Paranormal Link-16
“Can I do that too?”
On the rooftop, now just the two of us, Blanca stared blankly at me for a long while before asking.
“Do what?”
“The last one…”
She gave a vague answer, unsure how to put it into words.
“That was just a sword style like any other. Focused on moving faster and stronger.”
“…No, not that. The last move felt… different. Is that maybe your real swordsmanship, Isan oppa?”
Her face twisted into an awkward expression, as if the question itself felt bizarre. I’ve always believed that a sharp eye—what martial artists call the ‘discerning gaze’—is key to learning and mastering anything. And she had real talent for it. This wasn’t just her seeing me turn the tables with one move after being pushed back. She’d sensed the shift in my sword momentum and aura.
“You could say that. Why, wanna learn it?”
I teased, and Blanca clamped her mouth shut for a moment before slowly shaking her head.
“No, I like the Escape Fate Blade Art better.”
“……”
Ah, right. Moyong Cheol’s the popular one, as always.
I grumbled inwardly, and a faint smile crept onto Blanca’s face.
“What? Why’re you smiling?”
“Nothing. I just finally get your expressions now, Isan oppa.”
“My expressions?”
“You looked a little disappointed just now.”
“What’re you talking about? Not at all. Escape Fate Blade Art. Totally great blade art. Highly recommend.”
“Why’re you talking like that? Totally busted.”
Suddenly, Blanca burst out laughing, cackling away. Kids these days are impossible to read. One minute praising Moyong Cheol’s art as beautiful… She’d change her tune if she saw the thunderfire of Thunderclap Sword.
“Anyway, let’s get started.”
Once her giggles died down, I handed her the training blade I’d been holding.
“Here. It’s not your first time using it, but this is your training blade.”
“Not a sword?”
“Shh. You gotta strictly distinguish between a do blade and a geom sword. Otherwise, the ‘my weapon conquers all diseases’ crazies will come after you.”
“What the hell is that?”
“Anyway, since Escape Fate Blade Art is a blade art, you use a do. So it’s a blade.”
“……”
She didn’t seem convinced but nodded obediently anyway.
“Good. Let’s start with basic physical training. Put down the blade.”
“…Huh?”
She’d clearly expected to swing it right away, her eyes going wide.
“You wanna move like me? Then build a solid foundation first.”
What’s with the ‘…Huh?’ Back in my day, even the neighborhood dojos drilled basics hard.
With my new… sacrifice—no, trainee, I wrapped up today’s external training as well.
“Huff… huff…”
The moment we finished, Blanca collapsed on the ground, gasping for air. I picked up the training blade.
“First day, so watch closely and memorize.”
“Haa… ugh…”
“You can do it lying down.”
I waved for her to relax as she struggled to sit up, then positioned myself where she had a good view. I demonstrated the blade art at a moderate pace—not too slow, not too fast—for easy recall.
“……”
Her eyes sharpened with focus, forgetting her pain. Impressive.
“…Ughhh…”
Not as much as the resentful glare she shot me the next day from muscle soreness, though.
Mornings at the sandwich shop. Afternoons dropping by Rom’s for unwanted secondhand smoke. Nights teaching and training. Days slipped by like that.
Oh, and no jobs from Rom in that time, so all I got was lung damage and his nagging to stop bothering him.
“Oh yeah, that Silver Axe guy poked around a few times too.”
I muttered absently, recalling the guy who’d suffered the same beggar beatdown and cringy escape lines—unilateral camaraderie from a shared trauma.
“…Haa… What…?”
Blanca, now improved enough to just slump and catch her breath instead of flat-out collapsing, asked.
Come to think of it, she didn’t know about that day.
“Talking to myself. Break’s over.”
“No way! Not even a full minute!”
She yelped in protest as I clapped.
“If you’ve got energy to react to mutterings, you’re good.”
“…For real…”
Grumbling, she sprang up anyway. See? You’re looking forward to it too.
“Don’t say weird shit.”
“Did I say it out loud?”
“…Haa.”
She shook her head with a sigh and grabbed her training blade from the ground. Watching her flow through Escape Fate Blade Art, Silver Axe’s lurking came to mind.
“There, loosen up more. Your arms are too stiff.”
