Blame Im Bukjin
Deep within a small forest near the training grounds lay a dark, gloomy spot, well-hidden from prying eyes. This was the sanctuary Bukjin had chosen within the academy to conceal himself. However, when he returned to his hideout, a look of utter bewilderment crossed his face.
"Did... did I take a wrong turn?"
In the spot that was supposed to be nothing but overgrown weeds and empty space, two luxurious-looking tents now stood. There, his butler, Wang Chung, was busy scrubbing something with his sleeves rolled up. On a rope tied between two trees outside the tents, freshly laundered clothes and undergarments were already hanging to dry.
Inside the tents, everything necessary for daily life was provided. They were all the latest products sold within Unmong City, and the atmosphere reeked of extravagance.
"What... what in the world is this?" Bukjin stammered in shock. "What do you think you're doing?"
Bukjin had merely told Wang Chung to go out and buy some basic daily necessities. The result, however, was a mountain of goods far beyond what was required. Moreover, even a cursory glance revealed that every item was incredibly expensive.
Is this crazy bastard planning to build a villa in the middle of the woods?
"Young Master, you're back! Hehe, how do you like it? Didn't I tell you? My name has the character for Loyalty in it! I am a man who performs every task to perfection. That is who I am! Even though we are going through a difficult time right now, there is no need to let our spirits sink! It is precisely at times like these that we must live even better! I have prepared ten sets of new clothes for you and washed them all. Oh, and inside the tent..." Wang Chung prattled on excitedly.
Bukjin, feeling an ominous premonition, interrupted him. "You didn't... you didn't spend all twenty silver taels I gave you, did you?"
"Of course I used it all! How else could I possibly serve you properly, Young Master?"
"..."
Bukjin realized that Wang Chung had no sense of moderation when it came to "serving" him. The money he had given the butler was supposed to be their living expenses for the next month. He had blown through it all in a single day.
"Hmm? Young Master, why the long face? Did you perhaps fail your exam today?"
"No! You idiot... Phew, fine. Good job."
Bukjin wanted to unleash a torrent of curses, but remembering he had to play the role of a fallen noble scion, he managed to force a thumb up in approval. He gritted his teeth, silently vowing never to entrust Wang Chung with a large sum of money again.
Then, a nagging thought occurred to him. Both he and Wang Chung were members of a ruined household; he wondered how on earth Wang Chung had managed to bring so many goods into the school from the outside. There were many people outside the academy walls who held a grudge against them. Normally, if Wang Chung had stepped foot outside, he should have been beaten to a pulp by now. Bukjin was deeply suspicious. However, a moment later...
"Bwahaha! Well done, Butler Wang. Excellent work! You truly live up to your name!"
The "idiot" had suddenly become "Butler Wang." After changing into clean, comfortable new clothes and snacking on delicacies from a famous restaurant in the city that Wang Chung had prepared, Bukjin’s mood improved significantly.
Watching him, Wang Chung smiled broadly. "Hehe, naturally! There is no one in this world who understands your heart better than I do, Young Master!"
As night deepened, Bukjin retreated into his tent and summoned his smartphone. The battery, which had been at 100%, had dropped to 62% in just one day.
[RUNNING APPS]
▶ Intermediate Mystic Qi Refinement
▶ Basic Swordsmanship: Close-body Triple Link
[COMPLETED APPS]
✓ Herbalism
✓ Modern Imperial History
✓ Mystic Theory
There were no other significant changes to the phone. After studying it for a moment, Bukjin dismissed the device. He needed to minimize its use to conserve power.
The three sword forms of the Close-body Triple Link will soon reach the stage of Great Perfection. During the class duels today, I never felt like I was in any real danger. Thanks to that, I've managed to overcome my fear of actual combat using weapons in this world... Now that I've gained some combat experience, I'll have a high chance of winning tomorrow, no matter who my opponent is. I have to take first place... If I don't, that crazy Oh Sobang won't let it slide.
Bukjin was lost in thought. He wasn't particularly worried about his exam scores being invalidated during the Mystic Qi rank measurement. He hadn't cheated, and the Mystic Qi was genuinely circulating within his body. No matter how many times they re-measured him, the result would be the same.
The only thing making him anxious was that he hadn't found any new clues on his smartphone yet. He still hadn't figured out how to fully utilize the phone or found any lead on how to return to Earth. Bukjin tried to comfort himself, deciding that the more rushed he felt, the more he needed to take things slow. As he pondered these things, he drifted off into sleep before he knew it.
Outside the tent, Wang Chung stood guard, keeping watch for Bukjin's safety. About thirty yards away, hidden atop a tree in the darkness, stood the teacher Jeong Sam-seok. He listened to the snoring coming from inside the tent and fell into deep thought.
