Chapter 1
Chapter 1
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 001
Chapter Title: College Student Kim Woojin
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When people talk about Romance of the Three Kingdoms, they often call Lü Bu a fool.
The perfect warrior who rode the Red Hare amid a sea of enemies. Despite possessing the might to command the world, he fell for Cao Cao's scheme and ended up hanged at the White Gate Tower in utter futility.
What a ridiculous tale.
Everyone coveted his power, but no one—not even Lü Bu himself—had the vessel to contain it.
So, was what he lacked wisdom or virtue?
No, perhaps his martial prowess simply wasn't enough to overturn the entire world.
Didn't someone once say something like that?
If there's something you can't achieve with strength, maybe you just don't have enough of it.
Before overwhelming martial force, monsters, anomalies, and superhumans all become meaningless.
Why bring this up now?
Because only recently did I realize that statement is true.
I was born with a blessed constitution.
Not just any blessing, either.
A rare congenital condition where the protein that inhibits muscle growth is deficient—Heracles Syndrome, I think that's the technical term. I've never been tested at a hospital, so I'm not certain, but I was definitely born with a body like that.
I don't even need to work out; my constitution just naturally builds muscle. Even when I got hit by a speeding car, my sturdy frame left me unscathed. My liver must be ironclad because I never get drunk. My immune system is so strong I never catch colds or COVID like everyone else does.
In short, it was the dream body everyone envied.
That's why the kids at the orphanage would say things like this whenever they saw me.
"Woojin, if you'd been born in the Three Kingdoms era, you'd have chewed up Lü Bu and Guan Yu alike."
That joke wasn't entirely off-base. I grew up in an orphanage, but I never had a rough childhood getting bullied or having my money stolen.
By third grade—nine years old—my height had already shot past the average Korean adult male's 175 cm. And my body was covered in solid muscle without a speck of fat.
I wasn't just big-boned, either.
My athleticism was maxed out. Running, dodgeball, soccer, basketball—no matter the sport, I never missed a perfect score in PE throughout my school years.
It got to the point where, right after starting middle school, the owner of the local boxing gym came all the way to the orphanage himself.
"No, teachers. Woojin isn't just tall. Look at that perfect frame, those long arms. That's a body God made for boxing! His reflexes and striking sense are top-tier too! I've been in this game for over 30 years and seen all kinds of guys, but I've never met one like him! Genius? That's an understatement! He's a monster—a monster!"
"Coach, calm down first..."
"I, Choi Jong-hoon, stake my everything on this! I'll take full responsibility and raise him. Korean champion? Asian champion? No. Woojin's world champion material! He can absolutely do it! Please, just consider it seriously once. This isn't just about that kid's future—it's the future of Korean boxing!"
I couldn't resist the coach's passion and entered a national boxing tournament once, easily snagging the gold. But that was the end of it.
My path as an athlete shattered because of one foolish choice I made.
The reason I quit sports was simple. During middle school, I got tangled in a fight and my career as an athlete was completely ruined.
I clashed with some delinquents bullying a younger kid from the orphanage. At first, I just wanted to scare them off. But the moment one pulled a knife from his pocket, my rationality snapped.
When I came to, it was all over. The guys who took my uncontrolled punches full force were crippled for life in wheelchairs. I narrowly avoided juvie thanks to the orphanage director's tearful pleas, ending up in a youth detention center instead.
That's when I realized it. This blessed body was really a time bomb waiting to explode. A curse that could harm others or destroy my own life.
From that day on, I never used full strength again. Nor did I cling to sports or anything physical.
Even so, was my body just too blessed?
Something like this happened in high school.
"Hey, underclassman. Wanna do something big with us? A natural talent like you wasting away studying in this dead-end neighborhood is a crime against resources."
A gang of upperclassmen swarmed my first-year classroom just to check me out.
"Join our crew. We'll hook you up with money, girls—whatever you want. It'll make this boring school life look like a joke. A hot, badass life you can't even compare. Sound tempting?"
They ogled my 190 cm-plus frame in awe and seriously invited me to join them for some "big job."
I didn't want to go full gangster in this one life, so I politely turned down their offer.
After that turbulent school life, I became an adult.
Everyone around me told me to go into something physical, but after the middle school incident, that path was closed to me.
So the department I entered was Korean Literature.
It had nothing to do with my aptitude or interests—just whatever fit my college entrance exam scores.
And the moment I attended my first orientation, I knew.
This place was hopeless.
"Literature doesn't put food on the table. It steals your time. But do you know what's scarier than an empty stomach? An empty soul. Literature is the only nourishment that fills it!"
A greasy-faced professor ranted from the podium.
It was the same tired, uninspiring drivel I'd heard before. The freshmen listening weren't glowing with spiritual fulfillment; they were agonizing over lunch menus.
