Casting Out the Leech
Click.
The door lock disengaged.
No sooner had the door swung open than a hulking man barged inside.
"Jeong-seok!"
Park Gwang-cheol lunged forward and enveloped him in a crushing bear hug.
A wave of sweat and cheap cologne hit him like a truck.
The man pounded Jeong-seok's back while wailing dramatically.
"Aigoo, Jeong-seok! You're safe! You didn't even pick up your phone—do you know how worried I was?!"
Over-the-top gestures.
Muffled sobs echoed over his shoulder, but not a drop soaked through Jeong-seok's shirt.
Pure theater.
Jeong-seok stood there, expressionless.
He neither pushed the man away nor returned the embrace.
With no reaction forthcoming, Park Gwang-cheol awkwardly peeled himself off.
His bloodshot eyes scanned Jeong-seok up and down.
"Any injuries? You okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Thank God, really. Your aunt and uncle must be watching over you from heaven."
He clicked his tongue, surveying the cramped studio apartment.
Moldy wallpaper.
Damp, mildewed linoleum.
A space so tight even one person could barely stretch out.
Park Gwang-cheol's brow furrowed.
"What the hell are you doing living like this? With all that money sitting around—what kind of poverty is this? You didn't blow it all, did you?"
Money.
That damn money was the problem.
In his past life, Jeong-seok hadn't touched the inheritance his parents left behind.
No, he couldn't.
'It was their wedding anniversary.'
His parents had finally taken a long-overdue trip abroad.
He could still picture their happy faces.
The plane was crossing the Pacific when it happened.
Sudden turbulence, unforecasted.
Then a massive typhoon.
The passenger jet broke apart mid-air and plummeted.
All aboard perished except one.
The funeral featured empty caskets—no bodies.
A massive life insurance payout and inheritance landed in his lap.
Enough to live off forever without lifting a finger.
But as a child, he couldn't bring himself to touch it.
Every time he thought of spending it, he felt like he was chipping away at his parents' lives.
Guilt. Longing.
Those emotions had chained him to this dingy basement hole.
'Foolish.'
He regretted it now.
If he wasn't going to use it, it would only fatten someone else's pockets in the end.
Like the parasite standing right in front of him.
Park Gwang-cheol had exploited that guilt.
While Jeong-seok shunned the money, the man had bided his time.
And on the day the world flipped upside down, he stole everything.
"I saved every last won. Felt like it wasn't really mine."
For a split second.
Park Gwang-cheol's eyes gleamed.
Greed. A look all too familiar.
Jeong-seok stared him down.
"Anyway, what brings you here?"
"What brings me?!"
Park Gwang-cheol jumped as if scalded.
"I'm worried about my only nephew! Didn't you see the news? The world's gone mad!"
He spat as he ranted.
"Monsters appearing, ground splitting open, people dropping dead. How do you plan to survive alone in this mess?"
He seized Jeong-seok's hands.
Clammy, sticky palms.
"Your uncle will protect you. Don't stay here—come to our place. Yeah?"
Protect.
Pretty words.
But Jeong-seok knew better.
The man didn't care about his safety.
He was after the seals, bankbook, and deed stashed somewhere in this dump.
Planning to play legal guardian amid the chaos.
Same script as his past life.
"Come on."
Park Gwang-cheol pressed.
"I'll keep you safe. Family has to stick together, right?"
Jeong-seok smirked.
Safe.
He did need protection, sure.
Just not the kind this clown offered.
"Pass."
The curt reply sliced through the tiny room.
Park Gwang-cheol's face hardened.
His forced smile froze like plaster.
"...What?"
"I said no."
"You... what did you just...?"
Park Gwang-cheol's eyebrows twitched.
Shock, then irritation.
How dare a mere nephew reject an adult's offer?
His boomer mindset was written all over his face.
But Jeong-seok's heart turned ice-cold.
Truth be told.
Uncle by marriage.
