The Uninvited Guest (4)

A single, enormous misconception had spread through the world.

People were under the illusion that each nation's branch ran the Arena League itself and controlled every match. In truth, a Nova Arena branch's role was far more limited than the public imagined. A branch had exactly one duty: to design and manage a system that could produce finer warriors. The league was operated entirely by headquarters, and a branch held no authority whatsoever to learn a competing warrior's identity or nationality.

Which was why Secretary Park Chun-sik could only ask again, his voice unsteady, about what Branch Director Oh Hyun-seok had just told him.

"You met Demon, and then you came back?"

The first undefeated promotion in the history of Japan's amateur league. Winner of Performance of the Arena at the recently held U.S. pro league, Ashmoon Knight 193. The monster who had brought down Christopher, the Ash-Gray Ghost, and forced an early finish on top of it—that man was Korean?

Park Chun-sik simply could not believe it.

Branch Director Oh Hyun-seok drained his water in long gulps, then spoke.

"You know I read people well."

"Too well. That's why everyone starts shaking the moment you go out on an inspection."

The Oh Hyun-seok that Park Chun-sik knew was a man of extraordinary observation. From nothing more than the weight and cadence of footsteps in the corridor outside his office, he could tell not only who was coming, but precisely what kind of condition they were in that day.

Setting down the empty glass, Branch Director Oh Hyun-seok murmured.

"He was the same height as Demon."

"His height?"

Park Chun-sik tilted his head. Walk through the middle of Seoul for an hour and you could meet dozens of people of a similar height. But Oh Hyun-seok was not finished.

"Yes. And the gait, the look in the eyes, even the slight angle of the nod when he takes someone's measure. All of it was so close to the Demon I'd seen in the footage that it raised the hair on my neck."

"Director, even so... isn't it too soon to be certain it's Demon on the strength of that alone? Plenty of people have a similar build."

At that thoroughly sensible objection, Oh Hyun-seok nodded.

"True. I wouldn't be convinced by a resemblance alone either. Coincidence exists everywhere. But tell me this. What if the man who resembles Demon happens to belong to a legion called Veil?"

"Uh... the legion could be a coincidence too..."

The secretary's words died. Branch Director Oh Hyun-seok was right. However many legions might share a name, for a man who looked that much like him to belong to a legion of the exact same name was beyond the realm of chance.

A thin smile crossed Branch Director Oh Hyun-seok's face as he went on.

"And when I visited that legion today, something felt off. Like a well-made Truman Show."

"The Truman Show?"

The Truman Show was a film released in the United States in 1998, about a man named Truman whose entire life is broadcast live, twenty-four hours a day. Everyone but the protagonist is an actor, and every ordinary day is staged inside an enormous set—a fake reality show. Oh Hyun-seok was comparing Veil Legion to that set.

"Not a fingerprint of real use on the training equipment. The legion members weren't training. They were acting. Their eyes were restless, like performers looking for the camera. Everything felt hastily painted over to deceive me."

"...Hearing it put that way, it does sound a little strange."

At Park Chun-sik's words, Branch Director Oh Hyun-seok let out a long sigh.

"On the way back, I worked out a scenario. Demon doesn't want his identity exposed. He wants to operate freely, belonging to no one. But to compete in the pro league, he needs at least a shell. So he built a fake legion. What do you think?"

"So he deliberately chose the Japanese and American leagues to hide his nationality too?"

"Exactly."

Park Chun-sik caught himself nodding. The scattered pieces of information were locking together into a single, perfect picture inside the frame of Branch Director Oh Hyun-seok's hypothesis.

If this is actually true...

A jackpot. No—past a jackpot. The jackpot of a lifetime.

Reading his expression, Branch Director Oh Hyun-seok mimed zipping his mouth shut.

"This stays an absolute secret. Understood? You don't tell a soul."

"Of course. Heh heh... heh heh heh."

Park Chun-sik clapped a hand over his mouth and snickered. The smiles were in no hurry to leave either face.

