The Master's Visit

My tenth encounter with BluetoothShowerhead was far from pleasant.

Even though a fair amount of time had passed since his death penalty lifted, he still hadn't logged back in. It took him a full two days before he finally connected and completed that last, tenth kill.

What a pain in the ass, honestly. He seemed to think he was the only person I had any reason to kill. It would have been so much ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠nicer if we could just die lightly, kill lightly, and call the contract done.

Well, I had a pretty good idea of what he'd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠been planning. He'd probably tried to gather a big group of guildmates for revenge. But while he delayed logging in, I'd started picking off the other guild members one by one — and the people who were supposed to help him get even had ended up as corpses right alongside him.

"Hope we never meet again."

"I-Is this the end of it…?"

"Who knows. That's up to me, isn't it?"

This was the difference experience made. I didn't go around hunting random nobodies who weren't streamers or pro gamers for nothing. It was also why my rates were so high.

And just like that, one job that had dragged on longer than expected was finished. I stretched with a clean, satisfied feeling and collected my payment. With the tension gone, a strange heaviness settled into my body.

Ah. So it wasn't just my imagination.

It would soon be a full two days since I'd entered the game. No wonder my body was exhausted. I could push a little longer if I wanted, but I decided to manage my stamina and call it here for the day. If I grabbed a quick meal and went to sleep, I'd easily be out cold for at least ten hours. When I woke up, it would be the weekend. I had to go to the hospital every Saturday, and at the very least I needed to look halfway human when I did. I couldn't push myself to the limit in-game and then show up looking like a wreck.

The moment I logged out and opened the pod, a massive shadow was waiting right in front of me.

"I was wondering when you'd come out."

"Eeeek—!"

"What's with the screaming? You look like you just saw something you shouldn't have."

A huge man sat perched on the edge of my bed. Not a stranger — if anything, the problem was that I knew him far too well. It felt exactly like getting caught by your parents for wrecking your sleep schedule.

Jeong Seok-won. My master from my national team days, the man who'd coached me. One of the few connections I still had left.

"How am I supposed to not jump when someone your size is suddenly standing right there? I told you — the size difference between us is a lot bigger now, so it feels completely different."

"I'd stand farther back if there was room for it. And when you freak out like that, it makes me feel weird. Like I'm committing a crime or something."

"It is a crime. Breaking and entering."

"You're the one who gave me the door lock code. And hey, kid — clean up after yourself once in a while. What the hell did you turn this room into, a pigsty?"

"…"

Cheap shot, going after the state of my room. That was a foul.

Only then did I actually look ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at the place. The piles of trash I'd been stacking up were gone without a trace, and the old smell of leftover ramen broth had vanished with them. Instead of the stench that should have been hanging in the air, the savory aroma of doenjang stew was drifting through the room.

It hit me again — I didn't keep anything as luxurious as doenjang in this house. So Master must have bought some and cooked it himself. The cleaning was obviously his work too.

Something twisted and squirmed in my chest. Guilt.

"I… didn't completely not clean."

"Oh yeah? So what exactly were you cleaning, then?"

"I was about to do it. And it's not like bugs were breeding in here."

"Just because you didn't see them doesn't mean they weren't there."

"Ah."

My head dropped on its own. Looking down at the floor, I had to be surprised all over again. I could see the flooring. There was no dust on it. So this was what my room had originally looked like.

The moment that thought landed, a fresh wave of embarrassment hit me. I said what I needed to say.

"So… um. I'm sorry."

"Good. As long as you know. I get where your head's at, but don't wreck your body like this. I've been too busy to come by lately, and you've been living on nothing but ramen? Come on."

"I've ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠been taking supplements. And ramen's nutritional profile isn't actually that bad."

That wasn't a lie. Ramen was surprisingly decent as a food, nutritionally speaking. The carb ratio was high, sure, but if you managed the calories carefully, it didn't wreck your body. Preparing and cooking healthy meals every single time took a lot of hours I didn't have. I wasn't that free — so covering things with ramen and supplements was the better deal, time-wise.

Not that Master was going to accept any of that.

