Father Must Be Having It Tough

Jeokhyeolsan.

Two letters lay on the desk. Bi Jangno picked up one and opened it.

The fairly thick letter had been sent by Jong Bi, who was monitoring No. 50. Bi Jangno was honestly shocked by the report that the kid had dared to impersonate someone from the capital's Seongwangbu.

'What a bold bastard.'

If it had been anyone else, he'd have called them insane. But since it was a candidate for Ten Perfect Assassin, it struck him differently.

He then opened and began reading the other letter, only to furrow his brow midway. It was from Gwancheonbang, announcing the cancellation of the assassination request on Hwa Cheon-gang of Cheongsu Gate.

'These bastards think assassination contracts are child's play...'

Jeokhyeolsan had no regrets. They'd already received half the fee upfront, and cancellations meant no refunds.

Bi Jangno pondered for a moment.

For Hwa Cheon-gang's hit, he'd planned to send Ma Bu, Jeokhyeolsan's one and only special-grade assassin. Sending No. 50 had been a test to see if he truly had the makings of a Ten Perfect Assassin.

But now the contract was suddenly canceled. That meant recalling No. 50... though for some reason, he didn't want to.

'Just let him be. It's a chance to confirm if he's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠really Ten Perfect Assassin material.'

If a trainee from the camp managed to kill one of the Central Plains' top hundred masters, he'd truly be a Ten Perfect Assassin.

If he failed... well, that just meant he wasn't the real deal anyway.

'The emperor's changed.'

Won Seung gazed out the window, lost in thought.

A new emperor meant a changed world. The officials he trusted would shift, their power dynamics would realign, and everything from commerce to daily life would follow in waves.

And with every change came resistance—and blood.

Especially if an unexpected prince claimed the throne; the upheaval could remake heaven and earth.

But for ordinary folk to feel it in their bones would take years. Three years? The imperial authority wouldn't even be stable yet.

'Father must be having it tough.'

Seong Wang came to mind.

His memories were hazy, but the impression Seong Wang left was one of fear. They'd met only a few times, yet the man always seemed seething with rage beneath the surface—not like some street vendor flushing red and bellowing, but with a soft voice and gentle expression masking eyes sharp as blades.

'But Father's no pushover either.'

If Seong Wang and his father clashed, it'd be an even match, right?

Still, he couldn't help worrying.

The door opened, and Jong Bi entered.

"No. 50."

Won Seung kept staring out the window without responding, so Jong Bi approached and tapped his shoulder.

"No. 50, I've got something to say."

Won Seung slowly turned, looking up at her.

"Young master."

"What?"

"I told you to call me young master."

"That's when others are around. When it's just us, you call me senior—or Supervisor, if you prefer."

"How the hell did you pass disguise training? You have to believe the identity you're faking. Treat me like the real young master, or you'll slip up in a pinch."

Jong Bi had been taught the same. But becoming Won Seung's servant? That wasn't her choice—he'd roped her into it unilaterally, and she couldn't accept it.

"Should've stuck with 'senior' from the start, then."

"Why are you senior? You barely scraped by to first-grade assassin."

"And don't you forget you're still a trainee."

"Hmph. Real skill's what matters. I'm Ten Perfect Assassin material."

"More precisely, candidate. Not the real thing yet."

Jong Bi wagged a finger dismissively, as if that was nonsense.

Won Seung chuckled softly.

"Hmph. See... you're a bit slow on the uptake."

"What? You little shit?"

"You gonna live as a second-grade if you're second-grade, first-grade if first? Ranks are just prejudice. Live by others' labels, and you'll never escape second-grade."

"What're you on about? Finish ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this job, and I'm first-grade!"

"If others call you first-grade, are you? Screw what they think. I say you're Ten Perfect Assassin, so you are."

"You're nuts."

Won Seung sighed.

"You live by others' rules, but balk at the servant role I gave you? Why?"

Jong Bi pounded her chest with clenched fists. His words made her feel like an idiot.

"Fine, no more! We're out of Cheongsu Gate anyway. I'm going back to supervisor duty."

"No need for antidote, then?"

"Urgh..."

Won Seung chided gently.

"One more time: in this world, skill trumps all. So until I head back to the mountains, you're my servant. Even alone—young master."

"What's your proof you're better? I'm older, more experienced."

"Hmph. Won't work. Come on."

"Huh?"

"Let's spar. Loser calls winner young master?"

Won Seung needed an outlet for his rising frustration. A little bait, and she bit.

"Deal! No regrets! If you lose... antidote, now."

Jong Bi gritted her teeth.

They headed to a secluded spot in the back yard.

Moments later.

Jong Bi rubbed her swollen eyes like eggs, tears streaming. Unbelievable.

Won Seung had pummeled her one-sidedly. Even her hidden needles were useless.

