Footsteps of the White Whale
"You picking a fight right now?"
"Your carelessness nearly made your buddy crash into us."
Informal speech? Holy shit. This is why you Eastern bastards...
"That supposed to be polite?"
"You little shit. Go back to your country, you fucking prick. Don't walk the capital streets wrinkling my nose. Got it?"
"Admitting you came here just to start shit. Cut the crap and get lost. If you keep flapping your mouth, you might lose your tongue—and that's on you."
The ugly-faced mercenary approaching me didn't back down. If anything, he got pissed off like I was the one picking a fight. Things unfolded in that clichéd way I'd seen a hundred times before. No need to play nice with assholes like this. He came looking for trouble—what's so special about treating him well? Just beat the crap out of him a few times and send him packing.
Doesn't back off even seeing Janet's face. That's where it ends.
These guys were mercenaries. But they didn't recognize Janet's face. No idiot wouldn't know the name White Whale, so they must be some random nobodies who'd never actually met her. His status window confirmed it—no notable traits or skills, nothing special. Stats weren't high either. I even checked the name to make sure there wasn't some hidden noble background or whatever. The last thing I need is touching some guy who turns out to be a disgraced branch family noble with a sob story.
Just one more thing to confirm, and I could touch him freely...
- Thwack.
Crack!!
"Guhk...!"
- Thud!!
"What'd you just call him? Little shit? Chanyoung your buddy or something?"
"Kek..."
Before I could finish my judgment, Chris sprang into action. She lightning-kicked his ankle, sending him sprawling to the ground. It wasn't just a simple trip. With her right hand gripping his throat and yanking, she twisted his toe to spin him like a windmill. He must've floated in the air for a split second. Then he rolled across the pavement like that. People can't fly, after all.
- Thump.
"Guhk... W-wait..."
"Bite down. Don't bite your tongue."
"Wh-what're you gonna do! Don't! What the hell?!"
Chris wasn't satisfied with just laying him out. She planted her foot on his back as he lay prone and wrenched his right arm up. That was... a shoulder dislocation in the works. Pop it back right, and there's barely any aftermath, but the first time? Eyes roll back from the pain. Both on the way out and the way in.
She'd been so tame around me lately that I'd almost forgotten... Chris wasn't kind to enemies. She only turned into that gentle girl from seven years ago around me.
"Okay. One, two..."
- Snap.
"Wait, Chris."
"Uh, huh? Chanyoung? But..."
"Not telling you to stop. Just need to check something first."
Chris looked flustered seeing me intervene. Probably didn't expect it. Not like he got shot or anything—no sympathy for this trash. Just preparing for any fallout. Let's wrap this up quick so she can finish popping his shoulder.
- Swish.
I rummaged in my pocket and pulled out my mercenary badge, crouching in front of the prone bastard and shoving it in his face.
"See it? What do you think?"
"Wh-what is it. What do you want? What're you gonna do to my arm?!"
"...Huh?"
He barely reacted to the badge, leaving me momentarily thrown. I double-checked mine. Still clearly read: 'Affiliated with White Whale Mercenary Group.' As I puzzled over what was wrong, laughter and the answer came from behind.
"Puhaha!! Hey, monk boy. Didn't I tell you last time? Mercenaries are all illiterate."
"Ah..."
"No way they'd read a badge. Showing it doesn't tell 'em we're White Whale."
"Cough... Yeah, guess not."
"Pfft!! Dude, you got some seriously cute sides. Almost made me fall for you. Heh heh heh..."
"..."
Was I this dumb? Embarrassment hit me hard for the first time in ages. Even that would fade quick thanks to Natural Healing, though. Guess I need to default to assuming most folks can't read... I knew it in my head, but it wasn't second nature yet. Damn.
While I swallowed my shame, the bastard's face on the ground started twisting awkwardly. Probably clocked the White Whale name now.
"Wh-White Whale...? You? No way a Easterner in White Whale? H-how...?"
"Who says Easterners can't join my group? Never made that rule."
Janet fielded that one, clearly amused by the whole mess.
"...'My' mercenary group...? Brown hair... striking beauty... No way... You're the... captain...?"
"What do you think?"
"Im... impersonator..."
"Heh heh. Brainless fuck."
Janet smirked without confirming, leaving him even more rattled. If she'd said yes outright, he might not have bought it—but teasing like this? Even I bought it. I approached the prone guy and patted him down. Faster than asking directly. Easy enough to snag what I wanted.
In my hand: his mercenary badge.
Let's see... Name matches the status window. It's his.
His badge had a simple profile, just like mine. Obvious for an ID stand-in.
"Huh? This guy's with Sky Mountain Mercenary Group."
"Gasp! H-how?!"
He jolted visibly at my words. First literate mercenary he'd met? ...Makes sense, thinking about it.