Korea was starving for the birth of a high-tier warrior. There were a few World Warriors, yes, but from the Master League upward it was a total wipeout. That was the cold reality. In the middle of it, the fact that Demon was Korean was nothing short of a blessing.

Branch Director Oh Hyun-seok grinned.

"A pro-league nations competition? Good. Let's push it through properly."

After Branch Director Oh Hyun-seok left, Chae Geon-wook and Go Tae-min found a nearby hamburger chain.

"Wow... I swear that took three years off my life. Did you see that man's eyes? He looked at me like he was about to fillet me alive."

Chae Geon-wook hadn't even opened his burger wrapper. He spilled a long sigh and slumped back against the seat.

"It worked out, though, didn't it? Can I finish this and go sleep now?"

"You can sleep in a situation like this? Do you have any idea who I went through all that for, putting on a whole circus in front of that man..."

Chae Geon-wook thumped his own chest and lamented, but Go Tae-min had already tuned the nagging into background music and fully dismantled his burger wrapper. The smell of a thick Hanwoo beef patty, melted cheese, and sweet bulgogi sauce stung his nose. Go Tae-min took a huge bite. The deep flavor of the beef filled his mouth, and the drowsiness that had been pouring over him a moment ago seemed to flee entirely. Cheeks packed, he let out a groan of appreciation.

"Ah... I seriously want to eat this Hanwoo bulgogi burger every single day. Hanwoo never betrays you. I'm telling you, it's the best meat in the world."

"Then stuff your face, you punk. You've got plenty of money. You can more than afford it, so why the sob story?"

Chae Geon-wook flicked a french fry at him, incredulous, and Go Tae-min swallowed the burger with a wronged look.

"Plenty, my ass. Send my siblings their tuition and living expenses and I'm cleaned out."

"How much living money did you hand over for it to be gone already? No, wait. There should be more coming in on top of that. You got picked for Performance of the Arena this time. You haven't checked your balance?"

Go Tae-min's eyes went round. The mouth working at the burger stopped.

"Huh? For real? I got Performance of the Arena?"

He wiped his sauce-smeared fingers in a hurry and opened his mobile banking app.

"...Whoa, it's real. A bit over a hundred million."

"It's normally around a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hundred and forty million, but U.S. taxes are brutal. Probably about thirty percent got taken out before it landed."

"Shame about the cut, but hey, I'll take it. Yes! Pure profit!"

Beaming, Go Tae-min went back to his burger. Set against the days he'd ground through the amateur league for pocket change, the sum was enough to leave him genuinely moved.

For reference, back when he had drifted from battlefield to battlefield as a mercenary, his price had been roughly two hundred thousand dollars. Not a small amount—but it was a price on his life, something he only held after dozens of live engagements and spilled blood. Now a single match had brought in far more ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠than he used to make in those days.

Nova Arena really is a gold mine.

Go Tae-min finished eating faster than usual and immediately called his younger brother.

"Hey, Tae-jun. Okay to talk?"

Through the receiver, his brother's tone was stiff and scrupulously correct, like a report delivered to a superior. Go Tae-min went on, faintly put off.

"...Last time, you said that if you got the chance, you wanted to try studying in Australia. How much did you say you'd need for that?"

"Sixty million? Hold on."

Go Tae-min tapped the screen a few times without hesitation. The balance dropped in a clean, satisfying slice, and his heart felt lighter than it had in a long time.

"Sent it to your account just now. Get ready with that."

Go Tae-min cut him off, blunt.

"Quit fussing and take it."

"I've told you again and again. You two graduating safely and landing decent jobs is what lightens my load. I'll worry about the money. You do what you have to do. Got it?"

Silence held on the other end of the line for a moment. Go Tae-jun knew his brother's temper better than anyone—the stubbornness, tough as twisted wire, that never failed to keep a word once it was spoken.

"Yeah, yeah. If you run out, call again."

"What, dragging it out. Something else?"

At the pained sound his brother made, Go Tae-min's brow drew in a little. Ordinarily he would have said the business was done and hung up, but a hesitant voice like that was impossible to ignore.

