipped home rest to dodge Tae-in, came to work. No gaming for stress, gotta minimize rage.
But solution: I sub in for dropout SuitOrc, fight Mixer. Stress vent, problem solved. Perfect twofer. Versus world's top guy in Fighting Spirit—no boredom. Face on stream? Borrow her full tactical gear.
Best plan. No time to hesitate. Banged on stall door.
"Lend me your gear. I'll sub."
Short silence. Door creaked open slow. She peeked out, glossy black bob slipping from hood and shades.
"R-Really? For real?!"