"I knew you'd say that. Are you even eating meals on time? You look skinnier than last time."

"…Isn't that better than getting fat?"

"That only works if you look healthy doing it. And another thing—"

Master's nagging showed no sign of ending. Caught in the verbal storm, I came to a firm realization: this couldn't continue. No one knew better than I did that my life was a complete mess. If I kept dodging Coach's points one by one, there would be no end to it.

So I changed the subject. With a very reliable method.

"Um… could we eat first? Honestly, I was just about to come out and get something."

"Haa. Fine. Let's at least get some food in you. I brought that boiled pork you used to like, too."

"Boiled pork? Master, you can only cook stew."

"My wife made it. When I told her I was stopping by your place, she put it together this morning."

"Oh."

Now that was good news. The truth was, outside of stew and ramen, Master's cooking was pretty rough. He was an old sea dog at heart, and if something wasn't aggressively salty, he just wasn't satisfied. Back then, even that kind of flavor had been fine. But ever since ending up in this body, my palate had gotten weirdly sensitive — heavily seasoned food just didn't sit right anymore.

How bad was it? Even with ramen, if it wasn't the mild version, I could barely get through it. The first time had been a real shock. I'd picked a spicy ramen like always, couldn't finish half of it, and drained an entire carton of milk.

That was the moment my spirit shattered into pieces. It wasn't even some absurdly spicy novelty ramen — just a regular, mass-market level of heat.

"M-Miss! Are you okay?"

"U-Uuuugh… I-I'm fi— I'm fine…"

"Should I get you a juice? Something sweet might help."

"No… I can't. Nothing else is going in my stomach… eup!"

My tongue had been so scorched that all I could feel was pain. And on top of that, my pride had been the real problem. I'd chugged so much milk trying to kill the heat that my stomach bloated and I started dry-heaving. Sticky drool ran from the corner of my mouth, and because I was right in front of a convenience store clerk, I even had to hold back the tears. No matter what, I did not want to cry from spicy food in front of a complete stranger. Especially not over ordinary ramen.

Looking back on it, what I'd shed that day wasn't tears of rage — it was my dignity. And the original me had been strong enough to brag about my spice tolerance! One of life's little joys used to be betting against spice-weak friends and making them eat capsaicin tteokbokki. Now just the smell of heat was enough to make my head spin.

Fortunately, I'd recovered enough that mild ramen was manageable. Anything beyond that, I still couldn't bring myself to try — the trauma ran too deep. Probably never would.

…Anyway. Master's wife's cooking was a different story entirely. They say spouses fill in each other's gaps, don't they? She was the woman who perfectly compensated for every shortcoming in Master's kitchen skills.

"Just wait a bit. The doenjang stew'll be done soon. I put kimchi in the fridge too, so start eating that from now on."

"Thank you. I'll eat well."

"That's my girl."

As Master said, there was a stretch of waiting for the food. Sitting still only made me more restless. The smell of freshly cooked white rice. The rich meat aroma that rose with a rush of hot steam the second the sealed container opened. And on top of that, the savory, salty scent unique to doenjang stew.

Was it because my expectations for real food after so long had gotten too high? Or because I'd starved myself gaming for too long? Either way, the sound of me swallowing was absurdly loud — a gulping noise that filled a brief pocket of silence. And as if that weren't enough, my traitorous stomach let out a long, rolling gurrrrgle, demanding I fill my guts already.

Master heard every bit of it, and his expression turned thoroughly pleased.

"Whoa, better eat fast, huh? You must be starving."

"Well, yes. It's been a while since I last ate."

Damn this body. A girl's body flushed hot in an instant, and embarrassment showed on the face just as fast. Cheeks burning scarlet, I dropped my head low.

Master grinned, teeth showing.

"Haha! That's right — even back when you were an athlete, you could put away a meal like nobody's business."

"How far back are you going… Well. Yeah, I could."

"I'd better get the table set. Ah — no, I'll do it. You just sit."

Sadly, the boiled pork tasted so good it was almost moving. So good I was almost sorry my portions had gotten smaller. I emptied the entire rice bowl without lifting my head even once.