Illusion and Reality (2)
It had been a week since I'd tested my skill in the empty lot, and not once in those seven days had South Korea known a moment of peace.
NetTube was buzzing around the clock about the Azure Dragon that had appeared over the shantytown, and broadcast vans still clung to every corner of the neighborhood, unwilling to give up hope for one more scoop.
I kept glancing out the window, half-convinced hunters might be looking for me—then realized what a pointless exercise that was and fired up the freshest trending wreck-of-a-video NetTube had just uploaded.
"Graaagh—! I'm sorry, okay?! It was all my fault!!"
Back when I had no idea that my EX label was hiding a trash-tier skill, I'd fully planned to strut through the Association's front gates and declare, 'Yes, the Azure Dragon belongs to me!'
But then the empty lot had slapped me across the face with the unbelievable truth of my skill, and the shocking plot twist that followed—there's no way my EX-rank skill is trash, no way in hell! (Wait, it wasn't trash?!) —had buried all those dreams.
I'd holed up in my house instead, agonizing. Had I just been using it wrong? Was there some hidden way to activate it? I even paid for a premium AI subscription to run experiment after experiment, and the conclusion came back loud and clear.
"Yep. This is trash-tier, alright."
I stretched out my hand and conjured a fireball in an instant. A proper mage class needed a good three seconds to cast one without an incantation. Me? It took less than one.
If anyone had witnessed this, I'd have been flagged as every guild's number-one recruitment target. America would covet me. China would fear me. I'd be a world-power-tier hunter…
KWAAANG—!!
The fireball that streaked toward the refrigerator obliterated it with a thunderous roar, burning it to nothing as shards of plastic scattered in every direction.
A jagged shard of shattered plastic came flying straight at my face.
Shwoooosh—.
It passed clean through me and buried itself in the wall behind.
"Honestly, what's the difference between this and CG…"
The moment I thought dismiss illusion, the refrigerator that had been burning and exploding seconds ago snapped back to its original, unblemished state.
"Status window."
"One lousy skill, and I hated it from the very start."
The average awakened person received at least two skills for their class, sometimes as many as five. With only one to my name, my class being trash-tier was a foregone conclusion.
"I should have realized it the second I saw the screen."
But no—the unprecedented EX rank had made my eyes roll back into my skull.
I tapped the skill on the semi-transparent, game-interface-like status window floating in the air.
Illusion: EX
Manifests the imagined into reality.
How was I supposed to get a hunter license carrying a skill like this? People's expectations were at an all-time high right now. The whole country was in an uproar over the possible arrival of a new S-rank hunter in Korea—and I was supposed to be the one to throw cold water all over it?
"Yeah, no. I'm going dark."
Hiding away and occasionally summoning a dragon to watch people lose their minds was a far better deal. Everyone would spin wild theories—an insanely OP awakened being exists in Korea!—on their own.
That's basically a hidden master. How cool is that?
It is absolutely not because I'm terrified of getting caught running a one-man delusion festival calling myself the greatest of all time, only for my trash-tier skill to be exposed. Nope. Not that at all.
Not. At. All.
"Sigh… it's just my lot in life."
If my body hadn't changed, I'd be out pounding the pavement job hunting, but no one in their right mind was hiring a child this size. Hmm, then again—cute face, right? Maybe child modeling? I'd think about it once the money ran out.
"Uuugh… time to blow off some steam."
I hopped onto the Hunter Gallery and quickly typed up a shitpost calibrated to restore my self-esteem. Raking non-awakened folks over the coals is the most fun you can have, teehee.
My fingers, flying busily across the keyboard, froze dead the instant I saw that familiar name. One of the only users who'd played the what-if daydream game with me since way back. The one who'd awakened before me and left me green with envy.
"Hmm. Still, meeting in person is a bit…"
How do I put this. Meeting an online friend face-to-face is kind of a daunting challenge for a shut-in like me? And SorghumStalk was a B-rank hunter, officially certified by the Hunter Association. If we met and they started asking all sorts of questions, that'd be a huge headache.
"Huh? Excuse me?"
Who are you calling a delusional liar? I may look like this, but my status window literally displays an EX rank. Sure, the skill itself is trash-tier, but if I ever got a hunter license issued, I'd be registered as EX-rank, thank you very much.
Never mind the minor flaw that the Association's license exams evaluate based on status-window rank. Until I showed someone my skill in person, I was EX-rank.
Heh-heh.Heh-heh. A mere B-rank dares!
Awakened before me, made a bit of money, and now suddenly thinks they're God's gift to the sky, huh? There is an invisible wall between us, Mr. SorghumStalk!
"Damn it… I don't have a license."
Of all the moments to bring up license verification. I'd been dodging and weaving around every "show proof" comment until now. But if I ran away here, I might get branded a troll and blocked for good.
"Nnnngh— think, think, THINK!"
There had to be exactly one play to turn this situation around! I needed to convince them I was a real hunter without raising a shred of suspicion.
And then—a NetTube video zinged through my head like a lightning bolt. The single masterstroke that could break through this impasse had arrived.
