A Physical Conversation

Because of that damn Joseon bastard…

Takahiro, seated in the back, grumbled in annoyance. For Takahiro, who had attended the young lady for years, her sudden obsessions were nothing new. This time, however, it was especially severe. She had latched onto some Joseon cadet out of nowhere, ordering a full background check, pestering him for ways to earn the boy’s favor, and now demanding that he test the owner of the cadet’s boarding house—a rickshaw puller named Ham Won-sam—on the chance the man might be a hidden expert.

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It was an absurd command, but Takahiro could not refuse. And so here he was, postponing his actual duties with the Shimazu Gumi’s Gyeongseong branch, riding around the city with his direct subordinates in search of one rickshaw puller.

Just ordering me to find a man like that out of the blue…

Thanks to prior investigation he knew the man’s face, name, and the rickshaw company he belonged to, but he had no idea where the fellow might be wandering at any given moment. Visiting the company had only earned him the repeated answer that he would have to wait until late evening when the man returned the rickshaw. In the end the only option was to comb the streets of Gyeongseong with a photograph in hand.

They had spent the entire day trawling the city, stopping every rickshaw puller they saw to show the picture and ask if he knew the man. Finally—

“Branch Chief! Over there—that looks like him!”

One of the subordinates in the front passenger seat shouted as if he had spotted something. “Hey! You there! Stop!”

The subordinate leaned out the window and called to the passing rickshaw puller. The man turned at the shout, cried “Aigoo, did you call for me?” in Korean, and came running. It was indeed the Ham Won-sam from the photograph.

The subordinate asked in Japanese whether he was Ham Won-sam, but the puller did not understand. Another subordinate who could speak Korean repeated the question in the local accent. The man answered nervously, “Y-yes! That’s me, sir! Ham Won-sam, at your service! But… may I ask what this is about…?”

It was the right man. Yet no matter how Takahiro looked at him, he seemed like nothing more than an ordinary Joseon laborer. He showed none of the hidden mastery the young lady had spoken of.

Takahiro let out a long sigh, pulled a cigarette case from his inner pocket, and placed a cigarette between his lips. The subordinate beside him immediately lit it with a brass lighter.

Huu…

All because of this nobody. They had spent the whole day turning Gyeongseong upside down, searching until late evening, and only now found him. Takahiro stubbed the cigarette out irritably and ordered his men, “Gather the tools and get out. We need to have a little talk.”

The blue edge of the practice blade sliced through the air with a low whoosh. Shirabayashi—Baek Chulyeon—dodged it by a paper-thin margin. Yet Murasaki’s assault continued without pause, each strike flowing into the next as he stamped and lunged again and again.

“P-Professor! Is this all right?”

“If we don’t stop them…!”

To the watching cadets, Baek Chulyeon looked utterly overwhelmed, barely able to defend against Murasaki’s relentless barrage. They turned anxiously toward the white-haired old swordsman seated formally at the head of the dojo—Professor Genryu Gonzaemon.

But the professor merely slapped his knee and dismissed their concerns with a sharp “Hmph!”

The cadets were judging only by outward appearances, yet from Genryu’s perspective the situation was entirely different. At first glance Murasaki seemed to hold the advantage with his all-out attack. In truth, the one in control was Baek Chulyeon.

It showed in their movements. Despite his offensive focus, Murasaki remained trapped inside fixed kata, never deviating from established forms. Baek Chulyeon, though seemingly on the defensive, moved with perfect freedom, flowing like water. Even their expressions told the story: Murasaki’s face was tight with impatience, teeth clenched, while Baek Chulyeon remained perfectly composed.

Just as the professor had analyzed, Murasaki’s insides were burning with frustration.

Damn it! Why can’t I land a single hit?

Even on attacks that should have been impossible to block or evade, the insolent Joseon brat slipped away or redirected them with ease. Murasaki was the one attacking, yet he felt as if he were the one sinking deeper into a quagmire.

Why?!

They had agreed to fight with pure swordsmanship, without awakening abilities, yet at some point Murasaki had unconsciously begun using his. His power belonged to the muscle-enhancement family—mana reinforcing the fibers of his body to multiply physical strength. It was practically passive; the more violently he moved, the more it manifested on its own.

Even with his speed and power far surpassing any ordinary person, the Joseon brat kept dodging by the narrowest of margins, like an eel. That only made Murasaki more frantic.

Professor Genryu, watching from the head seat, had already noticed that Murasaki had released his ability and was attacking with full power. And yet Baek Chulyeon was handling it with room to spare.

He’s a cut above Murasaki… No, several cuts above!

The contrast between the desperate attacker and the relaxed defender gradually became obvious even to the other cadets who lacked deep insight into swordsmanship.

