Wings of the Disqualified
The sound of rushing air filled my ears. Whoosh—
“Aaaargh!”
There are no wings for those who fall. Whoosh—
“Gieeeek!”
And humans cannot fly through the sky. Yet the protagonist, perhaps because he was a disqualified human, somehow managed to soar through the air, nearly brushing the ceiling.
For the protagonist who had dared to challenge me, I was demonstrating the full power of my Strength stat of 30 without holding back. A backbreaker might shatter his entire body, so instead—
Suplex throw!
Whoosh— “Kyaaahooo!”
The moment the protagonist, floating high in the air, lightly touched the ceiling and began to fall, I caught him gently. I set the dizzy, spinning-eyed protagonist back on his feet and assumed a ready stance.
“Come on! Attack again! Fight me, Yozo Oba!”
A hellish game of human tossing had begun.
— — — — — —
Whoosh—
“Aaaargh!!”
I learned that even without wings, one could still fly through the sky.
“Wahahaha! Good! Fight harder!”
I also learned that even a terrifying dokkaebi could laugh with genuine joy.
These were facts I had never wanted to know, but there was no way to stop the disaster I had brought upon myself.
My breath was caught in my throat, my limbs growing numb, but I couldn’t possibly defy the dokkaebi who looked so delighted. Whoosh—
“Daaahng!!”
By the time my screams had begun to take on strange new tones, the hellish game known as “Dokkaebi Sumo” finally came to an end.
As usual, I gulped down some prochu and sapuri, burst out the door, and returned to the boarding house. Dragging a body even more exhausted than normal, I struggled up the stairs to the second floor and ran into the landlord’s daughter.
She asked the usual heart-crushing questions: “Did you exercise again today?” and “What kind of exercise were you doing?”
When I told her I’d been caught by a dokkaebi and thrown into the sky countless times, she assumed I was joking and burst into giggles, saying she’d prepare a bath for me.
I have no idea why she asks if she isn’t actually curious about what happened. I gave a half-hearted greeting, opened my door, and found a transparent bag I had never seen before lying on my bed.
At first I thought she had left me another gift, but when I looked closer, the material of the bag was anything but ordinary. The white surface was covered in colorful illustrations and felt incredibly smooth, as if made from a material I had never encountered.
Inside were truly unexpected items—high-quality oil paints, neatly organized by color.
…If you satisfy the dokkaebi with wrestling, he grants wishes…
It seemed that while he might not grant actual wishes, giving presents was definitely part of the deal. I had never painted with oils before, but it looked like I would need to visit an art supply store for the first time in a while.
— — — — — —
As expected, the protagonist was clearly suited for the arts. I had noticed it while throwing him into the air and catching him—he naturally kept his balance. It wasn’t at a level that could be called astonishing, but compared to the frail weakling from the original story, it was a surprising discovery.
Anyway, since he had shown some manly spirit, he deserved a reward. Since the guy liked drawing, giving him paints seemed appropriate.
I took out my bicycle, snuck into the boarding house ahead of the protagonist, left the gift on his bed, then climbed onto the roof of a nearby building.
I spent so much time on rooftops these days that the neighborhood cats had started to recognize me.
“Nabi One, Nabi Two, Nabi Three, you’ve come?”
“Meow.”
“They’re Japanese cats, so instead of ‘nyaong’ they say ‘meow,’ huh.”
I shared the dried seafood I had stolen from various houses with the cats. Since I was using Japanese goods in Japan, perhaps this couldn’t really be called theft—just simple relocation.
Similarly, stealing valuables from those grand mansions and selling them to Kang Hae-yeon could be considered righteous theft—a form of revenge against Japan’s colonial rule over Joseon.
Of course, if I kept stealing only from this neighborhood, no matter how many stealth skills I had, it would eventually become troublesome. So I planned to go a bit farther away to carry out more “relocations.”
Clatter—
Tokyo was the largest city in Japan, while Kyoto, which shared a similar name, was said to be the city with the deepest history. If it had a long history, there should be plenty of worthwhile souvenirs to collect.
Swoosh—
I pedaled at an unrealistic speed along the scenic coastal road. The refreshing sea breeze whipped fiercely against my face.
> Tracking Lv.1
> The more information available about the target, the more clearly their location and direction can be sensed.
Once I had put some distance between myself and Tokyo, I could no longer pinpoint the protagonist’s exact location. Only a vague sense of direction remained. In other words, the direction I felt him from was exactly where Tokyo lay.
Since Kyoto was to the west of Tokyo, if I followed the coast westward at a reasonable pace, I should eventually reach it. With that lighthearted thought, I pedaled furiously onward.
I actually found the dark of night more comfortable, so I would nap around noon and spend the rest of my time on high-speed riding. Thanks to the Sound Sleep skill, I never accumulated fatigue.
Whenever I spotted a particularly wealthy-looking house along the way, I would restock my food supplies and enjoy the minor thrill of “relocating” any appealing items. This was now the second day of my journey.
…
“Fuck, where the hell am I?”