Friends (4)
Kuung!
The sound of Jin Yeo-rip slamming into the training ground echoed sharply through the air, sending a shiver across the entire field. But no one moved. They simply stood in stunned silence, wide-eyed, staring at the arena.
“Hah……”
A sigh-like breath escaped Hwangbo Mungang’s lips, shattering the quiet. Only then did everyone snap out of it. Jin Ha-seong rushed into the arena, checking on his son.
“Yeo-rip!”
His voice was thick with worry. But the ragged breathing brought some relief. He’d just lost consciousness—that was all.
Jin Ha-seong whirled on Hwangbo Mungang, fury blazing. “Mungang! What the hell was that?!”
“……”
The words, harsh as a demon’s growl, didn’t seem to register. Hwangbo Mungang stared at Jin Yeo-rip in shock. What was that just now?
A kick that arrived with a time lag? He’d never seen anything like it. Not in Ak family spear arts, not even in fist and kick techniques.
The second kick. Several times faster than the first, whipping in like a lash. It was meant to be a guiding spar to teach a junior his shortcomings, so attacking outright went against etiquette. Yet he’d reacted instinctively, striking with full force. Even so, Jin Yeo-rip’s toe had grazed his forehead.
His brow throbbed. “Nearly got myself in trouble there. Nearly……”
Just a graze, and it stung like hell. A solid hit would’ve staggered even him, maybe dropped him to one knee. He’d almost embarrassed himself in front of everyone. Hwangbo Mungang let out a hollow laugh.
“Surprised?”
“Hm?”
Im Pilsaeng spoke up. “I’m surprised every day.”
“Every day? You mean you spar with him daily?”
“Yes.”
“Hah!”
That explained it…… If he’d been training with Im Pilsaeng, it made sense.
“You’ve taught him well.”
“Not really.”
“Hm?”
“At first, maybe. But then he grew to match me almost evenly.”
“Evenly? With you?”
“Yes. No need to hold back. Though we don’t use inner energy, of course.”
“That’s ridiculous……”
“You just experienced it yourself.”
“……Hm.”
He couldn’t deny it. That finger jab—dirty in a spar, brilliant in real combat. Closing distance despite knowing his limits, the best move possible. He’d anticipated the unyielding gap. Then that bizarre kick into the blind spot.
“Only with me.”
“Just you?”
“Yes. No other sparring partners. And it’s only been a little over a year since he started.”
“O-one year?”
“Yes. And at our first spar, he didn’t even know Ak spear arts.”
Hwangbo Mungang’s eyes grew wider with every word. One year? He’d felt it himself. Inner energy could come from years at Shaolin, fine. But honing techniques? That took time. Movements had to become instinct through endless repetition. Even with a great teacher, it demanded five years or more.
Unbelievable. But Im Pilsaeng wasn’t one to lie. Pride shone on his face. He was boasting because Hwangbo had once rivaled his master’s Ak bloodline.
“I know his basics are lacking.”
“……”
“He hasn’t learned them. Didn’t need to teach him from scratch.”
“I see. That makes sense.”
Hwangbo Mungang nodded, understanding. Despite the skill, something felt off, so he’d lectured on basics during the spar. Mistake. Teaching a running child to crawl? Basics came naturally.
“Hah, a martial prodigy. Truly heaven-sent.”
Teach one, learn ten—they said it often, but true geniuses were rare. Most squandered talent through laziness, living mediocre lives. Jin Yeo-rip was different. A talent for learning in battle, instinctively. Perfect for a warrior.
He’d seen it before. And sharp wits too. Who’d expect him to exploit carelessness like that?
“Damn, words fail me.”
“A shame Ak family fell.”
“Hm.”
He couldn’t argue.
“He hasn’t fully bloomed yet.”
“Just a sprout. I’ve watched him grow nonstop.”
Hwangbo Mungang nodded again, glancing at Jin Ha-seong, still glaring daggers. It irked him—resenting him over a talented son, when he’d nurtured Wonpyeong from the womb, through every milestone, for fourteen years in Shaolin.
“Tch.”
“What’s that tch for? Acting like an adult, getting revenge on my son like some petty punk!”
“Jealous! I’m jealous!”
