Chapter 7: Chapter 7 - The Hunting Dog of the Prestigious Family Has Returned

"You noticed? For real?"

"Yeah. He locked eyes with the camera."

On the rooftop of a rundown building, the man piloting a drone through his eye implant narrowed his gaze toward the elevated highway.

"I thought it was just some bullshit between noble pricks... but this is way more interesting than I figured."

His eyes were fixed on the bodyguard torching the attackers' corpses. The man serving Kim Chang-un, the bastard son of the Andong Kim Clan.

"Thanks to them burning every last body, victim IDs are impossible. They even recovered all the fake Hahoe tal the assassins were wearing."

"So this incident gets chalked up as anything but a Hwae attack—just a simple traffic accident. An autonomous vehicle derailing due to chassis failure... something like that."

"A noble's car in a traffic accident? That company's stock is fucked. Which manufacturer was it?"

"Kiu Motors."

"Heh, screwed. I had money in that."

"Pull out now if you can. But that's not the point right now."

The man who said that turned to his comrade standing beside him.

"You hear what that kid just said?"

"Yeah. I heard."

Exchanging glances, the two recalled the words the boy Kim Chang-un had spoken to his bodyguard moments ago.

'How long are you gonna stay loyal to a shitty clan like this?'

"...Bune. What do you think?"

"What do I think? Kid's a noble blood no matter how you slice it. Face to face, he'll just bitch about terrorists like the rest."

"Hmm..."

"...Hold up, you."

As his comrade's hesitation deepened, the one called Bune shot back in disbelief.

"No way you're thinking of making contact? With that noble young master?"

"Can't hurt to keep the possibility open. We don't have many options right now anyway. Plus..."

He looks useful, that's for sure.

Muttering to himself while ‍‍‌‌⁠⁠‌‍‍‌⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cupping his chin, the man continued.

"His ride takes a missile hit, but he doesn't panic—instead, he commands his bodyguard and turns the tables on the attackers."

"..."

"And on top of that, he senses someone's watching him. Even wrapped in all that aura, nobles wouldn't..."

"Not the kind of move you'd expect from a fifteen-year-old brat."

But Bune, unhappy with his comrade's leaning, waved him off dismissively.

"But no matter how sharp he is, that kid's noble blood! Why the hell would we drag someone like that into the plan...!"

His outburst cut short at his comrade's next words.

"That 'noble blood'..."

He had no choice but to shut up.

"We need someone from a noble house for the plan."

"..."

Bune turned away, clearly displeased. The man gave a wry smile at the sight and slowly stood.

"I'm not thrilled about it either. Just keeping it as one option."

"So, in other words..."

"No immediate contact. We'll report it and let 'Yangban Tal' decide."

"Sigh..."

Bune sighed, shaking his head as he pressed the object in his hand to his face. Click. It enveloped his features—an old ‍‍‌‌⁠⁠‌‍‍‌⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wooden Bune-tal, like those worn by Hahoe tal performers long ago.

"I'm telling you now, I'm against it flat out. Got it? I won't help convince the others either!"

"Don't worry. Wasn't counting on you."

The man replied, flipping his own mask over his face. A jawless tal—Imae-tal.

Chapter 7

It was a fine, sunny day. Out for a stroll, only to eat a missile, then play some exciting archery with assassin pals who crashed the fun. What a day.

"By the way, Young Master, I had no idea you were so skilled with a bow."

Riding in the new car Tae-woong had procured, heading to the lower residential district, I straightened my clothes while gazing out the window. Tae-woong, fresh from his prosthetic checkup, turned to me and spoke.

"Skilled? Nah, just a hobby."

I waved it off, but Tae-woong closed his eyes briefly and shook his head.

"In that chaos, you steadied your breath, loosed arrows, and hit the attackers' prosthetics dead center—without any implants of your own, pure senses alone. Even elite Imperial Guards couldn't pull that off."

"What's the point if I hit well? It's still just a bow in the end."

Propping my chin on the car window, I said.

"The most dangerous one was the guy you took down, Tae-woong. You blocked all their gunfire too."

"..."

"What I did was just add a few arrows... no, a few bombs on arrow tips."

"But without those shots..."

After a pause, Tae-woong continued.

"I probably wouldn't be here."

"...Ahem."

Feeling awkward, I shifted my gaze outside. Embarrassing, but I couldn't deny it. Thinking back to my previous life, when I'd fled and left him behind—what happened to him then made it true enough.

Plus, he turned out even more useful than I thought.

The sensation of drawing the bowstring still lingered vividly in my ‍‍‌‌⁠⁠‌‍‍‌⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fingertips. The immersion when I released it, time freezing as the arrow's path sharpened into view.

Talk like I might, I was replaying the fight, basking in the thrill.

