Chapter 2
My life could be summed up in a single word.
A weed.
I was a stubborn weed straining with everything it had to bloom between cracks in sunbaked asphalt.
My father passed away when I was young, leaving my mother to raise four brothers on her own. We lived in a one-room basement apartment where we couldn’t even run the heater without worrying about the cost of heating oil, a place that flooded whenever heavy rain poured down. Poverty robbed my brothers and me of our dreams before we could even begin to form them. As a building cleaner, my mother took home a mere 1.5 million won after an entire month of grueling labor. Feeding a family of five on that meant eating seaweed-wrapped rice for every meal, month in and month out.
That was why I volunteered for the military the moment I became an adult. I went in trusting a single rumor: that joining the special forces, specifically becoming an operative tasked with ultra-hazardous missions, was the fastest way to make serious money.
Was that why?
Only after enlisting did I discover what I was actually gifted at.
A harsh, metallic ring echoed like an alarm.
The samurai closed the distance in a flash, thrusting repeatedly toward my chest.
The red lines visible to my eyes were not some simple precognitive power. The direction of a muscle’s contraction, the position of a gaze, the shift in center of gravity, and the faint turbulence stirred as a blade parted the air. It was a computed output, a burst of raw data synthesized instinctively by my brain from every fragment of fleeting information. What others relied on sheer gut feeling to navigate, I processed as visualized data.
Thanks to that gift, I had been handpicked for the 9th Operations Unit, an outfit that accepted only a talented few within the Defense Intelligence Command. If the Special Warfare Command had the 707th, the DIC had the 9th Operations Unit. Unlike conventional units dedicated to North Korean affairs, it was an intelligence cadre conducting deniable, off-the-books operations across the globe. I crossed the line between life and death countless times there, experiencing battle in every conceivable form. That was why I could stay completely calm even with a cold, gleaming blade whistling straight for my neck.
[LIVE) Japan Amateur League Match 《2,479 vs 1,701》]
└Ah, I get to see 1701 here lol
└Is 2749 brand-new? His match record is zero?
└Must be nice… Why do I only get matched with arena ghosts every time? Is this fate?
└1701’s pretty well known. That guy is damn good.
└Right, his win rate is almost 60%. He’s on the trickier side even among arena ghosts.
└What’s scarier is that he’s logged over three thousand matches in that outfit.
└Wait, what is that mask on 2749 lol Is he going for an akwi concept? lolololol
└A rookie playing a persona already? Doesn’t he feel any shame?
└Well, maybe it’s for the best that two gimmick fighters ran into each other.
└This is exactly why I watch the amateur league.
The samurai’s blade carried formidable venom. His strikes were swift and accurate, and above all, his fundamentals were rock-solid. He understood how to control distance, his breathing stayed steady, and his eyes continuously tracked the movement of my upper body and the placement of my feet. Those were reactions seen only in an opponent with considerable experience under his belt.
Trading a firearm for a blade hadn’t changed the underlying structure from the world I had known. A realm where hours poured into conditioning the body, accumulated technique, and instinct carved into muscle memory dictated the outcome. A structure that tested opponents through split-second judgment and raw skill alone…
To me, nothing felt more familiar or comfortable.
Just before the steel grazed my throat, I deflected the blow at an angle with the spine of my blade. Dropping my center of gravity at the same instant, I slipped boldly inside the samurai’s guard. For the first time since the fight started, I switched from defense to offense.
“…Guh!”
Being able to see an incoming attack as a red line didn’t mean I could dodge everything. The trajectory shifted constantly, and if my physical body failed to react in time, the vision was useless. If a true master of the sword unleashed a strike, even I wouldn’t be able to evade it.
Still…
At the very least, the samurai in front of me wasn’t fast enough to outpace my reflexes. Twisting my wrist, I parried his sword diagonally downward and drove the tip of my blade deep into the opening.
Three metallic clashes erupted in a split second. Scrambling to defend, the samurai was driven back step after step.
I pressed the attack relentlessly. Past experience had taught me precisely where to strike to make an opponent crumble.