'How? Is he really Ten Perfect Assassin level?'

Calling him young master? Her pride stung worse.

"Here, apply this. Eggs are for eating, not medicine."

Won Seung handed her ointment.

"Anyway, weren't you gonna tell me something?"

"Huh?"

Only then did Jong Bi recall why she'd come.

"We've got tails watching us."

"Figured. Things are tense here—Seongwangbu guy's around, so they'd send eyes just out of curiosity."

"You knew and..."

What if the watchers saw her get beat? Jong Bi's heart ached more than her wounds.

Ignoring her resentful glare, Won Seung pressed on.

"Know which one's Gwancheonbang's spy?"

"How should I?"

"Grab their eyes for me."

"Why?"

"Gonna explain?"

"No."

Hating headaches, Jong Bi left without fuss.

She needed a punching bag for the beating anyway. She climbed the roof, scanning the watchers.

Three in total. They seemed aware of each other, keeping distance while surveilling.

'Which one's Gwancheonbang?'

Impossible to tell by looks. She slipped out a side gate by the back wall.

Circling to an alley by Hwacheong Pavilion, she spotted one crouched at the entrance, guarding it.

Jong Bi pulled a blowpipe from her bosom. Paralyzing poison darts, good for ten zhang. She blew hard.

Pfft! Shick!

The dart hit the spy's nape. He reflexively scratched, then stiffened and toppled forward.

Hwacheong Pavilion's front bustled with passersby, but no one tended the fallen spy on the street.

After dropping all three, Jong Bi dragged them one by one to a dim alley behind the pavilion.

"Why sneak peeks, huh? See me earlier? Did ya? Didn't ya?"

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Jong Bi pummeled the mute, paralyzed spies.

Once sated, she fetched Won Seung.

"Got 'em all."

"Where?"

"Back alley."

Won Seung followed to the alley. Three bodies down, faces mashed to pulp.

"Said grab 'em, not turn their faces to mush. How we gonna talk now?"

"Peekers deserve a beating."

Won Seung checked: fully paralyzed.

"Even paralyzing poison? They can't talk."

"Wait a bit... then beat."

Jong Bi grabbed one by the collar and slapped his already swollen cheek.

Smack!

After four or five, blood burst, face reddening—the mouth paralysis wore off. Hers dissolved when capillaries ruptured.

"Urgh..."

The beaten spy groaned.

"See? Experience. You handle the rest... young master."

Jong Bi shrugged and went inside.

"Urgh... mercy..."

The spies groaned.

"Hmph. Efficient."

Won Seung gripped the jaw of the one whose mouth was free, shaking it, admiring the poison's effect.

The spy wore a sword at his side.

'Gwancheonbang uses sabers. This one's probably Cheongsu Gate.'

Won Seung tsked at the Cheongsu warrior with blood streaming from his mouth.

"My servant's a brute. Shouldn't peek. Cheongsu Gate?"

The spy nodded frantically.

"How to confirm?"

"Waist... nameplate..."

Won Seung rummaged his waistband: a plaque reading Cheongsu.

"Real deal. Next..."

Won Seung eyed the next, saber at hip—prime Gwancheonbang suspect.

The Gwancheonbang spy rolled his eyes wildly.

"What?"

No-beat plea, but Won Seung wanted more chat. He grabbed the collar and slapped.

Smack!

Beaten till mouth bled, paralysis lifted.

"Krrraa..."

The spy wailed oddly.

"You Gwancheonbang?"

The spy thought fast. He knew this guy had stayed at Cheongsu Gate awhile. If allies, he was enemy.

"N-no, sir."

Won Seung checked his waist: plaque reading Gwancheon.

"Liar."

Won Seung smacked the back of his head.

"You need more."

No stick around. He gripped the scabbard and swung down.

Thud! Thud!

"Aaaack!"

Loud screams. Won Seung pulled a needle, stabbed Cheondol acupoint.

Now only gurgles.

Cheongsu spy's eyes bulged. Recalled comrades praising Won Seung as divine.

'Handles needles like a pro!'

Chills down his spine. Won Seung whipped around.

"Want one too?"

Cheongsu spy shook his head wildly.

"Got it? Loose lips..." Slice!

Won Seung mimed throat-slitting. Eyes squeezed shut. Won Seung raised the scabbard again, bashing Gwancheonbang spy half a dozen more times.

Bruises bloomed; paralysis faded.

"Up."

Won Seung removed the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠needle; the spy staggered to his feet. Won Seung eyed the last.

"You?"

Desperate not to get hit, the spy rolled eyes to his waist. Won Seung checked: plaque reading Jongbu.

"Jongbu? Why watch me?"

Intrigued, Won Seung grabbed his collar and slapped.

Smack!

After five or six, mouth freed, he screamed.

"S-spare me!"