"Doing This on Purpose to Make Me Feel Like Shit?"
Yeo Min-seo's voice was laced with razor-sharp menace, making my body shrink back involuntarily.
"I'm out of strength."
But I couldn't afford to lose my composure. The moment I let her seize the psychological upper hand, all the odds I'd carefully stacked would crumble.
"Out of strength? Don't bullshit me while looking at your opponent. You really wanna die?"
"It's not like losing one sparring match is gonna kill me. You're awfully sensitive."
'One sparring match.''Sensitive.' With each word I spat out, Yeo Min-seo's eyebrows twisted grotesquely. It went beyond mere irritation—she reacted as if the words themselves were repulsive. Right on cue. I'd read her psyche spot-on.
"...Ah, yeah. It's not like losing kills you. And yeah, you'd be drained. Spot on."
Yeo Min-seo muttered to herself, staring at me with hollow eyes. Then she unleashed divine power, swiftly drawing a Blessing Circle and hurling it into Seong Yu-da's. The two circles tangled and warped, Seong Yu-da's distorting violently.
Boom!
The explosion ripped through. Seong Yu-da's Blessing Circle detonated completely. Students who'd been analyzing it mid-process collapsed in shock. Some screamed and fled; a few seemed lightly injured.
"Feeling better now?"
Yeo Min-seo approached, her body still aglow with blessing light. I had nothing—no blessing radiance, no Preservation power. But I couldn't just stand there. I swung my mace at her, avoiding her head. Smashing her skull outright might kill her.
Thud.
But when she casually caught and shattered the mace like it was nothing, I realized I wasn't in any position to hold back.
"You think you're holding back right now? What an idiot, you fucking asshole."
It wasn't mercy—my Preservation power had vanished, leaving me ridiculously weak. But she thought I was going easy on her. Blood vessels bulged thick in her whites, her rage boiling over.
Her fist rocketed toward my face.
Clang!
I ducked. It whistled past my head, slamming the cage with a perfect fist imprint. Terrifying power—no, a blessing. No time to marvel; the next attack came fast—a knee strike. Taking it head-on from my ducked position meant fractures at minimum. If it hit my eye, blindness or death. She was coming at me to kill.
──!
I couldn't dodge. No impact sound—just ringing in my ears and vision going black. My nose. Lucky, in a way. An eye shot would've burst it. But "lucky" didn't cut it; the pain was excruciating. Broken, twisted, or shattered—something like that. Too agonizing for a scream.
I couldn't take another hit. Clutching my gushing nose, I read her next move. But her attacks were too fast to track visually. She raised her elbow, smashing down on my nape.
That would've killed me.
Crack.
A sinister sound echoed across the Holy Training Ground. But it was Yeo Min-seo who crumpled, not me. Behind her unconscious form stood So Do-jin, legs braced wide. His eyes drooped with exhaustion, but his gaze on her was sharp.
"Recklessness is fine, but don't cross the line."
So Do-jin sheathed his sword, but the warning fell on deaf ears—she was out. He'd probably flat-struck her skull with the blade's flat side; too quick to see clearly. Was a teacher allowed to knock out a student like that? Not that it mattered—I wasn't the one hit.
"Yeo Min-seo disqualified. Do Seon-woo wins. Get down. Need treatment?"
His tone was flat, not concerned.
"I'm f—" Ow. "Ah."
Drip.
Blood poured from my nose, soaking the floor—not thin, but clotted chunks. Seeing it amplified the pain.
"'Fine'? Yeah, right. You'll ruin your nose like that."
"Sniff, ah."
"I'll do first aid. Go to the hospital first."
So Do-jin drew a healing circle with divine power. Wait, not a Blessing Circle—a proper Healing Circle. Its light enveloped my nose, but the pain lingered. Felt like my whole snout was ripped off.
"Did it work? Still hurts."
"...Healing's not my specialty. Shut up and go. This'll staunch it for now."
He handed me a towel, looking awkward. I pressed it to my nose and scanned the room. Jeong In-ah and Gu Jun-hyeok watched worriedly; So Do-jin calmed the panicked students. Yeo Min-seo stirred, clutching her head with a groan. Seong Yu-da's exploded circle hummed back to life like nothing happened. Even she couldn't fully destroy it—just a temporary glitch.
