Chapter 3
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: The Heavenly Demon Grabs Him by the Collar and Drags Him to the Training Grounds
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Time had flowed by with truly ruthless cruelty.
It had been a fortnight since he'd spat out that monumental piece of nonsense—"preposterous"—at Baek Seorin, the Heavenly Demon, in the Hunter Association lobby.
Two weeks.
That was more than enough time for all of South Korea to flip upside down in a frenzy searching for the whereabouts of the "once-in-a-generation rookie," Han Jaewoo.
Internet forums and news channels were plastered daily with his name.
The genius who cleared another world after ten long years.
The arrogant absolute who treated the Heavenly Demon like a greenhorn.
The lone wolf who flatly rejected love calls from countless guilds.
But the legendary returnee the world so desperately sought was holed up right now in a dingy apartment in Siheung, Gyeonggi Province, crammed into a tiny room.
"...Mom, water, please."
"Get your own water, you lazy bum!"
A sharp palm slammed into his back.
Han Jaewoo yelped and tumbled off the bed.
Gone was any trace of the Northern Grand Duke's dignity. All that remained was a jobless slacker in baggy gray sweatpants, rolling across the floor like a kangaroo.
"Ow, why'd you hit me? That hurts!"
"You deserved it, that's why! You're a hunter now, aren't you? Your face was all over the front page of the papers! So why have you been hunkered down in this room for two weeks, barely breathing?!"
His mother's nagging poured out like machine-gun fire.
Han Jaewoo had nothing to say, even if he had ten mouths.
He wanted to go out.
Of course he wanted to.
He dreamed of stepping out right then, pocketing a guild signing bonus, and living it up in a penthouse with a wine glass in hand.
But he couldn't go out.
The grim reaper was waiting outside.
[Breaking News] Heavenly Demon Baek Seorin shows up at Hunter Association lobby again today... "I'm not leaving until that guy shows."
Every time he saw that headline on his smartphone, Han Jaewoo's heart shrank to the size of a pea.
The Heavenly Demon was lying in wait.
And she was doing it thoroughly.
To snap the neck of the cocky newbie who'd dared call her "preposterous," she'd been playing gatekeeper at the association entrance for two weeks straight.
"If I go out, I'm dead... Like, physically decapitated..."
"Shut it! You think your sister's tuition and our living expenses are gonna dig themselves up from the ground? Get out there and earn some money!"
Smack!
Another back-smashing blow landed.
His mother's slaps were fiercer than an orc's club.
In the end, the threat to his livelihood—and his mother's palm—outweighed the danger to his life. Swallowing tears, Han Jaewoo had no choice but to prepare to head out.
He opened the closet door.
A sigh escaped him naturally.
The clothes from a year ago, when he'd been job-hunting, were all moldy or hopelessly outdated.
And with his 188cm model-like physique enhanced by SSS Plausibility, there was no way a size 95 shirt would fit.
One lone garment hung in the corner of the closet.
The only one that fit his body perfectly, the only one still intact.
But at the same time, the most insane thing to wear on Earth.
Jet-black premium fabric embroidered with silver thread patterns.
An elegant cravat wrapping his neck and a long frock coat reaching his knees.
It was the "Mithril Fiber Frock Coat" gifted to him by Edelgart—the emperor and his former fiancée from that romance-fantasy world.
"...Ha."
Han Jaewoo rubbed his dry face.
Wear this outside?
The moment he stepped onto the subway, he'd be preserved in amber as an attention whore.
But he had no other options. He couldn't go out naked, after all.
With trembling hands, he slipped on the coat.
The cold touch of the mithril fibers against his skin brought a strange sense of relief.
Durability tougher than most S-rank gear on Earth.
At least he might survive one slash from the Heavenly Demon. A sliver of hope sparked.
"...Edel. I don't miss you, but I'll wear the clothes well. Thanks."
He muttered bitterly to his reflection in the mirror.
The overwhelmingly handsome Northern Grand Duke stared back.
