The Weight of Bestowing a Name (10)

As a pure baduk player, Jegal Yang's skill far surpasses mine. If we played ten times, I'd lose nine for sure. That means I'd win once. I didn't bet without any plan. I had a decent chance of victory, so I went for it. I never imagined it'd play out like this, but to beat Jegal Yang, I'd gritted my teeth and prepared two strategies.

First, I'd hidden my recent improvement against him. Not by much—just one point. For any potential wager game, I'd kept that single point in reserve. In other words, I should've placed two points instead of three from the start. In battles between masters, a few centimeters on the blade can decide victory or defeat, and the same goes for baduk. A single point can swing the game, since it's won by even half a house more. It might seem trivial, but that one point can be the difference between triumph and loss.

And the other one...

Jegal Yang couldn't believe his eyes. He was blocked. Every move was a blunder. There was nowhere to play.

"...How did you predict my strategy?"

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"I didn't predict it. I induced it."

I pulled out the game records from my bosom—the notations of all our previous matches against him.

"You see, old man, you're damn good at baduk. So good that you spot every weakness in the opening."

Normally, Jegal Yang reads his opponent's moves quickly and counters whatever tactic they pull out. Rock against scissors, paper against rock, fist against paper. But if you reverse-engineer that, you can figure out exactly what tactic he'll use. Lure him into playing paper early, then smash him with your hidden fist.

Realizing he'd fallen for such a ridiculous gamble, Jegal Yang furrowed his brow.

"If I'd dragged it out into a long game instead of trying to end it early, you wouldn't have laid a finger on me and would've lost."

"True. But you didn't. And now that the result's out, there's no 'if' about it."

"...That's not the point. I'm asking how you saw through my intent to rush for a quick win in the opening."

"Make the enemy hasty with immediate gains. Basic stratagem."

I swept back my hair and teased him with a shameless grin.

"I'm just so damn charming, y'know? Enough to make anyone's head spin."

Jegal Yang stared into space and let out a hollow laugh. Annoying as it was, the kid had a point. Honestly, since it was a baduk match, I'd assumed victory was a given. No preparation would make him my equal. So yeah, I wanted to wrap it up fast. The real weakness that pierced Jegal Yang—stabbed by the blade Mancheon had sharpened in secret—wasn't impatience, but the arrogance born from overwhelming skill.

I had no choice but to admit it. A defeat after so long.

"...I lost. Name your prize."

His straightforward concession felt suspicious, but the old man's love for baduk was genuine. A baduk bet might just be ironclad.

"For real? Anything goes?"

"Yes, anything. If you want, take my head."

I checked his face, wondering if he was joking. No trace of it. He was dead serious.

...Not messing around.

"I may not keep every promise, but one made over baduk with a fellow enthusiast? That's sacred. So speak your wish."

Anything I want? Big scale. Basically a blank check. Money? Got plenty at home. Should I ask for the Jegal family's secret martial arts?

...Nah, pass. Their techniques aren't unique to them, and I don't need to go this far. Besides, their best secret is footwork. As a cripple, how the hell am I supposed to use footwork? Lightness skill's different from footwork. No matter how well I wield this staff, I can't tap-step while dragging a dead leg.

So with this wish in hand, I voiced what I'd always wanted to ask him.

"Well... please take good care of Ohae."

No matter how well I look after her, I'm still an outsider. Someday, I'll have to leave. Now that she's learning martial arts, things won't go back to how they were, but she could get exploited and end up worse off. She needs someone inside the Jegal family to protect her. And Jegal Yang's more than up to the task.

He raised one eyebrow, studying my face intently with a look of surprise.

"So that's why you turned down my granddaughters. Another woman's already claimed your heart."

"Not exactly, but yeah, I like her. If I didn't, I wouldn't ask this."

Rustle~ Rustle~

Crunch-crunch-!

Hm? What's that? Something rustling through the grass. A deer?

I turned to look. Not a wild deer, but Ohae, her face beet red, standing there.

"!!!!!"

Her cheeks flaming, she locked eyes with me and bolted three times faster than usual.

I glanced at Jegal Yang, wondering if I should chase her. He jerked his chin dismissively, like he couldn't stand the sight.

"No interest in taken gold. Get lost."

"Thanks, old man. I'll head out. Next time, let's play a normal game."

Once Mancheon and Ohae were gone, Jegal Yang addressed the hidden presence using a formation trick.

"I know you're there. Come out while I'm asking nicely, Mu."

Space warped, and a man appeared where none had been moments before. He resembled Jegal Yang overall but had a softer demeanor. Jegal Mu, his eldest son.

"Even if you covet talent, that was too hasty. Guess we run."

"...Shut it."

Jegal Yang snapped irritably at his son, who grinned good-naturedly while needling him. Jegal Mu stared at where Mancheon had sat, stroking his chin.

"He seemed really into martial arts. Why not skip the baduk bet and just take him as a formal disciple from the start?"

