Second Trial (3)
“Hey, kids, what’re you doing? Hurry up and search them. See if there are any ration coupons.”
“Yes, boss.”
Big guys in black suits. And a tall, well-built middle-aged man controlling them as easily as breathing. It was Kwak Man-ho, who once dreamed of becoming the world's top MMA fighter.
He'd racked up impressive results domestically and even made it to the UFG—a huge achievement. Back then, it felt like he owned the whole damn world.
But the joy was short-lived. A string of suspicious biased decisions led to three straight losses, and he got booted without a single win. A pathetic end.
The internet and real life were flooded with people shitting on Man-ho. Because of that, he never even got as famous as his peers.
The worst time of my life. Everyone could see I won those matches.
He tried to return to the domestic scene, but no dice. Every organization had turned into a nepotism fest due to cutthroat competition.
In the end, the path waiting for him was the gangster life. Starting as an enforcer, he piled up achievements one after another. Using the cops, he schemed his way to boss.
Now, he was trying to take over the area with his crews of violent thugs.
These days, being a gangster isn't just about brute strength. 'Corporate gangsters' and 'political gangsters' aren't a thing for nothing. If you've got balls, live big.
The dream of going global as a fighter? He wanted to achieve it as a gangster.
And the timing was perfect. It was an era where even crimes got a pass.
He looked around. He'd rushed down from Nowon Station and wiped out a group of people with his men. What Man-ho wanted was simple: ration coupons.
I've got 37 ration coupons right now. Need more. Way more.
Man-ho, the type to hoard everything. His men gathered the coupons.
“Big boss, total of nine.”
“Good work.”
The coupons piled up in his hand. A subordinate asked cautiously.
“But uh, you’re not sharing with us this time?”
The soft atmosphere flipped in an instant. Man-ho glared, and the thug bowed his head. Just looking at him was intimidating as hell.
Truth be told, Man-ho's raw power in the organization wasn't that high. He was a strategist, a schemer. But in this apocalypse, he'd gained that power too.
“S-sorry!”
“I'll give when it's time, you fuck. Why you whining? You a bitch or something?”
“Really sorry.”
“Try getting nagged by your clients sometime. You'll get it. Anyway, let's go.”
“Uh, where's Little Boss?”
“Im Gwan-hyung? Sent him to Eunhaeng Intersection.”
“Ah, lots of people there too, huh.”
“Move.”
Man-ho led his men back to Hwiya Auto Cue. The weight of the stuffed ration coupons in his pocket felt good. He had plans for them.
Trade these with Joo Jintae. Guy's got a ton of mouths to feed. What's he need most? I'll demand that. Start by taking his food?
Man-ho's lips twisted into a sleazy grin.
“Oof, let's see here.”
I'd already stormed into Hwiya Auto Cue and caused a ruckus. Took out four at the entrance and nine waiting inside. That's 13 points earned.
I formed a blood sword using a full 500ml.
“Feels like Gram's a luxury for a scrub like me.”
I could just replenish from the corpses as I used it up. But leaving my lightning sword idle felt like a waste. Changed my perspective, though.
Gram was my trump card.
Blood isn't omnipotent. So shine when it counts.
The Divine Game had items beyond skills. I wasn't the only one with high-grade artifacts. Some freak out there probably had a holy sword or some bullshit.
That's when I'd need Gram. I dispersed the blood sword back into a blood orb. Handy.
Rifled through what used to be an office. Weirdly, nothing worth taking. Not even women. You'd think they'd have some kidnapped slut stashed to fuck.
This place was cleaner than expected. Real gangsters?
“What the hell. No ration coupons, just a shitload of wallets.”
Money's worthless now. Felt empty. Meant Man-ho had the coupons.
Sighed.
“Doesn't make sense.”
Why risk your life for ration coupons? Sure, they're important. But stash the extras in a safe or something, right? Why carry them around?
One thought popped up.
Trading them? Exchanging for stat points?
