4Dron? Nah, Fuck That!
Ever since the first day of training, that old man showed up every single fucking day. Nofia's 4Dron. Regret, ruin, obsession. Since I'm in charge of the regret and ruin parts in this novel, I guess it really is a 4Dron story after all.
"Get your shit together, you brain-dead bastard."
"Fuck."
Once again, the old man's wooden sword slammed into my solar plexus. My parents really were fast on the draw once he gave them the heads-up. Since I was aiming to get into the Academy, they'd already told the school that I'd be replacing all my classes with training except for the actual exam day. So right after training started, I got hit with a sudden notice.
"Mom, where'd the doctor go?"
"Hey kid! Shinwoo's hiding over here!"
"Get out here, you little shit."
"Fuck."
I'd tried whispering to Mom while hiding and got caught immediately. In the end, I had no choice but to drag myself to the training ground like a pig headed for the slaughterhouse. Still, pigs have it better. They just get one quick zap or a sledgehammer to the head.
Today, I was once again marching off to become ground meat.
Humans are creatures of adaptation. That's why the saying exists. At first, I spent most of the day lying flat on the ground. But as I got used to the beatings, that time gradually decreased. Of course, it decreased—it didn't disappear completely. I stand up and take the hits now. It hurts. It hurts. I say it twice because it's important.
Still, just like how even a dog learns to read after three years, I'd made some progress too. As expected from the number one physical (pain) instructor in the business. I really had learned a lot. Everything from various martial arts to the proper use of most weapons. On top of that, basic stamina training and tips for hunter life. It was all genuinely useful stuff.
Of course, just because it's useful doesn't mean it doesn't suck ass.
The old man usually didn't talk much, but whenever he was beating me, his mouth went into overdrive. During punching practice:
"When you throw a punch, use your hips too. You're never gonna use them for anything else anyway, so use them now."
"...Who the hell smashed those hips so bad that I'm lying here right now?"
"Oh, was that me?"
During running:
"Run faster. I bet you jerk off quicker than this."
"You fucker! That's my potato chip!"
"Finish before I eat them all."
When swinging a sword:
"Why isn't it straight? Stop flopping around and swing it properly."
"I'm swinging it like your dick, old man."
"My dick is rock hard, you son of a bitch!"
During bench press:
"All you've got are those pathetic arms."
"Ughhh... grrr..."
"Oh, my package just arrived. Keep lifting that for me."
"Put the fucking weight down first, you bastard!"
During sparring:
"You need to! Step! Properly! Dumbass!"
"Stop! Punching me! On every! Fucking! Exclamation point!"
"Since you won't step! I have to! Do this! One-two! One-two! And beat! The living! Shit! Out of you!"
The old man came up with all kinds of creative bullshit every single day. But there was one day he stayed completely silent. It started from a tiny mistake.
Before the dueling arena's safety system had been activated, I tried to pull off a ground-and-pound on the old man but lost my balance and pitched forward. When people fall, they instinctively grab for something. Unfortunately, what I grabbed was two fistfuls of the old man's hair on both sides of his head.
"Hey! Fuck, stop!"
"Ah."
-Riiiiip!!!!
I just yanked it out like it was weeds.
In that moment, a lot of things stopped. Time stopped. The world stopped. And so did the old man.
"......"
"......I'm sorry."
"......Get off me, you motherfucker."
"Yes sir."
People who have awakened their abilities usually have better base physical stats than normal humans. The old man used to be a hunter, so he was an ability user with a strong body, but apparently his hair follicles weren't part of that package. After that day, the old man's head became a full-on marine corps high-and-tight.
And yet people still called him "Ass-ei!"? That shit got him absolutely destroyed. So yeah, he got destroyed. But I don't regret it. It was totally worth it.
"You little... fucker!"
"Take another one, you dog bastard."
Around the time I'd started getting used to even this kind of treatment, I finally told him about the stupid numbers that only I could see. I figured the old man might know something, so I told him with a sliver of hope.
"Ass-ei! I awakened an ability too."
"Dumbass."
The old man's wooden sword smacked me in the head. But it didn't hurt.
"You're so weak."
"What the hell? Anyway, what ability? Spit it out."
The old man was actually clutching his tingling wrist.
"I can see numbers floating above everyone's heads except for mine."
"Right. More bullshit, huh. What does it even mean?"
"Old man, you jerked off three times yesterday, didn't you?"
"......Did you see?"
Suddenly the old man started looking at me with suspicious eyes. And his face was turning a little red.
Yo. You fucking idiot. This is a harem story, not some shitty gay one.
"Don't blush, you fuck. My chastity is precious."
"Keep talking shit and I'll shove this in and pop that cherry for you."
"Don't try to stick your nonexistent hair in my face. You'll infect me."
"Fuck."
The old man instantly deflated. In a gloomy voice, he said,
"...But... you were the one who made this happen, you fucking bastard."
"It doesn't matter if it's there or not anyway."
"It's insanely important to me. Give it back. My precious hair, I mean."
"Heh heh heh. No can do."
Since it looked like the old man was about to cry, I roasted him even harder. After all, only hardship makes a person strong. That way his hair follicles would get stronger too. Anyway, back to the original topic.
"So the number above your head went up by three, that's why."
"The number above my head went up by three, so I did it three times? That's what you're saying?"
"Yes, exactly."
...Wait, it's going up again? Huh?
My hands started shaking as I spoke.
"Old man, did you just cum? Was that a hands-free orgasm?"
"Stop talking such fucking nonsense. I'm actually going to kill you."
The old man lowered his voice in a menacing tone, but that kind of thing wasn't important to me right now. My chastity was more important. I slowly backed away, making one last stand.
