8. What the Hell Did I Just Say?
"We'll smash every last one of those Danga Sangdan bastards to pieces if we have to, and rescue the author—bringing him back safe and sound!"
Hwangbo Suyeon's cry, burning with unyielding resolve, echoed through the shabby dormitory room like a reverberating thunderclap. There wasn't a trace of hesitation or jest in her eyes. They blazed only with the mad sense of mission to save the author of her idolized work, Regressor Sword God, This Life Fist King.
Throb. A sharp headache pierced deep into my skull.
The usual Hwangbo Suyeon was Cheongryong Mugwan's top prodigy—a genius girl as cold and rational as an ice block. She judged situations with unflinching clarity, wielding flawless logic in scholarly debates without a single error. So why, why did she turn into such a bullheaded zealot the moment my dopamine-drenched, third-rate web novel entered the picture? I couldn't wrap my head around it. Her brilliant mind was now sprinting at full throttle down the completely wrong path.
Leave her like this, and by tomorrow morning—before the sun even rose—Nakyang's night streets would drown in blood. That much was obvious.
"Haa..." I rubbed my dry face, swallowing a deep sigh that threatened to burst out.
I had to stop her. By any means necessary, I needed to seize the reins of this girl on the verge of exploding right in front of me.
"Suyeon, calm yourself." Channeling the stern, composed tone of a literature teacher as best I could, I hid my trembling hands behind my back and spoke. "I fully understand—overflowingly so—your burning sense of justice and profound respect for that great author."
At my gentle dissuasion, Hwangbo Suyeon steadied her heaving breaths just a fraction and looked at me.
"But consider this: not every problem in the world is solved by drawing your sword on impulse."
I put on a grave expression and took a step closer. "What if—just if—your brilliant deduction happens to be off the mark?"
Her unwavering eyes flickered ever so slightly at my point.
"Charging into Danga Sangdan's headquarters without solid proof or a meticulous plan? That's like wading into fire with dry reeds on your back."
I pressed on without giving her room to retort. "Even setting aside the disgrace to your father—the family head who's in Nakyang for Mu-rim-meng business—have you imagined the worst-case scenario?"
"The... worst-case, sir?" Hwangbo Suyeon swallowed hard, her voice laced with tension.
"Think about it! If your theory holds and that great author truly is held hostage in some underground hole by Danga Sangdan..." I lowered my voice to a conspiratorial whisper, veins bulging. "The moment we smash in with force, those vicious loan sharks—cornered—might make an extreme choice!"
Her snow-white face drained to ashen pallor, freezing solid.
"Faced with exposure of their every evil deed, blinded by rage, they could inflict irreversible, horrific harm on that great author!" I bellowed, eyes wide as if describing his death unfolding before us. "We might never see the next chapter—doomed to a lifetime of bone-deep regret and rivers of bloody tears!"
At my spine-chilling hypothesis, Hwangbo Suyeon staggered, nearly collapsing in horror.
"Aah... No, that can't happen—never!" She clutched her head, wailing in agony.
The forced end to the serialization of murim's supreme martial arts manual—her sole object of worship—was a terror beyond the apocalypse for her.
"Exactly! Which is why we absolutely cannot lead with violence!" I inwardly cheered, drilling deeper into her fears. "In times like these, we must reclaim our reason and approach them through legal, legitimate means."
Seized by the singular obsession to rein her in, I spewed every scrap of knowledge from my past life that bubbled up, willy-nilly.
"For instance, how about leveraging Hwangbo Sega's immense capital and authority for an official 'joint investment' proposal to Danga Sangdan?"
"Joint... investment, sir?"
"Yes! Under the banner of distributing this great book across the Central Plains beyond Nakyang, offer them massive funding!" I waved my hands wildly, unleashing a barrage of nonsense. "Then, invoke investor rights for a full 'financial audit' and 'due diligence'—legally scouring their operations!"
Terms I'd picked up battling sleazy managers as a web novel author came spilling out, clumsily dressed in murim vernacular.
"Or designate Danga Sangdan as the official sponsor for Hwangbo Sega's annual murim tournament, contract them, then request an invitation for the novel's world-shaking author!"
I rambled on, mouth parched, desperately shifting her gaze from violence to negotiation. "Failing that, demand an official 'author meet-and-greet reading session' to secure his autograph—forcing them to bring him out into the open!"
I barely understood my own babble. It was pure blind survival instinct—stall for time, cool her murderous intent.
Gasping, I finally wrapped up my endless tirade. "Huff... huff... Do you get my point, Suyeon?"