"Uncle's group? What the hell. Total small fry."
"Safe to mess with? He's still from your acquaintance's group."
"Not at all. Uncle's crew doesn't sweat dropouts or dead weights vanishing quietly. Hundreds at a time, not one or two."
"...No protections for recruits, huh?"
"What're you expecting from mercenaries? Build your own connections inside if you want, but I know all Uncle's officers—no issues there."
"Perfect."
Having solid backing felt that reassuring. That wrapped up everything I halted Chris for. What if—just what if—this trash was Iron Lion or Sky Mountain elite? Or from some powerhouse group? Reckless moves could spark inter-group wars. I had to play careful.
...Honestly, even if he was Iron Lion, I'd still touch him. Can't keep bottling rage—bad for the body. Difference between knowing and prepping versus getting blindsided.
"Captain? Quick question... Mercs fighting doesn't get us hauled by guards, right?"
"Long as no blood? Fists land you in jail, you'd have four or five from every tavern nightly."
"...Was it this brutal outside the monastery? ...Guess I should be glad guards only jump in for bloodshed..."
"Eh... Merc squabbles? Even bloody's fine sans corpses—they stay hands-off."
Were mercenaries politically powerful now? Or just kingdom security in the shitter? Even in the capital? ...Beats me.
"Chanyoung? Ready now?"
"Yeah. Do it. Oh, leave one arm. Mine to do."
"Huh? You know how?"
"Nah. Teach me while we're at it."
"Got it!"
Figured I'd learn dislocating tricks from Chris. Revenge plus a useful skill? Win-win.
"M-matched in heaven... What do I do... Lost my confidence..."
A groan came from behind. Aside from the crowd gawking, only Mel stood there.
Before I could ask her about it, the foot-pinned bastard spat urgently.
"W-wait. Sorry if insulting that guy pissed you off. But breaking my arm for words? Too much!"
"That erase calling Chanyoung a little shit? Not breaking it anyway. Turn your head forward."
"I-I can't pay treatment! Broke and sleeping rough right now...!"
"Gonna fix it good as new. Shut up."
- Whoosh!
"Aghk...!"
Arm wrenched back, he couldn't resist physically. Any twitch, and Chris hiked the twisted limb higher, doling pain. He was fully subdued.
"Watch close. Demo time. Pin the shoulder like this with your foot, then..."
"Aaaagh! Hurts! Hurts! Hiiik!..."
"Haven't even started, ya wimp. Yank like this in one go..."
- Pop.
"Gaaaaah!!! My arm!! My arm!"
"There! Clean success. Muscles fine!"
Compared to bone-cracking? The pop was surprisingly quiet. Barely audible to my sharp ears.
"Rookie's first dislocation, huh? Never popped means never fought, total greenhorn... Heh heh."
"You been dislocated, Captain?"
"Me? Obviously. Rare in White Whale not to."
Vets get them routinely, per Janet. Made sense—swinging iron all day. But was this guy such a newbie? Stats said mid-tier, edging below Mel. Solid enough for confidence to pick fights.
- I-isn't that arm broken?
- Oh my... Gruesome...
- Ugh... Mercenaries...
Onlookers gasped softly. Misread his wails as a break. But quieted as Chris reset the arm. He, thinking it snapped, bawled—then shrieked anew at the reset pain. Once assembled and pain gone, sanity returned.
"Wha...? My arm... It moves!"
"One set done!"
Chris finished her demo. The merc stared dazed at his smoothly moving right arm, lost. But his misery wasn't over.
"Your turn, Chanyoung! Did right shoulder... Left now."
"W-wait. What?! Gotta go through that again?"
"No aftermath, right? Just a tingle."
"Th-that's not the..."
"Shut up and stay down. Before I pop and reset a few more times. Quiet, and it's one and done."
"Ugh... Uuugh..."
He shut up at Chris's icy tone. Generous, really. Could chop fingers off, and he'd have no say. I'm stronger, better backed. His fault for starting shit. Why pick on quiet me?
...Kinda looks pick-a-fight worthy now?
To others, I looked like one guy with three women. Truth: two men, two women—or deeper, all three women besides me. Plenty misunderstandable. If I were ugly, no hassle. Can't be lovers with those beauties. If real lovers? Don't touch. Ugly guy with girls means money or power.
But I'm handsome. Even first-time Easterner-spotters can't call me ugly. Problem. Face fits owning all three beauties.
Thanks to that Baek Hamin prick, I learned the world crawls with little shits. Twisted folks? Plenty reason to seethe. Doesn't erase guilt, though—arm still gets popped. Once out, once in.
Two more screams echoed down the capital street. My trusty dynamic vision and body perfectly replicated Chris's technique. Far off, his buddy watched in terror. Eyes met; he averted his gaze.