Spar! Respecting Tastes
116. Bimu!Taste Respect. A term born from the very idea of respecting each other's preferences. Every person has their own ideal type, plain and simple. On the internet, they even say there's porn for everything in existence—human desires are that wildly varied. So usually, people respect it. For folks on the 3rd Floor, taste was something like, "I don't get it, but if you like it, I respect that."
Now, let's shift perspectives. What about the 5th Floor's ancient martial world? The 4th Floor's Lazesta Continent has just started using cell phones. But here, where they can't even set up cell towers because of the spirit beasts, they still rely on word of mouth for info? It's right there in front of you, plain as day.
"How dare you harbor feelings for those foul-smelling, beastly old men who don't treat people like people—as a woman?!"
"Who's foul-smelling! You're the one belittling a man's rugged weather-beaten grit and wild masculinity—you sneaky little girl chasing after boys' tails, so insidious!"
In this ancient martial world, respect was won with swords. The two martial masters' thunderous roars nearly burst my eardrums.
Clutching my ears with both hands, I stepped outside to find Namgoong Family warriors already swarming in.
"B-Boss!"
Kim Yang was among them, rushing over to me in a panic. Spotting the two women glued together, she jumped in shock.
"A-Again?!"
"Yeah... again."
Women in their thirties—confirmed spinsters—got especially prickly. The pathos of the marriage market, I suppose. Men could still pull it off at thirty, but women crossing that line faced harsh judgment in reality.
These two, now in their thirties, weren't clashing like foxes anymore; they were tigers roaring at each other.
As the Namgoong warriors approached, the pair's voices dropped as if they'd never yelled, dignity filling the air.
"Ahem. We merely came to see young master Juseon."
"...However, leaping over another's walls is the height of rudeness."
My theory: even the most immature person learns basic social graces by thirty. These two proved it.
Look at how fast they put on their masks.
Your tastes are something you don't want others knowing about, right? That's why they called each other "golden orchids"—true friends.
You don't want the family knowing, you idiot. So play along.
I'm doing it, you bitch.
They smiled, but I could feel their eyes quickly reaching an accord.
"Still, consider this maiden's heart, worried that the young master wouldn't linger long in the martial world."
"Maiden? Ha!"
"You dog—!"
Of course, Paeng Sorin nearly blew it when Namgoong Haryeong provoked her mid-sentence. Despite being the same age.
With the mood lightening cheerfully, the baffled warriors glanced around. Not wanting a big scene, Namgoong Haryeong nodded with a grin.
"If the family head finds out, it'll blow up big time. Best to scram quick."
"I'll make amends for today's rudeness through your family channels. Forgive us."
Paeng Sorin approached me with a clasped-fist salute, smiling.
"Young master Juseon, shall we go?"
What a sly fox. Her intent to drag me out of Namgoong territory was crystal clear.
"He's a guest of our Namgoong house."
Naturally, Haryeong blocked the way. Just as the women's aura clash reignited—
A true energy crushed the entire space.
I knew who had arrived without turning—the overwhelming pressure told me.
"We see the family head!"
"We see the family head!"
The warriors behind me dropped to their knees, bowing and parting like the sea.
Turning, I saw Namgoong Pacheon approaching with a stone-cold face.
The two spinsters—no, the two heroines—went pale.
"W-We see the head of the Namgoong Family!"
Paeng Sorin bowed deeply with her salute, cold sweat beading on her forehead. She hadn't expected the family head himself.
"Daughter of the northern winds, do you know where you tread so carelessly?"
A faint killing intent laced Pacheon's voice. One wrong word, and heads would roll.
Namgoong Haryeong hadn't wanted things to escalate this far either and scrambled for a fix. But her thick-skulled, sword-swinging brain only knew "draw sword" as a solution—no clever fix came.
"Th-That is—"
As Paeng Sorin wracked her brain for an answer, I stepped in.
"Sorry. I invited her in."
Pacheon turned his stone-stiff body toward me. Even that tiny motion whipped up the air around us.
