Chapter 68
Half the customers at the meat house wore puzzled expressions.
"...Even if it's a YouTube channel, it's still an official broadcaster. Is it okay to say stuff like that?"
"Hey, hey. We're not celebrities, and you don't need to worry about the network. Eat your meat."
They let it slide.
But a few still looked uncomfortable, their eyebrows furrowed in that classic frown.
I got it.
The comment was pretty bold for a crowded barbecue joint. HTN was known for its sharp criticism from the start.
Most of the patrons were older folks. Majang-dong was the livestock market. The smell of blood kept the young crowd away.
And for them, politics ranked number one, taxes number two. Gates popping up? Probably fourth on the list, if that.
The news rundown went like this.
The Association admitted they failed to respond quickly to the Geomdan Gate. They acknowledged their inadequate measures.
Fully aware of their responsibility,
they decided to buy out the apartment complex where the gate opened—using taxpayer money.
'Gwang-san Corp will fight tooth and nail against that.'
Public opinion was in turmoil. Even massive guilds had to watch their step with the people.
'There must've been some backroom deals.'
Why did I think that?
For starters, the Association officially announced they wouldn't hold onto the apartments indefinitely.
After some time, they'd auction them off—to the top ten guilds in the country.
'Basically handing them back to Gwang-san.'
No other major guild had any reason to bid on a worthless complex.
Not because of money, but because it was pointless. Who'd pay good credits for a toxic asset?
So the Geomdan apartments would naturally slide back into Gwang-san Corp's pocket.
It'd cost them real cash, but if it wrapped up the Geomdan Gate aftermath, it was a bargain.
That complex meant a lot to Gwang-san Corp.
'No idea why, though.'
I'd figure it out eventually.
The clue to toppling a top-tier guild might be hiding there.
"Pah. Might as well burn the money..."
"Exactly."
"That voice is annoying. What's it called, Airy?"
"AI, you old coot."
"Whatever! It's not a real voice, right?!"
Grumbles rose like smoke here and there.
"Gwang-san ain't a mega-corp for nothing. If you nitpick every big company move, the country's done for!"
"Hey now. You worked the coal mines back in the day—don't get too uppity. Have a drink."
They weren't thrilled about their hard-earned blood taxes—literally squeezed from their veins—going to buy some random apartments.
Tsk tsk.
The guy eating right next to me clicked his tongue.
It was Professor Kim.
"Uneducated fools. Big corps are their religion."
"Watch your mouth."
Uncle Choi scowled.
"Did I say something wrong? You were there too—why the hypocrisy?"
"It's not hypocrisy. Our situations are different, Professor. Those folks are stuck in the past. They're bound to be conservative."
"Ignorance is a sin."
"In today's world, being powerless is an even bigger one."
"..."
"What, arm-wrestle over the grill?"
Professor Kim wasn't one to back down meekly, but Uncle Choi had his shears gripped tight. Must've looked threatening enough. The professor just pouted.
Uncle Choi had once scored a total victory over a Korea University professor.
Hemo, scavenging scraps under the round table, chuckled away. Dialect slipping out, and cracking up good.
The news rolled on.
The auntie on screen stared right at the camera. Her face rang a bell.
But her words? Totally unfamiliar.
Did I ever say anything like that?
Nope.
It wasn't just that—the memories after parting with the constellations were completely gone.
"..."
I lowered my gaze.
Hemo was munching on hanwoo beef.
Right beside it, a cat the size of a hand hesitated, eyeing Hemo while debating a lick.
Yeah.
While I was out cold, these two had impersonated me.
'Back then.'
Anemia had nearly claimed me—I was a corpse barely clinging to life.
But Hemo figured slumping like a wet rag would ruin the master's 'image.'
The Surprise Texture Mask was still on anyway, and with Hemo shapeshifted into clothes,
as long as the limbs moved right, it passed for a walking corpse no problem.
The zombie difference? Voice.
...!
The cat.
Jangsanbeom met my eyes.
It tucked its tongue away and curled its lips.
"Heh, hehe..."
A servile grin.
"S-s-sorry, M-Master... w-without p-permission... we, we, we acted... f-for, forgive us."
This one.
