005. The Real Training Begins

"O Great Constellation, forgive me for doubting you. Forgive this ignorant, benighted wretch, who spouted such wicked words without knowing your will..."

For a good long while, Kanghyuk heaped one word of gratitude upon the Constellation after another.

"From this day forward, I shall treat the Constellation's heaven-sent words as law and follow them faithfully."

Grrrgle.

"Ugh, but why am I this hungry? It's not like I've starved for days. Wait—hold on. Didn't you just say 'two days ago'?"

Kanghyuk switched on his smartphone and checked the date.

"It is two days! How long did I sleep?! No wonder I'm so hungry."

Rummaging through the refrigerator, Kanghyuk stole a glance at the empty air and asked, "Constellation, couldn't I sell just one share of that stock? I don't even have money for food."

"Yes. Yes! When a figure like you speaks, of course I listen. Sure, sure. March 17th is only a week away, so I'll somehow survive on ramyeon until then."

Kanghyuk recoiled, shuddering from head to toe.

"Gombang? That stuff is brutal. I tried it a few times trailing a hyung I know, and I came down with full-body aches the next day every single time. Absolutely not. Never. I'll just keep breathing until March 17th!"

"Ah, seriously! If I really finish it all, I genuinely won't get sick, right?"

"And whose fault is it that I'm broke?! I'll make a call for now. If there's no work, I'm just eating ramyeon and quietly existing."

With that, Kanghyuk reluctantly placed the call.

"Uh, hyung? I kind of need money urgently right now, so... is there any Gombang work going?"

Through the receiver came a roar that began with 'Are you gambling?' and ended in a stream of curses.

"No, no, it's not that. I just don't want to break into my savings account, but I suddenly need a little cash."

Deep down, Kanghyuk prayed there would be no work.

"Huh? Come right now? You were just about to look for a replacement because a job came up, and I happened to call at the perfect moment? I was going to just eat some ramyeon first... eat it when I get there? Ah... okay, okay, I'm on my way."

Kanghyuk hung up and glared at the stretch of empty air where the Constellation might be.

"Isn't this a scam? How can everything click into place this perfectly, like it was all rehearsed?"

"Yessir. Whatever you say. I'm only holding my tongue because I'm such a saint. You'd better realize how lucky you are to have landed a good player."

Still riding the high of that 103% return, Kanghyuk folded easily.

"What the—stuff like that actually happens? No, wait—was I really like that twenty years ago? I honestly can't believe it."

"The past hasn't changed one bit. Not a single thing. Not even a speck of dust."

Ping wagged her finger back and forth.

"Meaning nothing's changed—not even by as much as your height?" I said, holding my fingers a hair apart.

"Eek! So mean!"

Ping launched another expedition into my hair.

"Sorry, sorry! Just kidding. Kidding!"

"You should count yourself lucky that a sweet fairy like me is your assigned guide. Honestly!"

Something awfully similar had happened just moments ago, hadn't it? Déjà vu?

"Well, look at that—so this actually works?"

"Right? A quest with no reward. That's downright vicious."

"Mmm, divine power is sweet. Would you call this a decent haul?"

"Yes. Since the Constellation can't sponsor other players, you can receive plenty of points from Mr. Kanghyuk instead. And with no divine power spent on the reward either, you've earned quite a lot for such a simple quest."

Ping's expression shifted into an 'I wish I hadn't seen that' look.

"I feel sorry for Mr. Kanghyuk."

"He probably thinks not getting sick IS the reward. He doesn't properly understand his own trait, so he'll credit the quest for keeping the full-body aches away."

"Constellation quests are all nasty, but that's the nastiest part of all."

This is slander. Genuine slander.

"Why? What did I do? I made him money with stocks, didn't I?"

"That Mr. Kanghyuk down there is also the past you, Constellation—what's wrong with letting him live a little easier?"

I shook my head violently, my whole body radiating refusal.

"Says who? Comfortably? Not a chance!"

"Wow. What a terrible person..."

"Hardship in your youth is worth paying for!"

"Boomer..."

"Pipsqueak."

"Bleh!"

I didn't lose. And Ping, once more, set off exploring my hair.

"Hey. That's sixty ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bags of mortar and six thousand bricks. Haul it all up to the third floor and you're free to go."

"The third floor? I have to go up TWO floors?"

Kanghyuk was aghast. Not one floor—two.

"In exchange, I threw in a bit extra, allowance money included. This isn't a day rate; it's paid per bag and per brick, so the moment you finish, you can leave. I'm busy right now, so I'm heading out. Call me when it's all done!"

His hyung shoved an envelope into his hands and vanished in the blink of an eye, as though struck by a sudden bout of diarrhea.

"Ah. I really won't be flat on my back tomorrow, right?"

Kanghyuk glared at the empty air yet again.

"Yes. Yes! Doing it. Truly. And stock—you'd better not dare drop."

Planning to work fast early and rest later, Kanghyuk decided to start with the cement. The weight of the bags strapped behind his back felt lighter than it used to.

"What is this? Is this the power of awakening?"

Kanghyuk loaded one more bag.

"Yeah, this is manageable."

Step by step. Back when he'd done this before, merely gripping and hauling a bag had been a struggle in itself; even when the start felt doable, the pain that crept up on him toward the end had always been his tormentor.

"Whoa. What is this? It's actually doable?"

Even after moving every last cement bag, Kanghyuk was astonished at how little his body had tired.

"Awakening really does have its perks."

It felt easier than he'd expected.

"Huh? Hold on a second."

But then a faint sense of wrongness crept in. That "no pain" he'd seen in the quest rewards—was that truly a reward?