"For the test you gave me, family head. You said any method goes, right?"
"So you called in an ally?"
"Yes."
Suddenly, I wondered. A few steps, one hand extended—he was within reach. Should I try a surprise attack now?
"..."
But Pacheon's gaze settled, as if he already knew my thoughts. He approached instead, closing to arm's length.
"A smart one like you knows that's not what I meant."
"Too high praise. My shallow mind just scraped together an answer."
"A criminal sees one move ahead, a sage ten, a master grasps the momentum."
"..."
"Had you reached out even a little, that woman would have paid the price."
Whoosh!
His sleeve brushed perilously close. Turning without a glance back, Pacheon departed, saying,
"You have more guests now. Don't shame the Namgoong name—serve them with full courtesy."
"Yes, sir!"
"Yes, sir!"
Thunderous replies, and the tension drained from my body like a sigh of relief. Paeng Sorin finally straightened and approached.
"Young master? What just happened? This lady surely owes you a debt now!"
I wanted to yell, "Who asked a marriage-obsessed spinster to hop fences?" But I smiled instead. Honestly, relieved.
"No big deal. You're a Meracle client, aren't you?"
"Young master—!"
"Just one tiny favor, though."
"A favor? Anything—"
"Fight alongside me against the family head today."
"..."
Paeng Sorin's face went whiter than before.
* * *
The night of the full moon. In ancient martial terms, the Hour of the Pig—between 9 and 11 PM.
Beneath a fog-shrouded sky befitting Unseo Castle's name, I stood facing Namgoong Pacheon.
In my hand, a single sword—borrowed from the Namgoong family. I'd swung it all day to get familiar.
For reference, Danya was safely packed in my luggage. I'd considered leaving it home, but with that shameless grandma and granddaughter dropping by often, I brought it. Ten billion—what, trust it to someone else?
I even take it to work in my Danya bag.
"So this is the momentum you've prepared."
Pacheon's gaze flicked to my sides. On my left, Namgoong Haryeong grinned slyly, gripping her scabbard. On my right, Paeng Sorin stood rigidly polite, lips pressed tight.
Both here to help me, yet their expressions screamed they'd rather fight each other.
"Matching blades with the family head alone? Beyond my current skill."
"I don't think so."
"..."
Sharp as ever, the old man. His words drew reactions—from the two women, who whipped their heads toward me in unison.
"Father's been eyeing you since last time. What gives? You're no ordinary marriage agency boss."
"Is the young master hiding something?"
"Got time to look back? Who's standing right in front of you?"
Sheepish, they turned forward again. Pacheon eyed his daughter steadily.
"Haryeong, your swordplay in that den of humanity-defilers was sorely disappointing."
For reference, that "den" was Cyber City. The family head still saw the 6th Floor as toxic. Poor Namgoong Yeon had more headaches ahead.
"I've felt the gap and straightened my dulled blade since."
"..."
"Having a wall was a blessing, Father. It gave me something to reach for—I couldn't set my sword aside."
Shing!
Namgoong Haryeong's blade slid out beautifully. Winning her over was easy. She wanted to come with me. Wanted marriage.
"This maiden, Namgoong Haryeong, humbly seeks the family head's instruction once more."
"Hoo."
A short breath from beside her. More like resolve than a sigh. Paeng Sorin elegantly drew her sword too.
"This junior thanks you for the rare chance to receive the family head's guidance."
Words aside, Paeng Sorin had agreed too. Hooked by the bait in the letter I'd sent via Haryeong.
[Teach stern men as a master, naturally sparking encounters.]
[Chance to handsomely raise the man of your dreams.]
[Sweet romance surpassing master and pupil.]
It nailed Paeng Sorin's heart—she jumped in eagerly.
"Very well."
Pacheon, appraising their resolve, drew his sword soundlessly.
"Before the Hour of the Pig ends—"
With his low, heavy voice—
"Graze my sleeve, and it's yours."
On the training ground, the sword dance of martial masters had just begun.