Chapter 90
Chapter 90
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 90
Chapter Title: Celebrities Are Tired
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“Cancel.”
“Too late.”
“Cancel─!!!!!”
This is pure honey, but it's canceled─!!!
No matter how much you scream, nothing changes. I know that fact, but I always realize it too late. Yeah.
No joke. Seriously, no joke. At first, I thought it was easy since it felt no different from outside, but what the hell is this?
I'm dying. Dying.
“Lee Seong-hoon is falling behind!! Raphael, don't slack off!! Want to do more?!”
“Uwaaaaaah!!!”
“Seong-hoon. I've made up my mind. When this is over, I'm suing that guy to the human rights committee.”
“Oh. What brought this on? Same thought here? I memorized that guy's face. Burned it into my brain. I'll never forget it till the day I die.”
But just remembering? Who the hell sues Justitia? You memorized his face, you say.
“This is discrimination!! Everyone else is resting with their mana adaptation or whatever, so why just us?!”
“Because you two have special constitutions!! Run!! You know what happens when the run ends? Two more sets!!”
Uwaaaaaah─!!!
It's so unfair. Everyone else's morning training is just manifesting magic. Adapt to this damn mana. Using spells.
That's the morning drill. And us?
“Run!! Don't stop!!”
We've already adapted to the mana. Special constitution, my ass. What kind of constitution do I have? I came from a world with no mana—where the hell would I get a mana-related one?!
“Should've pretended it was hard.”
Yang Min-ji clutches her stomach laughing as she watches us run. She stands up, waves her hand, and yells something, so I flipped her the middle finger.
If she's adapted, she should just sit still—why poke at people?
We ran for ages like that, endured the yelling, finished some nonsensical training—mostly just torturing our bodies—and collapsed.
Now I can hear murmurs around us, so I guess most people have adapted by now.
Whatever. I lay there head-to-head with Raphael, staring up at the sky. A clear blue sky with fluffy clouds.
This feels familiar. I know exactly what you're supposed to do in moments like this. Cover the sky with your hand, right?
“Don't.”
“Why.”
“I don't know why, but just don't.”
Tch. I clicked my tongue and kept lying there, catching my breath. Couldn't block the sky with my hand, but I had to say this.
“Aah. This is what friendship is.”
“Ugh. I said don't?!”
I want to, so what? You wanted it too. You've been bingeing youth manga lately.
I kept staring at the sky without answering, then opened my mouth. Surprisingly, it synced up with Raphael.
““I want to go home.””
1:00 PM.
Before the next training session. Thanks to the instructor's “consideration,” we got lunch time. But this was still hell training.
The instructor wasn't going easy.
—Those who want lunch better start running.
—Meal tickets are hidden somewhere in the forest.
—This is part of the training. Find the meal tickets carrying faint mana amid this high-density mana.
—Total participants: 40.
—Meal tickets: 20.
Half of us were supposed to starve. But it could be read another way too.
‘Fight for them yourselves.’
Seize them by force. The weak ones go hungry.
No telling what training comes next—skipping lunch would be suicidal.
That's why the man walked calmly. He wasn't sensing mana at all. Stealing someone else's is always easier than finding your own.
How could you even sense the tiny mana signature of a meal ticket in this dense mana fog?
“Barely got adapted.”
People who couldn't adapt had puked their guts out over and over, even borrowed oxygen tanks because they couldn't breathe right.
That's how thick it was. But every downside has an upside.
Once you adapted here, it was a whole different story. The crushing pressure on your body was still there, but the power of spells? Night and day.
Mana quality, maybe? Like how fire roars in high-density air.
1-circle spells had insane power. At least 3-circle level. Nearly triple the output.
That's why the man prowled with confidence.
‘No ticket means no one targets you.’
Ambush while wandering, snatch theirs. Simple.
He formed a finger gun. Focused on the tiniest sounds as he advanced, and soon enough, he spotted someone.
‘That guy.’
Black-haired man. Familiar face. Special constitution immune to the high-density mana. Paid for it by running laps all day like an idiot.
Not jealous, honestly. How often do you even come to a place like this? No point envying that trait.
‘Ranking's low.’
One ticket clutched in his hand. And yet his eyes burned as he searched for more.
‘What? Planning to sell?’
Gather a bunch, hawk them to the ticketless? Betting on his special trait for a quick score, looks like.
‘Idiot.’
Only the strong pull that off. The man leveled his finger-gun at him.
Closed one eye, assumed shooting stance. Circled his mana through his body, forming the spell.
A crimson magic circle bloomed at his fingertip. He waited for even a brief pause before chanting.
‘Perfect ambush.’
The target hadn't spotted him. So he waited. For the moment he could land a perfect hit. No wasting a golden ambush chance.
Sure, he was the moron who passed the exam by guessing everything, but a herring is still a herring when it's gone bad. Hero aspirant all the same.
A trained hunter doesn't miss his shot.