Nice title, but not a drop of shared blood.
For this stranger to play family?
Disgusting.
Jeong-seok tilted his head.
"And."
"..."
"Cut the crap. You're not here out of worry—you smelled money."
"W-what are you talking about?! How much does your uncle cherish you?!"
"How'd you get my address?"
Jeong-seok cut in.
"I changed my number. You hire a PI or something?"
Park Gwang-cheol's pupils quivered.
Hit the mark.
He'd shelled out for a background check.
That inheritance was worth it to him.
"No money for you. Get out."
Jeong-seok waved him off.
"And have some shame. Coming for your nephew's orphan cash at your age—embarrassed much?"
"...You little shit?"
Park Gwang-cheol's face flushed crimson.
The mask slipped.
Street thug true colors.
"Spoiled you rotten, and now you can't see straight! That's how you talk to your elders?!"
Elder.
Ridiculous.
Jeong-seok had lived longer than this punk—in total experience, anyway.
A few extra years, and he thought he could lecture?
"Kim Jeong-seok. Apologize. Now."
Park Gwang-cheol barked through gritted teeth.
Jeong-seok just chuckled.
"Me? You're the one who should."
"You... you insolent bastard!"
Park Gwang-cheol finally snapped.
He reared back a meaty fist.
"Time you got knocked some sense into!"
Whoosh.
The clumsy punch sailed toward Jeong-seok's face.
Slow.
Yawn-worthy.
He didn't dodge.
Just extended a hand casually.
Thwap.
"...Huh?"
Park Gwang-cheol's eyes bulged.
Jeong-seok's palm engulfed the fist.
Zero give.
"Let go! I said let go!"
Park Gwang-cheol yanked desperately.
The gripped fist might as well have been wedged in stone.
Jeong-seok met his gaze and squeezed.
Slowly.
"Guh..."
Park Gwang-cheol's face twisted.
"Ow! Let go!"
"Weren't you gonna protect me?"
Jeong-seok grinned coldly.
"With this weak shit?"
Crunch.
Bones ground.
Even at 20% strength, Jeong-seok was Awakened.
His grip strength was beyond human.
Normal bones? Cookies.
"Agh! Aaah!"
Park Gwang-cheol screamed.
His knees buckled.
He collapsed before Jeong-seok, agony overwhelming him.
"M-mercy! My hand! Uwaaaah!"
The pained shrieks echoed.
Jeong-seok knelt to eye level.
Park Gwang-cheol's pupils shook violently.
Terror.
Primal fear burned in those eyes.
The greed from moments ago? Vanished.
'Kill him?'
The thought flickered.
This scum had clubbed him from behind and bled him dry.
Guilt? Not a chance.
He deserved death.
'If not for this bastard.'
Past life memories surged.
The thief who'd stolen the inheritance and tossed him to the streets.
An Awakener turned homeless.
Dumpster diving for meals, subway surfing to beat the cold.
Growth stalled.
While others farmed monsters for levels, he fought to survive.
'Six months.'
Half a year lost.
The early game golden window, flushed down the toilet by this worm.
His grip tightened instinctively.
Crunch.
"Kuh-huk...!"
Park Gwang-cheol foamed at the mouth, groaning.
Jeong-seok ached to snap his neck.
But.
He eased off gradually.
Killing him now was too merciful.
Besides, he knew the bastard's true end.
'Zombie chow.'
Soon after the cataclysm, a gruesome fate.
Eaten alive.
Guts ripped out, limbs torn, turning zombie mid-scream.
Mindless wanderer thereafter.
'Mercy compared to that.'
Suffer every misery this shithole world offered, then zombie fodder.
No urge to alter that ending.
Just trash not worth dirtying his hands.
He released the fist with a flick.
"I'll let you live."
Park Gwang-cheol trembled, glancing between the hand and face.
Incredulous.
Jeong-seok added in a voice like frozen steel.
"But."