The dub artist.
Hemo knew my usual speech patterns. And it'd picked up human language from the king.
They synced up—or rather, with the mask, all three created 'Virtual Seo Wonseok.'
Portraying a cool, composed hidden master hunter who shunned the spotlight.
"W-we... d-did it in a... d-dee, deep... s-solemn tone."
I started to say something, then dropped it.
Right on cue, the auntie on TV beat me to it.
I looked up.
Uncle Choi turned away.
Professor Kim did too.
The news cut to commercials.
We all fell quiet for a bit, each feeling something.
"Shut your trap."
"Turn it off."
"We live off big guilds in this country. Tsk tsk."
One old guy dared reach for the remote.
You know this?
In a restaurant, the TV remote is the owner's domain. Even customers are kings—except there.
"...Huh?"
He flinched under the prickly stares.
The young owner.
My classmate was sharpening his knife indifferently.
"..."
"..."
"..."
The old man meekly withdrew.
No matter how sharp your tongue, it can't match a knife's edge.
Moments later.
"Have a plate on the house."
"Oh, uh, thanks."
"Free, so enjoy it. Fully."
Meaning: mouths for eating only here.
My classmate dropped a few pieces on the old guys' table, then came to us.
"Business must be slow."
Professor Kim snarked.
"Handing extras even to those types, calling 'em regulars."
This guy's got a chip on his shoulder too.
'Fair enough. This dinner's just aligned interests anyway.'
More temporary allies than helpers.
"We give extra to the ones we hate."
My classmate pointed at me with the tongs.
"Opposite of what you did to him back at Korea U, Professor."
"..."
Uncle Choi burst out laughing.
"Service without ordering soda?"
Professor Kim Yi-hak's face turned beet red.
Back at Korea University,
students called Professor Kim Yi-hak the "vending machine."
He was always ice-cold.
But occasionally, human nature kicked in—he'd get heated.
Then he'd thump his ribs with his fist.
And like magic, emotions tucked away.
Looked just like pressing a button for a cold drink. Hence the nickname.
Side note: my classmate coined it.
He and the professor had a decent rapport. Professor actually liked him.
The guy himself? Not thrilled by the favoritism.
—Wonseok, doesn't it piss you off? He plays favorites right in front of us?
Something like that.
'Vending machine.'
Twenty years ago already.
As a regressor, I'd forgotten the nickname completely.
Until.
Thud, thud.
This rhythm.
Thud, thud.
Been a while.
Still not calm, the professor gulped cold water, veins bulging fiercely around his neck.
This was rare.
'Whew.'
He removed his environmental cleaner's cap, combed his hair by hand. A streak of gray on the side meshed with his intellectual vibe—like a deliberate bridge.
"Enough chit-chat."
"No doubt."
Uncle Choi sniped back. The professor nearly hit his 'calm button.'
But stopped short.
His eyes settled.
"We're not here for cozy year-end drinks."
"True enough."
No more pushback from Uncle.
"Four days since Geomdan Gate."
Professor said.
"We held off while Seo was recovering, but today we need concrete plans moving forward."
He glanced at the wall clock now and then.
New habit.
Tick, tock.
Maybe from the Eternal Blessing link.
Tick, tock.
The second hand's strikes rang loud. Impatience, anxiety, urgency—emotions miles from the ice-cold Professor Kim.
The root?
Obviously...
'His wife.'
Not much time left for the professor and his wife.
"So, Seo."
His gaze wavered.
Desperation.
"Share what you got from the auction gate. Wasn't that our deal?"
"...H-Hey, too pushy..."
Uncle Choi started to intervene, then paused.
Professor Kim had saved my near-dead ass.
Just telling him the reward? Fair ask.
For future plans.
He'd earned it, and it wasn't overreaching.
"Hyah!"
My clueless classmate picked up on the vibe.
"Eat the grilled stuff here—bad reviews if uneven. I'll slice more pronto."
Shooing him off, our table deadlocked.
Drip.
Meat fat hit the coals, sizzling a spot.
Ssssh.
Smoke rose as the TV fizzled out. News over.
"My reward was."
I spoke.
"Ownership of the apartment complex, transferred to me."