"Constellation, is this actually a reward? Wasn't I just... not going to hurt anyway?"

"Ah... I see. So it's more of a blessing? You advanced my reward ahead of schedule? I should've figured it out back when I was swinging a sledgehammer on site. So you're a construction-site Constellation, are you?"

"My apologies if not. People misread things sometimes, you know."

"I mean, come on—a body that swings sledgehammers and doesn't ache on a job site? You'd be a perfect match for it."

Lest he actually be listening, Kanghyuk whispered that last part.

"No slacking! Finish fast so I can go home!"

Feeling the pleasant pressure burning in his thighs, Kanghyuk shouldered the brick-laden jige with a far lighter heart.

"Wow, all ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠done. It's not even noon yet? Come to think of it, I was starving this morning too, and I'm starving again now. Better hurry and—"

"Hyung, I finished everything—can I head out?"

Another roar came through the smartphone.

"It's true! I really did finish it all. I'm not ripping you off, and I didn't give up halfway because it was hard. Come check it yourself later!"

Then again, it was understandable that his hyung wouldn't believe him.

"Oh, right—I awakened. That's why."

The call ended on a note of congratulations.

"That hyung and his temper, honestly..."

Grrrgle. His stomach cramped and wrung as though he'd starved for days.

"Wow. I am starving, seriously!"

Kanghyuk bolted straight for the barbecue restaurant nearby.

"Ajumma! Five servings to start, please!"

Sizzle—!

"Why isn't it cooking yet?!"

Barely three seconds had passed since the meat hit the grill, but Kanghyuk was too hungry for patience—grumbling, he began picking at the side dishes on the table instead.

"Since when were these this good?"

Unlike his usual experience—perhaps because he was simply that starved—a wave of savoriness wrapped itself around his tongue. It was as if the umami had been superglued there.

"Kiya! This meat kills. It just kills."

The meat, though—the meat was transcendent. That juicy, nutty richness and its harmony with the salt, beyond anything the side dishes could offer, plunged in a vertical drop from the tip of his tongue all the way down into his belly.

"So THIS is why food tastes so good after a hard day's work!"

Even in the very moment Kanghyuk marveled at the flavor, his body was ravenously drinking the food down, converting it into nutrients that packed themselves into his muscles and bones.

Five servings, then ten, then twenty—by then the people around him were murmuring and staring, but for Kanghyuk, all he could see and hear was the meat.

"Twenty servings of pork belly comes to 400,000 won. The rice, the drinks, and the cold noodles are on the house."

"F...Four hundred thousand? Did I really eat that much?"

"Yes, sir."

On the table the owner indicated, plates of meat were stacked into a small mountain.

"J...Just a moment."

He hastily fished out the envelope to see how much was inside—exactly 400,000 won.

'I threw in a little extra, allowance money included.' His hyung's words, which had scattered like the wind, drifted back to him, and the anxiety in his chest turned to relief. And watching the money come out to the exact won, the owner's narrowed eyes eased back open as well.

"Thank you for the meal."

"Come again."

'I'd better eat a little less from tomorrow on.' Vowing as much, he stepped out of the restaurant.

"Working leaves you with literally nothing, huh."

Nothing remained in Kanghyuk's two hands—but in every corner of his body, muscle and bone were being compressed, packed, and filled.

"Oh, come ON. Seriously! I was planning to rest at home, and now I have to run? It's over ten kilometers from here!"

"I'm! Only! Enduring! This! Because! Of! The! Stock!"

Kanghyuk grumbled nonstop under his breath, but he started running all the same.

"Wow. Turns out running 20km is less 'hard' than it is 'tedious.'"

The running itself wasn't as grueling as he'd imagined. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠It was merely boring, forcing himself to endure it.

"Ah. Are you an actual stalker? Don't you sponsor anyone else? You don't miss a single word out of my mouth."

Shuddering as if chilled to the bone, Kanghyuk kept running. Once home, the first thing he searched for was why Next Core Tech—a stock he'd written off as junk—had risen at all.

"Ugh, I should've checked this first. My head was all over the place and it slipped my mind."

The search turned up a cascade of articles.

"Constellation! Next Core Tech is the one with the barrier technology, right? Right? Wow. They kept saying mana defies scientific explanation—turns out there's nothing science can't do!"

The Constellation gave no reply.

"Oh, come on! You spam me when I don't need you, so why go silent when I do?!"

"Fine, fine. Unbelievable, honestly!"

Even in that moment, the stock price was creeping upward in premarket trading. Nutrition, running, Gombang work, more running—that identical day repeated itself over and over, and before he knew it, March 17th had arrived.

"Constellation, here we gooo! My light! My salvation! My eternity! How much is this—seriously, how much?!"

Experimental footage from Next Core Technology leaked, and the world turned on its head. The sight of a building shattered inside a barrier being restored to its original state the instant the barrier vanished sent the entire globe into raptures, and the stock price went vertical. Some raised theories that it was staged, but nothing could hold the stock back.

"Heh heh heh. Three billion. It's past three billion won."

"No, Constellation, I'm telling you, it'll blow up if we just wait a little longer? Once the barrier tech is complete, what's three billion? Thirty billion would be pocket change."

The instant those words left his mouth, that strange sensation seemed to wash over him again.

"Ah. You're doing this again, honestly. Fine, fine. I'll sell, okay?"

Just how desperately people were clinging to that stock became clear the moment he pressed the sell button—every last share executed instantly.

"Three billion. Success, Choi Kanghyuk!"

But even after selling, watching the price keep climbing left a faint sourness in his gut that he couldn't quite shake.

"Constellation? This was the right move, right? Really?"

Kanghyuk's faith was running thin.