A Poisoned Legacy

I had a choice, or so I thought. ‘Is this how I go out?’ But even after inhaling the anesthetic mist, all I felt was a faint, unpleasant buzzing in my head for a few seconds. My cognitive abilities remained completely unaffected. I wiggled my fingers under the table. That, too, showed no impairment. In other words, the anesthetic had no effect on me.

‘Poison resistance?’

When I’d checked my magic power that morning, I’d sensed some hidden passive ability. So this was it. A poison resistance passive wasn’t bad at all.

‘The problem is right now.’

I decided to think about the passive later and focused on the immediate threat. Of course, these thugs wouldn’t kill anyone. They’d probably just take wallets and watches. But my entire fortune was in that wallet, and I had zero desire to hand it over.

Sure, I could ask the main house for money, but I didn’t even know how to contact them. And even if I managed to reach them, this wasn’t the twenty-first century where digital transfers happened instantly. If they cleaned me out, I might have to survive for days or even weeks without a single won.

Borrowing living expenses from classmates or the landlord’s daughter would be humiliating. Besides, I was supposedly a student at the Hunter Academy—called the Yeopsa Specialist School here. Getting robbed by common thugs? That was unacceptable.

‘No way in hell.’

I couldn’t let that happen. Staying low like the other patrons, I kept my head down on the table but lifted it just enough to scan the surroundings without drawing attention.

Professor Saigane crouched in front of me. Unlike the others, he hadn’t passed out, but his face was covered in hives. He clutched it, groaning as he lay slumped over. His claim of having an allergy clearly wasn’t a lie; he looked terrible.

‘I can sense some magic power, so he has minor awakening abilities. But he teaches general subjects. He probably can’t fight.’

There didn’t seem ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to be any other awakened individuals in the teahouse. That meant I was the only one who could move.

I cautiously raised my head and observed the robbers. The three men must have taken an antidote beforehand. They moved through the hazy mist, rifling through customers’ wallets and valuables. But the more I watched, the sloppier their operation looked.

This was the middle of Gyeongseong in broad daylight, even if the teahouse was tucked down a quiet alley. Announcing for everyone to put their belongings on the tables and then immediately spraying the anesthetic mist before anyone could comply? Now they were forced to manually search the pockets of unconscious people. These guys were clearly amateurs who had done this once or twice at most—if this wasn’t their first time.

They’d probably chosen this small teahouse because banks would have tight security. As for me, I’d stood guard against terrorism in the twenty-first century as an active hunter. I could have handled these clowns with my eyes closed… but the problem was that I wasn’t the twenty-first-century me anymore.

The guns they carried were a real threat. There were no bulletproof magic artifacts here, and I had no idea how advanced medical technology was in this era. Getting shot could mean death or permanent disability, lying helpless in an intensive care unit without even a telephone.

‘Not happening!’

Luckily, only one of them had a gun. That much I could handle. I turned my head, looking for anything useful. A turntable playing soft jazz sat nearby. I rolled toward it, grabbed the record, and yanked it free. The needle scraped harshly across the vinyl, sending a loud screech through the horn speaker, but I ignored it and poured my magic power into the disc.

‘This would’ve been easier with Song Byeong-o here.’

My primary ability—Aura Blowing, or what they called ki infusion here—lost its power the moment the object left my hand. It was the complete opposite of a magic bullet type that exploded on impact. Still, it would be enough.

“What the—?!”

The armed robber turned his gun toward the sound. In that instant, I poured every ounce of power I could into the record and hurled it. I only needed to infuse it until it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠left my hand; after that, it just had to fly straight.

The disc streaked over the heads of the slumped customers, cutting across the entire teahouse, and slammed into the robber’s hand.

“Ugh!”

The moment the gun clattered to the floor from his slashed hand, I smashed the nearest window, tossed the professor outside for safety, then snatched a rubber hose of perfect length from a decorative fishbowl. I infused it with aura, turning the flexible tube rigid like a baton, and vaulted over the table.

I kicked off the tabletop, leaped down, and—thwack!—struck the first robber in the back of the neck, dropping him instantly. The other two followed in quick succession as I cracked their skulls and temples.

Once the awakened robber who had released the anesthetic mist was subdued and fresh air poured in through the broken window, the unconscious patrons began to stir one by one. Fortunately, the poison hadn’t been lethal.

The moment the situation was under control, a squad of officers burst into the teahouse. Police showing up late was apparently the same in every era.

The officer wearing a sergeant’s insignia shouted at me as I stood over the fallen robbers. I obediently raised my hands.

