One Week Before the World League (2)

The timing of the World League—and of the world ranking calculations—always followed the standard set by the previous league's champion. Britain had won the first, second, and third World Leagues, which meant the league itself ran on British time. And so, at midnight in Britain—8:00 PM by Korea's clock—a message appeared before the eyes of every person on Earth.

"Whoa!"

"Finally!"

A commotion erupted outside in an instant—the sound of the entire world gasping in awe.

Of course, the same message had appeared before Baek Jinwoo's eyes as well.

So this is what it's like.

Jinwoo had spent the past three years unconscious, which meant he had never once seen a message like this.

Britain. London, huh.

Like Korea, Britain possessed two Player Zones. One in London, one in Birmingham. Naturally, the London zone drew far more people and was far larger besides.

"The Day of Peace!"

"A whole month where we can finally sleep with both eyes closed!"

Whenever people listed the ways the world had changed for the better, the vast majority named the Day of Peace first. A period when fighting with summons was simply impossible! The prevailing theory was that it was a courtesy extended by the mysterious System. After all, the world's players gathered in one place for the World League—what would happen if a terrorist attack broke out there? Because of that, even nations in the middle of a war had no choice but to lay down their arms for exactly this one month.

"Departure preparations are complete. Whenever you're ready, head straight to the airport."

The Association had furnished SKY with an ultra-luxurious private jet and a first-class pilot to fly it. The Association Director, the President, and even the Speaker of the National Assembly had come out in person to see them off, pleading for good results.

"Hwaaaah! Let's gooo!" Hong Ari shouted.

This time, we make the semifinals. No matter what.

The championship? She didn't even dream of it. Even if their master Baek Jinwoo could cover for that monster Rachel, Britain was simply too crawling with world-class rankers. But the semifinals were non-negotiable—if only to protect the dignity of the man who had declared it so confidently!

We've trained every day with this one date in our sights.

And it wasn't just Hong Ari. Kang Geonho, Ahn Gijeong, Hwang Juwon, Ki Jaehyeok, Kang Jiho, Oh Seon-young... Every one of them had sweated blood for years to bring glory to their nation, and now the moment of harvest stood right before their eyes. All thanks to Baek Jinwoo!

"Don't be too nervous—just do what you've always done. This is your first time, isn't it, Song Yeonhee? Hwang Jiwoo?"

"Yes."

"The Guild Master will handle himself fine. Let's go! Let's get over there and unwind!"

With that advice from Hwang Juwon, the eldest among them, the members of SKY Guild set off for Incheon Airport. The traveling party numbered eleven in total: the ten national team members, plus Yoo Jia to support them. This was the sortie of South Korea's national team.

The first World League had originally been held in the United States. The System had likely recognized America as the world's initial hegemon. It was there that Rachel led Britain to victory, and thanks to that, the second, third, and fourth leagues could all be hosted in London. The veteran national team members, then, were old hands at flights to Britain.

Swoooosh!

Cruising freely at fifty thousand feet without a whisper of turbulence, the private jet hummed along as Hwang Juwon spun tales of the British league with relish.

"The moment you land in London, you see, the national teams of all ninety-four nations come rolling into London City Airport one after another."

For the record, ninety-four nations were participating. The cutoff was population-based—the System refused to recognize any nation with ten million people or fewer as a nation at all. The ninety-fourth and final slot was a conclusion anyone could draw from the fact that Hungary's population had only just crossed that threshold.

Countless European nations were facing existential crises, and Hungary was no exception. Even with its ten million securing a ticket to the league, the country had no Player Zone of its own. (The prevailing theory held that Player Zones only appeared in nations of twenty-five million or more.) In the end, Hungary had no choice but to rent space in a friendly nation's Player Zone at staggering expense... and that was another of the threads running through today's world affairs. Things had reached the point where, on top of the Fourth Industrial Revolution, people had begun speaking of a "Population Revolution."

Anyway.

"The treatment starts differing the second you land. For blood-allied nations like Japan, America, and Taiwan, they practically fall over themselves worshipping them. But everyone else? They won't even look at them."

"What about us?"

When the curious Song Yeonhee asked, Hwang Juwon smirked.

"What's there to say? The cold shoulder."

And it went beyond a cold shoulder. They were treated almost exactly like North Korea.

"But things might be a little different this time."

"Right."

"The Guild Master put his seal on it, after all."

"Aren't we blood allies now too?"

The guild members were giddy with excitement. They already knew: their nation had forged ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠an alliance with the five strongest powers of the day, agreeing that even if they were drawn into the same group, they would not attack one another.

Ahh, behold the power of our Guild Master.

I can't wait. What kind of welcome will we get?

And yet I'm nervous too... The whole world's going to be watching us from here on.

"Anyway, everyone, just don't be nervous..."

Hwang Juwon was still rambling on when—

Clunk, rrrroll!

From the back of the cabin, Yoo Jia appeared, pulling a huge in-flight service trolley. A rich, savory aroma wafted off it and brushed the tips of their noses.

"Whoa."

"What is that?"

"Food?"

A large dining table sat at the center of the cabin, ringed by plush sofas.

"Could you give me a hand?"

As Yoo Jia began setting the food out on the table—

"Yes, ma'am!"

"I'll get it!"

Song Yeonhee, Hwang Jiwoo, and the rest of the youngest members snapped into crisp, efficient motion. One dish after another emerged: every delicacy under the sun, mountains of fresh fruit. And that wasn't all. Whiskeys, brandies, gins, rums, vodkas—every expensive bottle imaginable. Ice and liquor gleamed across the table in a lavish spread.

"Wow, what is all this?"

"Alcohol? Out of nowhere...?"

"What's the occasion today?"

Yoo Jia smiled at the guild members, who were floundering at the sudden turn of events.

