Chapter 83
Chapter 83
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 83
Chapter Title: Narrative for the Villain (4)
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Jo Il-heon's sharp remark made Choi Jang-hwan's hand freeze mid-slice while he was filleting the ribs. Damn right, how the hell did that little punk figure it out? Choi Jang-hwan's eyes seemed to say.
In a rural backwater full of out-of-the-way spots, who knows what kids get up to these days.
Take Choi Jang-hwan himself—he'd sweet-talked Kim Sun-bok into it ages ago...
Come to think of it, I locked eyes with my wife back when we were both in our twenties.
He'd gone up the mountain with a shoulder pole to gather greens, only for her to show up foraging, and they'd gotten hot and heavy. But that was ancient history. In this day and age, with oxcarts gone and buses and trucks rumbling around, kids with proper schooling weren't gonna pull that kind of stunt!
Choi Jang-hwan blinked, at a loss for words.
And just like that, a single line from the wounded teenage girl deepened the misunderstanding.
Ahem! Jo Il-heon cleared his throat loudly to bail his buddy out of the awkward spot.
"Well, y'see—that kid's got light balls, so he's naturally gonna be fleet on his feet."
"Quit your yappin'. Even so, he wouldn't go that far, would he? The boy's got some sense!"
Choi Jang-hwan bellowed like he was pissed off at someone else.
Once he'd snapped out of it, Choi Jang-hwan went back to scraping away at the ribs.
This was a kid he treated like his own son, precious enough not to spare the forbidden fruit for—but if there was a serious flaw in his manhood, he'd stick to his guns. I'll give you anything else, but not my daughter! With that resolve, Choi Jang-hwan's knife work grew even fiercer.
Unaware or not of Choi Jang-hwan's inner turmoil, Jo Il-heon clicked his tongue in admiration.
"Hot damn, our village headman's knife skills deserve some respect. Even if he'd been a back-alley butcher, he'd have been top-notch."
The dagger of Moon Seok-il, renowned as a master of knife work, sliced through empty air.
Damn it! What the hell am I doing here?
Pssht—!
The sound cutting the air was sharp enough, but a fighting style that couldn't slice flesh was just flailing. He'd been told he had no equal in the world with just a blade. He'd taken a Labor Party official's head with a single dagger and made it back alive. Yet Moon Seok-il's flawless dagger techniques couldn't even graze Jin-hyuk's hair.
How long had he been swinging that knife...?
It felt like he'd blacked out for a moment—he couldn't even recall what had happened.
When Moon Seok-il came to, his dagger lay on the ground, and the hand that had gripped it was crushed in Jin-hyuk's fist, fingers broken.
Crack—!
He strained to roll his eyes toward his opponent's face—only for stars to explode in his vision.
He heard something about aggravated punishment. Old age this, that...
His mouth must've split open; the taste of blood flooded strong.
"Bad hand."
Thwack—! The punk's fist slammed into Moon Seok-il's face again.
Aggravated punishment echoed once more. Something about a dangerous item.
Pain was familiar—he prided himself on being unbreakable. But two punches were enough to shatter that illusion.
"Grk—."
An unintended groan escaped his lips, forcing him to admit it.
The pain was too much.
His cheek and brow swelled fast, blocking one eye. His skull rattled, bile rising from his empty stomach.
The world is wide, they say.
To think he'd run into a monster like this.
That was when Jin-hyuk growled a warning.
"If you don't answer truthfully, I'll have to shut you all up for good."
Bitter words. Jin-hyuk gritted his teeth. It didn't suit him, wasn't his style—but it was necessary.
Moon Seok-il recalled the odd vibe from before things went south.
Sure enough—not the punk's way of talking.
We might all really die here.
Jin-hyuk paused.
He'd shown overwhelming dominance by dropping them in one hit—his first play at recruitment. Unsure how to handle them next, he fell back on Hong Gi-jun's advice: instill fear.
To Moon Seok-il, that breather looked like a stay of execution.
"Who sent you?"
"I don't know who. I swear."
Squeeze—. Jin-hyuk tightened his grip, and the man's hand screamed.
"Grrraa—."
Jin-hyuk was impressed deep down.
A pro through and through—fingers snapped backward, yet no scream, just a groan. His instincts and experience screamed these guys were dangerous. He'd done anti-torture training in the military back in the day. But theirs was a whole other level of pain endurance, beyond mere mental fortitude.
The instructor had said it: old-timers had superior grit and combat prowess. He'd already felt their elite training in the earlier brawl—lucky he'd subdued them.
"I really don't know. We're just hired guns for cash. They implied we'd die if we failed, but we had no real intent to harm."
He could've resisted out of pride, but spilling details like this? Bizarre. Jin-hyuk eyed the fallen men and the one in his grasp.
Active-duty caliber, believable.
Two wore what looked like wedding bands. Clear implication: rough types don't tote marriage jewelry—they were just here to grab him, lending credence to their words.
