"Before Jesus the Father, You Are But a Naked Sinner"
"Hide nothing that must be concealed, know nothing unknown, and speak no lies."
"Grraaahhh... grraaahhhh...!"
"Your name."
"......"
"You've got a real talent for making people deaf. Or should I hire you a vocal coach to crank your voice up to half air, half sound?"
"...Kari...ji."
I jabbed a toothpick into the tender skin of the creature shaking its massive bulk, shedding fur like crumbs in the wind. My blood stained the toothpick.
"Woooaaarrrraaaahhhh! Mercy! Forgive me, Lord! Father! O great one gazing down from the lofty heavens upon this wretched soul! Look past the sins of this impious servant in your boundless grace! Deliver me from the pit of hell where boiling oil churns and ten thousand blades flash! Your child cries out!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
I asked again.
"Your name."
The thing, which had been thrashing madly over a single toothpick in its delicate flesh, suddenly went limp, gasping huk-huk as it barely managed a reply.
Fierce as a wild stallion unbroken by any tamer, its fleeting rage toward humans rivaled that of a beast that had tasted blood—but in the end, it was just your run-of-the-mill little rat.
Rats are so very small. Compared to Lord Jesus the Father seated high in the heavens, sternly overlooking all creation, they are pathetically tiny and insignificant. Even from a human vantage point, it doesn't look much different.
At best, it's on par with those mangy alley cats that rummage through trash bags—never anything grander or more exalted.
A rat is just a rat. That's why when a human demands its name, it has no choice but to give it.
"Ikari... Shinji."
"Sounds like a name you'd strap into an Eva to fend off aliens. But rest easy. Our merciful Lord Jesus the Father won't saddle you with some absurd order to pilot a building-sized mecha against extraterrestrials."
I circled the rat, continuing.
"Truth be told, what name you carry doesn't matter much to me. I've never been one to obsess over labels. Take myself— I don't even have a single 'socially agreed-upon' name. Some call me boss, others a wicked fiend. Hell, even I call myself Han Daeri. So what the fuck does a name really mean?"
The spoiled third-gen heir from some elite family? S-man's plenty. The woman rattling a bell in shabby clothes all day? Mad Bitch works fine.
Yeah, in the end, there's only one being in this world whose name truly matters. Lord Jesus the Father. Jesus Christ, Yahweh, God Almighty, et cetera. Everything below Him shouting, "My name's Lucid Asshole Stench!" like it's something to brag about? Meaningless.
Would you care if one worker ant among millions had a unique name and endlessly broadcast it via pheromones? Ridiculous.
Names are just a fix for the awkwardness of calling people "hey you," "that guy over there," "you lot," or "sir." Society's way of easing that itch: "Call me Lucid Asshole Stench!"
Dig deeper? Names might just be handy ID numbers for paperwork. You think Lord Jesus the Father will bellow "Hey, you, get over here!" on Judgment Day? Nah: "Lucid Asshole Stench, step forward."
So calling anyone's name but His is pointless. It's just for avoiding mix-ups and awkwardness.
Still, I demanded this rat's name for a simple reason: it acted so goddamn pathetic.
"You probably thought doing something repulsive and horrific in plain sight made you hot shit. 'Holy fuck, that bastard's SSR monster Ikari Shinji, chewing corpses to spread curses.' Dreaming of some YouTube video titled 'The Power of J-Occult?' But nah, that won't fly. This industry's a battlefield where visuals alone won't cut it anymore."
I yanked a fistful of fur—shedding easier than from a balding patient—and blew it away. No Sun Wukong transformation like in Journey to the West. Why? Its fur had lost all meaning. Demoted below even the name it bore.
"These days, underdogs rule. Guys turning into girls, reincarnating into gender-flipped worlds, casually streaming like bitches and raking in pensions with massive fandoms? Over. Obsession, despair, regret, revenge? Played out. Look at yourself—where's that underdog freshness, that wild charm? Oh Lord, now you're trying to blind me too?"
I ranted on about its nonexistent personality, no matter how hard I squinted.
