Top Trainee (2)

Hong Si-yu received the report that Jeong Jae-ha was hopeless with a gun.

If he's an awakener hunter, what does it matter if he can't shoot? No one's good at everything.

She had no intention of granting him special treatment. Marksmanship had never been a virtue that mattered much to an awakener hunter in the first place.

"One point an hour comes to six a week, twelve over the two weeks we have left. Will that be acceptable?"

Twelve points was just enough to recover what he had lost in shooting.

"Thank you."

Jeong Jae-ha bowed his head with scrupulous courtesy.

"Not at all. We're the ones who ought to be grateful. Oh — we'll take the applications on our end and send the students to you. That's all right, isn't it?"

"Of course."

"Then I'll be counting on you for these next two weeks. Do a good job and I'll take care of you handsomely again, so give it everything you've got. Understood?"

Hong Si-yu liked that clean, unfussy manner.

The door creaked as he stepped out. Watching his back, she thought how good it would be if people were grateful when gratitude was due and sorry when an apology was due. How good it would be if everyone were like that.

I hope he sorts them out properly.

She did not enjoy this program. She was an awakener who had survived demonic beasts and raiders through the isolation of Seoul and, in the end, escaped it. Shameless criminals set her teeth on edge.

Those pieces of trash.

But the country was in a state where it had to dig through the garbage for anything still fit to eat. The program had been launched with that kind of resolve, and in the middle of it she had found Jeong Jae-ha. He was a lotus blooming out of the mud. If that flower could draw the other seeds up with it, there would be nothing more to wish for.

"Assistant Manager Lee."

"Yes, Chief."

Four years of apocalypse had taught Hong Si-yu that you do not stint when you invest in talent.

"Put in an order for the Status Window Ring."

"Didn't you say it was too expensive an artifact to hand out to people with criminal records?"

And when you decided to back someone, you backed them properly.

"We'll have the Center retain ownership and lend them out. Award one or two only to those at the top-trainee or runner-up level."

"Understood."

If it was Jeong Jae-ha, he had earned the right to obtain a skill.

Top of the tutorial? He'll take that without breaking a sweat.

Hong Si-yu smiled, sleek and satisfied, and pulled up Jeong Jae-ha's personal file. The paperwork was required if she meant to hire him as an external instructor.

So he had a younger sister.

Jeong Chae-ha? I've heard that name somewhere.

A familiar name sat inside the file.

If I remember it, they're a hunter or a civil servant. Someone at least as strong as I am, or sitting at least as high.

She could not recall why the name was familiar.

"Assistant Manager Lee."

"Yes."

"Check with the Awakener Management Agency. Look up someone named Jeong Chae-ha."

"Family of Awakener Jeong Jae-ha? You're really going out of your way for him."

"Well, you're supposed to give people what they actually want, aren't you? If you mean to keep them."

And yet, when she murmured the name under her breath, a thrill ran through her for reasons she could not name.

Two days later.

"Athlete Jeong is here!"

"Good afternoon, sir!"

I met the awakeners in the same gymnasium where the swordsmanship practicals were held.

"Oh?"

"Hyung-nim! Thank you so much for the advice back then!"

Lee Hae-il sat at the very front of the dais. Those eyes, holding a light like shattered sunlight, glittered as they found me. Now and then she glanced back toward the door with an anxious look, and the sleek line of her throat, too fine for the disguise, made it plain enough that she was a woman. I had no idea why she was passing as a man among male convicts, and no particular wish to find out. It was enough that she had come to learn.

"Good afternoon. I'm Jeong Jae-ha, and I'll be taking the after-school supplementary swordsmanship class. To give you a brief account of my background……"

I introduced myself, and then the curriculum, in turn.

"……We'll begin with a simple introduction to the theory of modern swordsmanship, and then ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠move into practice."

I had stood in as a one-day instructor for the juniors at my old school more than once, so I was reasonably confident in the teaching as well.

"Jeong Jae-ha!"

The gymnasium door flew open as if it meant to break.

Kim Kang-oh stood there with the scorpion tattoos bared on both arms, breath rasping in and out. In his hand was a long blade with a crudely ground edge — an improvised sword torn from the metal frame of a bed. Some guard or other had told me inmates made weapons that way. To have built one even after arriving here. Diligent of him.

"This little shit takes all those bastards and drops me? You think I'm a joke? Or are you scared of me?"

He jabbed the blade toward Lee Hae-il and several of the others, as if he meant to run them through.

"Let's hear what standard you used to cut me. If you can't say it, I won't leave a single one of these bastards standing."

At that rough gangster's pressure, Lee Hae-il and the ones he had singled out sucked in empty breaths. For some reason I had the sense that Kim Kang-oh was fixated on her — that he was angrier she had been accepted than that he himself had been rejected. Not that the reason mattered. Hong Si-yu would have expected at least this much, and so had I. In the world of sport, people who refuse to accept a pass-or-fail decision are as numerous as the reasons they shouldn't.

"All right, everyone. We're changing the order of the lesson. Let me show you what you'll be learning over the next two weeks."

And there is a settled way, in this profession, of driving such people out of it.

"I'll demonstrate how to subdue an opponent. Watch the movements carefully."

I snatched a blunt practice sword from the table on the dais.

"You fucker!"

Kim Kang-oh leveled his improvised sword and charged.

"H-hey?"

"Look out!"