“…!”
Sensing danger too late, he tried to reset his stance, but the momentum had already swung entirely to my side. Dropping my hips, I slid across the sand to his flank. Beyond the violently churning dust, he swung his sword in a spasmodic arc. The blade parted empty air without so much as grazing my collar.
The penalty was fatal.
My blade dug into the nape of his neck. A chilling sensation traveled through my palm.
“…Kh, cough.”
He stared back and forth between my face and the sword before slumping forward. Moments later, an astonishing sight unfolded. Fissures spread across his form like cracks running through stone. With a crackling crumble, his entire body dissolved into scattered motes of light.
[You have defeated Participant ‘1,701’.]
[Victory!]
I stared at the ground where the samurai had vanished, drawing in a slow, deep breath.
A searing heat climbed the back of my neck. My heart pounded against my ribs, and the faint, coppery scent of blood lingered in the air. Those intertwined sensations fused into an overwhelming wave of exhilaration.
[Participant 2,749]
[Record: 1 Match, 1 Win, 0 Losses (Win Rate: 100%)]
[Search for next match?]
[Yes (Selected) / No]
A dry chuckle escaped me as I looked down at the sword in my grip. The heavy resonance traveling up through my palm to strike my chest belonged to an entirely different dimension than the hollow recoil of pulling a trigger.
└Wait, what just happened? 1701 lost in an instant?
└I’ve got goosebumps. Countering at that exact timing is terrifying.
└The rookie starting out today is way better than expected. Never seen 1701 get taken down so helplessly.
└Alright. He’s got the skill to back up the persona, so I’ll give him credit this once.
└I knew something was up when he was measuring distance early on… A new star is born.
└I had a bad feeling from his number, and sure enough (´；ω；｀)
└Forget that, seeing 1701 panic made me burst out laughing lolololololol
└With this kind of skill, he’ll hit the pro league in no time. So jealous… Damn it, everybody leave me alone, I want some space.
└That mask is going to become a hot item. Should I buy one early? People are definitely going to copy it.
Tokyo, Japan.
Compressed air vented as the capsule hatch slid open. Inside, a man clad in a hakama sat up with a furrowed brow. It was Hayashi Goro, the samurai who had just faced Go Taemin.
Scouts from Kagenoha (影の刃) Legion approached him.
“What’s this, Goro? Wrapping up already? You barely started your shift.”
Hayashi Goro wasn’t a competitor aiming for a pro license. His job was to linger in the amateur league, scouting and recruiting promising prospects.
He shook his head at his colleague’s question. “No. I got forced off.”
Matches in the amateur league could be held at any time, but a loss locked a warrior out of the system for twenty-four hours.
The other scouts widened their eyes. “Don’t tell me you lost?”
“Yeah. To an absurdly strong monster.”
Goro methodically recounted what had just happened. Black leather armor, a custom tactical blade roughly fifty centimeters long, and an akwi mask.
“He was toying with distance. His skill was way out of my league.”
Once the opponent began fighting in earnest, Goro hadn’t lasted even a full minute. He added in a voice laden with conviction, “We have to recruit him at all costs. Nurture him properly, and he might become a star on par with Demon Blade (鬼刃) Toshiki.”
“What? He was that good?”
“If he’s that strong, doesn’t he already belong to a legion?”
Goro shook his head again. “Doubtful. No legion insignia, and his record was zero matches.”
A legion handled every aspect of management for its warriors: coaching systems to hone skill, specialized equipment, strategy development, and schedule coordination. In return, it claimed a thirty percent commission on all fighter earnings. Finding and cultivating a single gifted prospect meant astronomical profits.
Upon hearing Goro’s debrief, the scouts of Kagenoha Legion scrambled into action.
“2749… Here it is. What the hell? None of his info is public.”
“He even left the email field blank. Is he playing the man of mystery?”
A glaring obstacle stood in their way: there was no way to contact Participant 2,749.
They scoured the community boards and combed through related threads hoping for a lead, but found nothing beyond awe at Participant 2,749’s performance.