The problem was that he was heading not to an imperial ballroom, but to a convenience store.
"Welc...ome...?"
The clerk's eyes went wide as saucers.
The customer who'd entered through the automatic doors had visuals too unreal to be true.
Movie shoot? Celebrity?
While the clerk gawked, Han Jaewoo grabbed a triangle kimbap from the display.
Jeonju bibim flavor.
After checking out, he sat on the parasol chair out front.
He crossed his legs elegantly, peeling the plastic off with slender, jade-like fingers.
Every motion overflowed with refinement, like slicing steak at a Michelin restaurant.
'Tastes good.'
Han Jaewoo, wearing the Northern Grand Duke's mask, chomped away at the kimbap.
Passersby glanced over, whispers reaching his ears.
"Look at that guy. What's with the outfit?"
"Whoa, but his face is insane. He's seriously hot."
"Cosplayer? But eating kimbap like it's a photoshoot?"
Embarrassment crashed over him like a tsunami.
But he feigned composure, staring into space with cold eyes.
This isn't kimbap. It's haute cuisine by the imperial chef. I'm just experiencing the life of Earth's commoners right now.
He needed the self-hypnosis to endure.
With his belly full, he dragged his heavy feet onward.
Destination: Hunter Association.
His modest goal was to spin around safe F-rank dungeons for pocket money.
Please, let the Heavenly Demon not be there today. Please, let her be tired and gone home.
Praying thousands of times in his heart, he arrived at the association's main entrance.
But God—no, the system—had abandoned him.
"...Whoa."
His jaw dropped.
The lobby scene was straight out of a horror movie.
The crowd had parted like the Red Sea before Moses, splitting to either side.
And at the end of that empty space.
Blocking the association exit: one lone person.
A woman radiating chilling aura even with her eyes closed and arms crossed.
South Korea's number one in martial prowess.
The Heavenly Demon, Baek Seorin.
A suffocating killing intent swirled in a 10-meter radius around her.
Association staff huddled in corners, trembling. Reporters fiddled with telephoto lenses from afar, not daring to approach.
What seized Han Jaewoo's gaze most was her feet.
On the cold marble floor.
She was barefoot.
Her pristine white soles stood firm, as if the world's filth meant nothing—or as if she was ready to kick off and soar into the air at any moment. Savage beauty incarnate.
'Screwed. I'm really dead.'
Instinctively, Han Jaewoo stepped back.
He had to run now.
Pride be damned—he had to survive first.
But the instant he turned to flee.
Baek Seorin's closed eyes snapped open.
Gleaming crimson irises tore through the air and locked onto him.
"...You've come."
Her voice scraped from the depths of hell.
That low, chilling word drew every eye in the lobby to Han Jaewoo.
"Whoa! He's here!"
"He really showed! Come to throw down with the Heavenly Demon?"
"No way, blood's gonna spill for real today?"
As the crowd buzzed, Baek Seorin uncrossed her arms and approached slowly.
Not even the sound of her bare feet on marble.
Like a ghost, she glided toward Han Jaewoo's heart with spine-chilling silence.
For two weeks, she'd clocked in here without fail.
To see the face of the arrogant newbie who'd called her "preposterous."
And to check if that arrogance was backed by skill—or just a slick tongue from a fraud.
Her killing intent whipped up like a storm.
Enough to make civilians foam at the mouth and faint, mid-tier hunters buckle at the knees.
"You dare keep this seat waiting two weeks?"
Baek Seorin stopped right in front of his nose.
Her eyes blazed with murderous fury.
"Prove that arrogance with your skill."
The words barely left her mouth before her hand darted to her waist.
Shing.
No warning, no declaration of war.
Her blade flashed out like lightning, hurtling toward Han Jaewoo's throat.
Whoosh—!
Light flared.
Screams erupted as people squeezed their eyes shut.
Han Jaewoo did the same.
'Dead.'
No time to dodge or anything.
