The Price of a Star

At Kang Do-seok's words, the storage room went quiet.

The werewolf's red eyes dropped to Kang Do-seok's hand. The star that had rested there only moments before was gone. In its place, a faint crimson thread had wriggled once beneath his skin and sunk out of sight.

The mage clenched his teeth.

"Fuck... he took it."

The shield gunman raised his shotgun.

"What do we do, Boss? Do I shoot?"

Click. Even with the man's finger sliding into the shotgun's trigger guard, Kang Do-seok stayed perfectly composed. "Planning to kill me and take it back?"

A Skill Star didn't vanish forever the moment it was absorbed. Kill a player who owned one, and you could choose a single star from among the dead player's collection and take it for yourself.

So if they killed Kang Do-seok, they could, in fact, claim the star.

Of course, that was only true if they could actually manage to kill him.

Click. The gunman's finger found the trigger.

At that instant, the werewolf pressed down on the shotgun's barrel.

"Don't."

"But Boss, that bastard took our—"

"I said that's enough."

The werewolf's voice settled low, and the gunman shut his mouth. The fireball hovering at the mage's fingertips wavered uneasily.

"The streets out there are crawling with players... and our barrier artifact is gone. We're withdrawing."

This was no place to fight Kang Do-seok alone. If battle broke out here, they'd be facing the players outside on top of their own injuries. The werewolf growled at him.

"What a pain in the ass this turned out to be. Thank your lucky stars, Kang Do-seok."

"Funny — seems to me you're the lucky ones."

The shield gunman bared his teeth at that.

"Just fucking kill him, Boss—"

"Shut your mouth."

"Come on, he stripped us clean—"

"If you want to fight so badly, fight him alone."

The gunman's face twisted. The werewolf turned back to Kang Do-seok.

"We fall back today. But the Cheongmyeong Guild will remember this."

Kang Do-seok huffed a laugh.

"You talk too much. If your business here is done, get lost."

"......Until next time, Kang Do-seok."

The werewolf's red eyes blazed. He looked ready to tear out Kang Do-seok's throat then and there. But in the end, he didn't move.

"We're leaving."

The gunman gnashed his teeth — and lowered the shotgun all the same. The mage smothered his fireball in a clenched fist and fell back toward the shattered door of the storage room.

The werewolf looked at Kang Do-seok one last time.

"Don't think you'll live long, acting like that."

"Longer than you, anyway."

".......Let's go."

The werewolf's teeth ground together again. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠But that was the end of it.

The three of the Cheongmyeong Guild cleared out of the storage room. Wet footsteps and clattering metal faded down the corridor, then dissolved into the gunfire and shouting erupting from every direction.

Kang Do-seok stood there a moment longer. Only when their presence had fully receded did he lower his sword.

"A-are they gone?"

Morte asked from behind. He was crouched at the foot of a corpse bed, face drained white, cradling his broken hand against his chest.

"I said, are they gone?"

"For now."

"Fuck... we're alive."

"Not yet. On your feet — you're leading."

Morte tried to force himself upright and crumpled back down. His legs had apparently given out entirely.

Kang Do-seok looked down at him.

"Move fast, or I leave you here."

"I'm going! Fuck. I just have to pull it together, that's all."

Morte hauled himself up using the wall.

Kang Do-seok headed for the space behind the cooling unit at the back of the room — a staff waste-disposal passage. The door was locked. He kicked the handle.

Crack. The door buckled inward, and a wave of rot rolled out.

"Get in."

Wincing, Morte followed without a word of complaint.

The two of them moved swiftly through the narrow passage. Outside, gunfire and curses were still going off. The players were still ransacking the collection facility.

A few times, Kang Do-seok paused mid-stride. The smell of blood hung thick around him — several times stronger than it should have been.

He had just eaten a blood-attribute Skill Star. With the status windows gone, there was no way to know exactly what skill it contained until you actually swallowed it.

Which meant you only found out by eating it. From the heavy reek of blood at the tip of his nose, Kang Do-seok had a decent guess as to what he'd gotten.

Morte followed at his heels, hardly daring to breathe, then whispered, "Hey, uh. That way — we come out that way."

At the end of the passage stood a rusted old ladder. Kang Do-seok checked for movement above, then pushed the manhole cover up.

Rain came pouring down.

It was the alley behind the collection facility. Waste-hauling vehicles sat parked in a row, and neon glow bled hazily over the top of the high fence.

Morte clawed his way up at last and slumped onto the ground.

"Fuck... we made it."

Rain hammered down onto the mounds of waste. Torn black bags, putrefying flesh, and discarded prosthetic parts lay tangled together in a single heap. Morte lay sprawled in front of it all, gasping. The stench of the gutter and the reek of blood rose even thicker where the rain had soaked through them.

Kang Do-seok looked down at him and spoke.

"The moment you leave here, the first thing you do is get your face remade."

Morte lifted his head.

"What?"

"Throw away your name. Throw away your home. Throw away your terminal. Don't touch your accounts. Don't contact anyone you know."

"Fuck, why would I do all that?"

"Because if you don't, you die."

Kang Do-seok pointed back toward the collection facility. Gunfire was still ringing inside. The star was already in Kang Do-seok's stomach, but most of the players in there had no idea.