“Damn it. An A-rank prospect after all this time…”
“Standing around won’t fix it.”
Letting out a collective sigh, the scouts turned back toward their capsules. Without a means of contact, only one path remained.
After sealing the hatches, they waited anxiously for the next matchmaking alert.
“Please let me match with 2,749…”
[LIVE) Japan Amateur League Match 《2,749 vs 10,572》]
└Whoa, 2749 won again. He’s insane.
└What did this guy do in real life? Moving like that means he swung a blade plenty outside…
└Maybe a kendo practitioner? His movements are super clean.
└Judging by his sense of distance, he could have fencing experience.
└Seriously, where do these monsters keep coming from? He’s practically playing with his opponents.
└Hmm… Am I the only one smelling a Chinese player? Feels like another troll coming over to cause trouble lol
└Kinda reminds me of that lunatic who kept talking about the Mount Hua Sect a while back lol
└Whatever the case, 2749 is the real deal. Hope he makes it to the pro league fast so he can pick a handle.
└I officially declare myself 2749’s first fan (serious)
Finishing the day’s matchmaking with a clean record of three wins and zero losses, Go Taemin completed a successful debut and logged out.
He sat up in the capsule with a long exhale. As the sealed hatch opened, muggy heat and deep exhaustion rolled over him in a single wave. His entire body felt as heavy as waterlogged cotton. Perhaps because his movements in virtual reality were transmitted directly to his nervous system through brainwaves, it felt as though he had just sprinted through high-intensity infiltration drills in the field.
What awaited him, however, was not the swelling pride of victory. His brow furrowed at the digits displayed on the monitor.
“Is this… everything I earned today?”
Forty thousand won per match, totaling one hundred twenty thousand won. Below that, it noted deductions of 3 percent income tax and 0.3 percent local tax, resulting in a final payout of 116,040 won.
Thinking his eyes were playing tricks on him, Taemin checked the screen once more. It was money earned in barely an hour, but by his standards, the amount was pathetic.
“Come on, hyung. You’re joking, right? I just risked my neck trading blades, and this is it? This daily wage is giving convenience store part-timers a high five!”
Cleaning a bottle of Ardbeg 25-Year-Old with a cloth, Chae Geonuk replied nonchalantly to Taemin’s complaint. “I told you. You have to climb to a certain level before the real money starts rolling in.”
“Even so, this is absurd. A hundred sixteen thousand won? Really? I was making hundreds of millions out in the field.”
“Didn’t you start around a million won back then, too?”
Faced with Geonuk’s irritatingly undeniable facts, Taemin blew out a heavy breath.
“Ugh, forget it. How high do I have to climb?”
“Make it to the pro league at least, and you won’t have to worry about putting food on the table.”
Geonuk explained that starting in the pro league, fighters received a minimum of ten million won per match. That was purely the baseline; fighters with solid records, eye-catching performances, or high popularity could pull in hundreds of millions.
Taemin asked in a noticeably softened tone, “Are there leagues above the pro league?”
“Three more. World, Master, and Super League. That makes five tiers in total.”
“Then they must make even more than the pros?”
“More doesn’t begin to cover it. The top earners pull in well over ten billion won a match.”
“What? Ten billion?”
Taemin’s jaw dropped.
Ten billion won.
Even for a man who had fought with his life on the line, that sum was beyond anything he had ever imagined. In that breath, every shred of disappointment vanished without a trace.
“You said I need a pro license to move up to the pro league, right?”
“That’s right. You need at least a hundred matches logged and a win rate of seventy percent or higher to get issued one.”
A minimum of one hundred matches, accompanied by a win rate exceeding seventy percent.
It wasn’t as daunting a hurdle as it sounded.
Taemin nodded slowly. The competitors he had crossed swords with today were, for the most part, only marginally better than ordinary civilians. A few, like the samurai from his opening match, possessed solid fundamentals, but nothing more.
A broad grin spread across Taemin’s lips.
“Ten billion, huh… That’s more than enough reason to climb.”
