Shattered Jaws and Stolen Fates
So take my energy— "Wh-what... grk?!" Before the server in front of me could say another word, I clamped my hand over his mouth. "Shh, shh, shh." Crack. I twisted his jawbone just a bit with my grip and yanked it right out. He let out a gurgling "Urghhh..." and flailed around helplessly. No way he could scream now that his jaw was gone.
"Y'know, the more I think about it, the weirder it seems. For regular folks, a place like the Shilla Hotel isn't exactly familiar territory, but everyone here acted like they'd been coming all the time."
Normal people don't know shit about dress codes or what the inside of a five-star hotel looks like. That's why they're normal—they stay far away from these materialistic hellholes. But for some reason, they all reacted like they'd been here a dozen times. They weren't from rich families, and none of them had suddenly won the lottery. So what kind of money and connections let them get so comfortable in a place like this?
"They learned by watching. From the seniors."
"Mmph, mmph?!"
"The seniors snoop into other people's fortunes just enough to snag good jobs and families for themselves, then bail. The juniors take over their gigs. Along the way, the seniors pull strings for the juniors, the juniors suck up to the seniors, building tight networks while keeping tabs on each other to guard the secrets. Sound about right?"
The server was still thrashing, his face screaming confusion, but I could dig the truth out of the sin fragments dripping off him. Being able to peer into sins is handy as hell, but zeroing in on specifics takes time, so I had to narrow it down by elimination.
This server right here—my fellow Hanyang University alum and "senior"—had used the exact same trick to chew through his classmates' bright futures like a goddamn worm. Thanks to that, this worthless sack of shit had landed a full-time gig at the Shilla Hotel under one of Korea's top conglomerates and even climbed to hall manager. His salary? A cool five million. Without it, his max would've been three or four million in his early thirties. Stealing others' fates had bumped him up a whole million. By raw ratio, that's a massive win.
"A lot of people involved. Seniors' seniors, even alums from other schools. Mostly the type who provide venues for the rituals."
A place like the Shilla Hotel is the perfect trap for drawing in clueless moths. Even average Joes get drunk here, lap up the luxury service, and start delusions of grandeur like they've made it in society.
I didn't waste time asking stupid shit like how much he'd stolen or who was calling the shots. Instead, I threw him a different question.
"You've got two choices. Let me rip out your jaw and your entire fortune, live the rest of your life as a half-cripple. Or believe in Jesus, repent, and go to heaven."
"Mmph?!"
"Yeah, just believe in Jesus and repent, and it's all forgiven. No matter how many lives you've screwed over, how many you've driven to suicide or ruin—He loves all humans equally. Think about it; it's a killer deal. All the shit you've devoured? One sincere repentance wipes it clean."
But there's one absolute must before repentance: sincerity. It has to erupt from the depths of your rotten soul. Without that raw, gut-wrenching emotion, it's bullshit. Fake repentance is just wordplay. Hell, even a three-year-old mumbling "Thank you for our daily bread" before meals has at least 1% real feeling in it.
Crunch!
"Guh!"
"Repent sincerely, beg forgiveness. Quit this shit, and no one will come after you. Got it?"
"I-I'll do it... I will...!"
The server dropped to his knees before me, slamming his forehead into the floor, vomiting out his sins and begging forgiveness. A fine sight.
"That's enough."
"I-Is it... over now?"
"Sure is."
Crack! With a faint smile, I grabbed his lifted chin again.
"Heaven-bound jackpot."
"!!!!!!!!"
Riiip, craaaack! I tore off his lower jaw—skin and all—and shoved him through the door to the prize storage room where we'd stashed the loot. How the fuck could he headbutt the floor like that without even 1% sincerity? Guess that's why they say you never know what's in a person's heart, even if you boil them alive.
I shut the private room door before anyone noticed and approached the twitching bastard.
"Just gotta ride out this mess, right? That's what you were thinking?"
"...!"
"Figured I looked dangerous, so play along for now, report to the bosses later. 'Some guy's onto our operation.' Then the big shots with cash and power hire Chinese hitmen or thug contractors to shut me up quietly."
Whether it was his lame plan getting exposed or just sheer disbelief, the jawless prick rolled his eyes like mad. He wanted to scream, but no jaw or tongue meant only "Urghhh" gurgles. The shock from the pain had limpified his body. All he could do now, like a living corpse twitching on the floor, was mash that emergency button.
Bzzzzt!
"Urgggghhh!!"
"I figured you all carry emergency buzzers to prevent riots, VIP kidnappings, or assaults in the hotel."
I pried the crushed buzzer from his mangled hand at my feet and flung it aside. His gaze followed it—his last hope slipping away. Must feel fucking hopeless.
"Never thought scum like you would repent for real, not even a speck. If you had a shred of conscience, you'd have quit midway or blown the whistle to the public. But nah, scamming clean without evidence was too easy, the sweet unearned fruits too addictive. You rationalized it all away. Guys like that can't repent sincerely."
True repentance starts with owning your fuckups as sins. Only then can you reflect, feel guilt. That guilt's a lifelong chain, a mental prison that torments you in ways. But it only hits if you sincerely accept it. Deny your crimes to the end, and you'll rot in jail for decades then reoffend. Hell, rationalize till death. No apologies for victims, ever.
That's why I always dangle forgiveness. Believe in Jesus sincerely, repent, and you're forgiven everything. That's the core of Jesus Heaven Nonbelievers Hell, the endgame for all sinners in this world.
But some assholes just don't listen.
"Urk?!"
"Take a look around. See how many stolen fortunes you've piled up from innocent people?"
I grabbed the jawless fucker's collar and slowly turned his head to scan the private room. It was stuffed with meaningless junk disguised as event prizes. The Christmas wrapping was the only half-assed effort.
"You treat these like free crops from some endless field, but the world ain't that easy. Even Jesus's bounty was fairly priced at thirty pieces of silver—think lowlifes like you get unlimited freebies?"
What is a fortune? It's the setting sheet for the massive novel called life. No settings, no character, no story. You can't tell a legless cripple to run; can't tell a man without a fortune to live humanely.
"What's not yours can't be claimed. Even Jesus got his signature cross and Longinus spear set—don't steal others' gear."
Who the fuck wants to wear someone else's used panties? That's exactly what these pricks were doing. Stealing others' drawers and wearing them. If they insist on rocking someone else's undies that bad, I'll lend a hand.
I split the yanked jawbone in half and sharpened it to a blade. Bones from humans or beasts, soaked in blood and life force, make killer ritual tools. Swinging the jawbone knife around the room like a shaman's blade freed the trapped fortunes of my poor classmates from the prizes.
Liberated from the vile spells, the fates fluttered free and flew back to their rightful owners.
With the server—who'd lost a bucket of blood but couldn't pass out even if he wanted—before me, I slowly unbuckled my belt.
"Planned to loosen my belt tonight to stuff myself silly, but who knew it'd be like this."
I dropped my pants in one go.