The Golden Whale
The tavern-cum-pub known as the Golden Whale in Siol's harbor got its name from an incident in the owner's youth. Tuchiraban had spotted a massive whale with golden hide while sailing the northern seas.
The ocean was always full of mysterious, unbelievable tales, but first-timers hearing the origin story couldn't help but react with disbelief—"No way," "That's wild," or "Where'd he see that whale? Did anyone catch it?"—and the like. But locals from Siol or grizzled harbor veterans showed no interest in the Golden Whale legend. Partly because they themselves were weathered sailors with their own wild stories to tell, but the bigger reason was the bare-knuckle fight pit in the warehouse behind the building.
Money was naturally bet on the fights, and Tuchiraban took a healthy cut as the middleman, making more from this than the inn itself—in fact, it was practically his main gig. It was illegal gambling that dodged taxes, but bare-knuckle pits like this were a dime a dozen in Siol's harbor.
Today, the Golden Whale buzzed with drunks, gamblers, dockworkers, and staff all mixed together. Shouts and curses constantly erupted from the warehouse fight pit.
Into this rowdy pub strode a gentleman and a lone Olrog. One was a Baika, dressed impeccably in a suit, shoes, gloves, and cane, standing awkwardly on the muddy floor. The other was an Olrog, but unlike the half-naked primitives, he wore something resembling a shirt. He kept tugging at the collar with his fingers, clearly uncomfortable.
The pair at the entrance slowly scanned the pub before heading toward a large open door on one side. It connected the pub to the warehouse, and with it flung wide, the line between tavern and fight pit blurred nicely.
The Baika paused again at the door, surveying the pit slowly. His hand stroked his mask like a beard. The Olrog, itching at the sight of the hyped crowd, rolled his neck to loosen up.
But the Baika didn't spot who he was looking for. He finally grabbed a passing Esai waitress and asked her something. After a brief exchange, she pointed to the center of the pit.
There, two shirtless men were brawling bare-knuckled. Or rather, one was getting absolutely demolished.
The Baika strode purposefully to the warehouse's central ring. The Olrog hurried after him.
Pressing close to the fight pit's fence, the Baika watched an Olrog swing a pot-lid-sized fist, connecting with a man's jaw and sending him sprawling into the mud.
Seeing the mud-caked man, the Baika cried out involuntarily.
"Jin-cheol!"
The limp figure face-down in the muck—Jin-cheol—lifted his head. Filthy with mud and grime, his face still broke into a glad smile at the sight of the Baika.
"Professor Parm?"
At that moment, the Olrog who'd clocked his jaw grabbed Jin-cheol by the scruff and belt, hoisting him up like a trophy and bellowing.
"Hraaaah—!"
"Woooah! Dol Jumeok! Dol Jumeok—!"
"Rip him apart—!"
"Reverse bet, let's goooo—!"
The gamblers and drunks went wild, cheering like maniacs. Professor Parm just stood there, eyes wide in shock.
What the hell is he planning to do, hoisting him like that?
The roaring Olrog hurled Jin-cheol away. He flew like a sack of potatoes, crashing into the rickety wooden fence. It splintered with a crash, toppling a pile of drunks along with it.
"Hahaha! Jin-cheol finally met his match today!"
"Dol Jumeok! Don't stop, you idiot! Charge him right now!"
"Dol Jumeok, gooo! Reverse bet, gooo—!"
The Olrog called Dol Jumeok paraded around the ring, fists raised high to the roaring crowd. He pounded his chest for dramatic thumps.
Staring blankly, Professor Parm snapped to and rushed to the wrecked fence where Jin-cheol lay. People he bumped grumbled menacingly, but the shirt-wearing Olrog following kept them at bay.
"Hey, Jin-cheol!"
"Ah, Professor Parm. Long time no see. How long's it been?"
"...You alright?"
Jin-cheol sprawled atop the debris, gazing up at Professor Parm. He looked oddly at peace.
"Me? Always doing fine. Must be about two months since last time. How've you been?"
Even caked in filth, Jin-cheol's nonchalance left Professor Parm visibly flustered.
Then the toppled gamblers and drunks, cursing up a storm, hauled the fence—and Jin-cheol—back upright, shoving him into the ring again.
Dol Jumeok, basking in cheers, snorted roughly at the sight of Jin-cheol rising (or risen). He lumbered forward and smashed his massive fist into Jin-cheol's jaw again.
Jin-cheol reeled with the blow. The crowd's roar swelled.
Watching, Professor Parm muttered like a groan.
"Shouldn't we stop that? Jin-cheol doesn't look like he even wants to fight..."
"Can't. Even if you stop Jin-cheol, you'd need another opponent to stop that guy."
The shirt-clad Olrog replied. As a veteran Olrog, his word on his kind was as good as gospel.
Professor Parm sighed deeply. Dol Jumeok's fists kept pummeling Jin-cheol relentlessly.
Reeling from another hit, Jin-cheol staggered against the fence near Professor Parm. Looking at him, he said,
"Aigoo. Sorry you had to see this mess. So, what brings you here?"
Then he spotted the shirt Olrog beside the professor and widened his eyes.
"Huh? You?"
"Watch your back."
"You're Udim, what?"
At Udim's words, Jin-cheol turned—just as Dol Jumeok's fist flew in. He ate another hit and tumbled into the mud.
Dol Jumeok bellowed at the fallen Jin-cheol.
