Too Slow to Survive
You could die out there. The state of the country these days was beyond words. Random beatings without warning. Stabbings. Kidnappings. Human trafficking. Extortion. Scams and robberies. Indiscriminate crimes against total strangers were rampant. It was a world where you couldn't trust a soul.
There was only one way to protect yourself from this dangerous hellscape: never leave the house. That's why Im Si-ho had been holed up in his room for a full year now. As a translator, he could work remotely. All his daily necessities and food came via delivery. Perfect. My own impenetrable bunker.
"Ugh... urk."
Scratch that. It wasn't perfect. He'd overlooked one thing: illness.
Im Si-ho clung to the toilet and heaved up every bit of yesterday's meal.
"Ah... still gonna puke..."
His stomach churned, his head throbbed. Fever scorched his body even as cold sweat poured down, and the ground seemed to sway beneath his feet. What did I eat that was bad? Spoiled rice? Sour milk?
Si-ho slumped across his bed, mumbling weakly. "...Should I go to the hospital?"
This felt like more than simple food poisoning—the symptoms had dragged on too long. If he kept toughing it out at home, he might make it worse. With no choice, Si-ho steeled himself for his first outing in a year. Preparing to venture into that horrific, sinister outside world.
His grim determination was like a general marching off to war.
"Telescopic baton... check. Pepper spray... check. Stun gun... check."
He checked his arsenal like a true commander. Self-defense gear to fend off any criminals who might target him.
"Alright. Here goes."
Si-ho took a deep breath and flung open the door.
Air from the outside world after 365 days. Crisp. Chilly. Lethal.
He took his first step into the unknown.
"......?"
And before he could manage twenty paces, a knife plunged into him. Right there on the street in front of his house. By some total stranger.
"Kyaaah! S-someone's been stabbed...!"
"He's got a weapon! Run!!"
"Someone call the cops... no, ambulance first...!"
Si-ho's legs buckled. He collapsed to his knees on the pavement. The world spun. His gut twisted. Screams and chaos hammered his skull. Amid the sticky, tangled mess of his thoughts, one question finally surfaced.
Why...?
Why had he been stabbed? He'd prepared so thoroughly. Telescopic baton. Pepper spray. Stun gun. And more. He'd wrapped himself in weapons. What was missing...?
...Too slow.
Si-ho had been slower than the attacker. Or too late. That was it. Nothing else.
No matter how many powerful weapons you carried, they were useless. What mattered was reaction speed. How quickly you sensed the threat. How fast you countered.
That speed decided life or death.
"D-don't wanna... die..."
His breaths came ragged, like crushed lungs. Veins throbbed under his ear. His heart thundered, desperately urging his body to move—but as time slipped away, even that frenzy faded.
If I'd been just a little faster. A bit quicker. Faster. If I was faster. Faster. Quicker, faster. Should've been faster. Needed to be faster.
His brain, mashed into despair and terror, looped the thought like a broken radio.
Then... I might not have died.
The metallic tang of blood tickled his nose. Black spots bloomed across his blurring vision.
And so, drowning in regrets, Si-ho sank into the pool of his own blood and died.
There was an old saying: first strike wins.
If I attack first, victory is mine.
It was a universal truth that applied to every kind of fight.
Take a gunfight, for example. If I draw and shoot first? My opponent drops dead. I win. Proven.
Knife fight? I stab first? Dead opponent. I win. Proven again.
And humanity—crazy bastards who'd been stabbing each other with blades for thousands of years and gunning each other down for centuries—loved their fights. They'd honed the arts of first-strike victory to perfection.
Like quick draw: whipping out your gun and firing at top speed. It peaked in America's Wild West, where only the fastest gunslinger survived. The slow ones? All dead.
Or iaijutsu: drawing your sword and slashing in a flash. Perfected in samurai-era Japan. Again, only the quickest drawers lived. The rest? Dead.
...Hold on.
Wasn't that exactly like what happened to Si-ho?
The attacker had quick-drawn his knife and stabbed. Si-ho was too slow and died.
It was straight out of the samurai age, where blades decided fate.
South Korea—once a beacon of public safety—reduced to medieval Japan levels. Yeah, the country's state was a mess.
If that thought crossed your mind?
Tada.
Reincarnation granted.
Into real-deal samurai Japan. Precisely, the world of the manga Si-ho had been translating right before death: Wandering Sword God: Past Arc.
An era where the sword outran the law.
Where a shoulder bump sparked a duel to the death.
Where random stabbings were like traditional games.
Into that world... Si-ho had been reborn.