Chapter 19
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 19
Chapter Title: A Plan Without Ulterior Motives
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Thud. Thud.
The heavy sound of dragging footsteps echoed through the rundown apartment hallway, each step weighing a ton.
Han Jaewoo's fingers trembled faintly as he punched in the door lock code.
The front door swung open, and the familiar air of home rushed out to greet him, but he didn't even have the energy to kick off his shoes.
Clutched pathetically in his hand was a crumpled receipt.
His modest plan to safely earn some pocket money in an F-Rank Slime Dungeon had been utterly shattered by the intrusion of that blood-red beast.
Having tasted the bitter poison of capitalism—no, the full sting of it—he staggered straight to his room with hollow, soulless eyes and collapsed onto the bed.
'Haa...'
He buried his face in the bedsheet and let out a deep, damp sigh.
His smartphone banking app clearly showed the astonishing figure of three billion won.
It was enough to live off forever without working a day, with plenty left over to buy a sleek apartment right in the heart of Gangnam.
He knew it in his head.
That paltry 370,000 won was less than a ten-thousandth of his total assets—a drop in the bucket.
But the soul of an average Joe reacts not to the size of the numbers, but to the direction of the loss.
His three billion was his money anyway, but that unjustly ripped-off 370,000 won felt like a chunk of his living flesh being torn away.
Damn Hunter Association and their extortionate equipment rental penalties.
Vowing never to touch their gear again, he forced himself to roll over and stare up at the ceiling.
And that's when his gaze landed on the dark scraps of fabric scattered in one corner of the bed.
"......"
Han Jaewoo reached out and lifted one of the pieces into the air.
It was the pathetic remains of his Mithril Frock Coat, the one lifeline that had been torn apart like paper under the Heavenly Demon's grip today.
An absolute defensive gear that had blocked hundreds of death flags back in the Rosenstein dimension.
A miraculous item bestowed by Emperor Edelgart, capable of deflecting not just physical blows but even low-tier magic.
Without it, Han Jaewoo was little more than a fragile-bodied disaster waiting to happen.
And today's incident wasn't just some random monster attack.
'A high-society assassination attempt.'
Gears turned coldly in his mind.
That alien blood-red beast had appeared in the Slime Dungeon, completely ignoring its ecosystem.
The horrific monster that regenerated endlessly even after taking physical hits, turning into blood sludge—it wasn't a natural spawn.
It was a blatant familiar, conjured and controlled by someone pulling strings from behind.
Someone was targeting him.
And they were doing it openly, with malicious intent.
It was the kind of thing he'd grown sick of in the romance novel world's imperial palace.
Blind poison arrows, magic-spawned assassination beasts, poisoned afternoon tea.
Back then, he had the mad Emperor to protect him with absolute power and might, plus this sturdy Mithril Coat.
But here on Earth, there was no Edelgart to shield him, and his armor was reduced to rags rolling on the floor.
What if another assassin came in this state?
What if it was something even more vicious and stealthy than that blood-red beast from today?
'I'd be a sacrificial offering that day. No, I'd evaporate without even leaving bone dust.'
The threat to his survival pressed down on his nape like a chill blade.
Han Jaewoo started racking his brain like a madman on the bed.
He had to survive.
How hard had he worked for that three billion? He couldn't vanish into mist as some assassin's dew without spending it all.
For that, he needed a reliable, powerful new shield for this frail body now stripped of its armor—one that was absolutely impenetrable.
Should he hire an S-Rank bodyguard with his money?
No, rejected.
Relationships forged with money were betrayed for money just as easily.
Besides, some half-baked hunter couldn't even handle that blood-red beast from today—they'd end up unidentifiable.
He needed someone with calamity-level power capable of toppling a nation to guarantee perfect safety.
That's when it hit him.
The most perfect, ideal human shield flashed into his mind.
A being who could melt monsters into oblivion just by exuding killing intent, casually chew through an assassin's claws mid-air, and shave off a mountain with a single sword aura—a living weapon.
