Hungover Reflections
Sunlight crept slowly through the window, covering Kang Jin-cheol's eyelids. The sharp light pierced through despite his closed eyes, making him grimace fiercely.
"Ah, fuck..."
Jin-cheol rubbed his eyes with his hand and sat up. Still dazed, he picked at the crust in his eyes and blinked groggily. His mouth felt dry and sticky. Spotting a water bottle nearby, he grabbed it and chugged it down.
"Fuck, this is booze."
Who the hell left liquor here? Jin-cheol scowled as hard as he could and scanned his surroundings. He wanted to chew out the alcoholic who'd put a bottle by the bed.
"...Heh. That drunk was me, huh."
Looking around, Jin-cheol chuckled to himself. The remnants of last night's madness surrounded him. Empty bottles, half-eaten bread and meat scraps littered the floor. Morel lay passed out, along with Librarian Ronto from the Third Library, and a couple of other strangers sprawled amid damp laundry like it was bedding.
A closer look revealed it wasn't even a proper bed. Just the bar floor corner or tables pushed together to serve as one, like Jin-cheol had done.
And so, Jin-cheol sprawled in some Siol tavern. Nothing special about it. He'd just been dying for a drink last night, so he'd dragged Morel along to seize the nearest bar. In the process, Ronto—who'd followed them from the Third Library—and the original patrons got swept up in the revelry.
Jin-cheol recalled Morel and Ronto screaming their heads off and snickered alone.
"Even in the 121st century, drunk assholes yelling doesn't change."
Grinning, he chugged another bottle. His eyes caught a mirror. A large full-length one propped in the tavern corner. Jin-cheol hopped off his makeshift table-bed and approached it.
"Sleep well?"
As if responding, a stiff old man appeared in the mirror. He bowed politely toward Jin-cheol, then glitched slightly as he measured his body with ghostly motions.
It was the mirror he'd taken from the Third Library yesterday. Ronto had tailed them here to supervise it. Jin-cheol had swiped it outright, freaking out the librarian, but Morel had smoothed things over by promising just one night's rental. Ronto insisted on watching how they handled it, though he'd lost his mind and pounded drinks once the party started.
"What are you? Some AI computer thing?"
The tailor in the mirror pulled fabrics from thin air, draping them over Jin-cheol's form. A sleek suit appeared on his reflection, shifting colors and subtle styles with every move, following fluidly.
Jin-cheol twisted and turned in wonder.
"Just a mirror that tries on clothes? They sold shit like this in the future?"
Suddenly, the clothes vanished. The tailor reappeared, staring blankly. Then icons for calendars, schedules, alarms, messages, calls popped up—like protesting its many functions.
"Still, bet it didn't sell well. Probably just one or two in fancy tailor shops."
All icons vanished. A new window appeared: a ledger of addresses and delivery notes.
"...Ah, got it. Home delivery—try on via mirror, you measure sizes, ship 'em out."
Studying the ledger, Jin-cheol nodded in realization. The tailor cleared it away, bowing politely again—like saying thanks for understanding.
But Jin-cheol grinned and continued.
"Still, I wouldn't have bought one."
The tailor showed no anger, just resumed measuring impassively. No deeper emotions programmed, apparently.
Watching the AI tailor's silent defense, Jin-cheol's smile turned bitter.
"...Ten thousand years, my ass. Your calendar, tales of people screwing around till extinction—how real is any of it? By that math, I slept ten millennia and woke up. What, am I a baby dinosaur from the Ice Age? But with fluffy furballs and real dinos running around, fish-guy doctors practicing medicine... it kinda makes sense."
Parm's history lessons said the Forgotten Empire was about 5,000 years old at most. This mirror claimed the 12,000s. Another half-millennium gap—who knew what happened in between?
"...Extinction, revival? Then extinct again? Nah, these races all claim Empire ancestry. So was the Forgotten Empire never human? Where'd they even come from? Gene mods, artificial life? What the fuck... Ten thousand years is enough time to go from Stone Age to modern."
Jin-cheol roughly scrubbed his dry face like his head hurt. Then he grabbed a bottle and downed the rest in gulps. He hurled the empty at the wall. It shattered noisily.
"...Fuck, what does any of it matter? They're all dead anyway. Shot dead, bombed dead, finally croaked old. Stupid shits... Why bother with all that crap if you're just gonna die?"
The tavern door burst open. A cautious face peeked in, hand on sword hilt. He scanned quickly, spotted the broken bottle from Jin-cheol, and relaxed. Clearing his throat with a khmm, he eyed Jin-cheol like he'd done something stupid.
Jin-cheol smirked at the embarrassing stare.
"What, gonna do something about it?"
"..."
Amuta, the warrior captain who'd shamed Jin-cheol, sighed and shook his head like he was done talking.
What really drew his sigh was Morel, still crumpled on the floor clutching a bottle. Amuta nudged him with his boot. Half-awake, Morel swatted at it like a buzzing insect, then groped Amuta's sturdy leg.
"...?"