“Still, that Shirabayashi guy is incredible, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. He’s dodging every single one of Murasaki’s attacks…”

“But why isn’t he counterattacking?”

“He’s too busy dodging to find an opening, probably.”

No. From Genryu’s perspective, Baek Chulyeon could have counterattacked at any time. He simply chose not to. That was what puzzled the old professor.

Why does he refuse to attack…?

At that very moment—

“Hm!”

Genryu’s eyes widened. He abandoned his formal seated posture and leaned forward. He had not seen wrong. Baek Chulyeon had reversed his grip on the blade, holding it so the blunt spine faced the opponent.

What…?

Then came a lightning-fast series of movements. The sword flashed brilliantly. In the next instant Murasaki was on his knees with the reversed blade pressed against his throat.

The cadets erupted in shock.

“W-what was that? Did you see?”

“It happened so suddenly… how?”

Only Professor Genryu had been able to follow the motion. In that split second Baek Chulyeon had struck Murasaki’s wrist to disarm him, kicked the back of his knee to drop him, and placed the blade at his throat.

The result was unmistakable. Baek Chulyeon had completely subdued Murasaki. The match was decided.

Professor Genryu shot to his feet, raised his hand, and declared in a booming voice, “The match is over!”

The victor was Shirabayashi—in other words, Baek Chulyeon. He gave the practice sword a wide, theatrical swing to clear it, sheathed it with a crisp snap, bowed once to the defeated opponent and the professor, then returned to his place.

Murasaki, however, remained on his knees, staring blankly and muttering over and over.

“Why… why…?”

Whew. That was too close.

Class had ended for the day. Back at the boarding house, I lay sprawled on the floor thinking it over. One mistake and I would have taken his head off.

I wasn’t used to crossing blades with people. The swordsmanship I had learned after awakening and becoming a hunter was all for carving through monsters inside gates. When I faced Murasaki, I knew that if I attacked in earnest I would probably sever an arm or a leg, so I had held back. Using the blunt side had been a last resort, but even that had nearly snapped the boy’s neck. I had stopped at the very last instant.

Maybe I went a little too far?

I had disarmed him, forced him to his knees, and held a blade to his throat. The shock of losing so completely seemed to have left Murasaki dazed; even after the spar ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ended he stayed on the ground muttering to himself. It was almost pitiful. Still, a guy like Murasaki would never accept anything less than total defeat. I had needed to make it absolute.

Anyway, I really do need to relearn proper swordsmanship.

The academy would keep holding real-blade matches against people. I could hardly keep fighting with the blade reversed every time. The anti-monster style I had mastered in the twenty-first century would not work here. I would have to learn proper human-versus-human swordsmanship.

While I was rolling these thoughts around in my head, a voice came from outside the door.

“Um… sir?”

It was the landlord’s daughter, Ham Seoju. I opened the door. She held out a folded slip of paper.

“A telegram arrived for you.”

“A telegram?”

“Here.”

The sender was Baek Chulwoo—my half-brother on paper. Reading between the stiff lines, the message said my father was in critical condition and I should return home immediately.

I was planning to go tomorrow anyway. Perfect timing.

I had intended to take the train straight to the family estate the moment Saturday classes ended. Now they had called for me first. Even better was the content itself: the news that Baek Nopyeong, my father, was on the verge of death.

He was sixty-nine on the family register, wasn’t he?

Old age, perhaps. At that age it was only natural for chronic illness or frailty to appear. This wasn’t the twenty-first century where elderly people lived to eighty or ninety as a matter of course. In any case, hearing that the pro-Japanese traitor who had tried to force me into the Japanese army was dying counted as good news.

If I’m lucky, the whole conscription business might disappear with him.

I would have to see for myself once I reached the estate, but it was definitely a favorable sign. As I read the telegram and broke into a grin, Ham Seoju, who had been watching, asked worriedly, “Are you all right? I don’t know the details, but it sounded like your father is very ill…”

Ah. She must have read it first. That was fine, but smiling brightly at news of my father’s critical condition must have looked strange. I quickly made up an excuse.

“No, it’s just—my father has been sick for a long time. If I go home now I might be able to help! I have a friend at school with healing abilities, you see. I was thinking his condition might improve…”

“I… see.”

At that moment the gate opened and Ham Seoju’s father, Ham Won-sam, staggered in.

“Egu, egu…”

His clothes were torn in several places, barely hanging on. His face and forearms were covered in bruises. The moment she saw him, Ham Seoju cried out.

“Father!”

She rushed over to support him. “What happened to you? Aigoo…”

“Some Japanese fellows in Western suits burst in out of nowhere, and, ugh…”

“What? Then what?”