The awakeners split left and right and opened a path. Killing intent filled Kim Kang-oh's face. The sight of that expression tugged at the corner of my mouth again.

I knew it was a mad thing to feel, but the situation was not entirely unpleasant. If anything, it was a little welcome. I enjoyed swinging a sword with all sorts of hearts behind it. Ordinarily I held one out of respect for my opponent, or out of pride in myself. That was good enough, and it was how things ought to be. You can hardly treat a tournament opponent, or a partner at the club, as a true enemy. But a sword is born to cut an enemy and to thrust into one. There were times I wanted to show pure skill with no consideration for the other person, and times I wanted nothing more than to drop them without a shred of guilt. In modern society, opponents who allowed that were exceedingly rare. Which was why, whenever thugs came around declaring they would break the dojo, I was secretly glad to see them. Today was one of those days.

"Die!"

The prey had walked in on its own feet. Kim Kang-oh's blade shot up, hunting my left shoulder. Setting character aside, the edge of his intent was fairly sharp. For an amateur, that is.

I shouted the name and flicked his blade aside as if it weighed nothing. Steel answered with a single clean ring.

"Hrk!?"

Kim Kang-oh's face said something impossible had just happened.

"Surprised?"

I had wanted to see that look. You learned swordsmanship to torment people, and you will never beat me, who simply loves the art — that was the feeling of the rebuke I laid on him. What is superior proves the worth of its existence by shattering what is inferior. I pricked his left shoulder as if I were teasing him. A practice sword would not sink in, but it would raise a nasty bruise.

"Whoa!"

A cry of admiration burst from the awakeners, and it set the center of me back in place. I could have put Kim Kang-oh down at once. I chose not to.

"Now. Parade Quarte Riposte. It means fourth position, which stops an attack to the upper left, followed by the counter."

This stage was mine, and it was theirs as well.

"I'll show you all six guards, so remember them well."

I settled my breathing and went on with the lesson.

The coach who used to call me the greatest swordsman under heaven had something he said every single day.

Set aside the talk of martial chivalry, and every word of it was true.

"Some of you may be wondering whether swordsmanship isn't just a matter of stabbing and being done with it."

A martial art is a system of technique for winning against a stronger opponent without getting hurt yourself.

"Anyone who has learned ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a martial art knows that's a stupid question. Ask them why it's stupid, though, and most of them start to stammer."

So whether it is kendo, fencing, Western swordsmanship, or empty-hand fighting like MMA, the heart of it is one thing.

"It's simple. Just stabbing away, just swinging away, cannot keep you safe."

Through defense, you make yourself a chance to attack in safety.

"Stop the opponent's attack, and an opponent whose motion has been broken inevitably opens a gap. That is when you drive it in deep."

I raised my voice so every one of the hundred-odd awakeners scattered in a ring around us could hear.

"Wh-what the hell is this!? You screwing with me!?"

Kim Kang-oh's face had gone a furious red as he bellowed. He hauled the improvised sword up again.

The blade hissed. This time he went for my right leg. If he had factored in the history of my accident, it was a fairly decent strategy.

Steel met steel with a sharp clang.

I turned it aside without effort and this time drove the point deep into his flank. A hard thrust between the ribs. He would not be breathing easily after that.

"Parade Octave Riposte. Eighth guard, covering the lower right, followed by the counter."

It slowed Kim Kang-oh down, which let me show them a more stable form.

"Graaaaaah!"

"Ah, there it is again already. Fourth guard, covering the upper left. Parade Quarte Riposte. It's come up twice now, so you really ought to remember it."

This was not simply a matter of fencing versus kendo.

My student's the greatest swordsman under heaven, and the master of every art of close combat. Hah.

From the start I had learned modern kendo, classical Japanese swordsmanship, Western sword arts — even dagger throwing — and I had been good at all of it. What matters is not which art you studied, but whom you clashed with, fiercely, while you built your skill. Put Kim Kang-oh against a neighborhood kendo instructor who held ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the same third dan, and he would lose ten fights out of ten.

"Parade means the parry. The sixte or the quarte in the middle is just the number — sixth position, fourth position — and riposte is the counter."

"Jeong Jae-haaaa!"

"Difficult, isn't it? That's because French and English are mixed together. Work at it and it'll become familiar, so let's all concentrate, shall we?"

It was so easy I was starting to get irritated. He was too weak to be any fun.

"This bastard's toying with me?! Agh!"

"Blocked the left leg and thrust, did you see? That's the Parade Septime Riposte. Seventh position, covering the lower left, followed by the counter. That's what it means."

To talk about killing someone with skill like this — wasn't he ashamed?

"I'll kill you! Agh — aaagh! My fucking eye!"

"This time, Parade Neuvième Riposte. Ninth position: you cover the shoulder and the neck, then counter. It has something in common with quinte, the fifth guard, as well."

Even so, opponents who truly came at me trying to win were rare. I ought to treasure this one a little.

Steel rang again. I unfolded the parry and the riposte at a leisurely pace. Laughter kept trying to escape, and I forced it down. The muscles of my face pulled hard. There had been nothing to smile about in the four years I spent in prison, but since I had entered the training center, occasions to smile had multiplied. Every time Kim Kang-oh attacked, he was struck in precisely the place he had aimed for, and he staggered or let out a groan. He did not fall, of course. Not because he was tough. I was measuring my strength. Head, neck, upper left and upper right, lower left and lower right — six guards in all. Until I had shown them every one, he had to keep rushing in.