New Partner and Fake Suppressants
Days had already passed since my spar with the instructor from the fallen nation's academy. The Alaboy Fighting Technique was touted as the pinnacle of martial arts in the story, so I'd expected something extraordinary. But close-quarters unarmed combat felt pretty ordinary—more like a brutal, kill-or-be-killed combative style akin to competitive MMA or jiu-jitsu. The real twist was the encouragement of dirty tricks: poking eyes with fingers, striking vital points, that sort of thing. The true value of the Alaboy Fighting Technique shines when combined with guns and superpowers. Like right now, sparring with this instructor.
Ha! His superpower granted him hyper-flexible limbs. He loved dazzling the eyes with flashy moves before launching surprise attacks along grotesque trajectories, as if his arms or legs had an extra joint. Add a gun to the mix, and he was a real handful.
'Hoo...'
With the naked eye, I couldn't predict when a bullet might fly from his rapidly shaking gun barrel, so I kept high-speed thought active throughout the spar. Rubber bullets or not, they still hurt like hell. At this range, a lucky vital hit could even be fatal.
Bang!
I locked eyes on his barrel and trigger, twisting my body to dodge the shot aimed at my legs. Spinning with the momentum, I slammed a kick into his side.
Thud!
Even he, who flowed with most impacts like water, staggered slightly from the blow. Truth be told, I was confident I could fold that floppy body in half if I wanted. But after sending a few instructors to the infirmary over the past days, I'd already gotten a stern warning. Ever since I saw the emotion-suppressed headmaster fiddling with the pistol at his waist, I'd been playing it safe.
Bang—bang-bang!
He deflected my rubber bullets with his arm and shoulder. Well, "deflected" was generous; he mostly grazed them since he couldn't fully evade. He closed in for a joint lock. His arm whipped like a lash, coiling around my neck.
Whoosh!
"Ngh...!"
I ignited flames from my neck to shake him off. After a few tries, I could now summon fire freely from any body part I chose. I pressed the stumbling instructor, thrusting a fist forward. To seize the advantage, I burst flames from my elbow for extra acceleration.
Boom—!
"Guhhh..."
"Sparring ends!"
His jaw took the hit, neck snapping back at a 90-degree angle as he crumpled. Another instructor observing from the side called it. Checking the fallen man, I was relieved—thanks to his superpower, his neck hadn't snapped. The quiet onlooker spoke up.
"Headmaster Grayham summons you."
"Understood."
'Always calling at random times.'
At least this time, no major injuries, so it probably wasn't a scolding. Entering the headmaster's office, I saw not just Albert Grayham but another person waiting.
"You're here."
The headmaster paused his paperwork, setting down his pen to eye me.
"Injured another instructor, I hear?"
"Just a knockout."
"Still, it seems effective for your learning."
His tone, like he was handling a wild beast, grated a bit. One early slip-up against an instructor, and now I was the brainless monster.
"You've now mastered all the Alaboy Fighting Technique that can be learned through spars."
"Is that so?"
"No point in further training where you hold back against instructors. They're valuable national assets; we can't waste more."
He gestured to the person beside me.
"From now on, as an apprentice agent, you'll partner with Jenny Windfield. Hone your skills in real combat."
'Jenny Windfield... someone who never appeared in the original story.'
I side-eyed the blue-haired woman next to me. Sea-blue hair and unblinking blue eyes stared straight ahead. If I had to work as an agent anyway, a beauty like this as my partner was icing on the cake. I nodded.
"Understood."
"Dismissed."
At his wave, Jenny Windfield and I bowed and left. As she walked silently, I extended a hand for a shake.
"Min-ho Moralis."
"......Jenny Windfield."
She glanced at my hand, muttered her name, and kept walking. No emotions meant no interest in her surroundings, it seemed. All business. Suddenly, I thought toying with this doll-like woman might be fun.
"Move your gear to the agents' dorm by tonight. This room."
"Yes."
Partners shared quarters, apparently. Man and woman in the same room? Glory to EDP-427.
I hauled my scant belongings to the new dorm. Sitting on the bed for a breather, Jenny entered.
"Mission. Gear up and come."
I stood without protest and followed. First time leaving since arriving—beyond city hall and the academy.
Vroom.
We rode a patrol vehicle to the city outskirts. Past the center, rundown buildings multiplied. Some war-torn ruins lay abandoned years after the war.
'Yeah... definitely different from downtown.'
Outskirts folks eyed us warily. Likely EDP-427 holdouts with rebel ties.
At the destination, we disembarked.
"What are we looking for?"
"Report of rebel traces nearby. Goal: enlist civilian cooperation and search the area."
'Cooperation... good luck with that.'
Locals flinched and averted eyes. Hard to imagine getting anything from them.
Ignoring my doubts, Jenny knocked on a shabby house.
Knock knock.
"Agent Jenny Windfield. Collecting witness statements for investigation. Your cooperation, please."
"......"
Someone was inside—I'd sensed it—but no reply. She waited, then moved to the next house, repeating.
Creeak.
After several duds, a door cracked open.
"What is it...?"
A wrinkled old man peered out. He sized us up and clicked his tongue. Jenny pressed on undeterred.
"Seen any suspicious persons nearby? Report of rebel activity; we're investigating."
"......Things have been noisy lately. But no rebel knowledge here. This neighborhood's always rowdy."
While they talked, I peered inside. Dusty table, rickety chair, no kitchenware. The old man's squalid life was obvious—no cooking, surviving on meager rations of bread.
Conversation wrapped; Jenny said,
"Thank you for cooperating."
"......See yourselves out."
Creeak. Clank.
On the way back, I feigned remembering something.
"Forgot an extra question for that house. Be right back."
"I'll go too."
"Just one or two. Rest here, senior. Rebels might tamper with the car."
She scanned around and nodded.
"Make it quick."
"Yes."
I returned to the old man's house. Our rookie vibe fooled Jenny, but not me.
Thud thud thud!
"I already told you every—argh...!"
Bam—!
Door cracked; I kicked it wide.
"What the hell...!"
I ignored the fallen protester, entering. Squeak. Shoes on creaky, crumbling floorboards. High-speed thought scanned fast.
'Loose floor nails. Dust everywhere. Living here'd make anyone sick.'
Then, less dust caught my eye.
'Like furniture was moved... here?'
I stomped hard.
Crack!
"St-stop! Nothing there!"
Click.
"Quiet."
"Ugh......"
Pistol from my agent kit silenced him. I checked the hidden floor compartment: crude homemade guns, scant food, and my target. I lifted it quietly.
"This. Fake EDP-427, right?"
"That's..."
Gun to his face, he trembled truth out.
"Yes... please......"
"Leak this to anyone, I'll be back."
"Won't tell a soul...!"
Muzzled, I pocketed the vial and left. Back to Jenny, sunset dipping below the river behind her turned head.
"You're back. Find anything?"
"No. Nothing."
Thus ended my first mission, returning to the academy.