They had exactly one clue left.

Morte.

The corpse collector who'd picked up a Skill Star.

"Those bastards still think the star's on you."

"B-but you're the one who took it."

"And who's going to believe that?"

Morte's face went rigid.

"The second word gets around that you're alive, they'll come for you. They'll kick in your door, cut off your fingers, gouge out your eyes, slice open your belly — asking the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠whole time where the star is."

"It won't matter that you say you don't know. Won't matter if you hand it over. They'll keep checking until you're dead."

Rainwater ran down Morte's face. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

"So live like a dead man," Kang Do-seok said. "New face, hide in the gutter. Live like a vagrant, and if a chance comes up, get out of Netron City."

"You brought this on yourself."

Morte couldn't say a word.

His home address surfaced in his mind. The alley he took to work, the cheap diner he always ate at, his rent-delinquent room, the contacts saved on his terminal.

Every last one of them, a place where he would die.

The players would tear through them all first. Smashing in the door, flipping the bed, dragging in everyone who knew his name and squeezing them for answers.

Only then did Morte understand that the only thing left to him was the body he was standing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in.

Kang Do-seok pulled a small cash chip from his coat and tossed it down in front of Morte.

Plop. The chip dropped into a puddle on the ground.

"Use it to fix your hand and buy a new face."

Morte stared blankly down at the chip.

"Why...?"

"For the star." With that, Kang Do-seok turned away.

Morte snatched up the chip in a hurry and stuffed it into his coat. His broken hand nearly fumbled it more than once, but he held on until the very end.

"Kang Do-seok."

Kang Do-seok didn't stop.

"I really just have to live like a dead man, right?"

"That's right."

"Then... I can survive? Right?"

Kang Do-seok's steps paused. Rain ran down the tip of his sword.

"If you're lucky."

That was all. Without another word, he walked out of the alley.

Behind him, Morte's ragged breathing went on. A little later, the sound of unsteady footsteps faded off in the opposite direction. Kang Do-seok didn't look back.

Gunfire still thundered inside the collection facility. The players would be screaming curses at one another, dying, and searching for the star while drenched in other people's blood.

That star was already inside Kang Do-seok.

He walked through the rain. When he raised his hand, he could see a blood-red vessel twitching faintly beneath the skin.

The smell of blood still lingered at the end of his nose.

A few days later.

Kang Do-seok sat in Carvel's office. It was a clean, orderly space — a desk with a black glass top, six slim monitors lining the wall, an air purifier humming without a sound, and beyond the windows a cityscape drowned in neon. It looked less like an information broker's office than some corporate executive's private suite.

Carvel was flipping through a file folder. A gold tooth flashed in his gaunt face.

"There we go. Here it is."

Folder in hand, Carvel came around to Kang Do-seok and perched on the chair across the desk.

"You said you were after someone with a blood sample on file. As it happens, there's exactly one. Harrow Industries' finance director. Name's Raden Beck. Embezzled company funds, burned his identity, swapped his face more than once, and ran. A real piece of work."

"And the blood's condition is solid?"

"It is. Excellent storage state."

Carvel lifted an index finger and tapped the edge of the folder.

"So what do you need a blood sample for, anyway?"

"There's something I need to confirm."

"Confirm what, exactly? Raden Beck ran off with plenty of company money, sure, but bring in a blood mage and the numbers won't work out."

Blood mages were the kind who cast spells by burning their own life force. With a single drop of blood, tracking a person down was no ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠trouble for them at all.

The problem was the cost of hiring one. Their going rate wasn't something you paid to collect on a single debt.

"There are ways around that."

"One of those skills you ate a few days back? Sounds like you picked up something handy for finding people."

Carvel chuckled, gold tooth glinting.

"The star was red, if I recall — that'd make it blood-type. Am I right?"

"Poke at my trade secrets and we'll have a problem."

"Hm, well. All I need is for the job I handed you to get done properly. That part's your business... Anyway. Kang Do-seok."

"What is it?"

"About Morte. He's dead."

Kang Do-seok's hand stopped.

"Take a look when you get a chance. I'll send you the link."

A moment later, the terminal in Kang Do-seok's coat buzzed. He drew it out, opened the link, and pressed the screen.

A run-down anonymous message board.

A photo was attached to the post.

It was Morte. His skull was caved in halfway, both his eyes gouged out. He lay dumped on the floor of the scrapyard, belly split open. Beside him, someone had scrawled a message in blood.

The post continued below.

The comment section beneath it was on fire.

Kang Do-seok read slowly through it all, down to the last comment.

"And I even paid him for the star."

He had paid Morte for the star, plain and simple. He'd saved the man's life at the collection facility and even handed over a cash chip to cover a new face.

He had, in his own way, settled the star's account in full. But Morte's account was another matter — that one had never closed. There was one more party with a debt to collect from him. Netron City itself.

Morte had to pay for what he'd done — the price of carelessly stirring up the players. A price to be settled not in money, but in life.

In the end, before he could even begin living as a dead man, Morte became one for real.

He never got his hand fixed. Never got his face changed. He never even got to dream of leaving Netron City.

"...No luck at all, that one."

Staring at the photo of Morte's corpse, Kang Do-seok clicked his tongue.

— End of Episode 7 —