To Become the Supreme One, One Must Endure Until Polished to Shine (1)
"One... for me?"
I checked inside the cigarette pack. Just the last one standing tall. Normally, you don't even give the last cig to your closest buddy. It's an unspoken rule among smokers.
But the old man in front of me was eyeing it like he was savoring every detail with his gaze.
I awkwardly held it out, and whoosh—it vanished from my hand faster than you could blink.
"Sssip... whoo—."
He tapped off the ash, thud thud, then stubbed it out by rubbing it between his fingers.
I glanced at him, and he was still staring at the cigarette like it was some exotic treasure, devouring it with his eyes.
No way.
Does he not know how to smoke it?
Nah, cigarettes have been around since the Stone Age. Murim's gotta have 'em too.
"Well, light it up and come on in."
I bowed my head in greeting and headed into the convenience store first.
Inside, the bandits were still in the middle of their training session.
Yoo Hwa-yeon was a natural at teaching. Maybe it was because they were all Murim folk, but she was explaining things so clearly that even these roughnecks who wouldn't listen to anyone were nodding along like pros.
If there was a cram school in Murim, she'd be the star instructor with a perfect track record.
"This is called bread."
"What's that weird picture?"
"That's a pet... well, pocket mouse bread. No idea why they'd stuff a mouse in a pocket, though."
"A mouse? Man, you don't know till you know, but once you do, it's a real delicacy."
"You've... eaten mouse?"
"It's meat, ain't it, senior? Hehe."
Yoo Hwa-yeon pretended to dry-heave. I felt the same—urgh.
I left the training to Hwa-yeon and slipped behind the counter to check the POS system.
The new daily necessities were selling like hotcakes. I'd ordered 10 pairs of panties at first, and after they became a massive hit with the bandits, I restocked with 30 more. Even those sold out completely—no leftovers. Sold out success.
Underwear wasn't just useful for bandits, either. In this Murim world where silk was pricey as hell, slipping into soft, smooth modern panties would probably make any martial artist faint.
So I placed another order for 40 pairs.
This time, not just panties—I added toothpaste and toothbrush sets.
Murim did have toothbrushes: bamboo sticks bundled with pig bristles, crude approximations at best. I'd been shocked to see them at first. Who knew Murim had toothbrushes?
Of course, they were worlds apart from modern ones—rough and disposable after one use, since the bristles fell out. Not very practical.
And it wasn't just me feeling the inconvenience. Plenty of Murim folks hated them and scrubbed with coarse salt or rice rinse water instead.
Enter the modern toothbrush, where bristles stay put no matter how many times you use it? Game-changer.
Grinning ear to ear, I ordered the toothpaste-toothbrush sets.
Then, from the display rack in what used to be the front yard but was now store space, ding!—the toothpaste sets and panties started stacking up neatly.
Dimensional storage ability: pure gold.
Now that the order was in, my mind wandered back to that customer from earlier. Why hasn't he come in yet? Still figuring out the smoke?
With that thought, I stepped back outside.
The customer was still standing there, hadn't left.
But when I saw what he'd done, I couldn't help but freeze in shock.
"C-Customer, what are you doing?"
"Ah, just tryin' to light up the leaves."
The old man was bowed low like he was kowtowing. And in front of him lay a cigarette, gutted and gloriously sacrificed—its innards spilled out.
The thin paper was sliced clean somehow.
He'd unfolded the paper and was scraping the tobacco leaves together furiously, then started stuffing them into the pipe he'd brought with him.
"Wha-what are you doing?"
"...? Smoking the tobacco leaves."
"Who smokes a cigarette like that?"
"......? Who doesn't smoke it like this?"
...Huh.
Is this how they do it in Murim?
No way. I grabbed a fresh cigarette and mimed smoking it to show him.
"There's a filter here—er, like cotton. You inhale the smoke from this end."
"...? Not stuff it in a pipe?"
"Yeah. You light it directly."
"Hah. Never heard of a method like that. What's the cotton for, then?"
"It filters it once—like a strainer."
"I see. Keeps the dregs from getting inhaled."
"Exactly."
The old man spread his index and middle fingers just like me, then wedged a cigarette between them.
He picked up a twig from the ground. I watched curiously to see what he'd do next.