Made sense. Sell them or trade with people. They're ration coupons, after all—gotta get something out of them.
Propped my chin. Needed confirmation.
“Arolong.”
Fireworks popped in the air. Arolong spun with a spotlight. Then mimed running with plastic bags full of stuff in both hands.
“Hoyt! Nice to see you! Orange?”
“No.”
“Aww.”
“One question. Can you sell ration coupons to other players?”
“Yep, possible!”
Arolong nodded. My guess was right. Man-ho probably figured the same, scheming this.
Meaning he hoarded them to control his men and make bank.
“For real? How do you exchange points?”
“Exchange is possible. Hidden feature—you nailed it.”
It existed. Akasha just didn't mention it. Next thing you know, summon a spaceship?
Snorted. Learned something from Arolong.
Players can trade points. Probably pops a trade window if you say so.
Nodded slowly. Got the picture.
Divine Game. Not just apocalypse playtime.
“Nothing else? I'm out.”
“Already? Watch me wreck shop first.”
“Not my thing. Got something more fun anyway.”
“More fun?”
Suddenly, Arolong's eyes went pure white. Creepy.
“Can't say it's unrelated to you? Bye!”
She turned to dust and vanished. Tilted my head.
Related to me?
BAM!
No time to think. The first-floor door burst open. Multiple footsteps.
Came out of the office and looked down. Thugs pouring in through the entrance.
Waved both hands.
“Welcome, gangsters!”
“...Who the fuck are you?”
A young thug aimed a steel pipe and asked. Meanwhile, I scanned their status windows. All mediocre.
“Me? Just a passing racer. Remember the name.”
“This fucker's joking. You kill our bros?”
“Sigh. Come on. You old fucks wanna keep playing family?”
“What?”
“What is this, a runaway teen gang? 'Family' this, 'bros' that? Wanna play house? Go to some cheap whorehouse and whine 'mommy' while you fuck a hooker.”
Thugs looked flustered. Didn't care, smirked and pointed.
“You'll all stab each other in the back when the time comes anyway.”
“Shut your bullshit hole!”
“Gangster trash pretending to have 'honor' and shit. Cumstain rejects.”
Giggled and taunted. Facts, right?
Thugs foamed and charged.
“He's alone—kill him!”
16 gangsters rushed up the metal stairs. Weapons galore: saws, kitchen knives, pipes, monkey wrenches.
Yawned.
“My turn.”
Fired ultra-compressed blood arrows in a barrage. They fanned out wide.
Pierced the sides of the climbing thugs in one go.
“Arghhh!”
“Aaaak!”
“Fuuuuck, mercy!”
Just screams in the end. Strolled forward casually. Shot arrows into necks and foreheads, punching holes.
Felt like a modern artist.
16 points—bon appétit!
“Cleanup done!”
“Ho, so who’s stepping up for Kwak Man-ho now?”
Heavy footsteps. A man appeared, black fur coat draped over his shoulders. Not overwhelmingly huge, but sharply built.
Checked his status.
History: Former MMA fighter. Returned after 3 straight losses due to biased judging in UFG. Strategist gangster.
Skill: Bellosity
Ex-MMA? Face rings no bells.
Never gave a shit about MMA anyway. Wouldn't recognize anyone.
Kwak Man-ho approached, slipping on leather gloves. His face oozed confidence.
“Kid, now I gotta recruit new bros 'cause of you.”
“Then recruit. Go cry about it on One Piece forums or whatever.”
“Heh, world's not that easy.”
“Yeah, being big boss suits you. Most honest one yet.”
Fakers would've spouted revenge bullshit. This guy was straight.
“Haven't told you my name yet. How'd you know I'm big boss?”
“Your men sang before dying.”
“Figures. Survival of the fittest in this life. But can you beat me and go home?”
“Of course. No need for fancy lights.”
Man-ho bellowed a hearty laugh at my answer. Nodded slowly, then exploded off the ground.
Fired blood arrows and watched. His form blurred, then vanished in a blink.
Gone?