Hwangbo Suyeon stood frozen, dazed by my awkward, bizarre suggestions. I fretted—what if she dismissed it all as idiocy?
Flash! A fierce light of epiphany exploded from the depths of her pristine eyes.
"Aah...! Teacher, your profound wisdom shames my ignorance!"
The gloom and despair vanished from her face, replaced by her old confident, radiant smile—like a miracle.
"Mindless violence is the excuse of the lowly! A true master strides boldly into the enemy's heart, making them open the gates themselves!" She clenched her fists, voice brimming with emotion. "Legal rights! Official channels! How did I miss such a simple, perfect truth?"
Wait—which part of my nonsense gave you that 'profound hint'?
I gaped, bewildered, but she was already lost in her solo master plan.
"Teacher! Thank you. Your guidance revealed the perfect ploy to rescue the author without spilling a drop of blood!"
She bowed 90 degrees, reverence and gratitude pouring out.
"I'll go see Father immediately to prepare."
Without waiting for my reply, she breezed out, light as if owning the world.
Left alone in the empty room, I stared blankly at the dark beyond the open door, engulfed in futility.
"What the hell... did I just say?"
Racking my brain, only frantic fragments echoed. No clue where she'd gleaned her terrifying inspiration or what outlandish scheme she'd unleash.
But one chilling certainty pierced my mind: Sit idle, and Danche Ryeong—unprepared—would be swept away by Hwangbo Suyeon's assault. Her fall meant my fragile cover, under her protection, exposed in broad daylight.
"No. Absolutely not!" I clenched my fist, rising with resolve.
First, I had to urgently warn Danga Sangdan's sub-branch leader, Danche Ryeong.
The next morning, unrested and haggard, I dragged myself to the dormitory cafeteria.
No appetite, but no choice. I had a letter for Danche Ryeong—unseen by anyone.
The place buzzed with cadets filling hunger post-dawn training. I shuffled to the massive pot, extending my tray limply to the cook auntie scooping gukbap nonstop.
"Gukbap... a big bowl, please."
She looked up at my listless voice. In that instant, her ordinary eyes flashed like a raptor's—locking deep into mine across the air.
Zing. An invisible spark arced fiercely between our gazes.
She'd read my dire urgency in that single exchange—no doubt. A veteran's spine-tingling insight from Danga Sangdan's underworld.
"Aigoo, Teacher Yeon! You look so peaky today. I'll load extra meat—eat up hearty!"
Minding the crowd, she chattered with exaggerated warmth, piling my bowl mountain-high with chunks.
I forced a awkward smile, nodded, and slumped at a dim corner table.
Last night's stress and dread numbed my tongue—even hot broth sliding down tasted of nothing. I shoveled mechanically, obsessed with pulling off this covert op.
About halfway through, rustle. A faint sesame oil scent approached; someone stopped quietly beside me.
Turning, there stood the cook auntie—hands clasped over her apron, beaming with syrupy benevolence.
In her grip: a neatly wrapped finger food dessert in thin, rough paper—just like last time.
"Teacher, after your meal, don't forget this sweet treat to cleanse the palate."
I bowed thanks, munched it down, then slyly drew a small, thin paper from my bosom—clenching it in my palm.
Scribbled last night in shaking hands right after Hwangbo Suyeon left: my desperate missive to Danche Ryeong.
Finishing the rest, I wiped my mouth—subtly layering my letter atop the dessert wrapper in my palm.
Playing the hapless everyman, I rose with a dopey look.
"Auntie, that was delicious—thanks."
Heading to return my tray, I held up the double-layered wad conspicuously. "But... where do I toss this leftover wrapper trash?"
She stifled a mental chuckle at my bumbling act—face the picture of natural, kindly cafeteria lady.
"Aigoo, I'll take care of it. Hand it over."
She wiped her apron, extending her hand fluidly.
I passed the life-or-death paper—cunningly fused with the wrapper—into her rough palm.
"Thank you... always."
Bowing deeply with bone-felt sincerity.
She pocketed the "trash"—Danga Sangdan's top-secret intel—casually.
"No trouble at all."
With that, the cook auntie vanished the traces of our high-stakes espionage, humming back to the steaming kitchen.
My part was done. I'd safely passed the baton of my survival to sub-leader Danche Ryeong.
Mad genius prodigy Hwangbo Suyeon versus underworld's merciless queen Danche Ryeong.
Who would claim victory in this suffocating proxy war?
Gazing skyward, I shuddered, sensing the massive storm brewing.