His B-rank physicals couldn't track, much less react to, her sword speed.
Before his brain even signaled "danger," it was over.
Terror froze him solid—"pause" mode engaged.
He couldn't twitch a finger.
Couldn't breathe.
Just stood there like a statue, eyes blankly open.
Yet...
No pain came.
No cold severing of his neck, no hot gush of blood.
Han Jaewoo slowly rolled his eyes.
The razor edge hovered exactly 1mm from his skin. Stopped dead—not withdrawn.
"...?"
Baek Seorin's brow twitched.
Confusion flickered in her eyes.
'Didn't dodge?'
She hadn't intended a real slash.
Just a threat to fluster him, make him crumple pathetically.
But this guy before her didn't budge an inch.
Not a blink, not a hitch in his breath.
Her sword halted at this range.
Even top experts would flinch instinctively.
Yet this punk stood rigid, staring down at her.
As if he couldn't care less if she cut or not.
Silence stretched.
Han Jaewoo felt cold sweat trickling down his spine.
His voice wouldn't come.
Opening his mouth might unleash a pathetic "Spare me!"
But he had to break this silence.
Fold here, and he'd die.
His brain cells thrashed for survival, loading a decade of archived data.
Very slowly, mechanically, he raised his head to meet Baek Seorin's gaze.
And bypassing thought, spinal-reflex style, he spat the Northern Grand Duke's line.
"...You know nothing of patience."
Low, resonant voice.
His blue eyes narrowed in annoyance.
"Don't draw a sword you won't use."
With one finger, he flicked the blade at his throat aside. Tap.
Baek Seorin's eyes chilled over.
Unbelievable gall.
Treating the Heavenly Demon's killing intent like this.
Dismissing her blood-soaked martial legacy as mere noise pollution?
She eyed him up and down in disbelief.
Only then did his outfit register.
No armor, no breastplate, not even leather guards.
Just a flimsy scrap of cloth (actually mithril coat) draped over bare skin, standing before her defenseless.
Didn't show his face for two weeks.
Now he strolls in bare and lectures her like some tutor.
'This guy's completely insane.'
It defied explanation without insane confidence.
Nothing short of utter disregard for her could produce that attitude.
The Heavenly Demon's lips twisted.
Beyond anger, almost a hollow laugh.
"Amusing."
She slowly sheathed her sword.
Click.
The crisp sound echoed through the lobby.
"I thought you were all bluff, no substance. But you're not total chaff."
She stepped closer to Han Jaewoo.
Nose-to-nose distance.
Her overwhelming pressure crushed him entirely.
"But that guts to badmouth this seat? Don't let my name dance so freely on your tongue."
Baek Seorin's hand seized his collar... no, the lapel of his frock coat, roughly.
Han Jaewoo barely clamped down a squeak.
"Follow me."
She jerked her chin toward the underground training grounds.
"Whether you have what it takes to call me 'preposterous.'"
Her eyes curved like crescent moons, exuding eerie, seductive killing intent.
"I'll confirm it personally. With my blade. Down to your bones."
No right of refusal.
Say no here, and it'd be instant beheading.
Han Jaewoo trailed after her, practically dragged.
Inside, he chanted 'Screwed,' 'Miss Mom,' 'Spare me' on loop.
Outwardly, like an adult humoring a brat, he casually adjusted his attire and strolled on.
Hundreds of onlookers buzzed at the sight.
"Whoa, insane. See that? Didn't even flinch at the Heavenly Demon's slash."
"Flicked the sword away with his finger. That's human?"
"Heavenly Demon personally challenging him to spar? She's acknowledging him?"
"Jackpot. That newbie's the real deal."
Rumors sprouted wings again.
Supreme master Han Jaewoo. The man who smiled at the Heavenly Demon's blade.
Oblivious to the exploding forums, Han Jaewoo headed to the training grounds like a lamb to slaughter.
Behind him, elevator doors closed, red numbers pointing basement.
The express train to hell had departed.
