A First-Class Supporting Role (2)

"Whew... hah..."

Wiping the sweat from her jaw, Baek Seo-ha flexed her numb fingers.

Though she'd been at it for hours already, her movements remained as crisp as they'd been at the start. No — faster and more refined than before. Her sword rippled like mist, then traced swift arcs through the empty air.

Shff! Swish!

Only after swinging the sword for a long while longer did she lean back against the wall and catch her breath. Her eyes, tinged with a faint fatigue, swept across the training hall.

Countless sword scars pockmarked the floor and walls.

"This isn't enough..."

The finals were almost upon her. The last battle to decide who would claim the seat of Sect Leader. She could not lose there. Not ever.

She drew her sword and took her stance in the training hall once more.

"Haa..."

The truth was, that sensation from before still hadn't entirely faded. The pain of a cold, sharp blade punching through her abdomen. She'd healed quickly enough that not even a scar remained — a perfect recovery. And yet...

"Ngh..."

Even now, just recalling that moment made one side of her chest tremble. In the moonlight streaming through the window, the blade of the True Dragon Sword gave off a soft glow.

I swore, when I received this sword, that I would never lose until I became Sect Leader.

What she'd felt as she bled out and lost consciousness could be summed up in a single word. Defeat.

"......"

She'd been afraid. Afraid that the finals would bring the same experience all over again. Afraid that, failing to become Sect Leader, she'd be cast aside by Lee Tae-hyun. Afraid that her whole life would be denied, root and branch.

"...No. That's not it."

Seo-ha forced herself to shake her head. "Now is the time to focus."

She couldn't be chewing over ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠defeat before the match had even begun. Closing her eyes, she drew her concentration up to its peak. Image training. She set a phantom opponent before her eyes.

Fujiwara Manabu.

She'd replayed the match footage over and over, drilling his combat style into memory. When she opened her eyes, the Manabu of her imagination stood there, wearing that insufferable smirk.

Ring!

Seo-ha drew her sword and charged.

His specialty is iaido — the instant draw. But he didn't recklessly spam his draw from the opening seconds. As she swung, the imagined Manabu read her movements and fought defensively, biding his time.

Several minutes of probing exchanges passed.

"......!"

Manabu eased back a step and slid his blade into its sheath. If she waited to react to the draw itself, it would already be too late.

To counter the draw, I have to move— at that slight retreat just before the blade seats itself. That was the tell. That was when she had to move.

Thud!

Seo-ha dropped low, both feet planted, and the instant-draw blade whisked harmlessly over her head.

"Now...!"

Seizing the moment of panic as his draw went wide, she lunged forward like a sprinter and drove her sword home. Thunk!

At her victory, the imagined Manabu crumbled into dust and scattered.

"Hoo-ah."

One hundred bouts, one hundred wins. Obviously it was a far cry from a real fight, but at the very least, she'd worked out a countermeasure against Manabu's secret art — the instant draw.

"And even so, it's still not enough."

She drank from the water she'd set aside and prepared for the next drill. She was closing her eyes to summon Manabu again when—

'......'

Somehow, someone else came to mind instead. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠She lifted her eyelids, and there, where Manabu had stood only moments ago, a different man waited.

Done stretching, Seo-ha?

Somehow, in her imagination, he even walked over and started talking. A man with a fierce face and an easy, careless gait. The Tae-hyun in her mind spun his spear lightly and grinned with easy confidence.

No going easy on you this time.

"Yeah. That's exactly what I want."

It was only image training — but what would happen if she ever faced Tae-hyun for real, not in a spar or a practice bout, but with everything on the line? Seo-ha swallowed dryly and gripped her sword.

Well then, here I come.

Tae-hyun moved — and thump! Her thigh had already been run through.

"Ngh?!"

This is a real fight, Seo-ha.

His tone had lost a little of its lightness. Without pause, Tae-hyun came swinging his spear again.

"He's fast...!"

Speed and power that dwarfed their sparring sessions entirely. She couldn't even manage a clean parry and deflect of every attack, let alone a counter.

Clang!

When she barely managed to bend his spear's trajectory aside and open a gap—

Oh?

—he read her in turn within a breath and simply rained his spear down on her instead. Pushed back again and again, something in her pride finally snapped.

"Come on, just let me hit you once~!"

But the spear only grew more ferocious, as if he had no intention whatsoever of indulging her.

You've still got a long way to go, my disciple.

The training ended without her landing so much as a single hit.

"...Pfft!"

A laugh burst out of her. "You're strong, Lee Tae-hyun."

That Tae-hyun had been the version she'd constructed herself, from watching him at her side. His spear was always ruthless, always desperate — a spear style honed without regard for means or method, for the sole purpose of growing stronger.

It's fascinating.

A man born the eldest son of Shinseong, a colossal conglomerate, who could have had anything he wanted from childhood. How on earth had someone like that come to wield a spear like that?

That killing intent — it could chill even me.

At first, her feelings toward him had been closer to revulsion. But lately, she'd realized she was always watching his back.

...Even if she did know things with Tower Master Ji Yeon-ha were a bit... complicated.

"You said that to get stronger, you have to struggle like your life depends on it, right?"

Seo-ha lifted her head. "Then I'll struggle. For my own sake. And for yours."

It was a night when the True Dragon Sword felt heavier than ever.

WHAAAAAA—!

A roar beyond any comparison to the earlier rounds made my ears ring.