With friends, emotions flowed freer than with others. Jin Ha-seong snapped, and Hwangbo Mungang bared his heart.
“Damn it, some pour every ounce of effort into raising kids, others neglect theirs and heaven still blesses them.”
“What?”
“What else? He’s too good for your son.”
“You bastard!”
They bickered like twenty-year-old youths again, carefree.
“Damn, should’ve skipped the guidance spar. Just hurts now.”
“Shut up! What now? Look at him—what’re you gonna do?!”
“Do? Just took one punch.”
“Your punch normal? Forgot? Back then, begging Baekhak for lessons, you hit me—I was bedridden a month.”
They’d studied under Shandong’s scholar Baekhak together, at Hwangbo request.
“Still holding that grudge? So petty.”
“Petty? In front of Seo-yeon, how humiliated was I?!”
Jin Ha-seong flushed red, yelling. Hwangbo Mungang smirked.
“You called me a muscle-headed idiot.”
“It’s true!”
“True? Where’m I muscle-headed? Jenam called me a prodigy nonstop.”
“Prodigy? You always lost to me.”
“What the hell, man!”
Old grudges spilled out in barbs. Shandong’s giants airing laundry—Wang Seok and Im Pilsaeng could only bitter-smile. They looked ready to grab collars, faces forgotten.
Now wasn’t the time. Move Yeo-rip to the infirmary first.
“Haa, Wang Seok.”
“Yes?”
“Gotta get Young Master to the infirmary.”
“Now?”
“No choice. They’re like that.”
“Hm, got it.”
Wang Seok knew them well—guarding Jin Ha-seong since his heir days.
“Stay here. I’ll take him.”
“I should……”
The giants(?) bickering, ignoring surroundings. Wang Seok looked troubled; Im Pilsaeng patted his shoulder with a smirk.
“You’re high up.”
“……”
“Vice-clan leader, leaving your lord? Leave this to a mere guard like me.”
Payback for past scolding.
“Wang Seok! Come tell him. Making shit up.”
“……”
“Oh yeah? Perfect. Come say it. Lie, and I’ll break your legs.”
War roped in Wang Seok.
“Take care.”
Fearing splashback, Im Pilsaeng hoisted Jin Yeo-rip and bolted.
The giants grumbled on, then slumped in the pavilion, drained.
Rare chance? Clan heads always minding eyes. Spilling childhood guts felt refreshing.
“Hey, Ha-seong.”
“What?”
“Raising him as a merchant?”
“……”
“Suits a warrior more.”
“Warrior?”
“Heaven’s gift. Ak base gone, but…… you can do it.”
“Hm.”
“Think. Rekindle Ak glory.”
“Maybe.”
Jin Ha-seong chuckled, shaking his head. He got it. But his son already shone as merchant.
“Maybe both.”
“Both?”
“Merchant and murim man.”
“Big dreams. Hard enough one.”
“I’ll watch.”
Hwangbo Mungang nodded silently.
“Won’t help, then?”
“With what?”
“Us and Hwangbo ties.”
“No.”
“What?”
“Saihai Money House?”
“……”
“Deep ties with them. Pressure already—don’t aid you.”
“Figured.”
“Ha-seong, do as I say. Under Hwangbo name, I’ll shield from Saihai pullout.”
True heart. Protect Cheongeumbang from Saihai by embracing it under Hwangbo wall—no petty tricks through.
“No. Hate that.”
“Stubborn. Easy path open.”
“Easy? Hide behind you? Ignore Hwangbo fallout? Saihai yanks funds—Hwangbo unscathed?”
“I’m prepared.”
“No way. Not for me.”
Stubborn elders yielded nothing.
“We’ll stay stubborn, then.”
“Yeah.”
“But who knows? Wonpyeong……”
“……Your son?”
“Yeah. They might be good friends. Situation could change.”
Hwangbo Mungang smiled bitterly.
“Drink?”
“Been waiting. Tea and snacks for old friend? Tsk.”
Hwangbo Mungang stared, gruff. “Didn’t invite you.”
“What?”
“Just your son. You tagged along. No gift for friend’s house.”
Pouting Hwangbo Mungang, stunned Jin Ha-seong—locked eyes, burst laughing.
A joyful respite. Private, ignoring clan stances.