Before the Baptism
Before my baptism, back when I was still hustling in sales, I learned something: a huge chunk of modern office drones don't even stretch properly, leaving them with stiff, twisted bodies. I couldn't agree more—or rather, I twisted my back hard to prove it, and ended up calling in sick. When that ominous crack hit, I crumpled like I wasn't even in my twenties anymore. The doc's lecture was the real kicker: nearly burst a disc, severe scoliosis, what kind of life leads a young guy to a body like this? What kind of life? The obvious one—crashing on narrow, cold, hard floors, barely scraping by on nutrition through my teenage years, duh.
Anyway, that's when I learned humans end up with shitty bodies from shitty lives. I still remember the physical therapists yanking my legs wide and crushing my spine like they were out for blood. When my body got bent the complete opposite way, it felt even rougher than therapy.
"Still, for scoliosis, this is the best. Felt like it went right to the bone, all cool and refreshed."
Once the twisted mess got straightened, my body—locked in bad posture for years—snapped back to golden-ratio perfection. Hunched neck, warped spine, rigid muscles, organs crammed together just holding on for dear life. Everything slotted back into normal human territory, and I felt reborn. Did Jesus get this vibe after three days and nights in the tomb?
I headed toward the young guy shivering on the floor. Looked about S-man's age. But where S-man's innate class and elite aura keep strangers at arm's length, this self-proclaimed Jacob had that classic pretty-boy charm—fresh smile, soft voice, the type who'd chat you up right away. Charismatic hunk versus approachable hunk, you know? Of course, looks innocent, but once you see the truth, chills down the spine.
"I heard your claim on birthright privileges loud and clear. But there's another reason it doesn't pack the punch it should: the state of modern society."
"......"
"Civilization advances, social vibes shift, values change—old stuffy customs and traditions fade away. Yeah, including that precious birthright of yours. In today's world, no one says you get extra inheritance just for being the eldest, or absolute family authority. Hell, if the family head writes a will donating everything back to society and gets it notarized, the firstborn gets jack shit."
If this were peak feudal medieval times, birthright could've scored big. But modern society? It don't mean squat. Eldest is just a title now, nothing more.
"When wielding birthright, don't fixate on the right itself—focus on the backdrop where it actually works. This ain't some third-world backwater still bowing to it. It's Hell Joseon, where democratic, equality-armed siblings claw it away. Simple mismatch problem."
"A... matchup issue?"
"Occult's core is how 'interpretation' warps perspective. So why not matchup? Even sports have home-field advantage—why wouldn't a finicky art like sorcery?"
"......"
Jacob finally clocked his mistake, staring at his charred black hand with trembling eyes.
"But no worries. There's one absolute power that trumps matchup."
Faith. I cracked open the Bible and strode toward the shell-shocked H Group clan.
"Let he who is without sin cast the first stone."
No stones thrown. None here.
"Let he who has felt the love of Lord Jesus and the Father step forward."
No one budged. No love of the Lord Jesus and Father here.
"Let he who truly repents his sins kneel."
No kneelers. No true repenters here.
"Yet even so, Jesus loves you wretched souls. You've piled up evils, deny they're sins, refuse repentance—and still, you're loved. The Lord's love is equal to all."
I approached Park Han-jeong, H Group's chairman, gripping the table, lips bitten white.
"You're a nasty-hearted merchant with nothing but cash. Lives ruined by your hands, lives taken, wealth stolen. Stinking of sins piled to your neck, yet you dare crave salvation. I know."
"......"
"I know you thought handing everything to the eldest—sins included—would let you skate to salvation easy."
"!"
Sounds slick on paper. Back then, kids inherited parents' debts and had to deal. Link that to birthright transfer and absolution? Nifty spell: dump everything on the eldest, dodge responsibility. No sins committed, no excess wealth hoarded—salvation unlocked. But bad matchup again. Modern kids don't inherit parental crimes via guilt-by-blood, and debts? Just disclaim inheritance. Jacob planned to snag the wealth and power, ditch the sins and karma.
Faith's terrifying like that. Shuts down reason, makes nonsense feel natural. But that's why it's fair and absolute. No faith? No heaven. Faith? Heaven. Crystal clear.
Faith must be fair, absolute, unbreakable. Once cracked, no sincerity left. Why else invent "apostate"? For self-betrayers who shatter their own faith against the law. Churches hate apostates worse than heretics—heretics can convert, apostates chose to break it.
Park Han-jeong ain't an apostate, though. He believed Jacob, not Jesus. Just a heretic. One who could shatter his heresy, become apostate to it, and return to Jesus' flock—a poor lamb with a shot.
"Crave salvation? Enough to yield everything to that false preacher?"
"...Yes."
"Now that you know your days are numbered, everything scares you?"
"...Terrifying."
"But your sins run deep. You took a false Jesus for true, sought salvation from a false one, pledged everything to a false one—your flesh and soul's filth defies words."
"What... what must I do?!"
Park Han-jeong knelt before me. Jacob freaked, snapping at him.
"What the hell, Chairman! That snake whispers with forked tongue, paws your pockets with beast claws, swallows all with hell-mouth! Don't fall for it!!"
"You doing it was fine?"
"......"
"One difference between us. Guess what."
I grabbed the nape of the groveling Park Han-jeong, dragged him to the cross, slapped his hand on it, snatched a writhing sin fragment from the floor, and slammed it in with my fist.
"GYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!"
"The 'will' to fully execute what you set out to do."
"You're insane! That won't actually save him..."
"Why not?"
"You're... not Him!"
Tsk tsk. I squatted before writhing Park Han-jeong.
"Even that Jesus didn't baptize himself—had John the Baptist do it. Showing the path to one with true faith? Anyone could."
"Sophistry!"
"Interpretation."
I interpreted it so. I willed it so. I committed to it. Enough, right?
"Sinful Park Han-jeong. See your sins bleed along that nail in your hand. Our Father in heaven delights, guiding you to paradise. Will you truly atone and believe?"
"Yes! I'd give everything...!"
"Good. Your worldly all stays here, but your faith reaches heaven. On wings of faith, you'll soar to Him boldly. Confess before Him: your child cast off the world, stands as sinner and lamb."
"Ahh... AHHHHHHHH...!"
"What do you see?"
"Bright light... wings flying in heaven... warm embrace...!"
"That's where you belong. Built on faith like yours—a hall of belief. No faith, no form; no faith, no sight. That's heaven (Jesus)."
"...Amen."
Park Han-jeong, convinced the blood was his "sin," bled out from "excessive hemorrhage"—ascending gloriously.
"Amen."
I turned to the false preacher, false-Jesus believer: Jacob.
"At least this moment, no Jesus answers your call."
"Yet He answered mine, fool."
Suddenly choking, clutching his throat, Jacob's eyes rolled back as he lurched up, facing me.
"I am he of the eleven fingers, prophet of world's end, ender of false faiths and paradise, seer, knower, transcendent."
A gurgling rumble—not Jacob's—opened wide.
"I am the Messiah, the Christ."
Red cross-shaped stigmata bloomed on both palms; crown-of-thorns marks peppered his brow, large and small. Bleeding holy blood, something descended through Jacob's flesh.
"False one with serpent's tongue. You dare speak faith before me?"
He raised his hands like the stigmata proved it all. Watching, my stomach growled. Hadn't eaten dinner yet. And this vibe? Talk's gonna drag.
Koreans got one killer move to bail on tedious chats and grab food.
"Your mom's stable—long 30 galleons, short 10."