"Don't fuck around—stay down, yellow-skin!"
He thrust his fists skyward again, drawing fresh cheers. As he whooped in excitement, Professor Parm looked down at Jin-cheol.
"Why not fight back?"
"Too much hassle."
"...I came to talk to you."
"Eh. I'm on break these days. Eating and playing's the life."
"Won't even hear me out?"
Jin-cheol closed his eyes, still flat in the mud.
"In the grand flow of time, what's the point of anything? I just wanna lie here and turn into a rock..."
"Hmm."
Professor Parm stroked his mask, gazing silently at Jin-cheol, then said casually,
"It was about your species. No interest? Then forget it."
He turned to leave for real.
Udim grabbed him. Gesturing with his chin toward Jin-cheol, who now watched them.
"I'm the new champ! The Golden Whale's champion is me now! Dol Jumeok..."
Whooping triumphantly, Dol Jumeok spotted Jin-cheol on his feet. He snorted hugely, displeased.
Jin-cheol faced him, pinched one nostril, and hawked a snot rocket. Mud and mucus sprayed.
"Can't you get it through your skull? Stay down, yellow-skin?"
"Quit telling me to lie down, you red-ass bastard."
Furious at his victory ruined, Dol Jumeok scowled and stomped forward. At close range, he lunged with a step, slamming his right fist—enough to shatter rock—into Jin-cheol's jaw.
But Jin-cheol just twisted his waist slightly, slipping the punch. His right arm blurred, and Dol Jumeok's jaw snapped back.
Snap! A whip-crack sound tore the air a breath later, echoing through the pit.
"..."
Dol Jumeok crumpled like a marionette with cut strings.
The noisy pit fell silent. But the crowd's faces showed more "of course" resignation than shock. Some irritably chucked their betting slips.
"Reverse bet my ass..."
"Damn, again?"
As the disappointed crowd grumbled, Jin-cheol retrieved his clothes from the fence, wiped mud from his face with what looked like Dol Jumeok's shirt, tossed it onto the fallen Olrog, and approached Professor Parm.
"Go on with what you were saying."
*
Jin-cheol, Professor Parm, and Udim claimed a corner table at the Golden Whale, sitting around it.
Jin-cheol downed the glass in front of him in one gulp, slamming it down with a thunk.
"You know, back in the day, there was something like this called bourbon."
Professor Parm, sniffing his glass, tilted his head.
"Bourbon? Isn't it just 'burn'? I think they called booze with this aroma that in the east. 'Burn' was basically booze there."
"Burn and bourbon are different. Bourbon needs aging in charred oak barrels and all that—specific conditions. This 'burn' lacks those details. If I'm bored later, maybe set up a distillery and sell fake bourbon. I'll drink all the leftovers myself."
He waved for a waitress and ordered a whole bottle.
The Esai woman brought a dark bottle, saying,
"You drank like this yesterday and now again?"
"When booze calls, how can I refuse? Put it on my tab."
"Like you've ever paid?"
"Come on. With my fight winnings on that tab? If I demanded cash now, Tuchiraban'd be on his knees begging. Guy's short already—kneeling, I'd have to crouch to meet his eyes."
The waitress burst out laughing, who-knows-why. Then, spotting Udim's sullen face and Professor Parm blinking his moist eyes, she flushed embarrassed and set the bottle down before scurrying off.
Jin-cheol refilled and emptied another glass in one go, wiping his mouth.
"How'd you end up here? Your crew?"
Aimed at Udim.
Udim shrugged slightly, face still gloomy.
"Crew went their own ways. Everyone but me got off that day."
"What? You didn't?"
"Nothing better to do, so I took Captain Romuto's pay and worked. Went all the way to Jipain."
"Oh, Jipain."
Udim downed his glass like Jin-cheol. Alcohol hit hard, but he just twitched his mouth—that was it.
"Went there, and Professor Parm asked if I'd come to Siol with him."
"That's your explanation? 'He asked, so I came'?"
Lazy for details, Udim just refilled from the bottle. Professor Parm chuckled and picked up,
"I was heading to Siol and figured company beats traveling alone, so I asked him. He kindly agreed."
"Jipain's your hometown, right? Why back to Siol?"
Professor Parm stroked his mask. Jin-cheol's eyes sparked with interest—that habit meant something juicy.
"Got to Jipain, handed Captain Romuto my resignation right away. Then straight to the public Baika University library. Wanted to dig into your species."
Jin-cheol's glass paused mid-sip.
"Rifling through university records, I found something extremely odd. A discrepancy I wouldn't have noticed without meeting you."
"...What discrepancy?"
"Remember when I said I knew nothing of your species, not even from my degree?"
"Yeah."
Professor Parm shook his head slowly.
"That was slightly off. Traces of your species remain. But someone shredded records, severed connections, rendering documents meaningless. Knowing you exist let me spot the inconsistency."
"...Huh?"
What the hell's he on about?
Jin-cheol blinked in confusion. Professor Parm narrowed his eyes.
"Some leaps, but swimming those ancient tomb scrolls convinced me of two things. First: the Forgotten Empire's masters were your species."
Forgotten Empire. Folks who vanished 4-5,000 years ago. Guess they were human after all.
"Second: someone—or some group—deliberately erased their records."
Jin-cheol's face twisted in bewilderment.
Who the fuck would pull that shit?