2. Blind Ju Cheong-ah
Alcohol does more for humans than one might think. It helps you bond with someone, spill your deepest thoughts, muster courage when you need it most—and that's just for starters. Why else do they say history is made at night, with booze by its side? Sure, there are hangovers and regrets, but when you've got decent drinks, tasty snacks, and good company, that's paradise right there. No exaggeration.
And right now, it was exactly that. For a mayfly like me, this was a pretty decent tavern I never could've afforded before. Word was their beer and sides were top-notch, but I had neither friends to share it with nor cash to blow solo. It was the stuff of legends—a juicy steak in a fairy tale.
"No need for the long-winded pitch, Ian. I can tell from the smell this place is solid."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yep. So, what should we order first? I'd love to try that barley beer."
"Same for me then. Wait, nah—I'll go with the black barley stout."
"Heh, what's a black stout? Sounds intriguing. Anyway, sides?"
"Uh... smoked pork leg, roast chicken, roast beef..."
"Hmm, all meat. A little veg would balance it."
"Roast chicken with a tomato salad on top?"
"Perfect. That's the one with veggies tossed in a sweet-savory dressing, right?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
With orders placed, we chatted idly while waiting.
"How old are you, Ian?"
"...Somewhere around."
Back on Earth, I'd just turned twenty-six before getting yanked here. Add three years in this world, and that's twenty-nine. But factoring in our Korean age reckoning? Probably twenty-seven or twenty-eight. Anyway, no need to sound ancient.
"Twenty-seven."
"Oh my... you're my oppa then."
"And you, Cheong-ah?"
"Hehe, a lady's age is a secret, Ian."
"Come on..."
She was messing with me. I shot her a deadpan look, and she giggled, flashing two fingers on one hand and four on the other.
"Forty-two?"
"...Huh?"
Shing—
In a flash, her cane unsheathed a blade—pristine despite hacking goblins and ogres to bits, not a drop of blood marring its edge.
"J-joking! Calm down, Cheong-ah."
"I'm not kidding. In Yuldo, twenty-four gets you called an old maid. Do I really look forty-two?"
"No, sorry... my bad."
She dipped her head with a slight nod, then softened, her eyes crinkling into crescents as she beamed.
"Fine, forgiven."
Maybe it was the bandages off now? Even half-hidden before, she'd been stunning. But that little smile? It hit like a gut punch. Damn, she's gorgeous. The kind of nation-toppling beauty from old tales back home. Good thing I'd seen her shred an ogre to pulp, drenched in gore—kept my cool intact. Otherwise, I'd be drooling like half the guys in here, eyes glued to her face.
"Anyway, Ian."
"Yeah?"
She leaned forward calling my name, her hanbok dipping just enough to reveal... bandages, tightly wound over her chest. ...Ahem.
She whispered low, just for me: "More stares than I expected. A quieter spot would've been nice. Private room, maybe. Feels like we're on display."
"...Yeah."
Monopolizing her attention drew jealous glares my way too. Some even pointed, muttering—recognized my face, probably.
"Whatever. You wanted to try this place."
She winked one eye shut, covering the other.
"Payment for these eyes seeing the world. Least I can do."
"Thanks. Means a lot."
"Hehe, my pleasure. I owe you more."
Just then, our order arrived: golden-roasted chicken, crisp salad dressed just right, and frosty mugs beaded with condensation from magic cooling, foam settled low.
"Alright, Ian. Cheers...!"
"Cheers."
Clink. We sipped. Alcohol hit after ages—black stout's bitter edge and funky aroma flooding my mouth. Aaah...Been too damn long.
Cheong-ah snatched two drumsticks first. Wait, both? Even if she's paying... that's greedy. As thanks...!
Booze loosening my tongue, I nearly griped—then she plopped them on my plate.
"Here. You take both legs."
"Ch-Cheong-ah..."
Moment of pure emotion. Two drumsticks... for me? Proposal?! No wonder the spinster crack earlier—straight to marriage!
A knockout like her proposing? Hell yes!
"Cheong-ah...!"
"I like wings. Hehe. Wings are all mine, okay?"
"...Uh, sure."
"Thanks!"
Not it, then.Figures.
Deflated, I tore in. Instant bliss—juicy meat dancing on my tongue. Chicken... finally. This is it. The good stuff.
"S-sex..."
"Huh? What'd you say, Ian?"
"Nothing! Haha, just... so good."
"Right? Simple roast, but hits like that po-gye my sister and I had as kids."
"...Po-gye?"
"Oh... it's a dish. Never mind."
Sudden gloom washed over her. Best not pry—just be there. I raised my mug.
"Cheong-ah."
"Yeah?"
"Cheers."
"Hehe... cheers."
We drank, tore into chicken, chased bites with salad. Mugs piled up—one, two...
Buzz kicking in, the door swung open. A voice called my name.
"What the—ain't that Ian?"
"...Roman?"
Roman. The prick who'd dragged me into his party for "manpower," then ditched me without pay after I couldn't even bag one goblin. Kicked me while I was down. Fair enough—my screw-up. No hard feelings, mostly.
He spotted me, eyebrow twitching in disdain as he sauntered over.
"Well, shit. Hit a big payout or what? Boozing it up here."
"Kinda. Got lucky."
I brushed off his bait. He sniffed, about to back off—
"...The hell."
Then he clocked Cheong-ah. Eyes locked, flicking between us. Suddenly, his iron-gauntleted fist cracked my skull from behind.
Crack!
"You cocky little shit."
"Guh...?!"
Dull thud rocked my brain. World spun. As dizziness cleared, I turned—
"What the fu— guh."
He pinned my head with his arm, leering at Cheong-ah.
"Hey, gorgeous. Why slum it with this loser? Ditch the retard—how about me?"
"...Hmm? And you are?"
She sipped her beer, intrigued. He took it as a win, grinning.
"Name's Roman. Way more promising than that trash Ian. Been adventuring a year—silver badge soon."
"Ooh... silver badge."
"Right? So ditch the loser and—"
Thud.
She slammed her mug, cutting him off.
"A mere silver-badge hopeful dares harass my benefactor?"
"...What?"
Her hazy black eyes sharpened with thick killing intent.
"N-no, Cheong-ah."
Asshole or not, murder's off-limits. Shing—
Too late—her cane became sword. Click. Back to mug, calm as ever. Faster than a blink.
"What?"
Clatter-crunch!
His armor shattered into shards, sliced by something razor-sharp, raining to the floor. He collapsed in panic.
I let out a low whistle of awe.
"Wh-what the...!"
"Heh."
Cheong-ah slid a drunken glance his way.
"Scram. Next time, that empty noodle skull's mine."
"H-heh...!"
He crawled out butt-first. Patrons' stares turned awkward, then averted.
Whatever. Cheong-ah beamed innocently, pushing her mug at me.
"Hehe. No more pests. Another round, Ian?"
§
Not ages, but a bit more. Finishing the last beers, about to leave—when that blue system window popped up.
To reactivate, use a magic stone.
Or extend duration by consuming the Conductor's bodily fluids:
• Saliva: 1 minute
• Blood: 1 hour
• Semen: 1 day
※Quantity and type irrelevant. Max 1/day total; longest duration applies.
"...Huh."