Lately, with no jobs, I’d picked up aimless wandering as a hobby. Spotting shady types confirmed the gangs were scouting—classic black path move when righteous factions weaken. Probe, find an opening, sink claws in.
“Your footwork’s tangled. Lower body’s weak—looks like more reps on move eight.”
“Don’t add useless commentary!”
Shiiik! Nice—anger stabilized her stance. Admiring her rage-fueled growth, Blanca finished her form and sheathed the blade slowly.
“One more time, minding those points, then done.”
“Together?”
“You can’t focus when I’m up front every time.”
“…That’s…”
Ahem. She coughed awkwardly, averting her eyes. Ears turning red—she thought I wouldn’t notice. Not a lie that she found Escape Fate beautiful; even with higher proficiency, she lost focus watching me practice. Despite familiarity, it kept happening, so now I trained after her. Not a total loss—observing her highlighted my gaps.
Women’s bodies are naturally more flexible and fluid than men’s. Escape Fate’s soft, yielding essence suited her lithe flow better than my stiff style, giving me insights.
Of course, only a master like me could gain from that.
“Now you’re making that smug face.”
“What? I don’t smug. I am smug.”
“……”
We’d grown closer sweating together these past days. She eyed me like a crazy person more casually now.
“Jokes over. Let’s go.”
“Haa…”
Blanca raised her blade.
…Sounds like she’s swinging at me.
After finishing my routine, I headed to Rom’s office.
…Or meant to. A job at last. Ahh, this chill thrill… Time to merc out as Isan.
Strutting into the secondhand smoke den like a badass, the “business” was… an errand.
Rom’s message for the old lady who’d given me membership but griped I never showed, plus her reply for him, dragged me to the compound. For the record, joking if the data chip (newer mini version than mine) was a love letter nearly got a pipe to the skull.
At the unmarked bar, stepping inside, something nagged like I’d forgotten…
Before dredging my abyss of bad memories, it caught my eye.
“My eyes!”
I’d finally forgotten! The unspeakable horror who’d fed me cola-labeled industrial waste stood at the bar.
“You again?”
He grimaced at me too—look in a mirror, buddy.
“Loud from the jump.”
Ignoring the daytime drunks, I sat at the counter. Cat-ears girl approached.
“Message?”
“Here.”
I handed over the data chip. She pocketed it carelessly in her uniform.
“…Not important?”
“Dunno? Real important, they’d package it.”
Her nonchalance made sense, so I nodded.
“Wanna drink since you’re here? Or a job? Got a hot one.”
“…Why no savings products?”
“Go to a bank. We sell dead man’s lottery only.”
…Dead man’s lottery. Gruesome name. Sounded like demonic cult betting to my ears.
“Dead man’s lottery? Bet on how many die?”
“Nah, it’s on who dies that week… What?”
She trailed off. Staring, a gravelly voice cut in from the side.
“You the fucker wearing the Los Amigos mark?”
“…What’s this lump?”
Damn, dying to hear the rest, but this idiot interrupted. Bloodshot eyes screaming intent to pick a fight, he loomed over me swaggering.
“Where’s this punk sucking off Los Amigos? They fucked over us mercs for nothing.”
…So, whatever, he hated my jacket. Glancing at cat-ears, she looked pissed at the interruption, arms crossed glaring.
“Dex, I’m fucking talking.”
“…Guild’s gone full circle! Covering for a Los Amigos fanboy!”
Yelling like he wanted to rile the crowd, he glanced around. Reactions lukewarm overall, but hostile glares dotted here and there.
“Question.”
I didn’t know what Los Amigos did or their grudge. But Gustavo wouldn’t hate me enough for a scarlet letter, so one fact to decide if I kept listening.
“Question? Right now…”
“Any of you studs actually suffer direct damage from Los Amigos? Know someone who did?”
Asking him seemed pointless, so I polled the mercs. His face flushed purple, but I waited.
“Nah! Fucker’s a retard! Doesn’t even pay bar tabs!”
Laughter erupted from spots.
“Hear that? You’re a retard.”
“You little sh—”
“Yo, Dex. Fists? Hit the betting board first.”
“That’s the rule,” she added, pulling tequila and filling two on-the-rocks glasses.
“Bet up! No weapons.”
She yelled while pouring, whispering the last to me. Glancing at the arena, familiar vibe hit. Fight? Count me in!