Rumors
The battle had been vicious, but Ganjeol Point's defeat had been written in the stars long before the first blow landed.
No matter how elite the Royal Guard's enhancement fighters were, they were no match for All Kind. From the moment All Kind had gone down early in the fight, the tide had already turned against them.
Even so, the fighting had dragged on precisely because the Royal Guard's resistance had been so ferocious.
But the truer reason was simpler: Won-goo hadn't properly joined the fray yet.
Shiiiiing!
Pacific tore through his opponents at a speed that sounded like a motorcycle ripping past.
The field was mostly cleared now, leaving only the last of the Royal Guard standing between Pacific and the end of it.
Pacific's pattern never changed. He closed an impossible distance in an instant, then blew straight past his opponent.
It was a simple pattern, but the Royal Guard couldn't deal with it. He was simply faster than they expected.
And his speed kept climbing, turning the problem into an unsolvable one.
"Damn, he's gettin' even faster?"
Montage said, sunglasses off, one hand clamped over his ear. He was holding it on because it was being reattached. Jo Mu-sa was stitching it back for him.
Jo Mu-sa's suturing had always been good, but ever since the Mu Beob-sa wrist incident, it had gotten faster and more precise.
"He can get faster still."
"Well, now I see why everyone kept fallin' for it."
"Boss. Nobody could touch Pacific with both his legs working. He was the undisputed top dog around these parts, wasn't he? Right, Director Gong?"
"I'll concede that much. He's still fighting like that even now."
"Man really used to fly, huh?"
"That snake-bastard's the real deal, I tell you. You know every item those Fishers use is high-end stuff, right?"
"True. Fisher gear doesn't come cheap."
"He's a dealer who specializes in exactly that, and he roams around without a single guard. What do you figure that means?"
"Means he's tellin' the world to come at him. He's that confident?"
Gong Won-goo and Fresh both nodded at the same time.
"And there's one more thing. He's confident he can run whenever he wants. Ever since his legs ended up like that, I bet he's been making tidy profits off the vermin that come swarming after him. Once word spread, nobody touched him anymore. There's no guarantee you'd actually catch him if you tried......"
"Bigger fish than I thought, huh?"
Chiiiiik!
Even as Pacific's speed kept climbing, his opponent was no pushover either. A Named-grade survivor could still react. Pacific caught that reaction, and mixed in a single unorthodox move.
Instead of blowing past his target, he stopped at precisely the right moment.
Being in a wheelchair meant that as long as he had the strength to handle the speed, he could stop on a dime whenever he pleased.
"Ah...... shit......"
Pshook! Sreeng!
The claw sank properly into the man's leg, staggering him, and Pacific's arm stretched out long to go for the carotid artery. All the small wounds he'd been racking up until now had been nothing but setup for this one strike.
Won-goo and Fresh, who knew Pacific well, watched it unfold like it was expected; those who didn't know him wore expressions of open astonishment.
"Jo Mu-sa, was it?"
"Yes? Y-yes."
"Your hands are pretty good. Clean stitching."
"Th-thank you......"
"Joss! Go grab that thing over there."
Joce hurried back with a small pouch in hand.
"Take it."
"Oh—no, sir, I couldn't. That's just what I'm here for."
"Take it. Around here, that IS what you do. So take it."
"......"
Jo Mu-sa looked at Won-goo. Won-goo gave the slightest nod, and Jo Mu-sa accepted the pouch.
"It's not much, mind. I'll be callin' on you again if somethin' needs fixin', so take care of it."
"Yes, sir. Thank you."
After receiving the bow, Montage turned and hollered at his people.
"Y'all! It's all done, so quit standin' around—clean this mess up! You plannin' on sleepin' out here or what? We goin' home, ain't we?"
When the battle was over, everyone looked like absolute hell.
They'd all been transformed into something resembling survivors who'd spent two straight weeks living out in the Field.