"You're gonna treat me roughly! Like in an erotic doujin!"
"SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!!!!!!!!!"
That day, I learned that a skilled hunter could rip off someone's limbs with their bare hands. At the same time, I discovered for the first time that it was possible to reset by repeatedly activating and deactivating the dueling arena system.
Even though overwhelming pain was crashing over me, one thought suddenly popped into my head and I blurted it out.
"You idiot, you should've reset way earlier. That's why you hit the ceiling this time."
"Please just die."
The last thing I saw was the old man with bloodshot eyes trying to rip my head off. What a crazy bastard.
In the end, my conversation with the old man (physical 9 : language 1) didn't yield any special results. But there was a bit of luck. While I was waiting for the crosswalk signal on my way to the cafeteria, I spotted a group of office workers a little ways away. Even though it was dark evening, they were all so drunk their faces were bright red—I could tell from a distance.
There, I overheard a conversation between an older man who looked like a department head and a young guy who seemed pretty fresh-faced.
"Now that we've eaten, it's time for round two!! Where are we going, Mr. Han?"
".......Huh? Chief... me?"
The young man, who looked way too young for his title of assistant manager, asked back in a daze. Instead of answering him, the chief started announcing to the rest of the group.
"Everyone, we're going wherever Mr. Han decides for round two!"
"Wait, no..."
People can't help but watch when there's a spectacle. I was sneaking glances too. That's when I saw the number above the head of the guy called Mr. Han increase by 1.
"Ah, Chief. But we have a client meeting first thing tomorrow morning. Let's call it here."
"Ah, I knew you'd say that, so I already called all the client meeting staff! Let's just handle the meeting during round two!!"
Mr. Han's face broke into a huge smile while his teeth were clenched so hard they looked ready to shatter as he expressed his joy.
"....Th-thank you so much."
"No need to thank me. This is the least I can do! Let's go!"
At that moment, one of the red numbers above Mr. Han's head went up. I just stared blankly at that number until they walked out of sight.
The moment I got back to the dueling arena, I told the old man about this phenomenon. For the first time, he put on a serious expression and said to me:
"Dunno lol."
"You fucking idiot, why are you saying that with such a serious face?"
The old man fell back into thought. After a moment, his eyes lit up like he'd figured something out, but his answer was far from what I'd been hoping for.
"It's probably... based on decision-making."
"That's insanely vague."
"The number counts based on choices."
Hearing that, I gave him an example and asked.
"Like if I'm debating between going for red buff or heading top, and I decide on a path, it counts?"
"Probably. And that butcher bastard should always come top."
Huh? You fucking idiot? Daring to talk shit about jungle?
"The dumbass who goes 'Enemy Fiora is camping top, what is our jungler doing? Jungler!!!' can just die."
"No, that's actually bullshit. You can't trade. And why the hell is Fiora camping top anyway?"
"Because the opponent is top, so of course she'd camp top, you fuck."
Then I remembered something else and brought it up. Not the black numbers, but the red ones.
"Then what about the red numbers in parentheses?"
"Please use your brain for once. It's probably because it's an unwanted result."
"So that's why that office worker looked like he was dying inside."
He really did have the same pitiful expression as me. The old man patted my shoulder and laughed brightly as he said,
"Don't worry! I'll make you look like you're dying inside soon too!"
"Be honest. You're still pissed about losing your hair, aren't you?"
"Use your head, you fucking idiot."
The old man was making such a huge deal over me just pulling out some weeds. What a petty bastard. A masterpiece of pettiness.
"Your heart's as narrow as your pores must've been! No wonder it was so lush before!"
"You son of a bitch."
I got my ass beaten again. On the way home after training, I saw a familiar face. It was that Mr. Han I'd seen before going to eat. Mr. Han had his arm around the chief on his left and a scrawny guy on his right. I hadn't seen the guy on the right in the earlier group, so I figured he must be from the client company.
Maybe alcohol flipped his switch, because Mr. Han was yelling at the top of his lungs about going for round three. On the other hand, the two guys with their arms around him looked completely tense and awkward.
"M-Mr. Han! It's getting really late. Shouldn't we head home soon?"
"That's right! Mr. Han. Since there's no meeting tomorrow, you can rest well and come in during the afternoon!"
"No, I'll just let you rest tomorrow, so please, let's end it here!"
Mr. Han stopped for a moment, closed his eyes, and thought. The two men held onto a tiny bit of hope and quietly stared at him. Finally, Mr. Han opened his mouth.
"If I'm resting tomorrow anyway, then round three!!! Gotta go hard when you're resting!! Let's gooooo!!!"
The hope vanished. The two men muttered with dead eyes, completely hollow.
"We're fucked."
"Our stock's probably gonna tank starting tomorrow."
"We're going to Mars!!!!!"
As a small side note, the next day's news had a short report about an unauthorized break-in at the Aerospace Museum. The intruders were three office workers. The news said three men had been found unconscious in front of a spaceship model. Hugging a Shiba Inu.
When I got home, I started organizing my thoughts. Black number changes when predicting and acting. Red number changes from unwanted results. It was ambiguous. The old man clearly wasn't the type to use his head. He couldn't even come to a proper conclusion about something like this.
My IQ of 100 plus the old man's IQ of 70. Even with a combined 170 IQ, I still couldn't figure it out exactly. I subtracted 30 from the old man's IQ since he didn't have hair on both sides anymore. There's a clear reason for subtracting 30. Lately he'd been losing his mind more often, sweeping his side hair down while crying. If that wasn't mourning the 30 IQ points that had vanished, then what was it?
In the end, without being certain about anything, I fell asleep. Tucking away a vague expectation of 'I'll figure it out someday' in the corner of my mind.