The Not-So-Good Samaritan's Rebound
During the time Kim Chomo, the not-so-good but results-good Samaritan, unleashed that chain of events, he'd been awake for roughly 24 hours. "Ugh, wiping my record and locking in discharge for a day's pay is sweet... but fuck, I'm too beat to walk."
Even after guzzling helicopter fuel atop that peak, with plenty of energy left, the reserves were razor-thin by the time he'd clocked that reporter! Body condition in tatters to boot, the young man desperately wanted to plop down and ride home.
Kim Chomo stood waiting at the bus stop for just a moment when, at last, his ride home pulled up right in front of him... but
"Are you insane!? Get off right now, stu... student? Whatever!!"
"What."
What came back to the youth—who'd quite literally been awake forever—was the cold, hard reality of denied boarding. Seoul's public transit had stripped this exhausted kid of his right to get near home.
"Why the hell not! This is straight-up discrimination!"
"No, think about it logically... You look like you took a dozen bullets—how the fuck am I supposed to let you on?!"
Of course, the reason was so reasonable anyone would nod along, leaving him speechless.
"Ah. Right, I look like a goddamn hobo..."
If the refusal had been "customer looks broke," he'd have flipped the bus on principle. But hearing "Nah, fuck... those are bullet wounds, right?" to his face? Yeah, that tracked.
Tired commuters bailing early before rush hour with a grin, that Misaeng-style daily grind. But show up in rags instead of a tee, cram onto a packed bus, and suddenly the genre shifts.
"Aw, useless to the bitter end. Maybe I should swing back to base and take a piss on it."
Small mercy: today, unless it was some major crime, he had a note forgiving even the dirty stuff.
Even flooring it down the sidewalk faster than a scooter? Forgiven today!
Shwoooong...!!
"Gahhh, what the hell?!"
"Where do you think you're going, you animal bastard—on a people sidewalk?!"
Scooter jockeys swerving in panic at the blur whipping past, toppling over. Or
"Oh my, oh my!! Where the heck are you headed?! And why're you wearing shredded rags?!"
"Aigoo, sorry ma'am, hanging laundry? My bad. I'm built pretty sturdy."
Not without mishaps—like rooftop-hopping through the one-room village near home—but right now, what mattered most was rest. Real, quality downtime: nothing, just crash hard and eat well.
Sure, committing minor crimes to survive? The law cuts slack for that, right?
"One forest minimum two days... fuck, how long do I gotta lie there this time."
No such thing as free power in this world.
Might as well reenlist? Better to dump a massive rebound on the future and watch the military crumble—that was the IOU he'd signed.
Repayment time hit Kim Chomo just as he barely showered and face-planted into bed.
Draining power reserves, zero sleep, nerves fried—calories burned were insane. But before appetite or horniness, sleep rules. No merchant beats drooping eyelids.
No matter how hard you fight to stay up, eventually the fuse blows, body goes limp.
Control handed to dreams, Kim Chomo soon sensed something oddly textured—tickling his cheek ever so gently.
Hiiihiiing...!!
The culprit: a tongue from what should've been big-boned but was now toy-poodle-sized, a black T-cup foal.
"...Wow, fuck. Total dream, obviously. Dogs in dreams, sure, but black dog-pony? First time... Ack!!"
Wham—!!
Thinking it just a dog dream—"I'm asleep, dreaming dog shit"—his reality check hit fast. The pissed-off black pony charged with a "What the fuck is this guy's deal?!" glare, tiger-kicking the debtor's mug with its hind hoof.
—Hey, you think humans are all rubber or what? No fucking hole in the middle!
"...Ow, fuck. Now it's talking. 'Cause it's a horse..."
Wham!!
"Ack! Don't shove your filthy hoof in my mouth, you nasty fuck! Human heels count as feet too!!"
Bonus: tasting ground grains from the left hind hoof mid-rant!
"Damn, you psycho foal... crashing in my body, can't pay rent, and this shit?!"
—Oh ho, now you're pissed? I should be—you fucking lunatic!!
Failed to prove man's dominance over beasts, he ate punches till sprawling four-limbed on the floor. Took no time.