And most importantly, the one person currently showing him blind affection.
Korea's number one in raw power: Heavenly Demon Baek Seorin.
'Yeah, it's gotta be her. I need to make the Heavenly Demon my personal bodyguard.'
She was perfect.
No, she was a moving fortress that put the Mithril Coat to shame.
She was the one who shredded his clothes anyway—if she had any conscience, she owed it to protect his body.
As long as he stuck to her side, even if assassins came by the truckload, she'd handle them all without him lifting a finger.
Han Jaewoo nodded vigorously, rationalizing his survival plan with fervent logic.
But then.
The moment he thought of keeping the Heavenly Demon as his shield, memories of the catastrophe in the underground training room just hours ago came crashing back like a tidal wave.
Her grabbing his collar roughly to erase the remnants of his past.
Her blazing red eyes and the hot breath brushing so close.
And that soft yet destructive sensation overwhelming his lips before he could even resist.
Thump, thump, thump.
Suddenly, Han Jaewoo's heart started pounding like mad.
His cheeks, pale from assassination fears moments ago, flushed tomato-red in an instant.
Ten years in the Rosenstein dimension.
He'd flung survival-flavored flirts at countless noble ladies and had his lips stolen just as often in return.
Of course, those ladies who stole his kisses eventually vanished from high society without a trace, one by one.
But that wasn't the point.
Amid all that skinship, his heart had never raced this wildly—not even once, he swore.
And the culprit? His ultimate favorite character from across the screen, Heavenly Demon Baek Seorin.
The instincts of a successful fanboy surged past his reason.
'Ah, no! I'm losing it! Snap out of it, Han Jaewoo!'
He slapped his burning cheeks with both hands and shook his head furiously.
This was a dangerous emotion.
Harboring impure thoughts toward a murderer? He'd be lucky to live to see his next birthday.
Taking deep breaths, he began brainwashing himself fiercely.
'Th-this isn't fanboy feelings or dirty ulterior motives! It's purely a thorough, rational survival strategy for navigating this brutal Earth! I'm the one using her! It's definitely not because my top fave kissed me first and I liked it!'
He clenched his fists and asserted his innocence to the empty air.
He was the cold, rational Northern Grand Duke, a ruthless ruler using the Heavenly Demon as a shield through meticulous calculation.
Of course, that's what he chanted in his head.
But he couldn't hide the grin creeping up to his ears, completely out of his control.
His cheekbones ached from stifling the leaking chuckles.
But behind his resolute back, as he proclaimed his survival instincts.
The large computer monitor, jostled when he entered the room and knocked out of sleep mode, glowed brightly.
And smack in the center of that monitor.
An explorer window crammed full of hundreds of thumbnail images in a grid.
The name of that sparkling, secretive folder, accessible only after navigating three hidden desktop folders.
Heavenly Demon Barefoot Straight Cam High-Quality Collection.
Frames captured from videos of her white bare feet and ankles accidentally filmed while kicking monsters in dungeons, meticulously edited and refined by a fanboy's sweat.
Mouthing pure survival and rational exploitation, while his monitor displayed his fave's foot pics and his brain swam in pink ulterior motives—a perfect mismatch of words and actions.
Utter proof of his ugly, pathetic dark heart.
But Han Jaewoo, facing away from the monitor, had no clue how shaky his alibi was and reached his grand plan's conclusion.
Either way, his goal was set.
He had to seize that clumsy, destructive signal of affection she'd tossed his way.
From now on, he'd initiate aggressive romance-novel-style flirting to bind her perfectly as his personal shield.
She'd stolen his lips once—he'd make her repay it with her body by his side forever.
"Alright. It's decided."
Han Jaewoo rose from the bed with a determined expression.
He stood tall before the old full-length mirror in the corner of the room.
His current outfit was a pitiful mess.