Waiting is an art.
And soon, the chance came. Black hair paused. The instant he did—chant—
‘Huh?’
Couldn't. His thoughts froze. The magic circle at his fingertip quivered faintly.
‘Looking this way?’
No way. Perfect ambush. He'd minimized his breathing, silenced his footsteps. Waited like a statue.
So why?
No answer came. He was staring right at the man, perfectly hidden behind the tree.
Waited thinking it was coincidence, but his gaze stayed locked here.
Crunch.
He moved. Toward him. Like he was hunting for the hidden figure.
Couldn't drop him in one go now. But their eyes hadn't met yet. He just had a rough idea of the position.
Definitely some kind of instinct.
‘Use the ambush advantage.’
The man raised his hand. Poured mana into the prepped circle and began chanting.
Land the ambush spell, follow up with a 1-circle nuke.
Victory plan crystal clear in his head, he unleashed the magic.
Flames erupted from his fingertip. The blazing orb was huge—even the caster gawked. Big enough to swallow a person whole. A mere 2-circle spell bordering 4-circle power. This was a win.
The fireball hurtled toward black hair's temple. Too late to notice now. Direct—
“Found you.”
—hit? No. Black hair had already seen the flames. He thrust out his arm. The fireball got sucked right in.
No time to be shocked. Had to create distance from the charging black hair sucking up the flames.
Barely dodged and backed off. Now a scythe was in black hair's hand. Crude thing—wood haft joined to blade.
He slung it over his shoulder and spoke.
“Got a meal ticket?”
No reply. Instead, he chanted. Quick-attack magic.
Chant fast, fire, flee. He raised his finger.
“《Flames.》”
1-circle chant. Quick-attack. Meaning fast to form—but quick-attack spells are inherently fast projectiles.
Unlike the previous fireball, it rocketed out at blinding speed.
But.
“Got a meal ticket?”
Sucked into the hand again. Not a one-time ability.
Flee for—
As if mocking the thought, something yellow fluttered down.
‘Post-it?’
Why that? He dodged the direct hit and shifted aside, but didn't catch the text.
Post-it hit the ground. Black tendrils burst out, binding his feet.
“Argh!!”
Pathetic scream as he toppled. He twisted his head—black hair was closing in.
“Got a meal ticket?”
He shook his head. Frantically. No clue why, but he had to.
Black hair kept coming.
“Got a meal ticket? Won't ask twice. Better have one.”
How do you produce one from nothing? He swallowed hard.
The question came again.
“Got a meal ticket?”
“Raphael.”
“Yes! Seong-hoon-nim!!”
I'm inside the central building on the 11th isle right now. Right in front of the folks in mana-blocking gas masks doing the cooking.
Legs crossed, waving my hand. Two meal tickets fluttering in my grip.
“Raphael.”
“Just say the word!!”
Before me, that haughty blonde is bowing her head low. Hands extended forward and everything.
I flash a beaming smile and keep calling her name. How many times this round? Lost count.
But she answers every time. Power of food is mighty.
“You have any idea how hard I worked to get these?”
True story. One was lucky, but the second was a grind. Kept picking fights with guys, and none of them had tickets.
Finally tracked down one who did.
“I do! I know all too well!!”
I felt satisfaction looking at Raphael melted into the floor. Now that's a proper angel.
“Bad taste.”
Shin Chae-yeon muttered from her seat beside me, but I didn't stop. What're you gonna do? You haven't seen her usual antics.
She deserves this much.
“Bad taste?! Seong-hoon-nim—no, Seong-hoon-ssi—this is lenient!! If it were a stranger instead of me, oh god, I can't even— No!! It's my mouth!!”
She caught my gaze and prostrated again.
“Don't want food? Wanna train over five hours and starve? Do the next session on empty? Anyone want a ticket? I'll donate one to the ticketless—!!”
Raphael grabbed my pant leg, voice cracking with tears. Only then did I sit back down and call her name again.
“Raphael.”
“Yes!!”
“Raphael.”
“What is it!!”
“Rapha~el~”
“Yes, Seong-hoon-nim!!”
I called her name another twenty times or so, then handed over the ticket when she looked about to burst. The blue-haired girl beside me had gotten tired of waiting and started eating—her glare stung.
“You're on Levatein duty for a week.”
Look at her. No response. I wrung a forced agreement out of the blonde who'd clammed up after getting her ticket, loaded up a buffet plate, and headed back to my seat.
“Huh. Seong-hoon-ssi. That guy just saw you and bolted.”
Hm? I turned at her words. Some dude was fleeing like he'd seen a ghost.
“Dunno. Probably saw one.”
“Scared of my beauty, maybe?”
Chatty. I flicked the blonde's head, then dug back into my food. Now I felt real stares.
Lifted my head. A haggard cleaning lady was staring at me blankly.
“Celebrities are tired.”
“What?”
“It's her periodic seizure.”
Shut up, you lot.