Chapter 5
Chapter 5
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: Disciple Yi Pung - [3]
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Heo Pung-gae closed his eyes and listened to the sounds coming from beyond.
Footsteps were approaching. They were light but quick, from which he could infer one fact.
Someone was deliberately muffling their footsteps while running. Which meant that someone was being chased by yet another someone.
The door burst open, and three men rushed in.
Sure enough, his guess was correct. The three had clearly fled all the way here. Their breathing was ragged.
One of the men's eyes met Heo Pung-gae's. He looked flustered, as if he hadn't expected anyone to be here.
"This place isn't empty..."
Heo Pung-gae slowly opened his eyes and spoke.
"We're open for business again today. Are you here for treatment?"
Having opened his eyes and taken in the three men's state, Heo Pung-gae nodded.
"Looks like patients to me."
All three bore clear signs of having been beaten up here and there. One of them was even bleeding from his shoulder.
"Close the door first."
The three glanced warily at Heo Pung-gae, then carefully shut the door as if afraid the noise might carry. The two others supported the bleeding man by his shoulders and gently laid him on the floor.
Then they glared at Heo Pung-gae and demanded.
"Who the hell are you? Why are you here?"
Heo Pung-gae replied.
"The clinic director."
"What is this place..."
"An acupuncture clinic."
"Acupuncture clinic?"
"Think of it like a doctor's office. I'll treat your friend's wounds, so pull out your wallet."
Heo Pung-gae took a needle from the acupuncture tube. He stuck it into the shoulder of the man lying on the floor, and the bleeding stopped.
He promptly inserted another into the man's neck. The man shuddered violently, then went limp. He'd been anesthetized.
"Uh..."
As the two watching men stared in shock, Heo Pung-gae examined the shoulder wound.
An entry wound slightly smaller than a bullet. Bullet holes are smaller than the bullet itself, thanks to the skin's elasticity.
Heo Pung-gae raised one eyebrow.
"Shot, huh?"
Around the entry wound, there was a dark bruise ring, and black marks from the gunpowder and soot on the skin.
He recognized the wound easily—he'd seen plenty like it back in the Japanese colonial era.
Sure enough, when he inserted forceps into the hole, out came a lead bullet.
The wounded man groaned, and the other two growled.
"You blab about this anywhere, you're dead."
Heo Pung-gae narrowed his eyes. Then he said to the man who'd just threatened him.
"Let me see your wrist."
"Why my wrist?"
"You look like you've got a serious condition. Let me take your pulse."
"Forget it, asshole. You think this is the time..."
"Pulse."
Perhaps figuring it wasn't worth arguing, the man irritably extended his wrist.
Heo Pung-gae placed his fingers on it—then yanked it sharply, snapping it.
The man was in too much agony even to scream. Heo Pung-gae chopped the edge of his hand into the man's neck. He collapsed, foaming at the mouth.
"What the—!"
The last man still conscious leaped to his feet in horror. Heo Pung-gae gave him the pulse diagnosis.
"Fracture."
"What the hell are you doing!"
The man swung a fist. Heo Pung-gae dodged lightly, placed his palm on the man's head, and slammed it down.
To keep him from screaming, he smashed the man's mouth into the floor first. With his lips smashed, he couldn't scream. He just spat out a few yellowed teeth.
Heo Pung-gae grabbed the man's hair, lifting his head as blood trickled from his mouth. Then he spoke slowly.
"Don't threaten to kill me or whatever. It pisses me off."
To the trembling man, Heo Pung-gae said.
"Got it?"
"You..."
Heo Pung-gae smashed the man's face into the floor again. This time, his nose bone cracked, blood flowing.
"Got it?"
The man nodded. Only then did Heo Pung-gae ask.
"So, what brings you here? What'd you do to get the cops shooting at you?"
The man mumbled. He shut his mouth again from the pain, but Heo Pung-gae wasn't in a patient mood.
He pulled a nail clipper from the drawer and sharpened his nails. Razor-sharp. Then he jabbed a finger into the man's thigh.