I looked around. Seniors whose souls had fattened over years clutched not lit textbooks, but Hackers TOEIC or NCS prep books.
Their eyes no longer chased poetry or novels. They were fixed solely on job postings and acceptance lists.
That's when I overheard the whispers from the seniors behind me.
"See the newbies' faces? They have no clue about our department's reality."
"Let 'em be. One semester in, and they'll feel it in their bones why we call it the Starvation Major."
Starvation Major. What a stellar nickname.
With rumors swirling about closure due to low employment rates, watching professors prattle about souls while students fretted over pointless specs melted away my dreams of grabbing a diploma and aiming for public or corporate jobs.
Korean Literature had no future.
Sure, a few might become poets or novelists leaving great works behind.
But that requires talent, luck, and solid family backing—all perfectly aligned. For an orphan like me, it was a story from another world.
So that night, back in my studio, I ordered 9th-grade civil service exam prep books from an online bookstore without a second thought.
You can't fill your belly with romance. For me, a steady monthly paycheck mattered more than a beautiful line of poetry.
9th-grade civil servant. Low pay, endless complaints, probably not a great fit. But at least I wouldn't starve.
That was enough.
My college life ended before it even began.
Now, summer break has arrived. I'm heading from my studio to a rundown motel on the outskirts of downtown, about 30 minutes by bus.
For the night security gig I picked up a month ago.
The local economy here is dead; the area is full of dark, empty buildings. The few lit ones have faded, unidentified talismans plastered on doors, giving off an eerie, ominous vibe.
Simple reason I came here: the hourly wage was double other part-times.
From a month's experience, barely any customers show up. I can study for the civil service exam all night quietly and still get paid—a total honey pot job.
Ding-a-ling—
Stepping inside, the counter was empty as usual.
At first, no one at the desk felt weird, but the pay always deposited on time, so now it didn't faze me.
Day shift handles cleaning, so my job is just holding down this spot all night.
I sank deep into the counter chair and flipped open my familiar civil service workbook. Korean history, administrative law, English... Dense text crammed into my head. After about two hours, my eyes grew dry and focus waned.
I closed the book, leaned back, and let out a long yawn. Time for a break.
Popping in wireless earbuds, my YouTube radio channel auto-played. It was right in the middle of my favorite, "Quiet Nights, Strange Tales." A soft female host's voice flowed with a male expert's.
'What nonsense.'
I chuckled and pulled out the earbuds. Catching ghosts seemed more complicated than passing the civil service exam.
Shamans must sleep easy without job worries. With that silly thought, I returned to my workbook. The break helped; focus sharpened. I was deep into solving problems amid the dense text.
Ding-a-ling—
The door bell shattered the silence with a clear chime. A glance at my phone: 3 a.m.
A customer at this hour? Probably hammered from after-parties. I looked up casually.
Click-clack, click-clack—
The approaching customer was a woman.
Wearing a barbour coat unfit for the sweltering summer heat, her face hidden by a red mask.
What, red mask cosplay? This neighborhood has no normal people but me.
I stood and asked,
"Welcome. Party of one?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, she tilted her head slightly and asked out of nowhere,
"Am I... pretty?"
Drunk off her rocker, spouting crap.
I ignored it and repeated,
"One, right? I'll handle payment."
Right then.
She yanked something from her coat pocket.
A pair of sharp scissors drenched in blood. Gripping them, she charged at me. My mind blanked at the sudden weapon, but my body reacted faster than thought.
Calmly, I snatched her wrist holding the scissors with one hand. Made her drop them, then twisted her arm back.
Whatever she was on, her strength rivaled an adult man's, but it was nothing to mine.
"Kya-aa-aah!"
Trapped in my grip, she started screaming.
This could draw complaints from other guests.
I swiftly grabbed her hair with my other hand and slammed her head into the wall behind the counter.
Thud!
A dull impact, and she went limp, knocked out.
Looking at her crumpled on the floor, I muttered low,
"What the hell, crazy bitch?"
This area's security is trash, so villains like her pop up at dawn sometimes.
Good thing I'd dealt with this before during shifts, so I stayed cool.
'Call the cops?'
No, that might backfire into an assault charge. Fines at best, jail at worst—not smart.
But I couldn't just leave her passed out outside.
I rummaged her coat pocket, found her wallet. She might stiff me on day-use fees later, so I took advance payment.
One Shin Saimdang, three King Sejongs.
Shoved the four bills roughly into the register.
Then hoisted her limp body effortlessly and tossed her onto an empty room's bed nearby.
Back at the counter.
To avoid assault hassle with cops later, I figured I'd wipe the CCTV footage first.
I rewound the surveillance video skillfully.
But as I checked, something felt off. I tilted my head.
'...No footage?'
Yeah.
The recording had no scene of the woman.
As if someone deliberately erased just her part—the clip cut right after I looked up from my workbook.