He'd ditched his going-out clothes ages ago, now sporting baggy gray sweatpants with knees poking through and a yellowed white short-sleeve tee stretched loose around the neck.
No one would buy that this slovenly neighborhood bum look belonged to a three-billion-won capitalist icon.
But his face in the mirror was different.
The moment he straightened his posture and steadied his breath.
The fatal, arrogant persona of the Northern Grand Duke—who'd paralyzed the senses of countless noble ladies over ten years in Rosenstein's imperial palace—overlaid him perfectly.
Deep blue eyes settled coldly beneath jet-black hair.
A melancholic, decadent aura wrapped around him effortlessly.
He tilted his chin up slightly toward his reflection.
Firing the laziest, deepest gaze, he began practicing lines that would pierce the Heavenly Demon's heart in one shot.
Thorough simulation was key to not biting his tongue in the real deal.
"...The night air is chill."
His voice resonated from his throat, laced with a cavern-deep bass that tickled the ears and squeezed the heart—a devilish baritone.
He extended his hand slowly toward the air with elegant poise.
Like a knight at a ball requesting a dance from his lifelong partner—supremely refined and solid.
"Come to my side."
Han Jaewoo's eyes shifted to a fatally melodic gaze.
"Won't you melt this chill with your warmth?"
Even to his own ears, the tone and breathing were flawless.
Fingertip angles, gaze handling, and that overwhelming plausibility masking the cringe as nobility.
This would totally steal the mind of that innocent, distrustful martial world woman, securing a lifetime of free human shielding for sure.
He admired his fatal charm in the mirror, deeply satisfied.
His arrogantly curled lips bespoke his confidence in victory.
It was right then.
Bang.
The door flew open without warning or knock.
"Oppa, Mom says come eat... Huh?"
His little sister Han Yujin, coming to fetch him for dinner, froze at the threshold.
Her eyes rapidly scanned the bizarre scene in the room.
First, her gaze hit her brother: in his baggy, knee-exposed sweats and stretched yellow shirt, striking an ultra-cringe pose with one hand extended to the mirror.
What the hell was this grown man doing, acting out a one-man theater in his room?
And the next instant.
Her eyes shifted to the glowing 32-inch monitor behind him, sleep mode off.
The screen crammed with thumbnails close-upping some unknown martial artist's white bare feet and ankles.
And starkly written above it: the folder name.
[Heavenly Demon Barefoot Straight Cam High-Quality Collection]
"..."
A suffocating silence stretched between them.
A horrific frozen moment, like time had stopped.
Han Jaewoo's elegantly extended fingertips began trembling like aspen leaves.
His once-fatal blue eyes paled in horror, shaking wildly as if an earthquake had hit.
'Ah, fuck.'
Desperate excuses flooded his mind, but extreme shame froze his throat—no words escaped.
Han Yujin's face wiped clean of expression.
Beyond disbelief or absurdity—pure disgust.
She eyed him up and down with the coldest, most horrific contempt, like she'd accidentally stepped in squishy filth on the street.
Then slowly, oh so slowly, she gripped the door handle tight and backed away.
"...Moooooom!!!"
Her shrill, piercing scream exploded toward the living room through the door crack.
"Mom! Come quick! Oppa’s lost his mind! He's in his room wearing holey sweats, posing in the mirror mumbling cringey fatal lines! And his computer's got some other girl's foot pics up behind him! You filthy pervert!!"
Slam!
The door shut mercilessly amid the shriek.
Left alone, Han Jaewoo clutched his explosively flushed red face with that "fatal" hand still outstretched and sank to the floor.
"No! It's a misunderstanding! Knock before coming in, please!"
The noble Northern Grand Duke image he'd built over ten years shattered into cosmic dust under his sister's fact bomb.
Soon, rough footsteps pounded from outside.
As he rolled on the floor anticipating Mom's ladle smash, the desperate wails of a perverted everyman echoed futilely in the cramped room before fading away.