"Shock value visuals! Shrouded in mystery and riddles! Nailing niche subcultures normies ignore! All good, sure... but the world doesn't love perfection. See that guy with the camera? Looks flawless, but he's got an S-pen fetish, premature issues, and a painful fling with a dude. Over there, arms crossed, shaking her bell? Cute enough outside, but dumber than a seven-year-old. Fashion so bad you'll cringe walking with her."
Yet none of us—me included—get shunned. No "boring" gripes, no "cliché" nitpicks. We don't need fancy names; our nicknames symbolize us, backed by real skills.
Feel it? That's prime underdog. Looks ordinary, dime-a-dozen at first glance—but dig deeper, and it's packed with juicy substance that makes your mouth water.
This rat? All shine, rotten core. Big shiny watermelon gone moldy inside. Or mild ramen boiled in the Han River.
"I asked your name to gauge what resolve brought a thing like you before me."
Yeah, visuals weren't bad—prime Japanese damp, dark folk-occult vibe, flashy entrance. Like swapping business cards with strangers, I wanted its name first.
And this is the result.
"You're a dime-a-dozen pebble rolling anywhere. Pebbles at least amuse—smack S-man's head with one, and you've got a four-panel gag comic. But you? No potential. In the ER, you'd get Table Death before surgery even starts. Damn it. I want you to repent for real, believe in Jesus. He's all you've got left."
Tears streaming sincerely, I hugged the rat tight with both arms.
"Hard to find anyone more worthless! A shut-in wanking to cum-rag TP all day has more value! If that's a crashing stock, you're delisted! Imagine the ants and fund managers who bet on you? Fucking scum! If you're ugly, at least be good at something! A million protesters at Gwanghwamun condemning you wouldn't shock me!"
"I... had my... clan's grand plan..."
"Shh. Humans or beasts, two times to shut up: during sex, and when your existence hits bankruptcy. But I know one great soul who accepts trash debt like you, no strings."
I whispered snake-like into its ear.
"Secret just for you—tell no one. World would flip if they knew someone takes bad bonds free. Who? Already said: Lord Jesus the Father watching from on high. Only He preserves your scraps of character, turns junk bonds to blue chips."
I stuck out my tongue, etched with a red cross, before its murky gray eyes.
"He wants no blind loyalty, forced submission, empty praise. Just true faith, repaid with infinite love. See the blood from when He came as man, nailed Himself to the cross?"
"Ah, aaah...!"
The rat rolled its eyes at the cross-shaped blood dripping from my tongue.
"This blood's an indulgence washing all creation. Real deal, not tree sap. Wipes the original sin and every descendant's crimes in one go. Price? Just 39,800 won. Buy?"
"In... Korean money... no exchange..."
"Indulgences aren't sold, but donations are fine."
I pocketed the wad of 10,000-yen bills it pulled out, retracting my healing tongue.
Now truly believing in Lord Jesus the Father, whether bought or donated, it can embrace Him guilt-free. For He is equal to all.
No matter how evil, dunking three-pointers into hell's pit—if it repents truly, He can't refuse.
Worried its faith's too weak for heaven? No way! I guarantee it!
Behold, O great one! Among the lambs You scattered carelessly, another lost sheep returns to me, repenting! Where it fucked up, wolf deals selling others—irrelevant! It came back willingly, confessing, begging mercy. Any shepherd must forgive! You have that duty!
"See. Like your worthless life, your shit character, the gray sludge sky clears by His hand."
"Aaah...!"
"Look clear! Holy light piercing clouds, dazzling firmament! See your waiting Father above?!"
"I see..."
"No lies. You don't see Him yet. True repentance would bring heaven's angels sprinkling petals, trumpeting marches. None greet you!"
"I repent truly... and believe! I believe in the One who'll slash my cursed vows and blood oaths with a sword, freeing this sinner's crawling wings! I believe! Believe! Believe! BELIEVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"Good. Rise spotless to the pure sky, fly to your Father! He'll clothe you angelic white, crown with halo and glory! Amen!"
Jesus Heaven Nonbelievers Hell! Believers to heaven! Unbelievers to hell!
You'll be pleased! I made another sinner repent! Spared Your clay child hell's pit!
I shoulder the duty You shirked under "free will" excuses.
I am...
"What does it matter who I am."
Snake tongue, crow eyes, dog ears, cat lives—whatever. Here, sending up another sinner, I'm just Han Daeri.
Right? Amen.