Heo Pung-gae's finger sank into the thigh up to the first joint, tearing through flesh and muscle inside.
"I'm asking."
The man tried to scream, but Heo Pung-gae stuck a needle in his throat. With his vocal cords paralyzed, he couldn't make a sound. So the pain could continue—and it did.
He thrust his finger into the hole in the thigh, twisting, pulling out, thrusting again.
"Answer me. I know you're still coherent enough to talk."
Heo Pung-gae was pulling out the needle to speak when the door burst open again.
Yi Pung, who had opened it, asked.
"What're you doing?"
He'd heard the footsteps approaching, so he wasn't startled. He replied naturally.
"Interrogating."
"Not torturing?"
"Same difference."
"Why torture? Wanna go back to prison? What if these punks snitch to the cops?"
"They're vicious criminals, so a little roughing up is fine. If the cops grill us, say it was a scuffle."
"How do you know they're vicious? Did they confess?"
"One got shot. Cops don't shoot petty crooks. Probably got caught mid-rape or something."
Hearing that, Yi Pung grinned.
"Whoa, then... we can make some cash?"
Yi Pung eyed the fallen man. Still grinning, he asked.
"Hey, buddy. Got any savings? How much would it take for big bro here to forget to call the cops?"
Heo Pung-gae shot Yi Pung a glare.
"Cut the crap and get ready to report them."
"Huh? No payout?"
"Can't. Cops chased them and fired shots—that's nine o'clock news material. No way to hush it up. More hassle than it's worth. Just report 'em quick for the reward."
"Aw, but it's a shame. Leave it to me—I could squeeze ten mil each outta them..."
Then the man with broken teeth whimpered.
"W-We... ain't running from the cops..."
Lying even now? He still had fight left, so Heo Pung-gae jabbed his finger into the thigh hole again, twisting.
As the man's eyes rolled back from the flesh-tearing agony—
Footsteps approached again.
Another group was heading to the clinic. Sensing three of them, Heo Pung-gae frowned.
Cops? Hadn't reported yet—could he claim the reward just for holding them?
The door opened, and a voice filled with glee rang out.
"Found you."
It wasn't cops who entered the acupuncture clinic.
Another gang of thugs had come in. Allies of the three caught here?
One of the new thugs demanded.
"Who the hell are you punks?"
Heo Pung-gae swallowed a sigh and forced a reply.
"Clinic director."
"Director? Whatever, move."
They wanted to take the three.
Too annoyed to tell them to scram, Heo Pung-gae just stayed seated.
The thug bellowed in a lowered, menacing tone.
"I said move. Can't read the room?"
Another one needing a lesson?
This was all just irritating to Heo Pung-gae. Five years ago, he'd never have imagined it. Back then, not just martial artists—even local punks steered clear of the clinic's owner.
Time to reteach the basics. A hassle he hated, but necessary for smooth business ahead.
"Move!"
As the man yelled and raised his fist high, Heo Pung-gae jabbed a finger into his chest near the heart—a lesson not to shout in front of patients.
The man collapsed backward in intense pain, and the other three gaped in shock.
He swiftly took down two more. A kick to the knee twisted one's leg; he locked the other's fingers with a grappling hand technique and snapped them all. They hit the floor groaning almost simultaneously.
One left in an instant.
The last thug backed away, eyes bulging as he demanded.
"Who the hell are you?"
Heo Pung-gae didn't answer, so the thug roared.
"Who the hell are you!"
Heo Pung-gae stayed silent. He'd already introduced himself as the director.
The thug gritted his teeth and reached into the pouch on his waist.
"Don't wanna talk, huh..."
Heo Pung-gae leisurely waited for him to draw.
Pulling a knife? Perfect chance to teach not to bare blades before him.
But what the thug drew wasn't a knife.
"...just die."
A pistol. Good lord.
Heo Pung-gae was genuinely startled for the first time in ages but kept a straight face, thinking: Does this make any sense?