Once the cleanup wrapped up, the shelter directors who recognized Won-goo began to emerge one by one, offering their greetings. Among them was the president of Geosan Tour.
Having been out in the Field for the first time in ages, awkwardness clung to him from every angle. The armor he'd worn was the set from his active days, and it no longer fit him properly.
Geosan had always carried some extra padding, and now, squeezed into too-tight armor, he was a sight that defied forgiveness.
"D-Dir-Director Gong."
"Well, if it isn't the President of our very own Mint Chocolate Association. What an honor."
"I...... I quit the mint chocolate a long time ago."
"Really, now?"
"Yeah. Been a while since I quit."
"Don't go lying and making it worse on yourself—let's just be honest here. You really quit?"
"Well...... I'd say I quit, but......"
"My eyes are vibrating. You gonna feed me nonsense on top of it? Save the useless lies. I'm tired."
"I'm...... I'm cutting back! I'm going to quit. I said I'm quitting!"
"Did I ever say a word about you eating it? Eat your mint chocolate however you like, it's no skin off my nose. But don't you dare request it as a new market product. Understood?"
"O-of course. Absolutely not. I'm a completely changed man since then."
"Good. But speakin' of changed—a man who packs away coins the way you pack away sweets...... what in the world is this? These are the gear from your active days, and they don't fit, do they?"
"Ah...... I guess I shrank more than I thought."
"Unbelievable...... you'd think with all that enhancement you'd keep the weight off...... that's a talent of its own, truly."
"I just haven't had much reason to move around......"
Behind Geosan stood his pathfinders, on the verge of total collapse.
Even though he'd handpicked only the ones who could actually hold their own in a fight, they hadn't contributed much to the battle. Not that it mattered. Even if they hadn't dealt any real damage, their sheer numbers alone had landed a psychological blow on the enemy.
"Well, this is a surprise......"
"What is?"
"I didn't expect you to show up here."
"What's that supposed to mean? I'm a member of this shelter too. Of course I show up. Our shelter is ours to defend."
"Right...... something like that. Anyway, let's go inside and wrap up today's business."
Geosan completely missed the point of Won-goo's words, which carried a bone in them.
Gulp! Gulp!
Il-chul was chugging beer in the central plaza. Beside him sat his ever-present buddies, looking distinctly uneasy.
Il-chul downed his cold beer in one shot and exploded.
"Argh! Seriously...... can't you follow ONE simple instruction? Scratch the crown of the head and he sticks to you, touch the ear and he dies—how hard is that? HUH? Is that hard?!"
"Sorry, man. I dozed off for a sec, I swear."
"Fuck! A monkey could do that much! You stuff your face like there's no tomorrow when it's time to feast, and you overplay your hand when it's time to hold back—and it's never just once, is it? FUCK! This is really too goddamn much!"
"I'm apologizing, aren't I? I'm showing remorse—here, drinks on me. Have one. Loosen up, come on."
"Ha...... fine. Talking to you is pointless anyway. Debriefing a guy who can't tell his ass from his elbow. Let's just drop it."
"Hey, Il-chul. Is that rumor actually true?"
"What rumor?"
"That big thing that went down. You know, the Physical Therapist."
"Oh. That?"
"It's real? That bastard actually went down? Just like that?"
One of his friends drew a finger across his throat.
"Probably real? That's why they called a shelter-wide town meeting over it."
"Wow...... that incredible Director Gong, actually......"
"Incredible, my ass. I always figured that bastard would die young."
"......?"
"Everybody around him treated him like some big shot, so he started strutting around like he actually was one. And look at what he goes around swinging—that thing's straight-up neighborhood-thug tier. Eh? The world turned upside down, so guys like him get to walk around with their chests puffed out. Think about the old world—where would he have shown his face? Lucky if he didn't catch a knife playing countryside gangster in the rice paddies."
"Still, Director Gong wasn't exactly that low-tier, was he?"
"He's not any tier. He's just a thug. Beats up whoever he wants. Eh? Threatens people. That's what a thug IS......"