Jegal Yang scoffed dismissively at the suggestion.

"Ha! The kid's already gunning for me with fire in his eyes. You think softies like you lot could handle him later?"

He'd long passed the age to be called a softie by his father, but Jegal Mu listened attentively without reaction.

"Mongrels or not, we're Jegal blood. Can't raise someone who might threaten the clan."

"I see. Can't teach martial arts over future worries, but you want the talent. So baduk disciple it is... or son-in-law. Baduk's fine, but spare the granddaughters a bit."

"...The son-in-law bit was to find them good husbands. Better a clever cripple than ones with nothing but ancestors to boast."

He said that, but even he realized his haste to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠snag the treasure had made him too rough on his granddaughters. He shut his mouth and sipped his tea. He vaguely recalled them chattering about Western trinkets before. Might send some over.

Run. Keep running. She dashed like a deer until her burning face cooled.

『I like her.』

Ohae's heart wouldn't calm from those words she'd just overheard. She'd woken at snack time, found Mancheon gone from her side, and come searching—only to hear that.

Memories of time with Mancheon flooded back.

He'd helped her. Never feared her. Never hated her. Smiled at her. Given clean clothes. Snacks. Taught her letters. Martial arts. Warm meals. Shared his warmth. Made a comfy place to rest. Held her through nightmares, soothed her. Rubbed her back. Nursed her when sick. Healed Chirpy. Taught her the world's secrets. Took her to festivals. Called her cute. Held her hand. Showed her happiness.

...Gave her a name.

Chewing over those irreplaceable memories, Ohae reached one conclusion.

'Yeah... Mancheon likes me.'

No one treats you this well without liking you. Certain.

She stopped, hand gently over her heart. Felt the rapid thumps.

'I like Mancheon too.'

She clearly recognized the vague, floating feeling. Somehow, Mancheon had entered her heart. Close her eyes, and his face appeared first. Life without him? Unthinkable. No matter how bright the future, without him, meaningless.

Dark ink spread from within, the black serpent whispering. The fluffy cloud of innocent emotion drowned in it.

The serpent first appeared in her dreams, back when it slithered into Ohae's sight. In the dream, she floated submerged in a massive tub. As she drifted, a huge four-legged serpent emerged, whispering scary yet sweet words.

As Mancheon's presence grew in her, the serpent stirred more. Lately, it whispered not just in dreams, but reality too.

"Chirp! Chirp-chirp! Chii~rp-chirrrp~!!"

Chirpy's cries from her bosom snapped her back. She pulled it out, stroking gently with both hands.

"Chirpy, what's wrong? Hungry?"

"Chirp! Chirp!"

Chirpy looked up at the trees, crying. At other sparrows. Its friends.

Ohae shook her head vigorously, shaking off the serpent's creepy voice. Chirpy was a precious friend. She couldn't hurt it for selfish reasons.

Sad but resolved, she loosened her protective hold and waited for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Chirpy's choice.

Chirpy gazed up at the kind girl who'd nursed it so tenderly, chirped clearly, flapped its wings, and soared skyward. Toward its friends.

And got shot down by a slingshot, plummeting to earth.

"Yes! Got it!!"

"Damn~ I saw it first."

The branch kids hadn't targeted Chirpy specifically. Just playing sparrow hunt in the Jegal manor woods with slingshots. This freshly healed, slow-flying sparrow just unluckily caught their eye. That's all.

But dragons are heavenly beings. Mortal bugs' excuses? Irrelevant.

The famous Warring States legalist Han Feizi said:

An unfamiliar emotion surged from within for the first time. Her heart blackened. The serpent laughed.

Ohae lost consciousness.

The dragon awakened.

The Quanzhen Orthodox Inner Cultivation Method is a Daoist inner art, attuned to yin-yang and five elements.

Chasing deer-like Ohae into the woods, I sensed from deep within a chill like winter sea and darkness like a midnight ocean—pure yin energy I'd never felt before.

Survival instinct screamed. My sharp mind blared like a fire siren: Turn back now!

I ignored it and pressed on.

At the epicenter stood Ohae. Horns sprouted from her head, black obsidian scales covered her body. Deer-like antlers on her head. Arms with diamond-hard claws over scales. A massive tail bursting through her clothes from her spine.

A grotesque human-dragon hybrid.

Half-dragon.

I bit my tongue lightly. It hurt. Unfortunately, not ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a dream this time.

"■■■■■-!!!"

The dragon roared.

Despite my trembling body of terror, my mind coldly assessed: Broken arms and ribs on kids passed out in tears and piss. Dropped slingshot.

...Dead Chirpy.

Situation clear. I exhaled deeply, gripped my staff tight, and limped toward her, thud-thud-thud.

'Teach and learn.'

No running.

No averting eyes.

Won't give up.

'Take responsibility.'

You're my disciple.

I'm your master.