—Aw, one body with this psycho! Destiny buddies! Cosmic laws, fuck me!
"...Yeah, got it! Sorry!"
Hell, just listening, his fault was crystal clear.
—You some pink freak?! One forest all you suck, then why vacuum a mountaintop!
"Gotta flash something huge so it shuts the fuck up forever!!"
—Aha, so you planned to show your buddy the death cert! Foot fetish much?!
Surveying: all-white room cracked everywhere, shoddily patched by the black thing. Kim Chomo sighed.
Beatdown sparked truth—whose save was his life? Why the pony raged? Answered.
"...Aw, fine. So, side effects? How fucked?"
—Good news, bad news... Which first?
"Ooh, good then..."
—Whatever you say, I'm spilling mine first.
First beast ever, but mirrored his personality—this foal? Mystery solved.
"...You goddamn..."
—Short end: one month, sub-normal civilian—no powers.
"Got it."
—...Bullshit 'got it'—dragged here clueless as fuck!
Kim Chomo took his karmic bill with eerie calm.
—That psycho doc? Could've halved it...
"What?! That torture-tech bastard² had real skills?!"
No reenlisting meant no dealing with pain-ignorant pricks.
"But his 'treatments' had me foaming—how's that good news."
His type equated impossible shit with worthless trash. No silver lining.
Same lens, same mind.
—Yeah. Congrats—one month, absorb that much rebound-free.
The black foal smirked. Good news: ability growth potential.
"...This hack-job holds till healed—no powers?"
—Pretty much. Tore my body to patch... So think before slurping.
Like a stretched gut³ holding more grub. Temp fix meant bigger capacity here.
"...Oh, then?! I got a great idea..."
—Obvious: 'camouflage expands with intake' bullshit.
Smack—!!
Mid-thought—"Heal that, then one mountain..."—final human-brain price: host hoof to dome, lights out clean.
Booted from dream escape, back to grim reality, Kim Chomo awoke.
"Aaaahhh...!! Hurts, hurts so muuuch—!!"
"Shut the fuck up! What racket at 3 a.m. when folks sleep!!"
Bed-rolling from full-body agony silencing even screams—time dragged worse than army hell.
Meanwhile...
"...The era of forcibly detaining ability users is now impossible."
At the Defense Ministry briefing, the minister bowed, calmly recapping the fiasco. Reporters mashed shutters to capture it.
One day post-military flop chasing one guy.
Surrender: no more state-leashing ability users.
But ditching that firepower? Unthinkable in a central state.
"Clash with this gen? Snag the next!"
Non-rebels got shafted lifelong on chump change—not them. Woo future gens with perks, bind 'em.
"Fuck, that psycho spoke for all ability users..."
Grab personal gain? "Sold out user perks for glory!"—could've pitted against cash-poor newbies.
But he wanted discharge, personal pardon—ended user-friendly? Next gen: neutral at worst, favorable best. No hate easy.
'What can you do? Can't squash once, eat market rates and hire high.'
Mocking the mute grunts? Hallucination from pain, maybe.
Bad enough, but chain reactions elsewhere too.
"Lucky Kim's decent... we almost died!"
"Ability user good/bad aside... throwing grunts at that monster?!"
Hostages—dragged, worked light, fed, freed—lawyered up with parents for "mental-physical comp from reckless orders."
"...Your discharges locked now! Back to old ways, c'mon!!"
"Huh? We gave our all, swear? Don't get sore."
Refusal pay plus no-suicide strikes? "Bare-minimum legal" became default, spiking officer BP.
Taste sweet once, no sour return.
That pampered unit? History's dustbin.
"Crazies no-go, target next. Cash stacks? Obedient."
"...Where's that cash from?"
"Eh, wanna live? They'll tax-fund. Power's for livin'."
What choice? Good pay/perks lure future masses.
One not-so-decent Samaritan, pure self-discharge play, sparked butterflies—nudged arrows humanity-ward.
"Ughhh... please, hurting but gotta crawl to the john..."
Hero? Writhing, dignity-clinging, inching to his studio's toilet⁴.