Realizing something off, Morel cracked his eyes.
"...H-heek! Captain!"
Morel scrambled up straight. But it hid nothing—vomit stains on his breastplate, disheveled hair, booze breath, wobbly legs. Amuta's gaze hardened, but Jin-cheol burst out laughing. Morel was done for. Spin like a top, buddy.
Another figure entered through the open door—a woman shrouded in a heavy hood hiding her body and face. Obvious who, so Jin-cheol wasn't surprised when she removed it.
"Kang Jin-cheol."
"Found us quick. This ain't the inn we aimed for."
Ishanka smoothed her mussed hair from the hood.
"That's why I roamed Siol's inns all dawn. Would've helped if you'd left word."
"Had some shit to handle."
"...Hmph."
She eyed him sidelong with her triangular pupils while fixing her hair, then pulled a small bundle from her robes.
"Your promised reward, plus bonus for helping against the pirates. Check it."
"Oh."
Jin-cheol took it, unwrapped: dark silver vambrace and heavy coin pouch. Gold glinted inside. He pocketed it quick, examined the vambrace.
"What's this?"
"The scent lingering on your blade called to it, long dormant in our house vault."
"...What?"
What bullshit? Jin-cheol gaped. Ishanka sighed skyward, exasperated at his denseness.
"Yo-sul sorcerers read special scents or auras from artifacts. Sometimes one calls another—they were a matched pair originally. Like brothers from the same womb summoning each other."
"...What?"
Scent? Brothers from the same womb? More crazy talk? Ishanka shook her head gently.
"Check inside the guard. There's a slot for your sword."
"...Oh."
Spot on. The arm encircling vambrace had a flat rectangular slot inside. He drew his fish-sword from his belt—clack, it magnet-snapped in. Strapping it on his right forearm, it auto-adjusted perfectly, comfy as skin.
Jin-cheol flexed experimentally, focusing on the sensation. He clenched his fist—ching, a blade shot from the back of his hand.
"Huh. Assassin's blade? Nah, too long—assassin's longsword? Just a sword?"
He swung it whoosh whoosh, willed it away—slink, it retracted. A hilt popped out for hand-draw if needed.
"Pretty good... but that's it?"
Ishanka shook her head.
"Focus deeper on the arm's sensation."
"...?"
Her forehead circlet glowed faintly. Jin-cheol felt a tingle from his forearm.
"Revived the blocked circuits. Now usable anytime."
The vambrace shimmered, projecting a translucent barrier large enough to shield his torso.
"This...?"
"'Iron Wall'. No 'Wind', but rare enough. It atones for my past rudeness."
Cool shit. Jin-cheol poked at the semi-transparent shield curiously. Could he charge bullet hell like Amuta now? Size and shape said no frontal tanking, but better than nothing. It faded—couldn't hold long.
"Now, a new proposal."
"New story? What?"
Ishanka glanced at Amuta. He started rousing and herding the hangover victims out—Ronto, patrons, even the owner. Morel staggered to help, earning points before the chewing-out. Soon the tavern emptied, the scantily clad owner looking dazed and dizzy as he was shoved outside.
"What? Spill it."
"Simple. Good for you too."
"Short version."
Ishanka lifted her chin haughtily.
"Work under me."
"Fuck off. No."
Jin-cheol turned, grabbing his bag and gear from the corner. Ishanka blinked calmly.
"Missed the first part. Speak Esai if possible."
"Heard the end. No."
"...Why?"
Shouldering his bag:
"Why assume yes?"
"Didn't say. But far more pay than that trinket, Antela house prestige, my gifted artifacts sometimes. Whatever else you want, accommodated."
"What job?"
"Can't say till oath."
"Fine. Still no."
He brushed past. Amuta and Morel blocked the door. Jin-cheol eyed Ishanka.
"Force it?"
"...Why refuse? Antela gains worthless? My name—Ishanka of Antela—a joke? Dare trample Antela in Siol?"
Her eyes and circlet flickered ominously—not mere threat.
Jin-cheol shrugged nonchalantly.
"Try it. Start with your necks."
"...Fear no death?"
Jin-cheol smiled evenly—not mocking from hell's witness, nor despair's grin. He met her gaze quietly.
"Thanks for the gear. I'll use it well. Hope you find your daughter soon. She's probably alive and healthy."
Ishanka's eyes widened. Speechless, she stared blankly, then dropped her gaze. Silent, Amuta and Morel let him pass.
Outside, Jin-cheol found dazed Ronto and the owner. He flicked a gold coin to the owner, told Ronto:
"Guard the mirror. I'll visit again."
"Library treasure—I'll manage it. Where to?"
"Dunno. Gonna bum around this city awhile."
"...Third Library always open to Siol citizens. Visit often while here."
Jin-cheol saluted playfully and turned. Noon streets of Siol welcomed him. Striding boldly into the city, purposeless. The aimless soldier wandered the distant future's roads.
Author's Note: End of Volume 1. Thanks for the support so far. Please keep it up. Thank you.