Suddenly, he scraped the twig against the dirt—scraaape!
And flames bloomed from the tip.
"Huh?"
What the—? No match or anything, how?
Samadhi True Fire.
I'd read about it in novels. Something about peak Manifestation Realm masters occasionally using it. That was the end of the description.
And now it was right in front of me.
My heart pounded, but the old man lit his cigarette casually, like it was nothing.
Tsss—
The moment he took a deep drag, his already small eyes flew wide open like his runaway wife had just come home.
'!!!'
The old man, Gu Yang-geom, was lost in the intense flavor slamming his throat.
What... what is this taste?
It was definitely tobacco, but with a magical twist. No raw, grassy bitterness like pipe tobacco—just a clean, profound punch straight to the gut.
And his lips weren't burning hot. Pipes conducted heat too well, scorching your lips, but this paper cigarette? No such issue.
He took another deep drag.
Hah! A whole new flavor this time!!
Like someone shoving an ice-cold Water Ice Pill down his throat to scrub it clean.
His throat even hurt a bit. Every breath made the structure of his throat visible, crystal clear.
Sometimes cool like touching an ice pill, other times hot like fire-scorched.
Then, drowsiness vanished in a rush of refreshment.
What was this wondrous taste?
Gu Yang-geom looked at the young man who'd shared the cigarette, eyes full of wonder.
"The first was deep and profound, but the second so light and refreshing. What is this?"
He knew it was tobacco. But this was on another level entirely—Gu Yang-geom sensed it instinctively.
Meanwhile, Jung-hyun was stumped. How do I explain this?
The old man already knew cigarettes. But his question was about the name of this magically flavored one.
Jung-hyun fiddled with the crisp pack in his pocket.
So far, Murim folks had graciously interpreted his Konglish on their own, saving him the hassle of explaining. Bonus: it kept him from looking weird.
But this old man wasn't stopping at "cigarette." He wanted the name.
Jung-hyun had to answer. In a way Murim folks would get. No Konglish crutches.
Luckily, he'd always been good at think-necks since kid days. Hanja was his jam.
"Nae."
One character at a time, deliberate.
"Jon."
This work?
"Hwi."
Screw it.
"Ma."
What does this even mean? Just picked hanja that sounded close.
As Jung-hyun sweated bullets, Gu Yang-geom rested his chin on his hand, deep in thought.
"Nae... Jon Hwi Ma?"
'Naejonhwima... Naejonhwima...'
Muttering the name over and over, Gu Yang-geom suddenly snapped his fingers. Snap!
"Oh ho! Such profound meaning hidden within!"
Huh? Profound meaning?
Marlboro got profound meaning?
"Jon (尊), to become the exalted one, one must Nae (耐), endure. Hwi (輝), shining, Ma (劘), until polished. Thus, Naejonhwima (耐尊輝劘). A splendid name. Did the owner coin it himself?"
'…….'
Murim's the best. Auto-translation: pure gold.
Shoulda just said Marlboro. He'd have twisted that too.
"As expected from someone who's lived many years—your insight runs deep. You saw right through it."
"I am impressed by your wisdom."
The old man peered at his still-burning cigarette as he continued.
"The name fits perfectly. Endure until polished to shine. Indeed. To become supreme, one must. Heh heh. Does this tobacco truly signify enduring that time?"
"Exactly. These leaves meet the sun, dry out, wrapped in thin paper, rolled tight. Only by enduring every step do they ascend to supreme flavor."
Damn. What am I even saying?
Each word felt like forgetting the last. I was losing it.
But the old man laughed heartily, utterly satisfied.
"Kuhahaha! A rare young man! Yes, all things follow the principles of the world. This old man only grasped it at life's twilight. Yet you, so young, with such insight! Never met one like you in my days!"
Ah, yeah. Glad you like it.
"Might you spare me a few more Naejonhwima? Feels like it could break through the long-stuck blockage."
"How many?"
"One by one won't reach enlightenment. Give me a pack."
A pack, huh. I went to the counter, opened the cabinet.
A full pack of Marlboros sat there plump.
"One pack of Naejonhwima: 4 silver coins, 50 copper."
"Much obliged."
Name schmame—first sale of smokes to a Murim guy.