Even Cultivators Eat, Sleep, and Game Once They're Back on Earth
Even a cultivator, once he's back on Earth, eats meals and plays video games like everyone else.
I came back from the world of cultivation.
It's not exactly a secret I can't tell anyone.
I just opened my eyes one day and found myself in that world, then clawed and struggled my way back to Earth. That's about the size of it.
The reason I don't talk about it isn't that I'm keeping it under wraps on purpose — it's that nobody would believe me anyway. What kind of lunatic goes around at the office blurting, "Oh, by the way, I've been to another world"? Same principle here.
Oh. A new release.
Fortunately, I'd brought a few things back from that world, so I was doing reasonably well for myself here. Techniques, spiritual energy — that sort of thing. Even if the world spiraled into all-out nuclear war, what I'd have to worry about would be the apocalypse that followed, not the bombs themselves.
I tore open a bag of snacks, smacked my lips, and scrolled through internet forums. What I was checking up on was news about a new game based on the cultivation world. Well, not strictly the cultivation world — Journey to the West, mythology, whatever. It's just that I can't help being curious. How accurate is the lore, really?
It's like a bad habit I can't shake. Call it a compulsion.
The cultivation world was slathered in every mythological being imaginable. Beast spirits, demon lords — even those things were tied to folk shamanism. The entire setting was built on wuxia and Daoist-Buddhist doctrine, so of course their enemies got dragged into it too.
I crunched through another bite of snack.
Fair enough, I suppose. I can see why it wouldn't make sense to them.
I didn't believe in any of that stuff either — not until I'd been to the cultivation world and back. Supernatural phenomena, Daoist arts, weren't those things supposed to exist only over there?
They weren't.
My eyes slid casually toward the window.
Something was lumbering along between the red-brick houses, sniffing at the air. It looked like a dog, but it wasn't one, not exactly. Its fur was coarse and bristling, and its eyes gleamed with naked ferocity.
Ugh. Causing a scene again today, are we.
Men in crisp business suits had ringed the creature and were murmuring among themselves. Then one of them met my eyes. I looked away, leaned back against my chair, and squeezed my eyes shut.
Dammit.
Here we go again. These people and their little performances.
The doorbell had rung only moments before. I'd been digging up more info on the new game when I finally rose from my desk. On the intercom screen stood a woman and a man, both in formal suits.
Since I lived in a detached house, the stairway was visible too. These bastards had come in without asking the owner's permission — they were already through the front gate and up into the yard.
"Who is it?"
"We're with a joint government investigation task force. We've received reports from this area and need to verify a few things. We'd appreciate your cooperation for a moment."
What a beautifully by-the-book answer.
I opened the door. The moment the man in sunglasses laid eyes on me, he smiled brightly and snapped his fingers — click.
"From this moment on, you will look at us without recognizing us. Our words and actions will not remain in your memory."
And with that, he strolled right past me into my house.
Without even taking his shoes off.
"It seems a few people are catching on lately. We've already layered the perception-dampening charms as thick as we can... Is it time to change the medium?"
"Why would the higher-ups bother with that? Just grinding people like us in the field into the dirt solves it fine."
The woman, who looked green around the edges, and the man, who seemed to be her senior, walked through my home like they owned it and settled onto the sofa.
"Still... you never know, right? Someone might sense it."
"That's the rookie in you talking. Once you've been at this a while, all those worries boil down to exactly two: ugh, tomorrow is going to suck, and welp, guess I'm not making it home tonight."
The woman laughed.
"I just... keep wondering if we're really allowed to barge into people's homes like this... The team leader told us not to pull this kind of stunt."
"If we're already run ragged and can't even catch a breather, what else are we supposed to do? Keep this up and we'll be the ones turning into beast spirits."
The woman laughed again.
I decided to play along, as though I'd been taken in. What the man had cast on me just now was a perception-obscuring technique of some kind.
In the cultivation world it was the sort of trick that wouldn't even trip anyone's feet — at that level of crudeness, anyone with even rudimentary training would see straight through it.
I went to the fridge and took out an energy drink. That was all I did. The two fell silent, studying me intently, and only resumed talking after I'd retreated into my room.
"They're saying they've picked up signs of an incredibly powerful beast spirit in Japan."
"Ah, I know. We might be getting an alert ourselves soon. They said the danger level could reach Calpa grade, right?"
"That's right. I'm worried the damage will be severe."
"Well, their association is huge, and more than anything they've got plenty of Heaven-grade operatives. They'll end up dealing with more than they can handle, if anything."
A beast spirit of Calpa grade could spread its influence across national borders. Heaven-grade referred to the very highest echelon of shamans.