Still, couldn't just forgive them outright.
"Guys who pull dirty jobs without even knowing the boss? No excuse if they die."
As Jin-hyuk stepped forward, Moon Seok-il's eyes tracked his feet. Then the downed comrades: Jeong Sang-tae still sprawled with dilated pupils, Kim In-rang toppled, Kang Hyeon-chang clutching his side on his knees, head bowed.
Jin-hyuk approached Kang Hyeon-chang, glaring at Moon Seok-il.
Moon Seok-il's eyes widened. He's really gonna kill him.
No direct hit to the eyes, but that cheekbone punch must've rattled his brain. Are my eyes fucked?
What the hell is that...?
Weird shit kept happening in this backwoods town.
A house-sized black shadow rippled above the monster's head, like a tattered rag hovering in the air. And not just that—the whole world darkened. In the gloom, an even darker silhouette glared down, voids where eyes should be.
Empty sockets swept the world with mythic dread, rendering it void.
He'd heard tales like this.
From a buddy who'd stepped on a mine in the DMZ.
—"Thought I was a goner. World went black, Grim Reaper floatin' right there. But it was talkin' in my head."
His head shook... Hit too hard, dyin' now. Moon Seok-il stared at the silhouette.
No emotion from it.
Then the ink-black shadow spoke, alongside the inhuman young monster.
"If you don't talk, I can't let you go easy."
The punk's words hit his ears; the shadow's voice echoed in his mind with a faint delay. He'd expected eerie, but it was surprisingly clear and resonant.
Like a distant brook in the dark, leaves rustling—something whispered.
"Better talk if you wanna live."
Jin-hyuk placed a hand on Kang Hyeon-chang's neck.
He looked critical—checking his pulse. But to Moon Seok-il, it looked like murder. His good eye bulged saucer-wide.
He yelled at the Reaper, not Jin-hyuk.
"Spare him, please! His wife's about to give birth!"
First time in his life Moon Seok-il had begged.
No matter how tough, humans shrink before the supernatural.
Unknowingly, he was kowtowing to the Reaper.
Jin-hyuk scowled fiercely, grinding his teeth with an audible clack. Oscar-worthy acting, even to himself.
"I-it was me. Punish just me—spare the others..."
Moon Seok-il recalled the village elder's words.
Beg for life unconditionally. Begging means survival.
So he begged. For the innocents at least.
"Hah—."
Jin-hyuk sighed in disbelief. Not gangsters, yet pulling the "boss" card to appeal to mercy. Suddenly polite, trailing off weirdly—annoying.
Head injury? But this was the reaction he'd hoped for.
Time to negotiate.
But where's he looking?
Moon Seok-il's gaze wandered hazily upward, past Jin-hyuk—like half-mad.
Jin-hyuk glanced around, déjà vu hitting. Choi Mi-kyeong's grandma, Cheon Gil-ryong—they'd stared like this.
Moon Seok-il's dazed eyes blinked twice.
Not the Reaper?
Jin-hyuk looked around; the silhouette mirrored perfectly.
Even scratching the back of his head matched.
Is my head messed up?
Fear-induced hallucination? Pathetic tears welled.
Once top dog by consensus, now just frail human. A silent lament.
"Hey, mister. If I let you go, you'll just come back."
"Never! We won't come near! I'll make sure no one else does either..."
Glimpsing a chance, Moon Seok-il shouted desperately.
Jin-hyuk narrowed his eyes.
Hard to buy from this guy.
He knelt before the prone Moon Seok-il and asked.
"Make sure no one else does?"
"Some measures to help..."
Jin-hyuk brushed dust off Moon Seok-il's shoulder. Satisfaction at steering the talk his way.
No attack intent shown—but Moon Seok-il flinched. Admitting defeat again.
They could help, but first: the client.
"Answer my first question. If it's hard to explain, think of it as an op report—chronological, step by step."
Shaking off the voice in his head, Moon Seok-il spilled like he'd been waiting, eyes fixed on the silhouette.
"It was spring. An anonymous woman called me to the Baekje Hotel with the job. Big upfront cash, info on Teacher Son Gwang-yeon—bring him in."
Suspicious gig, but par for the course. Fixers get shady requests; legit ones go to cops.
He'd taken it for his broke brothers' sake, but target recon was mandatory.
Put comrades on associates, even tapped a agency contact—no red flags. Clients often provide iffy intel, but this was solid, minor discrepancies aside.
Kim In-rang tailing Hong Gi-jun confirmed address with little error via vacation stakeout.
Thus, easy summer locate on Son Gwang-yeon's place.
"—Spotted suspicious guys lying in wait."
On recon, radio chatter. Thought spies, but phonetics screamed ROK military. Couldn't ID, but surveilling the area. Eavesdropped: they'd clear out for Chuseok.
Security tight—no target deets, ended up with egg on face.
So that's how it went down.
Jin-hyuk nodded calmly.
Finally, a thread through the inexplicable events.