Chapter 81
Translator: crow
Chapter Title: Good Hypnosis (4)
Three days had passed since Im A-young met Yoo Jun-hyuk.
The girl who had dreaded going to school for fear of the delinquents taking out their anger on her was relieved that her worries hadn't come true—as if some divine intervention had spared her.
"No, seriously! One flick to the forehead, and bam—lights out! Next thing I know, Choi Yu-ra's right there?"
"You're full of it. Like Choi Yu-ra, who's not even a Hero, would come beat up trash like you?"
"Didn't you see the news? A top Hunter tearing through the city in broad daylight, smashing up roads. Photos of Choi Yu-ra speeding around blew up online? She was coming for us."
To them, getting hit by Choi Yu-ra was prime gossip material that drew all their friends' attention.
"Is that for real?"
"Swear on my status window. Bet the guy we messed with was Yoo Jun-hyuk. You know he's Choi Yu-ra's boyfriend?"
"Whoa, you met him? What's he like in person? Hot as hell?"
"He had a mask on, so no clear look at his face, but even so, he was glowing."
For the delinquents, crime was a badge of honor.
In fact, getting smacked by Choi Yu-ra turned into bragging rights and pure glory.
Of course, they got chewed out by their parents and teachers. Choi Yu-ra had gotten their numbers and called to report their misbehavior directly.
"But now we're cut off from allowance. Heh. Call it a viewing fee or whatever."
But getting scolded by teachers was routine, and their parents' nagging was something they'd built immunity to. To these delinquents, this was just another day.
If Choi Yu-ra had been a cop or Hero, she could've pushed for harsher punishment, but she was just a Hunter.
Alerting the school and parents was the extent of it, and since she wasn't well-versed in these matters, she figured her own scolding plus that would suffice.
"We can just squeeze her for the lost allowance."
Reality was far from it, though. One of the delinquents glared at Im A-young.
The girl pretended to sleep, face buried in her desk, ignoring the stare.
"Hey, ignoring me?"
"Cut it out. If we get caught now, teachers will flip. Didn't Choi Yu-ra call the school?"
"Tch, fine. Gotta practice that Yu-ra flick and test it out later."
A brief peace settled in.
But Im A-young knew it wouldn't last long.
'Ugh, I'm tired enough as it is.'
The girl secretly kneaded her thigh.
A sharp muscle ache shot through her—not just her thighs, but calves, forearms, even abs, all throbbing.
[A-young, right? Wanna train at my gym?]
Three days ago, she'd wandered into a mixed martial arts dojo on some inexplicable impulse.
The tanned woman who ran the place had barked orders, demonstrated various techniques for her to mimic, then grabbed her with honey-dripping eyes.
[It's free! Please!]
Normally, she'd have refused out of fear...
[If free's not enough, I'll pay you! Just join our dojo!]
For a girl whose allowance was constantly extorted by delinquents, that was an irresistible temptation.
The issue? Her martial arts talent was genius-level, but her body wasn't ready yet, so they drilled her with all sorts of exercises. With zero prior experience, she was living in constant muscle pain.
'Still better than yesterday, though.'
First time working out— is it supposed to be like this? She'd heard soreness lasts a week once it hits.
Her S-Rank martial arts talent came with bonuses like enhanced physical recovery, muscle density, and growth—unlike A-Rank—but oblivious to that, she brushed it off.
"Alright, Muay Thai today!"
"Nah, boxing! This kid's got the stuff for the legendary Dempsey Roll!"
"What are you talking about? Jujitsu, obviously!"
Even if she'd known, the coach and pro fighters at the dojo were so obsessed with her talent they'd push her relentlessly, leaving no room to feel those benefits.
"You idiots? She's learning martial arts! You know Tai Chi Fist?"
"Come on, Coach! Stop with the novels!"
"Hey now! Dreams come true! Our A-young could actually use real martial arts!"
They weren't even asking her opinion anymore—the dojo consensus was raising her as a pro MMA fighter.
Naturally, she drilled every kind of martial art daily without fail, collapsing into bed exhausted only late at night.
"Ugh... diary... gotta write it..."
On the verge of sleep, she pulled out her smartphone.
Writing her diary on her phone before bed was 'common sense.'
She jotted down school events and dojo training, then sent it to that 'unknown number' in her head.
"Now... I can sleep..."
A week passed like that.
Just one week, but she'd learned twenty martial arts, and her body was tougher than before.
"You... sure you have no skills? If you do, spill now. Can't go pro in MMA with skills."
"I-I really don't?"
"Not buying it. Come on, we'll check together!"