How did I know all that?
Because those bastards had been strolling into my house for weeks now, chatting about this stuff in broad daylight like it was nothing! God almighty.
Hah. Listening to everything, aren't I. I scrolled my mouse wheel down. Might as well get back to the new game's info.
"By the way, is that person... perceptive or something? He seems to make eye contact with us every single time."
"It happens. Korea's full of people with unusually strong energy, especially."
"What if he can actually understand what we're saying?"
"No way. That's a perception-dampening charm we're talking about. It's our standard technique — even civilian shamans get caught in it. A regular human? Please."
"Still, there's something... impressive about him. Commanding, I guess? His whole presence."
"What is with you today? Were you always this dense?"
No, no, I'm sorry! The woman's frantic sputtering carried all the way back to me even from behind the door.
...Dammit.
I was deliberately grinding the mouse wheel for their benefit, and these clowns were giggling and fooling around and carrying on like it was open mic night.
The way I saw it, those bastards were straight out of a story.
That story.
Urban fantasy.
Operating in secret across the city — hunting monsters, sealing things away, and waltzing into decent civilians' homes to eat their snacks and clown around. This kind of thing was always tangled up with the government, or some organization the size of one. Always. No exceptions.
Come to think of it, it had been the same in the world I lived in before.
The ones who strutted around and picked fights always had something lurking behind them. Which was why, more than once, I'd delivered a proper education to one of them only to end up torn limb from limb for my trouble.
And that was how I came to spend — through gritted tears — every last resource I had scraped together for my resurrection.
Live an ordinary life, whatever you do. Ordinary.
Rather than get tangled up in some tedious affair, I'd sooner sit back with my snacks and wait for the new release.
The world is vast, and I am hopelessly, magnificently small-time. And not just regular small-time — the small-time of small-times, the small-time of small-times of small-times, the king of all small-timers.
What drilled that lesson into my bones wasn't some classroom — it was the food chain of those who aspired to godhood. That cultivation world.
"Maybe we'll grab a snack before we go. Hey, you got any snacks in there?"
"Oh — yes, we do. But, um..."
"Hey, hey, forget it. As long as you don't say anything, nobody knows. You trust me, right?"
"Ugh..."
And then, from the living room, came the sound of something snapping.
Wondering if I'd misheard, I turned around.
Oh. No, I hadn't.
I had not misheard! Unbelievable.
The man was calmly cracking open a bag of my snacks and smacking away at them. He'd even helped himself to a drink from my fridge. The woman, showing marginally more awareness, meekly accepted one item at a time as he handed them over.
But that bastard was the one really getting on my nerves.
It's like the sister-in-law who tries to stop the free-loader and somehow ends up more infuriating. If you're going to eat it, just eat it, for the love of—
"Phew. Anyway, this one isn't going to wrap up cleanly. That beast spirit in Japan might have strengthened the tainted energy even further."
"Nooooo... I promised my little sister we'd grab dinner."
"Wouldn't mind another diligent rookie joining up. Every team's poaching from every other team, so this neighborhood doesn't get a break either. This is exactly what's wrong with the Shaman Association."
What caught my eye in particular was the drink in the man's hand.
The ones I'd bulk-ordered online specifically to last me a few days. I was already sensitive about that stash — and I'd been down to almost the last of them as it was.
I strode into the living room.
Their conversation cut off. Both pairs of eyes turned to me.
Unhurried, I opened the fridge. I rummaged around as though searching for something. So where, exactly, did my drinks go?
A voice came from behind me.
"...He doesn't actually know, does he?"
"Would you drop it. Got it?"
"But still..."
"Worry about the job more than him. What I'm saying is today might get ugly — which means it could get dangerous for you too. No matter how well a senior like me covers for you, this line of work can still put you in danger alone."
I turned around.
My eyes met the man's.
But unlike before, I paid him no particular mind. He yanked his gaze away in a hurry. He was fiddling with his phone — a messenger app, most likely.
I sat down beside him.
Feigning a yawn, I stole a glance at his screen.
The man spoke.
"Let's head out soon, Oranda."
"Ah — yes, sir."
The man made to rise from the sofa. But the drink in his hand would not, apparently, be put down.
You little shit. You've been traipsing through my house like it's your personal clubhouse for weeks, tracking in your filthy shoes, and now you're making off with my snacks and drinks too?
And no, this wasn't the first time. It happened last time too. I let it slide. Why? Because my magnanimity knows such boundless depths, of course.
"Hey."
I called out. The man turned around.
I plucked the drink clean out of his hand.
Then I smacked him upside the head.
"Don't touch my stuff, you bastard."