Chapter 21
Chapter 21
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 21
Chapter Title: Good Things Should Be Shared (2)
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No sooner had Ralph finished speaking than two people emerged from the forest.
Rustle-.
The first one through the underbrush was Johan.
He looked much the same as he had six months ago.
But the one following behind him was different.
His height, which had been far shorter than his peers, had shot up to 170 cm in just half a year.
His once slender frame now had solid muscle, giving him a sturdy build.
His face was still that of a youthful pretty boy, but from the neck down, Yuri was a completely different person.
Clink-.
As he stepped out of the woods, a sword swayed at his waist, and a pale sky-blue earring glinted in the sunlight.
Step- step-.
Ralph frowned as Yuri and Johan, the latecomers, strolled in casually.
"You're late."
"Ahem, I was teaching him our surefire strategy to win this spar..."
Yuri snorted at Johan's words.
"Surefire strategy, my ass. We were late waiting for you to take your damn shit, old man!"
"You little punk!"
"So what!"
"...Do you have any idea what it's like to suffer from constipation?!"
"No clue, don't care."
"Only someone who understands this agony should cast the first stone!"
"Old man, if you can't even shit properly anymore, what the hell are you good at?"
"What did you say, you bastard?"
Ralph felt his anger fizzle out as he watched the two bicker noisily despite being late.
After seeing this every day for half a year, he was sick of it.
With a sigh, he waved them off.
"Enough. Let's just get started. How many months has it been over a kids' sparring match?"
"You're the one who suggested the bet in the first place."
"I didn't know it'd drag on this long! I thought it'd be over in a few days at most!"
Johan shot Ralph a look that said, *And? What now?*
Ralph's flared temper deflated.
"...Whatever. Let's really start now."
At those words, Yuri stepped forward and cut in.
"This spar—we'll use real swords."
"Real swords?"
Yuri nodded, and Ralph turned to him with a hint of concern.
Sure enough.
Muchi was blinking in shock.
"Y-Yuri bro?"
He hadn't been thrilled about a regular spar, and now real swords?
Muchi panicked, not knowing what to do.
As Ralph sighed, about to refuse the real-sword spar.
"Hey, scaredy-cat."
It was the nickname Yuri had used for Muchi over the past six months.
Muchi stared at him wide-eyed.
Yuri flashed a grin at Muchi's flustered gaze.
"You said you just couldn't get it, right? Why I'm so obsessed with learning a skill that's just for hurting people."
"Ah...."
Muchi's lips parted slightly as he recalled Yuri's old words.
Meanwhile, Yuri's hand went to his sword hilt.
Shing-.
The silver blade slowly emerged.
If wielding a wooden sword half a year ago had looked awkward, now there wasn't a trace of it.
Shing-.
Yuri fully drew the sword and pointed it at Muchi.
The moment Muchi's panicked face came into view at the tip.
A memory flashed through Yuri's mind.
* * *
Three months ago.
The sun had fully dipped toward the west.
Urp- uurrgh-!
Somewhere in the forest, someone heaved loudly as they emptied their stomach.
Hurk- hurk-!
Yuri clutched a tree, dry-heaving, then staggered onward.
He reached a nearby stream, rinsed his mouth, and slumped against a rock.
"Ugh...."
A groan escaped him.
More precisely, he didn't have the energy to hold it back.
And it showed in his wretched state.
Disheveled hair and deep dark circles.
His clothes were caked in sweat and dirt—no telling what color they once were.
"Urgh-."
Thud- thud-.
Yuri slapped his thighs.
His legs trembled like a newborn fawn's.
He needed to loosen them up, even a little, while resting.
But after a few slaps, his whole body ached, so he gave up.
He sprawled out completely, staring at the reddened sky.
The world spun.
"G-Gonna... die...."
He said it, but Yuri knew better.
It only felt like death—he wouldn't actually die.
If it were fatal, he'd be gone before complaining.
It was a hard-earned lesson from brushing death these past three months.
How long did he gaze at the sky?
Pant- pant-.
His breathing evened out.
Right then.
"Huh?!"
Yuri jerked his head and bolted upright.
His face was pale, as if from a nightmare.
*Whew, almost didn't finish today's quota.*
If he'd dozed off, he'd wake up tomorrow for sure.
Then he wouldn't complete today's training, and the old man would sniff it out like a demon.
*That's when hell begins.*
He'd once griped about the cart-pulling "endurance training."
Now, Johan's real training made him nostalgic for those days, driving him mercilessly like a devil.
Still, Yuri never complained.
He just silently followed Johan's schedule.
"Urgh."
Grimacing, he tried to stand—then whipped his head around.
"What're you doing there?"
His sharp gaze fixed on a spot.
A tuft of hair peeked from the bushes.
Yuri tsked pityingly.
"Tch. Hey, use that big body of yours. You think I can't see you?"
The bushes rustled, and out came the giant.
"Heh heh."
Yuri's sigh deepened as Muchi scratched his head dumbly.
*Haa... So this is the guy who beat me.*
Self-loathing hit every time he saw him.
What good was a mountain of a body?
What good was unofficial first-grade skill?
His thoughts and actions were pure thirteen-year-old naivety, clueless about the world.
"Whoa!"
Splash-,
"...."
Yuri corrected himself as Muchi tripped over vines emerging from the bushes.
*...This punk's definitely lying about his age. No way he's that airheaded otherwise!*
Thirteen? Please.
Big body, but acts worse than a ten-year-old kid.
"Ah...."