According to his observations over the past few days, Bukjin did nothing but eat and sleep; he hadn't performed a single action that could be called training.
How on earth did he achieve such profound insight into the Basic Swordsmanship: Close-body Triple Link and reach the 6th Grade of Mystic Qi? Is Im Bukjin truly one of those legends... a genius who grows stronger even while lying down?
The next day.
The annual competition continued. In Class 9, which Bukjin belonged to, the representatives had already been selected. However, in classes like Class 1, Class 2, and Class 8, where there were many outstanding students, the battles were fierce and time-consuming. Consequently, their representatives had not yet been finalized.
By noon, the selection of representatives for all ten classes of the second year was complete. Among them, Class 1 had fifteen representatives, while Class 2 and Class 8 had ten each. The remaining classes had between five and eight representatives. The reason for the varying number of representatives per class was the difference in the average skill level of the students; classes with higher average strength produced more representatives. In total, there were exactly one hundred representatives from the ten classes.
These one hundred students were the ones who would participate in the final practical exam for the entire grade, vying for the top spot.
After the lunch break, under the watchful eyes of many, the final practical tournament finally commenced. The one hundred student representatives drew lots to determine their order. Their first opponents were decided based on the numbers they drew. The matches were structured so that the students who drew the lowest numbers would face those who drew the highest numbers. For example, the student who drew #1 would face #100, #2 would face #99, and so on.
Bukjin drew #97. This meant he would be facing the student who drew #4.
A total of ten arenas had been prepared at the second-year training grounds. Therefore, ten matches—twenty students—could compete at once. The order of the matches was determined by the supervisors. Bukjin was not included in the first batch of matches.
The instructors had carefully organized the match pairings, considering the average skill level of the students. They ensured that each group had at most two "geniuses." By organizing the brackets this way, the geniuses would have more opportunities to observe each other's combat styles. This was intended to stimulate their competitive spirit and push them to display their maximum strength.
Among the first group of matches was Oh Sobang. His opponent was Jeong-go, who had also been selected as a representative for Class 9. As the two stepped onto the arena, Jeong-go gave a bitter smile. He felt his luck had run out. Oh Sobang was the student who had taken first place in last year's competition; Jeong-go stood no chance.
The rules of the practical exam in the annual competition were cruel. A single defeat meant immediate elimination. There was no loser's bracket or second-chance matches. Having encountered an opponent like Oh Sobang, Jeong-go's journey was effectively over.
"I look forward to a good match, Senior Oh," Jeong-go said, assuming a respectful posture.
Oh Sobang replied with a cold smirk. "A good match? I have no intention of giving you one."
Jeong-go was taken aback by his words. What's going on? Why does Oh Sobang harbor such intense hostility toward me? I've never even crossed paths with him.
The duel began. Jeong-go drew his sword and took the starting stance of the basic swordsmanship. Having been selected as one of the representatives from Class 9's forty students, his skill was not to be underestimated. However, Oh Sobang merely sneered at him and stepped forward without even drawing his sword. He raised his sword while it was still in its scabbard and swung it fiercely toward Jeong-go's chest.
Jeong-go remained calm and composed, countering with the Thousand Mountains Blockade, one of the forms of the first style of basic swordsmanship. It was a very stable defensive move. Jeong-go's sword and Oh Sobang's scabbard collided with a heavy thud. Jeong-go felt a powerful recoil surge through his arm. Immediately, his hand went numb, and his longsword was sent flying from his grip.
Jeong-go's defeat was decided in a single exchange. He knew he was no match for Oh Sobang, but he hadn't imagined it would end in just one move.
Startled voices erupted from the students surrounding the arena. His heart chilling, Jeong-go opened his mouth to concede the match. But Oh Sobang had no intention of stopping. In an instant, he stepped forward again, flipped his scabbard, and struck the end of it against the right side of Jeong-go's forehead.
Thwack!
Blood sprayed from Jeong-go's mouth. Before he could even utter the words of surrender, he collapsed to the floor, vomiting blood. The right side of his forehead where he had been struck began to swell rapidly, and blood trickled around his mouth. Looking down at the fallen boy, Oh Sobang sneered and stepped forward, planting his foot firmly on Jeong-go's face.
"Ugh... argh..." A pained groan escaped Jeong-go's lips.
"If you want to blame someone, blame Im Bukjin. Who told you to be in the same class as that piece of trash? From now on, any Class 9 brat who crosses my path will end up just like you."
Thud!
Having finished his piece, Oh Sobang viciously kicked the already downed Jeong-go in the stomach. Jeong-go was sent flying backward, tumbling off the arena. He continued to cough up blood as he clutched his abdomen, his face pale as he staggered on the ground.