What a Joke
In front of the faculty building adjoining the main hall, a line of heavy trucks rolled in one after another.
"What the hell is all that?"
"Is someone moving in? Why so many trucks…"
Cadets passing by tilted their heads in confusion—just as the rear doors of the trucks swung open with a metallic clatter.
Sturdy laborers began carefully unloading cargo. Inside the reinforced crates, mid-to-high-end bottles of whiskey were packed tight.
"Holy crap, how much booze is that?"
"Whoa, aren't those all hundreds of thousands of won a bottle?"
"Which professor is this even for?"
"Who the hell drinks whiskey like that?"
"The contract professor?"
"…No way. What if he's actually a chaebol? Makes sense—guy's so loaded he parachuted straight into the academy."
The cadets were stunned. And from a distance, Kang Hyun—just returning from the dawn training session he'd put the kids through—was equally baffled.
He'd come back from morning drills, and this was the circus waiting for him?
And what was Lee Se-ah doing up front, baton in hand, barking orders at the laborers?
"Oh! Kang Hyun-nim! You're here!"
"Chick, what is all this?"
"What else? The water of life!"
Lee Se-ah pointed proudly into the trucks.
"I raised hell at the Bureau yesterday. Told them to budget properly and stop being so cheap!"
"You did?"
"Of course. Do you know how much national loss the country avoided thanks to what you handled?"
"So they settled the whole thing with this liquor bill?"
Someone else is offering half a company…
Kang Hyun looked surprisingly unimpressed, and Lee Se-ah broke into a cold sweat.
"Haha, of course there's more in the works! The professor's office is a bit cramped, so… as you drink through it, we'll keep restocking."
"Forget it. This much booze is plenty."
"Excuse me?"
"From now on, don't buy any more alcohol."
There was no need to spend national budget on whiskey anymore. Once Taejung Mulsan was back on its feet, he planned to transcribe a few secret manuals from his memory and sell them. That alone should keep him in liquor for life.
"Then is there anything else you want? Honestly, the compensation budget for you this time was allocated pretty generously."
"Use that money for the people who died unfairly in this whole mess. Take better care of their families."
Mercenaries made their living staring death in the face—but what had their leftover families done wrong?
The ringleader of this tragedy had been Park Dong-cheol. And Park Dong-cheol had been a core executive of Taejung Mulsan. With Kang Hyun about to receive half the company's shares and become a major shareholder, he couldn't simply look the other way while innocent people had bled for company affairs.
Start by taking clear responsibility for what needs owning.
Unaware of the full picture, Lee Se-ah's face lit with emotion.
"I thought you had neither blood nor tears… but you were thinking about that too."
"What's that supposed to mean? An insult or a compliment?"
"Respect!"
Lee Se-ah bolted off, whipped out her notebook, and scribbled furiously.
Mentioned compensation for victims' families before his own reward. Unexpectedly considerate.
When Kang Hyun stepped into his office—
"And what are you doing here?"
Yoon Hyun-jong was waiting for him.
"I heard from my father."
"You can skip the thank-yous. I've already gotten everything I was due, and now I've got all that liquor stacked outside driving me crazy."
"A thousand thanks, ten thousand—it still wouldn't be enough."
"Did you also hear that I've climbed into the same boat as your father?"
"I did."
"Doesn't that bother you? That could've been your share someday."
"It actually puts me at ease. My father said something—that even if I skip every regular academy class, I must never miss yours. I've never seen him place that much absolute faith in anyone before."
"You've got a silver tongue. Instead of running your mouth till it hurts, go outside and hold horse stance some more."
"Yes, sir! I'll keep that in mind!"
The door shut firmly. Watching Yoon Hyun-jong stride out with such vigor, Kang Hyun's mouth curved into a smile.
You old bastards—are you watching?
They had always told him, like a mantra, that humans were beasts who only cared for themselves—that they had to be ruled and broken in through fear and violence.
What a joke.
They only knew themselves, so of course they assumed everyone else was the same.
And even if humans truly only cared for themselves—so what?
Feed the hungry. Show those starving for recognition a higher place to climb. Make them walk because they want to. That was all it took… so why the hell had those old men beaten people half to death instead?
I still don't understand you. So watch closely. Here, I'll prove you wrong—clearly, thoroughly.
With a soft pour, Kang Hyun filled his glass with whiskey out of habit.
The way Baek Yu-yeon walked past the Martial Arts Medicine Hall, she looked exactly like a newborn calf.
"Ugh…"
Her trembling legs refused to obey. Every step twisted her face in agony.
Watching that pitiful sight through the research lab window, Professor Hwang Ye-rim's brow furrowed.
She's going to wreck her body at this rate.
She could tell at a glance it wasn't an injury. That was the classic gait of extreme muscle soreness—microtears in the lower-body fibers, lactic acid piled to the limit.
Why on earth is a martial arts medicine major doing such brutish lower-body training?
It puzzled her. Especially since this was a girl who had always kept her distance from physical conditioning.
Something's going on.
The old Baek Yu-yeon had practically lived in the research lab, burning with academic fire. Her questions had always been sharp enough that Hwang Ye-rim had already marked her as the next lead researcher. But these past few days, the girl's footsteps had gone completely silent.
Hwang Ye-rim rose from her seat, went downstairs, and planted herself in Baek Yu-yeon's path.
"Baek Yu-yeon."
"Oh—Professor! Hello!"
"Here. Take these."
She held out several thick medicinal patches.
"What are these?"
"Patches made with a spirit herb base. They should help with muscle recovery."