"Come on, he doesn't just wail on anyone for no reason. Sure, he's violent, but he always had some kind of justification, didn't he? That's why nobody's ever gone after Director Gong hard."
"Everyone keeps their heads down because he's strong AND dirty, that's all. Gang boss. Thug. That's what he is."
"You're off the mark though...... when you give him work, he pays well. Gotta be fair. Honestly, you'd be hard-pressed to find anyone who pays as well as Director Gong does. Straight to the point, no BS."
"THAT's what you call paying well? Beat you to a pulp, then stuff money in your hand. Beat you to a pulp, then stuff money in your hand. That's blood money, you idiots, blood money. You know that famous movie? The one where they beat the guy down and then hand him cash. What was it called again?"
"What movie?"
"The one with the grinding-stone handle in it."
"That makes no sense?"
"Exactly. That movie. Isn't that EXACTLY what those bastards do? Beat you down, then hand you money."
"That comparison's a bit much......"
"He's worse than those guys. Good riddance, that dog of a bastard."
"......"
"......"
And with that, Il-chul began venting every grievance that had been piling up inside him.
Except his friends had, at some point, stopped agreeing with a single word of it.
"You get me, right? If I hadn't thrown out my back fighting a hundred guys one-on-one, I wouldn't be sitting here quiet. Director Gong, that bastard—in the old days, one headbutt! Just one, and corn kernels would be raining down all over the floor, you know?"
"Yeah...... we get it. But, Il-chul......"
"ARGH...... back in my prime, punks like that couldn't even meet my eyes, I'm telling you? Back at that Ramada, when a hundred of them came pushing in, I blocked the elevator all by myself and—hah...... what a waste of the years, what a waste......"
"......"
"......"
"Your prime? So our Il-chul is an ex-gangster, huh?"
"A gangster? A hero of the people! Hero! Not some gangster......"
"Ohhh, of course, of course. No wonder...... I always couldn't believe it when you said that face of yours is twenty. If that face is really twenty, you should be on some freak-show TV program. Am I wrong?"
"......"
Il-chul didn't dare turn around. Because the voice coming from behind him was achingly, horribly familiar.
Cold sweat began to bead across the crown of his head, drop by drop.
He could barely breathe. It felt like death itself had crept up behind him and was staring daggers into his back.
"Why no answer? Our Il-chul is twenty, isn't he?"
"Haha...... twenty at heart, maybe?"
"Gambling degenerates can't open their mouths without lying. Hey. Il-chul's friends?"
Won-goo turned his gaze on the buddies.
"Yessir!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Our Il-chul here has a very major surgery scheduled, you see. But we need the consent of his guardians. So—what do you say? Everyone consent?"
"Yes, sir! We consent!"
"Should we sign something?"
"Verbal consent is fine."
"Hey......"
Il-chul couldn't get the words out. Won-goo's hand had come down on his shoulder with just the right amount of pressure.
"Il-chul."
"......"
"Slow to answer, are we?"
"N-no, sir......"
"All that complaining? That's a disease too. The lying? Also a disease. The good news is that all of these diseases are fully curable."
"D- Director. I, uh, there's been a misunderstanding here......"
"Hooo...... keep running that tongue at a moment like this and you're going to have a very bad time."
"Ah...... FUCK...... I'm really FUCKED. Gasp! FUCK!"
"......?"
Panicked beyond all reason, Il-chul had spat out his inner thoughts verbatim.
Won-goo pulled out his war hammer.
"Guardians, that'll be all—you're dismissed. Or would you like to stay and watch?"
"N-no, sir!"
His friends vanished at the speed of light. Won-goo took hold of the crown of Il-chul's head.
"D-Director! Th-there's been a misunderstanding, you see......"
"A misunderstanding is when there are five of them. Don't move. If you move, you get hurt."
"What?"
"You get hurt. If you move."
"That's not—"
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!