Whoosh—CRACK!
Sudden agony on my cheek. I flew sideways. Cold floor welcomed me.
Blinked open—Man-ho right there. Grabbed for his ankle, but he vanished again.
CRASH!
Ripping pain in my back this time. He'd kicked me.
Mid-air, he unleashed insane-speed combos. Like an aerial juggle in a fighting game.
“Guhk!”
Slammed into the wall. He reappeared, smirking.
This fucker's fast.
“What, kid? Done already?”
“Cough, cough. Damn, strategist hits hard.”
“You take it well. Join me? I respect top-dog talent.”
“Pass! I don't listen to weaklings.”
Man-ho's cold laugh at my reply.
“Still got mouth on you. You kids these days.”
“But hey, don't get too close.”
“My dick's bigger than you—worried about your balls?”
“See for yourself.”
Vanished from sight again. Only the wind-whipping sound.
Faint afterimages, footsteps lagging behind.
Cross-guarded against the wall. Tried to endure.
Whooshes from everywhere. Fists and kicks battered my body. Like getting mobbed by dozens.
Each hit could've knocked me out cold.
But fun. Thrilling. After chowing on scrubs, this made my heart race.
Hurts. Hardening blood blocks it. Exactly what I wanted!
Blocks shattered on impact. Still grinned.
Experimenting right now.
One reason to smile. Glanced at the floor.
Fun as hell.
Then Man-ho grabbed my hair, elbow strike. Flew and crashed again.
“Hurts pretty good? Hyah.”
“Kid, life's about real fights. Killing scrubs don't make you strong.”
“Sorry first.”
“Wanna crawl between my legs?”
Shook my head. Crazy to turn gangster.
“Could beat you a million ways.”
“Lame bluff, kid.”
“One's really fun. Think it'll work.”
“Now?”
“Thanks for the sweet advice. Hit me more?”
“Fine, die.”
Man-ho grinned, charged. Kicked off—blipped out, reappeared. Clutched his chest, doubled over.
“Hurk, huff—what?”
“Didn't expect this use.”
Signal finally. After spamming that power, the euphoria hit hard.
Gonna cum from this, fuck.
“Wh-what?”
“Got another power. Poison. Didn't know?”
“Poison?”
Man-ho finally looked around. While he pummeled me, blood splattered everywhere. My arrows left puddles, lots on him.
He freaked.
“Y-you poisoned your blood?!”
“Bingo. Smart guy.”
“F-fuck! Two powers?!”
“Wanted to test STR 43 punches. Bearable with blood blocks.”
Let some blood spray on purpose, no full harden.
Prioritized airborne poison spread.
“Cough, guh—blegh!”
Man-ho puked blood. Face pale turning greenish. Poison sunk in.
“Your power's acceleration? Muscles, blood flow rev up too. Metabolism skyrockets.”
“F-fuck.”
“Sucks up poison faster. Tough break, wrong matchup.”
“Urk!”
“Let's see.”
Pulled 500ml blood from orb. Max-hardened into ropes, bound him tight.
“Sorry, no turtle-shell tie.”
“Grrk, f-fuck off!”
Rifled his pockets. Coat inner: stuffed with ration coupons. Counted.
“Whoa, fuck. 46 ration coupons? Psycho.”
“No—gurk—that's for Joo Jintae—blegh.”
“Joo Jintae?”
“Ch-church— no—koff.”
Unexpected name. Snickered.
So that's it?
Now it clicked why the gang knew me. Not their CCTV—Joo Jintae leaked it.
Ha, that fucker sold my info? Crossed the line.
Pocketed all coupons, stood. Pulled Gram, stabbed Man-ho.
Enemy defeated!
Acquired 3 Apocalypse Points (AP)!
Next target's you, Joo Jintae.
'Wandering Wildman' sponsored 54 AP!
Catching my breath, I laughed. Glanced at the back of the ration coupon bundle.
Something there. But the shape was weird. Merged with the front's Arolong form.
“Huh? What's this?”