Her talent was so innate that her recovery speed raised suspicions. They even tested her, but no skills, of course.
"You're a once-in-a-century genius!"
The coach secretly treated her and the others to a feast of premium beef—that was hush-hush.
"Hehe..."
That night, stuffing herself with beef, Im A-young smiled for the first time since middle school.
Sure, training was brutal, and the seniors demanding real spars on the ring were scary.
She still feared hitting people, so she only took hits...
"Delicious..."
Weirdly, unlike beatings from delinquents, it hurt but didn't.
Scary, but not.
Cheeks puffed with beef, the girl prayed.
May days like this continue.
"Hey, Im A-young! Come here!"
But the next day, as the saying goes, a dog's habits die hard—the delinquents stirred again.
They dragged her to the back of the classroom and snapped their fingers.
"Practiced that Yu-ra flick. Be our sparring partner."
"Uh...?"
"Uh? Wow, Im A-young's grown a spine? Talking back? Think we've been slacking so your guts swelled up?"
Her legs went numb, body stiffening. Compared to her dojo seniors, these short, scrawny delinquents were nothing, but years of bullying had conditioned her to shrink.
"Come on. Yu-ra flick time!"
A stinging pain bloomed on her forehead.
Fear of delinquents lingered, but she didn't close her eyes like before.
A week-plus of pro-level spars wouldn't let her flinch at this weak attack.
"This bitch's eyes are pissing me off."
"What? Mad? Staring us down?"
Offended, one charged with a sneak punch.
Slow. Like an elementary kid's compared to dojo punches.
[In martial arts, never fear getting hit! Especially don't close your eyes!]
Her trauma-scarred heart hadn't fully healed.
But her innate talent overshadowed it, clearly tracking the incoming fist...
"Gah!?"
And reflexively counterattacked.
Her first time hitting someone.
A lightning jab snapped the delinquent's chin upward, eyes rolling back as she dropped unconscious.
"..."
Silence crashed in.
The delinquents.
Im A-young, who'd just struck a person for the first time.
Onlooking students.
No one spoke.
"You crazy bitch!"
Silence shattered; they rushed her en masse.
Fear surged briefly, but that first strike had unlocked the thrill of fighting, and her talent instinctively unleashed her trained arsenal.
"Die!"
Low kick to the lead delinquent's leg—she crumpled, blocking the followers.
Uppercut to another's jaw—out cold, tumbling back.
"You filthy—!"
Grabbed the biggest one's shoulder, knee to the gut—she puked and collapsed.
One latched from behind...
"Urk!"
Replaced a liver punch with an elbow—agony flipped her eyes.
"C-crazy bitch..."
No panting, she battered them methodically.
The rest trembled in terror, too scared to attack.
"..."
Her hands shook. But not from fear this time.
Fear of them remained, but greater was the thrill of triumph.
"You lot! What the hell are you doing!"
A teacher burst in, yelling before she could savor it.
Ever annoyed by trouble, he blamed both sides and punished everyone.
Reflection essays and 20 hours community service.
Her first discipline, but it felt like nothing.
After essays and service, heading home, she texted early.
Starting with why she'd ever feared these so-called delinquents.
Now, they didn't scare her anymore.
Moments after sending, she frowned, something forgotten.
"...Who'd I send that to?"
Checked messages—gone, as if deleted ages ago.
Must've been her. But why send? Why delete?
More thought might recall, but no time.
"That her? The one who beat you?"
"Yeah! Sis! She must've used some artifact!"
"Pfft, artifact my ass. Pathetic. But she's my sis's friend, so I'll look out."
A horde of at least fifty delinquents.
Led by the sister of one Im A-young had thrashed today.
"Hey, come here. Time for a beating."
Secluded lot, massive group—passersby slunk away.
Some wielded baseball bats.
But Im A-young wasn't afraid anymore.
"She's running!"
Not fearless, just not reckless.
She bolted, stopping in a narrow alley.
"Trapped herself in a dead end."
"Stupid bitch."
Not stupid.
S-Rank talent instinctively mapped victory.
Narrow alley limited numbers at once.
"Hey, hey..."
"Hey? Where's this psycho get off talking like that?"
Old wounds made her voice tremble.
But rising above them, she beckoned.
"C-come..."
Conquered every weight class in MMA.
"C-close-range scrubs..."
200-0 undefeated.
Even turned exhibition against skill-awakened fighters into official bouts, 100-0.
Immortal legend, retired as martial arts icon.
"G-get some more...!"
The birth of the Golden Emperor, Im A-young.