“They came at me with blue blades and clubs. I said, ‘Aigoo, why are you doing this?’ and stayed still, but they just talked among themselves in Japanese, then…”

Japanese men in suits? Blue blades?

“They came at me with fists and clubs, kicking with their hard shoes. I kept saying ‘Why are you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠doing this?’ but they wouldn’t listen. They just beat me…”

The description of suited men carrying blades brought certain people to mind. It couldn’t be, but just to be sure I asked, “Did those men happen to be wearing badges on their suits?”

“Aigoo, young scholar! How did you know? Yes, they did! I saw them clearly while they were hitting me! Round badges on their chests, shaped like four Japanese swords crossed like a Christian cross…”

A circle containing four Japanese swords arranged in the shape of the character for ten. I had seen that emblem before—very close up.

…Shimazu Gumi.

It was the mark of the hunter guild Shimazu Gumi. But why? Why would they suddenly beat an innocent Joseon rickshaw puller? There had to be a reason. An order. And the person who had given that order was obvious.

The chief of the Shimazu Gumi’s Gyeongseong branch—the very girl who had been meddling in my affairs and pressuring me at every turn. I never imagined she would lay a hand on the people around me. No matter how noble her blood or how powerful her guild, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠attacking a powerless Joseon civilian crossed every line.

I ground my teeth and crumpled the telegram in my fist, muttering, “That fucking bitch…!”

“What of the task I assigned you?”

Inside Renka’s residence somewhere in Gyeongseong, the girl in a lavish kimono stood looking down at Takahiro, who knelt before her. “Was he truly a master?”

Takahiro bowed his head. “No, my lady. He was not. When we ‘tested’ him, he proved to be nothing more than an ordinary middle-aged man.”

“Hmm, is that so…”

“Yes. His ability, if it can even be called that, was insignificant.”

After listening to the report, Renka fell into thought. So the boarding-house owner had not been a hidden expert after all. Did that mean Baek Chulyeon had truly accumulated all that combat experience through his own effort…?

It seems I’ll have to approach from a different angle.

A new worry occurred to her. She asked, “Takahiro, you didn’t cause him any unnecessary harm, did you?”

“Ah, of course not. Since he was merely an ordinary man, we only tested him lightly and left.”

Takahiro gave a vague answer and quickly changed the subject. “However, we did obtain a separate result.”

“A result?”

“Yes. On the chance it might prove useful, we visited the Siksan Bank and examined the Joseon cadet’s account records…”

After spending the entire day scouring Gyeongseong and venting their frustration on the rickshaw puller, Takahiro and his men had realized they would return empty-handed. Unwilling to face the young lady without anything to show, he had taken the initiative to dig deeper into Baek Chulyeon’s background.

He continued with confidence. “It appears he receives almost no financial support from his family. Their relationship seems quite poor.”

“Oh?”

“That is likely why he is boarding in such a shabby Joseon house.”

For Renka it was the first pleasing news all day.

So he doesn’t get along with his family and receives little money. That’s why he lives in a place like that. His sword skill must be the result of desperate solo training—since he can’t rely on his house, he’s trying to succeed as a hunter on his own.

According to Takahiro’s report, she now possessed the most powerful method to approach Baek Chulyeon and win his favor.

I can be the one who supports you!

No matter how much he tried to keep her at a distance, once he received financial help he would have no choice but to become entangled with her. Satisfied, Renka smiled gently.

“You’ve worked hard, Takahiro.”

“Yes! Then I shall see you tomorrow morn—”

“No. You labored until late at night; I cannot ask you to rise at dawn. I will have another guild member drive me to school tomorrow. Take your time resting and report directly to the office.”

Escorting the young lady to school was an honor, but waking before sunrise after working so late was indeed grueling. At Renka’s merciful decision, Takahiro bowed deeply.

“Thank you, my lady!”

The next day, Saturday morning.

After finishing morning roll call at school, Renka left the classroom before the main lessons began, intending to speak with Baek Chulyeon. She was just heading toward Class A when—

“Renka.”

Baek Chulyeon was walking toward her. She had been planning to seek him out first; this saved her the trouble. Moreover, his face was heavier and more rigid than usual. To her eyes it looked as if he were about to swallow his pride and ask for a difficult favor.

Just as Takahiro had reported, the boy was on bad terms with his family and struggling financially. Had he finally bent enough to reach out to her? For Renka, who had intended to use that very economic superiority to capture him, it was an excellent omen from the start.

This should make things much easier.

She gave him a bright smile and opened her mouth. “My, Shirabayashi. What brings you to me first—?”

Slap!

She could not finish the sentence. The world flashed white. Her head snapped to the side, and a burning pain bloomed across her left cheek.

Eh…?