"Guess that's what finals do — this is on a completely different level from everything so far."

Shin Min-woo said that, his knees rattling like a jackhammer. I'd thought he'd shaken off all his nerves, but with the finals here, he'd apparently reset right back to square one.

"Seo-ha, you should— OW! Hey, why'd you hit me?!"

"Just because."

Seo-ha had drifted over and, without warning, socked him in the ribs. Well, at least she seemed to be in decent condition. That was a relief.

This is effectively the deciding match for Sect Leader, after all.

You could argue that everything she'd run through until now had been for this one fight.

At the announcer's words, I turned my eyes toward the arena floor. Escorted by a contingent of guards, something square and shrouded in cloth was being carried out.

Flap!

A man drew back the cloth, revealing what lay within the square glass case.

"That's...!"

A brilliant azure sheen, adorned with elegant embroidery. Four bell-shaped charms, each no bigger than half a fist, were strung together on a single cord, gleaming in display. It looked less like an item and more like a work of art.

"With that, I could save my sister..."

Shin Min-woo's eyes went quiet and bright. I wasn't the fanatic he was, but I had my own reason for needing the Cheongdong Bell, no less absolute.

Not this time either. It's not becoming Japan's national treasure.

Beyond the glass case, I could see Manabu and Seong Yong-ho. That same unruffled expression, still radiating ease.

I'm looking forward to this.

How long would they manage to keep up that composure? Picturing Seong Yong-ho's face being smashed out of shape put a grin on mine all by itself.

Since time immemorial, the finals of a Guild War had always featured the same event.

The Annihilation Match.

The rules were simplicity itself. Each side sends out one fighter at a time to duel one-on-one in the central arena. The victor may keep fighting or yield the turn to a teammate. Whichever side loses three fighters first is defeated.

Maybe because of the finals' special nature, the organizers had gone with the simplest, most universally understandable format.

At those words, two pairs of eyes swung toward me.

"So, how do we do this?"

"Should I go first?!"

"Calm those trembling hands down first, then volunteer."

It was obvious how the other side would order their lineup anyway. Manabu would go dead last — of course he would. Knowing that much was enough.

"I'll go first."

"You...?"

"Hyung? Hmm... wouldn't it be better to save you for later? You're our strongest asset."

"Which is exactly why I'm going out first."

Because the protagonist of this final wasn't me. And if I was going to play the first-class supporting role—

then I'd better set the stage properly.

The moment I stepped onto the arena floor, a man came walking out from the opposing side. Someone I'd never seen ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in the Sword Sect before.

"They call me Park Yeong-jun."

The name was new to me too. Not a disciple of the sect, then — had they brought in a hunter who'd once been one?

"Lee Tae-hyun."

"An honor, truly, to face the famous Lee Tae-hyun."

The words dripped with oil, but the way his eyes and manner regarded me was anything but gracious. "I do hope you live up to the rumors."

In plain terms: you're not actually as good as they say, are you?

So basically, he was being sarcastic. And this is why hunters— not all of them, but a certain breed had exactly this kind of inflated pride. Maybe it came with the peculiar nature of the profession itself, but they trusted their own strength far too much.

"Sure. Well... I don't know what rumors you've heard, but it'll probably be over before we get anywhere near that point."

"What did you say?"

I'd only returned his attitude in roughly equal measure, and look how fast his face soured.

Seriously, hunters.

"...Tch!"

Park Yeong-jun, cut off mid-taunt, shot a sharp glare at me. I genuinely felt the urge to deliver some nonverbal expression right back—

But there are too many cameras.

My father was watching. So was Si-hyun. And for all I knew, my mother or Chae-rin might be watching too. Restraint it was.

Almost before the words left the announcer's mouth, Park Yeong-jun's sword came flying at me.

"HYAAAAP!"

He'd bellowed like that, so I'd hoped for something impressive.

"It's wide open. Completely."

It was hard to believe he'd come from the Sword Sect at all. A straight-line attack that would barely work in a low-grade gate. I could picture his entire hunter career in one glance.

Whoom!

I slipped lightly inside the blade's arc, evading the strike. "Wha—?!"

The disbelief was written all over his face: why would you step into my sword instead of backing off?!

Tsk, tsk.

Clicking my tongue inwardly, I drove my fist straight into his jaw. "Gahk!"

And sure enough, the blow to his chin sent his sword tumbling from his hand.

"Apologize to the fighters from the other teams who got eliminated in your place."

I kicked the dropped sword out of the arena. "M-my sword!"

"What are you doing? Pick up your fists."

Didn't they teach you how to fight with your fists in the Sword Sect too?

"R-right! Of course!"

He raised his fists clumsily and settled into some half-baked stance — something that was neither boxing, nor karate, nor taekwondo...

"...Ha!"

Now it finally made sense. "Hey. You're not actually Sword Sect, are you?"

"Wh-what kind of nonsense—!"

"Whatever."

What did any of that matter right now? For the moment, all I needed was—

to sweep the stage clean, like a good supporting act should.

Stealthy and rapid, I closed in at his flank and cracked him across the head with my spear shaft. "Gwok!"

His stance crumbled, and he pitched forward, face-first. The referee hurried over to check on him.

"Combat incapable! The winner — Lee Tae-hyun!"

WHAAAAAA!

As the cheers crashed over the arena like a tidal wave, I flashed a wide grin at Seong Yong-ho and said:

"Next."