I strode out, towel jammed against my streaming nose. Victory felt hollow, despite the win.
*
I skipped the hospital, heading straight to the Worship Hall. Breathing was tough the whole way; blood clots kept sliding down my throat. Nauseating.
[Who you gonna blame? You brought this on yourself.]
"Ugh. Enough."
[Why such recklessness?]
"Wasn't reckless, ah—hurts, so shut up."
Pain made talking hell. Legba called it reckless, but it wasn't blind. I'd read her eyes: obsessed with "proving" herself—theories, skills, hypotheses. Forfeiting denied her that proof. Her win-lust meant she'd reject any tainted victory. Didn't expect her to smash Seong Yu-da's circle and charge, though. But it worked out—I won by her disqualification.
Anyway, victory.
[All a gamble. Start to finish.]
Legba sounded pissed. No reply—talking hurt too much. I nodded instead.
[And no need to bleed like that over one spar.]
"...".
True, but half-true. Meaningful to me: winning an unwinnable fight. And unwinnable fights demand sacrifice. This time, my nose. Low Restoration Spell could fix it. Hurt like hell, but manageable.
"Agh."
Pain surged; I pressed the towel harder. Already soaked red. Passersby stared; I ducked my head.
Worship Hall at last. Uncle was out; Kang Ji-a, bleary-eyed like she'd just woken, brewed coffee.
"Early today—wait, your nose?"
"Sparring injury from school."
"Seems you come back hurt every day."
"Yeah. Getting injured a lot lately."
I laughed it off and hit the bathroom. Tossed the bloody towel, checked the mirror. Nose was wrecked. Low Restoration Spell fixed it clean—wound gone, pain lingered. Washed off the gore.
"Ugly as ever?"
Seemed crooked now.
[That's how you've always looked.]
"For real? Shocking."
Stunned by my own face anew, I emerged. Kang Ji-a sipped coffee, eyeing me worriedly.
"Does it hurt?"
"A bit, but not bad."
Bearable pain. I was numb to it anyway.
I rummaged the cabinet past her. Should be here somewhere...
"Where's that? Father's effects and the ring."
"Probably storage... no, in the cult leader's desk drawer."
Kang Ji-a pondered, eyes darting. I turned to her mid-stride.
"Kang Ji-a... hmm."
Still no good nickname. She set her cup down, hands clasped demurely.
"As I said, call me casually. Even 'hey you' is fine."
"Too stiff. 'Sis'?"
"Whatever's comfortable for you, Cult Leader."
"Okay, sis it is. Anyway—no entering my room for the next hour."
"May I ask wh—ah."
She trailed off, realizing. Eyes trembled in panic; cheeks faintly flushed. Her face showed clearly when flustered or scared.
"Don't mind me, do what you need. Yes. I won't enter."
"Huh? I wasn't gonna anyway... got it. But seriously, don't come in."
I drilled it in and entered. Her expression soured a bit, but priorities.
Dug the drawer: father's effects box and ring. Laid them out, invoked the spell. Low Recreation, Ritual Candle. Purple mist—spell sigil—wafted from the recreated flame.
Set it down, extinguished. In deep dark, only purple light and mist glowed vivid.
"Hoo."
Steady breath. Not my first, but still shaky—not routine. Knelt before it, pricked finger with needle for blood.
"Ow."
Dripped it on. Flame darkened to thick purple on contact. Staring into the flicker, I spoke.
"Gede of death, life, and rebirth, sovereign of all Loa, Baron Samedi—I, leader of the Voodoo Cult, beseech you."
Invocation Ritual. Only done once besides my first Loa acceptance. Normally unnecessary post-initial—Loa dwell within, summonable sans ritual. But Baron Samedi was different: a "wandering Loa," unbound to my body.
To meet him: wait for voluntary possession or force via invocation.
[Doubt that prick'll answer.]
Legba grumbled suspiciously. Baron Samedi was prickly beyond other Loa. Invocation forced it, but compliance? Iffy. "Force" didn't apply to him.
Purple mist and light pierced dark. Silence flowed; eyes shut, I waited.
"...".
Clack, clack, clack.
Shoes echoed joyfully from shadows. Eyes stayed shut, tracking the approach. Presence loomed close. His gaze bored into me, vivid sans sight. Chills crawled my spine.
Time blurred—instants or ages. Then:
"I have an urgent plea."