NOOOOO!! It's over. That wasn't a masterstroke, that was a self-destruct move! A cornered climber with nowhere left to retreat. If I bailed even now, I'd have zero excuse when the block hammer came down.
For a dopamine-pickled gallery rat like me, getting blocked meant the world collapsing on the spot. And so, with hands trembling in rage—no, in fear—I typed out my reply.
"WAAAAAAH!"
My world ended today. Well—arguably a week ago.
Ding—.
A message from SorghumStalk appeared at the top of my phone. Uuuugh… there's no ending where this turns out to be a joke, is there. You're actually sending this?! Just how little does SorghumStalk fear me?!
Yes sir. I'll be there, sir. Like I'd survive saying no. Look at him, oozing confidence just because he's B-rank. If I had a half-decent skill, he wouldn't even be a mouthful!
"Boohoo… oh heavens, why."
Why did You grant me an EX-rank skill, only to name it Illusion? Why did You bestow upon me a mega-trash skill with literally zero damage? Today, of all days, I find myself consumed by resentment.
Anyway, that's not the point right now. Why not? Because I have nothing to wear tomorrow. What, can't I just go in my hoodie? You want me to look like a pervert? One experience of wind whistling up through the leg holes is quite enough for a lifetime, thanks.
I fired up the beat-up secondhand laptop I'd bought to shop for clothes online. Originally, I'd purchased it to grind gold and make a living—but I quit after exactly one day.
Turns out that's not something a human being is built for? Sitting there ten hours a day staring at the same screen grinding mobs nets you less than minimum wage. That's not a job, that's cyber torture.
The laptop whirred to life, and I dragged the stuttering, laggy cursor over to open a browser. The green homepage loaded, and the front-page news was, as ever, wall-to-wall Azure Dragon.
"Gotta admit, it does look sick."
No way my imagination was actually that vivid. Maybe the skill auto-corrects and polishes whatever I vaguely picture? Come to think of it, the fireball did look pretty damn impressive, appearance-wise.
"And yet it does what, exactly? All style, no substance."
Steering my eyes away from the dragon photos I was sick of looking at, I typed into the search bar.
"Kids' clothes… toddler sizes."
I couldn't get precise measurements for this new body, but given that I didn't even register in the bathroom mirror, I figured I was around 130 centimeters tall, give or take.
I opened a new tab and searched for height charts at that estimate. The screen filled with a cascade of AI-generated info about kids' heights.
"What? Third grade in elementary school? And thirty kilos?"
That's less than half my old body weight! I knew I was a total pipsqueak now, but this much? Yeah. Yep. We're just going to pretend I didn't see that.
Anyway, armed with my new data, I loaded up a shopping cart with outfits for tomorrow and paid through the nose for express overnight shipping. It should arrive by morning. If not, hoodie it was.
If I learned one thing today, though, it's this: kids' clothes cost more than adult clothes? Especially the microscopic scraps of fabric passing for underwear—what on earth justifies that price tag. I hit the back button twice before I could finish checking out.
"Why do I need to know any of this when I don't even have a kid…"
So I bought bread instead. Sadness, meet carbs.
BANG BANG BANG—!!
"Delivery!"
I was jolted awake at the crack of dawn by the deeply unpleasant sound of someone hammering on my metal door. Normally they just leave the box and go—what is this guy's deal today?
"Cominggg… I'm coming."
Half-asleep, eyelids barely a quarter of the way open, I shuffled to the front door and opened it.
"Delivery… oh, are your parents not home?"
What is this, pounding on the gate at the crack of dawn? Waking up someone in the middle of a beautiful sleep. I reached out to take the package—and caught sight of the stark white wrist extending from my own sleeve.
Oh right. I awakened.
Even a full week into living in this body, I still forget. I mean, honestly, I spent twenty-six years in a man's body. Of course a week isn't enough to adjust—that'd be the weird part.
"Um… my parents are at work. Just give it to me, please."
"Is that so? Then could you sign right here for me?"
"Neee-yes sir."
Swish, swish went the stylus across my phone screen with the pen he handed over. Hmm, is it because my body changed, or has my handwriting gone all round and cute? It suits me, somehow. Perfectly, even.
Once the signature was done, the delivery man set the box down at my feet and left.
"Nice. Express shipping is expensive, but worth every won."
I ordered this late last night, and look—it's here by morning. Money really can buy anything in South Korea. What's that? Something you can't buy? Then might I suggest rechecking whether your wallet is simply too light?
I carefully unboxed the delivery, and out came the little girl's matching outfit set I'd seen on the children's clothing site yesterday. It had just been sitting right at the top of the homepage, purchasable in one click, so I'd bought it without a second thought.
"Hmm. I should probably put on underwear first, right?"
I mean, I'm not some pervert who goes commando. It's my own house, so I just lounge around—doing that outside would be a problem, obviously.
"Alright. Let's try it on."
If it doesn't fit, I'm returning it, after all. I peeled off the hoodie I'd been wearing and picked up the outfit from the floor.
.
.
.
"Hmm. I really am cute, I'll give me that."
Maybe when the money runs out, this child-modeling thing won't be such a bad idea after all?