"Dental? What's wrong?"

Go Tae-min's fingers went busy again. From what remained after the sixty million, another large sum departed. It was not an expense worth a moment's debate.

"Sent more. It's separate from the study-abroad money, so don't you touch yours. Take Mother to the hospital. Understood?"

"Good. Hanging up."

The call ended, and Go Tae-min set the phone down with a long sigh. Beside him, Chae Geon-wook had been watching the whole performance, and he burst out laughing around a mouthful of burger.

"Hey, why do you get ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠so flustered talking to your own brother?"

"...Who was flustered."

"Anyone watching could see it. And what's with the way he talks? I thought he was a private reporting to a superior. Listening from the side made me uncomfortable. I was on edge the whole time, waiting for a 'Yes, sir!' to come flying out."

Chae Geon-wook cackled and mimicked Go Tae-min's frozen face. With a sour look, Go Tae-min shoved the remaining fries into his mouth.

"I don't hit them. I don't curse at them. I tell them to just talk comfortably, and they still do that. What am I supposed to do?"

"You idiot. To them you're more than a big brother. You did ugly work at that age, gave them allowance, paid their tuition, fed them and kept them alive. Of course they respect you, and of course they're intimidated."

This was exactly why Chae Geon-wook cherished him. How to put it... If he'd had a brother that responsible himself, maybe that hard, lonely childhood would have been a little happier. The thought came to him often. Most of the time, of course, the man was an immature show-off, and Chae forgot the thought entirely.

Oblivious to all of that, Go Tae-min crunched the last fry on the tray and asked,

"When's the next match? I'm already out of money, so I need to get in a match soon."

"Oh, for—! I was saving that to eat!"

"You make good money. Just order another one."

"...Do I kill you, or let you live."

"So when do I fight."

"Haah, let's see. They usually book about once every two months, so... figuring in scheduling and drawing up the bracket, a formal offer should come around the week after next, shouldn't it?"

"The week after next? That's longer than I thought..."

Go Tae-min looked down at the empty tray, plainly disappointed.

"I can't just sit on my hands until then. I felt it fighting that blond kid. My skill still falls way short. I need to learn more systematically."

He knew it by instinct. Simply crushing people with physique and raw sense would not work on the higher ranks. At those words, Chae Geon-wook brightened.

"Oh, listen to you, saying something mature. If that's how you feel, try a kendo dojo. There are quite a few decent practical schools these days that specialize in teaching Pro Warriors."

"Are you insane? Do you know what the tuition is at those places?!"

The scream had come from a man who had just cheerfully given away seventy million won, and Chae Geon-wook looked at him in disbelief.

"You punk. You're the guy who made hundreds of millions off the last match. You flicked tens of millions at your siblings for tuition ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and spending money like it was nothing."

Go Tae-min pressed his fingers to his brow, genuinely pained, and muttered.

"Haah, I don't know. Giving it to my siblings doesn't feel like a waste at all, so why does spending it on myself hurt this much? Dojo fees are going to be a few million a month, aren't they? You know how many Hanwoo burgers that buys..."

Anyone overhearing would have taken it for the complaint of a man who had to worry about tomorrow's meal. But Chae Geon-wook knew. For Go Tae-min, spending money on himself was the hardest problem in the world—a habit he had never formed in his life.

Chae looked at him with a pang of pity for a moment, then cleared his throat and spoke, deliberately casual.

"Ahem. If that's how it is... hyung will cover it, so just go."

"What?"

"Call it an investment. If you get stronger, I benefit too."

"You're saying you'll pay?"

Go Tae-min's eyes sharpened all at once. Seeing it, Chae Geon-wook rushed to add,

"I-if that rubbed you the wrong way, I'm sorry. I just felt like—"

"Hello? This is Chadol Kendo Dojo, right? I'd like to register today."

Chae Geon-wook hadn't even finished. All his careful worry that pride might be wounded was for nothing—Go Tae-min had already connected the call at lightning speed and stated his business. Chae shook his head, utterly drained.

"...And since when did you have the dojo's number."