13. A Disciple That's Too Much for Me
The morning after that mad, foot-stomping blowout party from last night had swept through like a storm. The frenzied torch-lit protests that had painted Nakyang's night streets red, and the suffocating three-way standoff in Danga Sangdan's reception hall—they were all over now. I stood at the lectern in Lecture Hall 13 of Cheongryong Mugwan's academy, my face hollowed out from a sleepless night, eyes sunken deep.
The scene before me was as dismal and peaceful as ever. Just the pathetic daily grind of a low-rank literature teacher at the martial academy, same as always. But there was one thing—one perfectly, horrifically different thing from yesterday.
Dead center in the front row, the most conspicuous spot in the classroom. There sat Hwangbo Sega's pampered jewel, Hwangbo Suyeon, her back ramrod straight. Her posture and position were the same as usual. But today, her hands held no thick tome—the one she always clutched. In its place, my junk-food dopamine bomb of a novel, Regressor Sword God, This Life Fist King, had vanished from her desk without a trace.
Instead, her clear, enormous eyes were fixed solely on me, standing at the lectern. It wasn't just staring. It was a ferocious intensity, as if she wouldn't miss a single breath I took, a single twitch of my lips.
"As it is said, the fifth day of the third month..."
I barely managed to read from the book in a trembling voice, but cold sweat was already pouring down my back like a waterfall. The reverent gaze of that one genius girl stung and terrified me a hundred times more than dozens of beasts eyeing me for dinner.
I don't even remember how I survived that suffocating, sweat-drenched class. I just mechanically mumbled through it, desperately praying for time to pass—praying and praying.
"A-alright... That's it for today's lesson."
Finally, the hellishly long class ended as the bell echoed through the halls. Before my words were even done, the kids who'd been dozing face-down sprang up like coiled springs and poured out of the classroom in a stampede. The rundown hall emptied in seconds.
As I tried to bolt from the lectern, my steps were blocked by a girl in white martial robes who had silently approached right up to my nose.
"Master."
That single word slipping from Hwangbo Suyeon's red lips made my heart drop like a stone. Master? Just yesterday, she'd politely called me "Teacher Yeon Woon-ryong." Overnight, it had evolved into the heaviest, stickiest bond in murim: sugnim.
I nearly recoiled in horror at the dreadful title change, but her expression was more serious and resolute than ever.
"Uh, Cadet Suyeon... Master? I'm just a lowly literature teacher at the academy..."
"The great teaching you bestowed upon me yesterday is an immense grace I could never repay in a lifetime."
Hwangbo Suyeon cut off my feeble excuse, clasping her hands and bowing deeply.
"Thanks to those two truths that pierce the essence of the world, I shattered the wall in my martial arts that had blocked me for so long."
The "truths" she meant were the half-baked middle-school science I'd bullshitted in Danga Sangdan's hall yesterday: centrifugal force and inertia.
"So, Master."
Hwangbo Suyeon lifted her head, her eyes sparkling clear and bright toward me.
"About that 'centrifugal force' you taught me yesterday."
My head throbbed again at the words "centrifugal force" popping from her mouth. What insane enlightenment was this mad genius girl about to demand from me now?
"Last night, I stayed up all night reviewing your teachings and trying to apply the principle of centrifugal force to my family's fist techniques."
What the hell? A pathetic literature teacher who didn't know the first thing about martial arts was getting consulted on secret fist arts by the sheltered princess of one of the Five Great Families, rulers of the world. It was as absurd and surreal as a neighborhood taekwondo white-belt getting grilled by an Olympic gold medalist on winning secrets.
"But I get the perfect truth in my head, yet when I try to embody it with my body, the energy keeps scattering."
Hwangbo Suyeon furrowed her brow slightly, genuinely frustrated, pleading for an answer.
"It must be because I haven't fully grasped your profound intent. Please, bestow your guidance once more upon this dull disciple."
Her face was utterly earnest, brimming with blind trust in me. Could I confess here, "Actually, I know jack shit about martial arts, and centrifugal force is just the power from swinging a can on a string"? No way in hell.
To survive, I had to unleash the full imagination and penmanship of a 10-year veteran web novel author and spin some plausible bullshit.
"Ahem, ahem!"
I clasped my hands behind my back, adopting the stern, scholarly face of a reclusive sage.
"Cadet Suyeon."
Her shoulders trembled slightly with emotion at my call.
"Your failure to apply centrifugal force to your family's fist art isn't because you're dull."
I paced the classroom floor slowly, frantically searching and stitching together past-life wuxia tropes in my head.
"As I understand it, Hwangbo Sega's fist techniques are rooted in overwhelming destructive power that crushes foes with heavy, straight-line motions like Mount Tai, right?"
"Yes, exactly! Our Hwangbo fists explode forward without a single step back—fierce and unyielding."
"Precisely."
I smiled faintly, raising one finger.
"Your family's art is straight lines. But what is the centrifugal force I taught you? It's the power trying to escape outward from the center of a circle drawn by curved motion."