“I’m a cadet at the Gyeongseong Yeopsa Specialist School.”

“A cadet from the specialist school? All right, what happened here?”

I gave a brief explanation of the incident. Meanwhile, the officers efficiently bound the robbers and hauled them to their feet. They were especially thorough with the awakened one who had released the mist, tying him so tightly he couldn’t move a finger, then blindfolding and gagging him.

The sergeant nodded after listening to me.

“So you handled it yourself… What’s your name, son?”

“Shirabayashi Tetsuzen.”

“Hmm, Tetsuzen? Korean or Japanese?”

The mustached sergeant asked exactly what I’d expected. ‘Shirabayashi’ was a Japanese-style surname, but ‘Cheolyeon’ sounded awkward when read in Japanese pronunciation—clearly a Korean name.

I had no choice but to answer.

“I’m Korean, but—”

“Then you’ll have to come with us as a witness. It’s unlikely, but we need to verify that your statement matches the facts.”

Ah. So this was what Song Byeong-o had warned me about. He’d said that Korean awakened individuals without a proper hunter license could easily get pinned with extra responsibility in incidents like this. That was why he’d stressed the importance of rising through the ranks.

‘Still, I’m technically the son of a baron. Could I use my noble status to get out of this? Would that even work on the police?’

As I pondered, a voice called out from behind.

“Wait! Officer!”

It was Professor Saigane. His allergic reaction had apparently subsided along with the effects of the anesthetic. He looked perfectly composed again, every bit the refined gentleman.

The sergeant asked, “And who are you?”

Professor Saigane handed over his business card.

“I am Professor Saigane Seiji, instructor in the general studies department at Gyeongseong Yeopsa Specialist School.”

“A school professor, I see.”

What the professor said next was completely unexpected.

“I will vouch for this cadet’s identity and actions. I will serve as the witness in his place.”

“You, sir?”

The sergeant’s eyebrows twitched. Professor Saigane continued.

“Classes begin in earnest tomorrow. This cadet will have a great deal of preparation to do. It wouldn’t be right to take up his time, would it?”

“Hmm…”

After a moment’s consideration, the sergeant relented.

“Very well, Professor Saigane. Then… please report to the Jongno Police Station by fourteen hundred hours today.”

“I shall.”

Once the officers had left, I turned to Professor Saigane.

“Thank you, Professor, but why are you going in my stead?”

“I told you. We can’t waste a student’s time…”

“…Is that really all?”

“Haha! I knew you wouldn’t let it go… Yes, the truth is, it’s because of that Korean awakened robber.”

Professor Saigane laughed, then his expression grew serious.

“He will likely receive a death sentence without even a proper trial.”

A death sentence? Of course, pointing a gun at civilians and abusing awakened abilities was a serious crime. No matter how much it stemmed from desperation, he still had to pay for his actions. But the death penalty seemed excessive.

“Yes. Crimes committed using awakened abilities are considered far ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠more dangerous than ordinary ones. And since he’s a poor Korean, he’ll have no chance at a proper defense. He’ll probably be executed… but if possible, I intend to try to save him.”

I was genuinely shocked by his words.

“Save him?”

“Isn’t it tragic? So many Koreans awaken but remain trapped in poverty and turn to crime. They have plenty of ways to contribute to society instead…”

Who was this man? A Japanese professor with social standing, willing to defend a Korean criminal who had nearly killed him. Was he a living Buddha?

But… ‘This must be the limit of what a Japanese person can offer.’

Professor Saigane’s perspective was ultimately that of someone looking down from above. The Korean robber’s clumsy attempt at robbery had almost certainly been a crime of desperation born from poverty. If he’d had any other options, would he really have attempted something so sloppy?

‘He had no other choice.’

In truth, even I—with all my experience from my previous life as a hunter—was only barely covering for Baek Chulyeon’s rather mediocre awakening level. It was questionable whether someone with his abilities would have even been accepted into the academy without some parental connections. If I had been born into a poor family instead of a wealthy pro-Japanese one, I might have walked the same path.

‘…At least I have choices.’

Becoming the child of a pro-Japanese collaborator was deplorable, but thanks to that, I could attend a place like the Hunter Academy and even had the option of going to America after graduation. That was something to be grateful for, at least.

After parting ways with Professor Saigane, I wandered Gyeongseong a while longer before returning to the boarding house. I lay on the floor of my room, pondering my plan to graduate quickly and head to America as soon as possible.

‘Even America will be full of hunters by now. If I can’t make a living as one, I could always open a laundry…’

While I was lost in thought, a hesitant voice came from outside the door.