He pointed at the man's forehead.
"Show your face again, and it won't end at a wrist."
"..."
"You know what happens then."
Park Gwang-cheol gulped dryly.
Face drained white at the mere thought.
"Staying out of my sight? That's how you live longest."
Final warning.
Park Gwang-cheol nodded frantically.
"O-okay! I'm g-going! My bad!"
He scrambled out on all fours, not even bothering with shoes.
A pathetic sight.
Slam.
The door shut.
Silence returned.
Jeong-seok stared at the door a moment, then turned away calmly.
Rat evicted.
One task down.
'Time to spend.'
Rotting paper scraps.
Inheritance he'd shunned as blood money.
Now he knew.
Hoarding it meant nothing.
Spend it before then.
Where it mattered most.
He grabbed his smartphone.
Opened search.
'Hope Welfare Foundation.'
Dialed without hesitation.
— Hope Welfare Foundation. How may I help you?
A kind female voice.
Jeong-seok stated his business flatly.
"I'd like to donate."
— Ah, yes! A sponsorship inquiry. Regular or one-time?
"One-time. About 1 billion won."
— Pardon? 1 billion? What...
Silence on the line.
Clear shock.
Probably pegged it as a prank.
"Give me the account. I'll transfer now."
— O-one moment! Sir, may I have your name...?
"Kim Jeong-seok."
He continued.
"Designated donation."
— Designated? To a specific recipient?
"Yes."
He drew a short breath.
One face surfaced in his mind.
His comrade to the bitter end in the previous timeline.
Spirit Lord Park Haya.
She was in the hospital now.
Cold ward, corner bed in a six-person room.
Plane crash.
Crushed spine, paralyzed from the waist down.
Surgery offered a shot at walking, but she lacked funds.
Poverty was her crime.
Later, she'd contract spirits and float via their power.
But years away, after Awakening through blood and tears.
More importantly.
'...The sole survivor.'
She was the only one who walked away from that flight—his parents' flight.
Verification needed, but Park Haya wasn't a god's avatar, in his view.
Her backstory was too solid.
Avatars were freshly minted; she couldn't be one.
Possession? Possible.
But.
'If a god possessed her, those legs wouldn't stay broken.'
Fixed first thing.
Gods at play wouldn't tolerate inconvenience.
He gathered his thoughts and spoke.
"Park Haya, admitted to orthopedics at Korea University Hospital."
— One moment, checking.
Keyboard clacks from the receiver.
— Confirmed. Your relation to the patient...?
"No relation. Just want her to live."
He exhaled.
"Cover surgery, hospital stay, rehab."
Calmly.
"Enough so she walks without issue for life."
Korea University Hospital, Room 602.
Corner bed, curtained off.
Park Haya stared blankly out the window.
Unfocused eyes.
Dead, lifeless.
The outside world was chaos, they said.
Monsters, cracking earth.
But it was someone else's problem.
Hers had crumbled already.
She glanced under the blanket.
Nothing.
No sensation below the waist.
Like rotted logs grafted on.
Doctor said surgery could fix it.
Torture of false hope.
Money.
That goddamn money.
An orphan like her? Tens of millions was a distant star.
'Just die.'
Better if she'd perished in the crash.
Surviving alone felt cursed.
Shrrk.
The curtain yanked back roughly.
Nurse and billing staff burst in.
Not their usual deadpan.
Flushed, breathless excitement.
"Miss Park! Congratulations!"
Park Haya didn't react.
Congratulations?
For paralysis?
But the next words made her doubt her ears.
"Surgery's on now. Professor cleared his schedule."
"...What?"
Her lips quivered.
"What... are you saying? I have no money."
"It's covered."
The staff waved a stack of papers.
"Donor just came through. Surgery, stay, rehab—all paid. Full amount."
"..."
"1 billion won! Enough for lifetime care!"
Her mind blanked.
Impossible.
No family—who?
"Wh-who? Why...?"