I stared straight into Hwangbo Suyeon's eyes and lobbed my most plausible brain-fart theory.
"Forcing curved centrifugal force into straight-line motions naturally scatters it."
Her clear eyes widened, her face struck like she'd been hammered on the head.
"Ah...! The clash of straight and curve!"
"Yes. Swinging your arm to force a circle turns it into no better than a thug's wild haymaker—not Hwangbo fist art."
I hammered it home, blending modern physics with web-novel enlightenment flair.
"To infuse centrifugal force into your fist, don't center it on your arm. Use your dantian and waist as the axis."
I twisted my stiff waist slightly for demo.
"Rotate your entire torso like a spinning top. The fist still shoots straight, but channel the massive centrifugal energy from that rotation spiraling through your arm's bones and muscles!"
Pure scam: rifling in bullets repackaged as inner energy flow.
"Spiraling centrifugal force exploding within a straight trajectory. Isn't that the true pinnacle of martial subtlety—calm outside, raging within?"
My absurd but ear-pleasingly cool nonsense echoed solemnly through the hall.
"......!"
Hwangbo Suyeon froze, mouth agape, forgetting to breathe.
"Ahh... Master!"
Soon, tears of overwhelming joy welled in her eyes.
"Curve within straight! Rotation of the axis, not the arm! How could I be so shallow, defiling your profound intent?!"
She looked ready to drop to her knees in prostration, unable to contain her awe.
Her relentless, scholarly barrage of questions continued endlessly after that. Dripping buckets of cold sweat, I deployed peak improv and creativity from my life to bullshit through every one.
By the time our breathless Q&A wrapped, the sun was high—noon lunch hour.
"Master, aren't you hungry? Let me treat you to lunch."
"Uh... yeah, gotta eat."
I rose on wobbly legs, drained, and headed to the cafeteria with Hwangbo Suyeon.
But as we walked Cheongryong Mugwan's dirt paths, I felt unusual stares. No wonder—her demeanor beside me was bizarrely over-the-top.
She wasn't walking side-by-side. She trailed exactly half a step behind at an angle, guarding me like an iron wall. Her hawk-sharp eyes scanned everywhere fiercely.
Passing cadets shrank from her menacing aura, parting like the Red Sea.
"Uh... Suyeon."
Embarrassment flooding me, I cleared my throat cautiously.
"It's just to the cafeteria. No need for such heavy vigilance—people are staring."
She shook her head firmly, posture unyielding.
"No, Master. It's not excessive at all."
Her voice carried the resolve of someone convinced I'd been life-threatened at Danga Sangdan yesterday.
"Rats targeting you could pop out anywhere. I'll be your shadow and handle every threat."
I'm going insane. Rats? This is just the peaceful academy cafeteria path!
"And Master."
She added with utmost sincerity and earnestness.
"Don't call me 'Cadet Suyeon' so formally anymore. Just my name, casually. This is your disciple's plea."
The haughty lady of a righteous clan bending so blindly to me. Faced with her rock-solid stance, I threw up my hands in surrender.
"Haa... Fine. Suyeon. So what I mean is..."
The moment I barely managed her name and stepped forward—
"Well, well, who do we have here?"
A sneering, oily voice blocked my path, slapping my ears.
I instinctively scowled and looked up. A hulking brute with a flashy giant blade strapped to his back stood cockily, face vicious. His smirk dripped with the arrogance of crushing bugs.
Seeing him flooded me with the body's original owner's foul memories.
From Haebuk Paenga. Cheongryong Mugwan's practical training instructor, infamous for brute strength and savage temper. Wielder of the Paengsan Sword: Paeng Mugum.
This scum had despised and bullied me (the original Yeon Woon-ryong), a civilian scholar, relentlessly. To him, he was a great warrior of noble blood; I was a worthless pen-pusher rice worm.
Since my possession, I'd dodged him cleverly—shifting meal times, hiding routes. But now, under her overzealous escort to the cafeteria, we collided head-on.
"Hahaha! If it isn't our esteemed literature teacher, Lord Yeon Woon-ryong!"
Paeng Mugum stomped forward arrogantly, slapping my shoulder.
"Haven't seen you lately—hiding in a rat hole? Or did you lose big at gambling and get chased by loan sharks?"
His mockery hit bone-deep; I flinched inwardly but kept cool outwardly.
"Step aside. I'm going to eat."
As I coldly sidestepped, his massive bulk blocked me flat.
"Hey! Who gave you the guts to strut?!"
He glared murderously, playing the thug.
"Scum like you scholar bugs drag down our academy. Today, this great hero Paeng Mugum will teach you warrior etiquette!"
As he raised a huge hand for a baseless grab at my collar—
Swish.
From my shadow behind, Hwangbo Suyeon glided like a ghost between us. Her clear, deep eyes froze colder than North Sea ice, unleashing terrifying killing intent at Paeng Mugum.
"Withdraw that filthy hand. Now."