“Um… sir?”

It was the landlord’s daughter. I opened the door. She stood there silently for a moment, staring intently at my face. Then she thrust something toward me.

“Here!”

In her small hand was a tiny brown glass bottle shaped like a Bacchus tonic vial. I took it, puzzled, and read the label.

It said 「青酸カリ」—potassium cyanide.

‘Is she telling me to kill myself…?’

A cold sweat broke out. I couldn’t immediately grasp what it meant for a young girl to suddenly hand me cyanide. Swallowing hard, I asked,

“Why are you giving me this?”

“It came from your room, sir. …From the trash bin!”

What?

“I was cleaning out the liquor bottles and noticed something strange. It was cyanide. And the bottle was empty… It doesn’t look like it was used as rat poison either…”

From her perspective, she had emptied the trash and found a cyanide bottle mixed in with the liquor bottles. She clearly wanted to know why such a thing had been in my room.

But I had no idea either. Why was an empty cyanide bottle in my trash?

‘Suicide?’

Cyanide was the classic poison for intentional overdose. Finding an empty bottle made the conclusion obvious. So the student Baek Chulyeon I had possessed hadn’t simply drunk himself to death—he had committed suicide by swallowing cyanide?

When I remained silent, clutching the bottle, the landlord’s daughter continued in a worried tone.

“I was afraid you might be planning to use it for…”

Worried she might suspect something, I quickly made up an excuse.

“Oh, this? We used it in a lab experiment at school yesterday.”

“An experiment?”

“Yeah, to test whether poison can kill monsters—I mean, magic beasts. That sort of thing! This was from the experiment!”

“……”

She looked skeptical at first, but then let out a small laugh as if she found it amusing.

“Magic beasts aren’t rats. Would they really die from cyanide? Then hunters would all be out of a job!”

“Hey, let me finish! It was an experiment using small low-grade beasts like gedama! You know what a gedama is, right?”

“I know that much. Those tiny, fluffy little things…”

Someone once said that a good lie contains ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one percent truth. Since we really had hunted small low-grade magic beasts including gedama during yesterday’s practical, my story sounded reasonably believable.

“Anyway, I was supposed to throw it away at the school disposal site but accidentally brought it back with me! I’ll take care of it, so don’t worry. And if you touched it, wash your hands thoroughly!”

After all that, she finally seemed convinced.

“…All right.”

“Good. I’ll be studying, so could you prepare dinner later?”

I closed the door quickly, even sliding the latch shut.

‘Phew…’

I had managed to fool the landlord’s daughter, but the real problem was me. I still couldn’t come up with an explanation that satisfied my own mind.

I stared at the cyanide bottle. It was completely empty, just as I had sensed the moment I touched it.

‘He drank all of it.’

Potassium cyanide. A lethal substance—even a tiny amount was fatal to an ordinary person. If he had swallowed it all like a tonic… even with my poison resistance passive, he would have died.

But why? Why such an extreme choice?

I couldn’t understand it. He had been admitted to a prestigious program that led to a high-income career as a hunter. He came from a wealthy family, even if their reputation wasn’t spotless. Why would he do this?

I looked around the cramped boarding room of barely six square meters. Hoping to find some clue, I searched the space and discovered an envelope tucked between the neatly arranged textbooks and notebooks on the low desk.

The sender’s name on the front was Baek Chulyeon—my current self. The recipient was Baek Nopyeong, my father. I opened it. Inside was a long letter beginning with

What? Wait. Concubine? Illegitimate son? Stepmother? What kind of family situation was this?

I pulled out the family register still tucked in my school uniform pocket and copied the names and ages onto a blank notebook. The resulting family tree looked like this.

Now it made sense. My father, Baek Nopyeong, had a legal wife and had later taken a concubine who gave birth to me—Baek Chulyeon. No wonder the financial support had felt inadequate for the son of a baron. That explained why I was living in this rundown boarding house.

‘What a messed-up family tree.’

My half-brother Baek Chulwoo was nearly the same age as my father, and even my nephew Baek Namsu was much older than me. Baek Nopyeong had taken a new concubine in his fifties and fathered me.

‘The old man still had plenty of vigor, huh…’

Having roughly understood the family dynamics, I continued reading the letter.

‘…What?!’

Imperial Army? Enlistment? My head spun. I quickly scanned the rest of the letter.

The letter ended there. This wasn’t a letter. It was a suicide note.

Only now did I understand why Baek Chulyeon had chosen such an extreme path. And right now, my own feelings were exactly the same.

‘After graduation… I was supposed to be drafted into the Japanese army…?’