Hobuk Branch's First Murder... That Didn't Happen
The Hobuk Branch's first murder incident!... didn't happen.
Namgoong Juhee's sword strike had clearly been a lethal blow, fraught with mortal danger.
Even in real combat, it was potent enough to send a Peak realm master straight to the grave.
But that attack didn't cleave Cheongjin in half.
It merely left a thin red line on the surface of his skin.
So the officiator's decision to call in the medical team could only be called an overreaction.
"...Did you see that? That young lady swung her sword once, and blood went splurt!"
"I saw. They even brought out the medics. What's that young lady's name?"
"Namgoong Juhee, I think. Hmm, first time hearing it."
"An unknown swordswoman takes down the Sword Dragon in one strike? That doesn't add up."
Setting that aside, it was a sight that would make any spectator gasp in shock.
Taking down a Peak realm expert in a single blow—and inflicting an injury bad enough to summon the medics? That was front-page news. Huge news.
The arena buzzed with excitement.
A few cheers rang out.
The emergence of new talent was always thrilling. And she was beautiful to boot. It was the wholesome reaction of folks enjoying the festival.
"Dammit! My money! Who the hell is that bitch?!"
"...Didn't that bitch use a killing blow? Why isn't she disqualified?!"
"Ha! Obvious, isn't it? Backroom dealing!"
"Backroom dealing?"
"What's the point of saying it? Someone must've pulled strings from behind the scenes! Fuck, look at those tits on her—it all makes sense. I'd grope 'em like a dog too."
Even so, the suspicious glares didn't fade entirely—overzealous fans existed everywhere.
Toto bugs were the same.
Those who'd bet on Cheongjin and lost their money, along with Mount Wudang faction diehards, spewed venomous gossip. Even the cheering crowd started glancing around nervously.
And as they did, their eyes landed on a pair: a muscular man and a red-haired beauty.
Anyone well-versed in the murim world would instantly recognize them as Hwangbo Un and Yi Hayeon.
"Gack! Kek!"
One of the trash-talkers suddenly shot into the air.
The Hwangbo family was renowned for its brute strength.
And their young master, Hwangbo Un? He could effortlessly hoist an ordinary person like that.
"Friend, you'd best watch your tongue. Wouldn't want to lose it by accident, now would you?"
"Guh! Koff! I-I'll... I'll remember! Great hero! Just... spare my life... my life!"
"Tch. Scram."
Hwangbo Un released his grip, and the spectator bolted like a rabbit.
Yi Hayeon piped up at the sight.
"How petty. Think that'll make Hee like you?"
Petty? Coming from the queen of pettiness herself.
If Namgoong Juhee heard that, she'd have narrowed her eyes at Hayeon—that signature look Hayeon now called "that expression."
"Hnnng..."
Imagining it, Hayeon's body shivered.
At first, being scorned by someone like Namgoong Juhee stung. But now? It poked at her lower belly in a strangely thrilling way.
One reason Hayeon had been showing more ditzy sides lately.
"...You were here."
"Namgung Sojeo!" "Hee!"
The woman in question appeared, and Hwangbo Un and Yi Hayeon's faces lit up noticeably. Like the color saturation cranked up just around them.
But Namgoong Juhee's expression looked oddly off—irritated, maybe unwell.
They assumed it was because some folks weren't celebrating her win and showered her with excessive praise.
"Well done, Namgung Sojeo. That Cheongjin fellow's no slouch—top-notch skills and character, one of the people I admire. And you dropped him in one hit? Impressive stuff."
"Hee! You were so cool! Way stronger than when we first met—like, several times over? That sword strike... it was beautiful. Hobuk Branch championship's in the bag, right?"
Normal reactions to such fuss fall into three types.
One: Blushing shyly and begging them to stop—the maidenly response.
Two: Feigning humility with a "it was nothing"—the goody-two-shoes type.
"...Me being amazing isn't exactly new. Happens every day, like the sun rising or the moon coming out. Totally expected."
And three: The brazen, fuck-humility peasant response.
Namgoong Juhee was, naturally, the third.
Even looking unwell, she spouted that nonsense with straight-faced ease. Consistency was her thing, alright.
Anyway.
This third type had a knack for shutting down praise naturally, so Hayeon and Hwangbo Un fell silent and started giving her that look.
"...What's with those eyes?"
"Nothing." "Nope."
Namgoong Juhee eyed them suspiciously for a moment before dropping it.
Then, in a thoroughly exhausted tone:
"Feels like it is something... Whatever. Any clothiers around?"
"Clothiers? Festival's on, so probably. Buying clothes?"
Namgoong Juhee nodded with a sour look.
Hayeon widened her eyes in realization; Hwangbo Un just stared blankly, wondering what outfit she'd want.
The difference between man and woman.
. . .
"Haa... Fuck."
The most hellish part of becoming a woman? Her period, hands down.
Her tits swelled like waterlogged rags, heavy as hell. Her womb stabbed with sharp pains, making even standing a chore. And blood trickling nonstop from below—you couldn't just ignore it, and even wrapping cloth between your legs meant changing every two hours. Pure madness.
Thanks to the organizers' consideration, Namgoong Juhee got to head to her lodgings first for rest.
But that wasn't a blessing. Periods wrecked the body and the mind.
Alone in a dark room, every dark thought bubbled up.
Who am I? Is this really a game? What if it's all real? What happens to all my crazy bullshit so far? Ah... A!
Flail!
Namgoong Juhee kicked at the air from her bed.
The modern term: blanket kick.
Unlike ordinary folk, booze and periods were reality checks for her.
Rarely, she felt shame over her actions.
Cutting off her big bro's arm and prancing like a wild horse.
Defying the boss, beheading Whirlwind Ghost on her own, then running away.
Selling her looks around the village without a shred of shame—kinda embarrassing in hindsight.
Every moment with Hayeon was pure cringe. Girl-on-girl skinship was mortifying for the Korean dude inside Namgoong Juhee.
"Ah... I wanna die."
Precisely: she wanted to kill.
Game or reality, she was numb to murder now.
Hell, she enjoyed it.
Slicing flesh and bone, stealing life—it triggered massive hormone rushes.
21st-century Korea would diagnose dopamine addiction; murim would call it demonic possession.
But right now, Namgoong Juhee was alone.
Who needed a diagnosis?
Just needed someone to show up so she could kill them proper. Her head was full of that.
"...So you saw that bitch head in here?"
"Yeah! Bought a ton of cloth from the shop and went in."
Two men's voices reached her ears.
Irritation flared.
She just wanted peace, but no.
Namgoong Juhee mashed the pillow over her ears.
"Period... no... by now she should be... passed out."
"Tha...? That bitch... sword... that expensive... right?"
"Yeah... ah... enough to cover... all the lost money... and more?"
Even so, snippets leaked through, and Namgoong Juhee prayed inwardly.
Please, let someone show up to kill.
I'll do anything.
Creak.
Her door slid open quietly.
She glanced over: two masked men.
She thought: Even a good guy's gotta be fair game at this point, right? Masked, breaking into a room... that's straight-up evil.
"...Fuck! She's still awake!"
"Kill her!"
A rare smile crept across Namgoong Juhee's lips.
See? Living right paid off... she couldn't say that sober now, but.
Being alive brought good things.
"...Thanks. Was dying for this."
Namgoong Juhee's sword gleamed.