Chapter 254
A sudden thought crossed my mind: maybe I should just head out today. But I couldn't buy groceries without cash. I'd been using the card Senior Choi Yujin gave me, so my bank account should still have some savings. I logged into internet banking to check.
About 1.5 million won sat in the account. A laptop was out of reach, but I could splurge a million on supplies.
Han Yaseong rushed out, hit the bank, withdrew a million in cash with his debit card, then bolted to the mart. No time for delivery—he apologized to the staff, loaded a cart to the brim, and wheeled it home himself.
The mart wasn't far, so he pulled up around 6:40 p.m. All that was left: unload the cart into the attic, step through the portal, and go.
He hustled the groceries up, left the cart in the yard for now—big spenders like him always got leeway; they'd understand if he returned it tomorrow.
With everything stashed in the attic, he caught his breath. Right on cue, the portal shimmered into view. Han Yaseong shoved the piles through and dove in after them.
The other world was deep into autumn. A quick scan: nothing had changed. He piled the groceries in front of him and bellowed,
"Yadong!"
Ten minutes passed. No sign of the beast. The spaceship seemed empty too. Probably off playing somewhere—or giving those army grunts a thrashing.
Han Yaseong rounded up other wild animals, had them carry the supplies to the ship's entrance. He cracked open a box of chocolate bars, divvied them out as thanks, then scratched the rune on the ground entrance with his foot.
His body and the food sucked downward, emerging instantly at the ship's massive door. Another rune, and it ground open.
Arms full of bags, he ferried everything inside one load at a time.
"Where the hell did that bastard wander off to?"
Curiosity piqued, he dumped the bags in the corridor and headed to the cockpit. There, he pulled up a screen to track Yadong.
The punk was decked out in his space suit and flight gear, soaring through the skies over Forest 200-something, goofing around with massive birds. Living the dream.
"Does this thing have comms?"
He typed in Korean, converted it to Giant script, and sent. A few lines of explanation popped up; he translated back.
Cockpit-to-cockpit worked, suit-to-suit too. Following the screen's guide, he tuned to Yadong's suit frequency.
"Hey, you idiot! What the hell are you doing?"
Space Yadong, mid-flight, let out a startled [Gya-reong!] and whipped his head around.
"Cockpit here, dumbass. Hurry back and help with the luggage."
Another [Gya-reong], then a sharp bank and dive. The screen made it easy to watch—but at this distance, it'd take at least 30 minutes.
Han Yaseong shook his head and searched for a helper bot, something for chores.
Luck struck: a Korean-named AI robot called Sleum.
He hesitated—safety first. A quick check rated it harmless: a basic household bot, follows orders only, no aggression.
One Sleum bot, deployed. It materialized from the storage bay, plunked down in the cockpit. A third-scale giant replica: short but bulky, like a pint-sized brute.
Per the onscreen manual, he hit the power button on its neck. Eyes lit up; online.
Korean commands loaded. Test order:
"Bring the groceries from the corridor."
Sleum glided out on suction feet, smooth as silk. Moments later, it returned—hands crammed with over ten heavy bags. Impressive strength.
It dumped them neatly. Handy little guy. Heavy lifting? Sleum's job from here on.
"Gotta have a fridge too."
Screen query: "Fridge," converted to Giant script. Order two large units. Processing in the workshop—ETA 8 minutes.
Han Yaseong leaned back, munching a chocolate bar, feeling civilized at last. The armies were still buzzing: US gone from Forest 173, probably prepping a big return.
He checked his prior portal-seal order: fifty heavy metal boxes ready, sturdy but... nuke-proof? Screen said no.
Units Fabricated: 50
Material: Reinforced Alloy
Nuke Resistance: INSUFFICIENT
Recommendation: Upgrade Required
"Need 'em tougher. Better to destroy than hand over to them."
US might nuke if they couldn't claim it; Russia or China too. A portal stuffed with nukes could wipe this world.
Good they hadn't fired yet—maybe debating, or not here. But time was short.
Urgent order: nuke-proof seal boxes. Screen accepted; new build starting. ETA: three days for fifty.
Prioritize one for the US portal: 1 hour 20 minutes.
Just then, Yadong burst in.
[Gya-reong!]
"Where've you been gallivanting?"
[Gya-reong]—he shed suit and flight gear, rummaged the food. Sick of giant porridge, he tore into pork hocks, chicken, bread—gobbling like a fiend.
"You mess with any other armies? Those grunts out there."
[Gya-reong]—nope.
Odd. Figured he'd roughed them up a bit.
"Why not? They looked ready to attack."
[Gya-reong]—lowlifes not worth it. To Yadong, China, Russia, Japan, North Korea were small fry now. Suit-clad Space Yadong? Nukes aside, invincible.
Bored after crushing the US. Power hangover: from beast to superbeing overnight. Han Yaseong had toyed with them too.
No rivals here. Earth? None. Universe? Maybe not...
But giants. This lot dead, but their homeworld crawled with horrors—ruling giants, nightmare weapons. Best avoid.
"They don't know we're here, right?"
[Gya-reong]—they do.
Pork hock mid-bite, what nonsense?
"The hell? How?"
[Gya-reong]—pulled up a screen.
Translated: giants' homeworld already knew—or soon would.
"Shit!"
Han Yaseong's gut twisted. Mistake. Inevitable, though. Ship powered up? Everything streamed home real-time.
All Giant vessels reported constantly. Him and Yadong? Broadcast live, unwittingly.
Every move tracked. Fury boiled.
"Yadong, you moron! You should've jammed it! Kept our boarding secret!"
Ship stolen—expect a fleet of heavier warships incoming. Face giants? How to win?