"Oh—thank you so much."
Baek Yu-yeon was moved. Her professor had been worried about her.
"But why the sudden lower-body training? Are you learning some kind of martial art?"
"It's not exactly that…"
"I'm not scolding you. Learning martial arts firsthand for the sake of martial arts medicine is excellent. But I hope you haven't forgotten that your essence is that of a physician."
"Yes. I'll keep that in mind."
"And the research lab selection exam prep—going well?"
"Of course!"
The answer came without a single hesitation, and the quiet disappointment in Hwang Ye-rim's heart melted away. Well—studying required stamina too.
"Then, Yu-yeon, since we've run into each other—want to take a look at this?"
Hwang Ye-rim held out the tablet she'd been carrying. On the screen was a complex diagram of the human meridian system.
"This is…"
Baek Yu-yeon froze. Nine major acupoints, clogged with an abnormal, frigid energy that was constricting the heart meridian.
"That's right. A meridian map I structured based on your younger sister's symptoms."
"Even with how busy you are, you kept working on this…"
"Of course I have to look into it. And this time I dug pretty deep. I've accurately measured the locations of the causal blood vessels."
"Really?"
"But the problem is, if you introduce yang energy, the vessels around the heart meridian can't withstand it."
"Ah."
"Honestly, I'm completely stuck on that part. I wanted to hear your thoughts as well."
Baek Yu-yeon was moved all over again. Grateful that her professor was looking after her sister's case—and grateful that she was being asked for her opinion. This was the top expert in the field in the entire country.
"Thank you, Professor. I'll study this material and analyze it myself. I'll give you my findings by next week."
"Good. Just don't overdo it."
That evening, in a quiet corner of the academy's old training grounds.
Having finished every official duty of the day, Cha Yu-sik remained alone, holding horse stance.
At dawn, under Kang Hyun's command, he swung the Three Talents Sword Style thousands of times. In the evening, he stayed behind of his own will to forge his lower body in horse stance. It had already become his new daily routine.
Lower. Hold. Thrust.
Simple principles—and the foundation of every martial art. Ever since Kang Hyun had thoroughly broken him, Cha Yu-sik had been quietly rebuilding from the basics.
Then his phone, set aside to one side, buzzed.
The sender was the Master of the Cheonrang Guild—and his father. S-rank hunter Cha Ha-rang.
"You're here."
"You called for me, Father."
Standing before the sharp-featured man Cha Ha-rang was his older brother, Cha Du-sik, as well.
"Both of you, sit."
Cha Ha-rang seated his sons at the office desk. On it lay a single worn ancient text and two thick volumes of annotated translations.
"I'll be direct. We recently secured a new secret manual from a dungeon we deployed into."
Both brothers' eyes went wide.
"After mobilizing every guild translator we have, the results confirmed it—this manual is a sword art vastly superior to the Wolf Fang Sword Style we currently use as our mainstay."
Cha Yu-sik swallowed hard.
Even the Wolf Fang Sword Style alone ranked among the three great sword arts of modern Korea. It was the art that had built Cheonrang. And something above it? Vastly above it?
"From now on, we learn this. If Wolf Fang is Cheonrang's martial art, then this one will become the exclusive secret art of the Cha family alone."
At those words, the eldest son Cha Du-sik's face hardened.
Outwardly, the succession of Cheonrang was solidifying around him. And yet his father had summoned the second son, Yu-sik, to the transmission of the art that would become the family's pillar?
Father still hasn't let go of Yu-sik.
Whatever his conduct at the academy, this was a declaration that sword skill alone would tip the scales.
"Take them."
"Thank you, Father."
Both sons picked up the annotated volumes with tense hands. And the moment Cha Yu-sik saw the copy of the original title on the cover—
His heart slammed against his ribs.
Jewang Geomhyeong
He didn't even know what kind of martial art it was—and yet just looking at the name sent a shiver through him.
"I will be watching to see who first grasps the true essence of the Emperor's Sword Form. You may go."
"We'll keep that in mind."
As they left the office and walked down the corridor—
"Yu-sik."
Cha Du-sik, who had made no effort to hide his discomfort the entire time, stopped his younger brother.
"Yes, hyung-nim."
"I hear after your suspension you've been taking some weird contract professor's class. Rumors are everywhere."
Cha Yu-sik's eyes narrowed. He'd figured he was being watched—but this was more blatant than expected.
"I don't care what you do at the academy."
Cha Du-sik tapped the annotated volume of the Emperor's Sword Form in his hand and delivered a cold warning.
"Just don't drag Cheonrang's name through the mud. The one who will inherit the family's secret arts, rolling around with low-grade trash? Is that really acceptable?"
The old Cha Yu-sik would have flared up at those words. He would have believed that never losing a war of nerves was the only answer.
But the Cha Yu-sik of now was simply calm.
Low-grade?
What a joke.
Gather every self-important professor at the academy and they still wouldn't measure up to Professor Kang Hyun alone.
If anything, Cha Yu-sik was grateful his brother didn't know that.
"I'll keep that in mind, hyung-nim."
He bowed his head and turned away. His gaze lingered on the cover of the Emperor's Sword Form.
It must be an extraordinary sword art. I want to learn it right now.
But once he returned to the academy, Professor Kang Hyun would inevitably make him practice nothing but the Three Talents Sword Style. He knew that well—he'd already had his soul thoroughly stripped for habitually using other techniques before.
What do I do? What if I end up learning it later than hyung?
Cha Yu-sik was only human, after all. Anxiety began to gnaw at him.