"Kid, if you fall, get up quick! What're you doing?"
"Mm."
"Dust yourself off!"
"Okay."
"Ugh, frustrating idiot!"
He griped, but Yuri couldn't push the approaching guy away.
Unlike his looks, he was gentle as a lamb.
And after a few looks after, now he trailed Yuri calling him "bro, bro"—it was kinda cute....
Flinch!
Yuri startled, shaking off the thought.
*Has the old man beaten me senseless? That bear being cute?!*
No angle made him look cute.
Anyone would peg him as bandit material.
As Yuri shook his head, Muchi—sitting beside him—asked.
"Bro, you okay?"
"Hey, don't call me bro anymore."
"Then?"
"Call me broski."
"Why?"
"Don't ask—just do it!"
"Okay. Broski."
"Good, suits you."
Muchi eyed the relieved Yuri oddly.
He hesitated.
"Yuri bro...."
"Tsk!"
"B-Broski!"
"What?"
"Um... broski, why do you train?"
It was the question Muchi had harbored watching Yuri these months.
The past three, Yuri had pushed his body to brutal extremes.
To Muchi, it looked less like training and more like torture, self-harm.
Yet Yuri seemed utterly nonchalant about it.
Muchi couldn't comprehend.
Yuri, hearing it, looked equally baffled.
"What're you talking about? Why train? I just do."
"Not hard?"
"Nope, not hard."
"R-Really?"
"Yeah. Not hard, but feels like dying."
"Th-Then why do it?"
"Why? I just do, like I said."
"......?"
Yuri answered Muchi's head-tilt with deadpan certainty, as if obvious.
"I've got a goal now."
"Goal?"
"Yeah. I wanna get strong. Stronger than anyone, so I never lose. That's why."
"...."
"Training to get strong—why overthink? Just do it every day."
"Not boring? Not tired?"
"Boring. But...."
Yuri trailed off, eyes hardening.
"Not exhausted."
It was his mantra to himself.
Back when training started.
Gritting through horrific muscle pain, his vow.
*Those who don't tire of repetition win.*
He'd conquer this repetition and be the victor.
Renewed, Yuri turned the question.
"So why'd you learn martial arts?"
"Grandpa made me...."
"You didn't wanna?"
"At first, no. He'd make me lift heavy stuff, climb cliffs."
"Cliffs?"
"Yeah, I'd fall off at first."
"You hit your head falling? What was below?"
Yuri's eyes sparkled, like he'd cracked the secret.
*Called it! He was a genius kid, but fell off a cliff and banged his head! Explains the airhead!*
Yuri was convinced.
"Uh... there was a fist-sized rock."
"Fist-sized—like your fist?"
"Yeah."
"So, my head-sized. Anyway, hit your head on it?"
"Yeah."
"See?!"
"It broke."
"Your head?"
"No, the rock...."
"...."
"Why stare like that?"
"Just... what a skull you got."
Dumb rock-head.
Falling off a cliff, head-smashing rock—and the rock breaks? How thick is that noggin?
Yuri gawked in disbelief.
Undeterred, Muchi chatted happily.
"Anyway, hated it at first... but now it's fun! Moving, lifting heavy stuff!"
"Then what's the problem? You're enjoying martial arts—problem solved."
"But... I hate it."
"Hm?"
"Learning's fun... but using it to hurt others... hate that."
"...."
"Broski, I just don't get it. Why grind so hard at hurting people...."
"Hm... Hey!"
"Yeah?"
"Why hate hurting others?"
"Cuz... feels bad?"
"What if they attack you first? You hurt 'em back—still feel bad?"
"Um...."
Muchi pondered.
"Just don't get hurt?"
"What?"
"I'm tough, don't get hurt easy. Heal quick. But... I tap 'em light, they hurt bad."
Yuri's face hardened.
Johan's words raced through his mind.
[Know why I pit you—talentless—against Muchi?]
Defeat to Muchi.
Yuri's first loss ever.
Even without incarnation, the shock lingered.
His mind knew, but now it sank to his bones:
He wasn't 'invincible.'
Without incarnation, just a dime-a-dozen orphan kid.
The reminder amplified the defeat.
Johan sneered, as if knowing.
[Undefeated fools don't get it. How shitty losing feels! Learn from defeat? Bullshit. One lesson from defeat: misery!]
The stronger your self-belief, the deeper the misery.
Johan knew.
Yuri would too, beaten by Muchi.
[Only those who taste defeat's misery get desperate, fuel growth with 'never lose again.']
Yuri's genius meant exponential gains from little training.
So Johan wanted pre-growth defeat: misery of loss.
Better now than a decade-later scar; this would heal faster.
It worked—Yuri awoke fully from that loss.
Thus, he saw what he'd missed before in talking to Muchi.
*Bit dim, but good kid. For sure.*
Feeling sorry even beating foes.
Caring not to hurt....
*... 'Cause Muchi's strong.*
A strongman's leisure, mindset from never losing.
The ideal born of it.
*I see.*
Yuri's lips curved.
That defeat opened his eyes.
Life's worst misery.
*And you don't know this gem?*
Muchi still ignorant of defeat's misery.
*No can do! You woke me—my turn!*
Fair's fair.
He wondered:
In a pinch, would Muchi still pity his foe?
Still hold back?
Would he?
Yuri smiled at Muchi.
* * *
That three-months-old smile reached the present Yuri.
He flicked the sword tip.
"That thing you don't get... I'll show you today. Why I learned martial arts—why I swung this blade like my life depended on it!"