"This was prepared at Jinwoo's request."

"Th-the Guild Master did?"

"Really?"

Everyone stared at Baek Jinwoo in open-mouthed shock. Jinwoo? That slave-driver Jinwoo? Honestly, they had braced themselves for breathing exercises for the entire flight. It wasn't as if they could do physical conditioning in here, or drill with their summons. They'd half expected him to force them through endless forced inhalations, preaching that they had to absorb the pure energy of the heavens at altitude...

Unbelievable.

Has our Guild Master changed?

What on earth got into him?

When the guild members fixed him with uneasy looks, Baek Jinwoo picked up a bottle. Then—glug, glug, glug!—he began pouring, passing the glasses around one by one.

"A get-together means everyone eats and drinks together, doesn't it?"

That was Baek Jinwoo's honest feeling.

We've been sprinting with our eyes glued to the road ahead lately.

Sure, getting stronger was his top priority. But a life of shaving sleep and training around the clock in the name of strength? He had no taste for it. Nor did he want to force that kind of life on his guild members. Work hard when it was time to work! Rest when it was time to rest!

"We've still got a whole week until the league anyway. Let's take today to rest easy and have some fun. It'll be good for team bonding, too."

At Jinwoo's proclamation, the whole cabin erupted in cheers.

"Woooooah!"

"The Guild Master is the best!"

"You're the greatest, Boss! Our Boss, always!"

Naturally, Ki Jaehyeok and Kang Jiho's eyes had gone completely round.

"Heh heh heh heh, Bossiiiii!"

"We love you!"

Glasses raised, waiting for the liquor to be poured—

"Not you two."

Yoo Jia's firm voice dropped like a gavel.

"Huh?"

"Wh-why not!"

"Why? What do you mean, why? Since when do minors drink?"

Jaehyeok was nineteen; Jiho was eighteen. Jiho might have accepted it, but Jaehyeok was being driven out of his mind by the injustice.

"One more week and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I'll be an adult toooooo!"

"I brought delicious juice instead, so you two can have juice."

"Ack!"

Juice! JUICE! Young as Jaehyeok might have looked, he was still the head of his own guild, Carpe Diem. And they were handing him juice at a gathering like this? That was simply too cruel!

"Boss, Boss, say something, please..."

"..."

Baek Jinwoo turned his head away, ignoring the desperate plea. Hwang Juwon was no different.

Sorry.

Forgive me, son.

For every member of the guild, crossing Yoo Jia carried far too much risk. Such was the standing Yoo Jia commanded within SKY!

Nooooo!

Jaehyeok despaired. In the end, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the two minors could only watch with burning envy as the others enjoyed their food and drink.

One by one, the guild members grew tipsy. No matter how elite a player was, nobody outmatched alcohol. They hadn't ascended to some martial-artist realm where a surge of qi could burn off drunkenness. They were simply healthy people—people who commanded their summons well, but people all the same.

"Heh heh heh heh."

"Hoh hoh hoh, have a taste of this one, son. It's to die for. Doesn't a single bottle of this cost a month of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠our wages?"

"It's sweet? How can the same liquor taste this different?"

"What's heaven supposed to be, some far-off place? This is heaven right here!"

"Come to think of it, we are in the sky, aren't we? So this really is heaven? Hah hah hah!"

They began to get drunk one after another—and Baek Jinwoo was no exception.

"..."

Baek Jinwoo had no drinking habits. No—one, actually. He simply kept silently pouring and drinking, over and over! Yoo Jia, who wasn't joining the party, watched from a distance with a practiced eye.

So he likes this kind of liquor?

Then she made a quiet mental note. This would be the liquor she stocked for the day she formally introduced him to her grandfather.

Vrrroooom! London City Airport, where countless planes were touching down, was packed with journalists from every corner of the world.

"Whoa, over there! Japan's national team just landed!"

"Japan?"

"That's Yoshida Hikaru right there!"

"Hi-Hikaru? Gasp—Shirato Sakura and Takahashi Shusuke are with him! It's really the Japanese national team!"

Japan's ranks one, two, and three. In world rankings: second, fourteenth, and thirtieth. When superstars and heavyweights of that caliber appeared, the whole press corps stampeded to snap their photos. Befitting a summoning superpower, Japan drew enormous attention.

And then—

"This way, please!"

Japan's treatment was on another level entirely. The British Prime Minister himself came out, shook Hikaru's hand, and personally escorted the team down a route reserved for VVIPs only.

"Ahh, that's Japan for you."

"Impressive."

"Still, they'll never outdo our Britain."

Britain held first place, with Japan and America trading second and third between them. Britain, the nation that owned Rachel, carried a certain pride: however lavishly they might treat the others, in the end, we were the best!

"Hey, boss."

One of the junior reporters poked his senior in the side.

"But what's that country?"

A nation had just arrived—one the junior found oddly unfamiliar.

"What do you mean, that's South Korea. Maybe because they're close with Japan? Looks like they landed around the same time."

"...Then why is our Prime Minister shaking hands with them too?"

"What?"

The senior reporter's eyes went wide. The British Prime Minister kept a ramrod-straight back. He didn't so much as nod at anyone who wasn't a blood ally. Even now, the national teams of countless nations were trudging through the regular entrance—not the VVIP route—on their way to their hotels! And yet? That Prime Minister was greeting that nation's team captain?

Worse, the captain—the man holding his hand and swinging it back and forth—looked a little off.

Is he drunk?

Even as the man rubbed his eyes and shook hands halfheartedly, the Prime Minister simply kept beaming. Why? And then a single word flashed through the senior reporter's mind.

Jinugod!

"Shit, start shooting."

"Huh?"

"It's an exclusive! Get over there and film, now!"

With Baek Jinwoo's appearance, the reporters grew busier than ever.