In my past life, it was just a hobby—a diversion to kill boredom. Why not? In this Joseon crawling with assault rifles, missiles, railguns, pulse rifles, what good was an archaic bow?

Just something to do. The only skill I had handy...

But who'd have thought it'd play out this well.

Maybe this is my breakthrough.

My biggest weakness back then: lack of force. No matter ‍‍‌‌⁠⁠‌‍‍‌⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠how I schemed, dismantled organizations, swayed traitors, or shaped situations—without raw power, I failed every time.

But now, I had time. Time to leverage my one talent.

"We've arrived, sir."

Lost in thought, the car pulled into a shabby neighborhood in the city's underbelly.

Stepping out brought the musty damp and stench. Crowded buildings packed with people.

Whirrr—

[Root out illegal weapons]

[Mingjin Eco's crusher provides hygienic disposal at affordable prices]

[For consultations, dial 0220...]

I glanced over at a cleaning drone plastered with ads, flailing amid a trash heap. Beat-up, probably ancient.

"This way, sir."

The address led to a decrepit apartment. Built early 2000s. Durability expired ages ago, garbage and filth everywhere.

"No doorbell, huh."

We knocked. No answer, no sound.

But after a few minutes—

Creeeak—

The door cracked open, a tiny hand peeking through. Then a little girl's face.

"Hic, eek?!"

Spotting us late, the terrified child tried slamming it shut.

"Whoa, hold on, hold on."

Couldn't let that happen. I grabbed the door, flashing the kindest, most benevolent smile imaginable, leaning close.

"It's okay. No need to be scared. Kiddo, we're not bad guys, promise? Just wanna talk a bit."

As soft as possible. As nice as humanly possible. I poured my soul into it.

"Hic, heek! Waaah—!"

Sniff! Snort! Y-you're really not bad guys? Not here for money?

"Don't worry. We're not those kinds."

Calming her took more effort than expected. The bribe tally:

1. A box of trendy kids' "Lulu Pong Snack Gift Set." (Suggested retail: 48,000 won.)

2. Limited-edition "Play Together! Lulu Pong Kitchen Bang-Bang Oven All-in-One Set." (Mail-order price: 170,000–185,000 won.)

3. Newly released handheld "KDS Trigger Lulu Pong Edition." (Premium online dept. store: 420,000 won.)

...Looking at the pile, when did I buy all this?

She kept asking amid sobs, and I caved to everything.

"It's 'cause you're looming there, Seo Tae-woong! With that scary mug of yours..."

"Begging your pardon, Young Master?"

The kid, puffy-eyed and sniffling, happily assembled her toys. Staring in dismay, I grumbled. Tae-woong sighed and countered.

"Grabbing a closing door with that look on your face... Kids get scared. Naturally."

"What look? What's wrong with my face?"

"Anyone would peg you for a debt collector."

"What."

Now he's insulting my face? This innocent mug looks like a loan shark how?

"Anyway."

Ignoring his jab, I scanned the apartment.

"Yeah, it's bad."

Wallpaper peeling, unknown age. Gas cut off long ago. Sink tidy—someone tried—but the water ran rusty red, untreated.

Ceiling pipes exposed, bugs or rats crawling between.

"No place for humans, that's for sure."

Even less for raising a kid like her.

But even as I said it, my mind was elsewhere.

Good. Makes this a lot easier.

The desperate poor are easy to sway. Throw in a family to feed? Debts piling up?

Perfect. Collar them with favors—or hostages if needed.

Finding him at this timing? Ideal for me.

Snagging a warrior with insane talent and potential on the cheap.

Time-wise, he should be showing up any second.

Glancing at the time on my visual interface—

"Who the hell are you?"

A stiff voice cut through.

Turning, an adolescent boy stood in the open doorway. A couple years older than me?

Grinning, I greeted him.

"Got a little sister, so no sneak attack? Good brother. Excellent."

He gritted his teeth, left hand slipping behind his back. Tae-woong powered up his prosthetics, but I waved him off and stood.

"Answer me! Who are you, barging into our home...!"

"Kim Moo-young. 18 this year. Ronin swordsman from anti-Japanese stock. Naturalization date unknown. Parents deceased. Only family: sister Kim Ha-young. Credit rating: Grade 21. Inherited parental debt: currently 320 million..."

Reeling off the intel Tae-woong fed me, the kid's eyes bulged.

"Scrapes by on mercenary gigs, but as an unregistered Japanese immigrant, payments get stiffed constantly. Can't afford proper prosthetics or even a decent weapon... Tough life, huh?"

"Shut up and answer! Who are you?! Loan sharks? Bank sent?!"

But he froze mid-rant, words dying.

"Wha... huh...?"

Easy guess. Checking his comm terminal messages.

"But you met me, so that's over today."

[Notification from Dongwa Money]

Chapter 7

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