A pistol from some street punk? Too absurd to predict.
Still, no need to fear a mere pistol. Flicking Finger Skill would do—secretly flick a BB bullet to hit the wrist...
Damn.
He subtly checked his pocket. Nothing. Come to think of it, he'd changed clothes at dawn and forgotten to load BB bullets.
Five years ago, unthinkable. He'd never skipped pocketing BBs during outfit changes for decades. But five years in pocketless prison garb had erased the habit.
No, excuses. His fault entirely.
Guess prison rotted him too long. The Invincible BB Bullet of old would neutralize suspects on sight. Here he was, standing like an idiot, watching this trash draw a gun. What a disgrace.
"Fuck..."
Yi Pung froze in shock. No help there.
Handle it solo, then. Dodge when he pulls the trigger?
Dodging bullets is easy—watch the trigger finger and dive at the right moment.
But Yi Pung was beside him, patients behind. Dodging meant one of them gets hit. Heo Pung-gae couldn't let Yi Pung die, let alone the thugs.
This is bad.
Heo Pung-gae began deep breathing.
Unexpected, but no panicking. Excitement dulls the body. Regulate sympathetic and parasympathetic nerves with breath. As fast as possible...
Yes, five years in prison, but a century of training doesn't vanish.
Big inhale through the nose—clarity returns. Proper tension sharpens focus like a honed blade.
One second passed.
The thug pulled the trigger. And Heo Pung-gae decided to recreate something he'd done exactly once, decades ago.
He swung his palm.
The gunshot rang out.
Then nothing.
Like magic, the bullet vanished.
Yi Pung charged the stunned, wide-eyed thug.
"You crazy bastard!"
Yi Pung's fist smashed his jaw. Yi Pung had trained for decades himself.
He stomped the fallen thug repeatedly, then turned worriedly to Heo Pung-gae.
"Bro, you okay?"
Heo Pung-gae opened his clenched palm instead of answering. Yi Pung's eyes locked on it.
Yi Pung's eyes went wide.
"Whoa... you caught the bullet? Barehanded?"
Heo Pung-gae approached the fallen thug, checked his pulse, and replied.
"Yeah."
"But when I asked before prison, you said you couldn't!"
"Ate some pricey elixir before lockup."
"That one from President Park? The one he outbid Bill Gates for?"
"Bill Gates felt bad hogging it all, so he let it go. Digested it in prison over five years of training—guess it paid off."
Yi Pung gaped. As far as he knew, Heo Pung-gae trained no external hardening arts. Catching the bullet was pure skill and reflexes in harmony.
"Damn, badass. So now I can really call you a peerless master? You weren't one before."
"Not the point right now."
"It is! Can you do it again? Gun's here—film it! Catch another bullet on video and send to the Martial Alliance. Proves you're peerless!"
"Do that crap again? No way."
"Aw, your palm's bleeding. Hurt?"
"Yeah. Scraped it."
Yi Pung checked the palm and clicked his tongue.
"Not bad. Tough it out. Just recreate it for a quick video?"
"Bullshit. Lucky the palm just scraped—if a finger got skinned, it'd be trouble."
Chatting nonsense post-crisis was tension relief.
His heart still raced.
Not from fearing the pistol. Too seasoned for that.
In the colonial era, greener days, he'd fought yakuza spraying machine guns. Five years ago, he wiped out a SWAT team with rifles.
This shock lingered not from fear, but sheer absurdity.
A gun? In Korea? From street trash?
He was prying the pistol from the thug's hand when—
A trembling voice came.
"No way... that just..."
The clinic door stood wide open. Beyond it, Yi Do-hyeok stared in disbelief, his pupils quaking.
Why so shocked? Overheard their rank-reversal talk? No, they'd spoken softly. Then he saw the catch?
That fit—his gaze glued to the bloodied bullet.
Whatever the kid thought, it wasn't Heo Pung-gae's concern now. He eyed the thug and pistol alternately, wondering.
Where the hell did this scum get this?