There Is No World For ■■

The cold sea breeze paused momentarily as dawn began to peek over the horizon.

A small smuggling boat was heading toward Incheon Harbor.

On the boat, smaller than a cheap fishing vessel, were two individuals cloaked in ponchos and one smuggler.

The two figures’ long ears occasionally peeked out from under their hoods, but the smuggler didn’t pay them any attention.

He didn’t care who his passengers were or what species they belonged to. As long as he was paid handsomely, nothing else mattered.

By that measure, these customers were excellent. They had each paid a gold bar—two gold bars total—for just two passengers. It was an extraordinary sum for such a small job.

Feeling unusually lucky, the smuggler navigated the boat confidently, steering it around the harbor toward a closed-off dock.

It was a route only he knew. Any larger vessel would be quickly spotted by patrols and shot to pieces, but for a boat this small, the risk was manageable.

High risk, high reward. Once they reached the closed Dock 13, security would be lax enough for the passengers to walk straight into Incheon.

The boat glided smoothly through the water. As the light of dawn stretched across the horizon, about 30 minutes into the journey, their destination came into view.

"We’re almost there," the smuggler said, smiling as he looked toward Dock 13. Or at least, he tried to smile.

‘...Lights?’

His brow furrowed in confusion. Dock 13, which was usually deserted, was now illuminated in several places.

Squinting, he examined the dock more closely. Broken containers, large objects, and people in suits were moving about.

‘...What the hell is going on?’

Just as an ominous feeling began to settle over him, his passengers finally spoke.

"This country seemed promising, but already there's filth crawling around the entrance."

The voice was hauntingly beautiful, so much so that the smuggler stopped the boat in shock.

"...This is my fault, Comrade Miridis," said the other figure.

"No need to apologize, Comrade Rime. It wasn’t your fault that we lost contact with the advance team."

"However... it was I who suggested coming to this country."

"As I said, it's fine. Ultimately, it was my decision to come to Earth."

Hearing the words "comrade" and "comrade" again made the smuggler’s skin crawl. He had suspected, especially after seeing their long ears, but now it was confirmed.

‘Red-eared bastards...’

The smuggler lowered his head, avoiding eye contact, and nervously offered,

"Uh, folks... Seems like there’s some trouble at the original destination. We should probably find another place. It won’t take long, just a little detour, so please bear with me."

He did his best to keep his voice steady, but the response he received made him shiver.

"There’s no need for that. This is our destination, right? We’re going straight to that dock."

"But... smuggling is all about staying out of sight."

"If you're worried about being spotted, there’s no need. They’ve already seen us."

What?

The smuggler glanced up and spotted something standing at the far end of the dock.

A man in a suit with a cow’s head.

Whether it was a mask or an actual head, the cow-man was staring directly at their boat.

‘Shit, no wonder I thought today was too lucky...’

The smuggler wanted to run but had no choice. Hoping these red-eared bastards were as strong as the rumors claimed, he steered the boat toward the dock.

The sound of rushing water filled the air as Dung Beetle turned on the shower. Blood and filth, accumulated over the past few days, washed off his body and swirled down the drain.

He stared at the reddening water, remembering the people—or things—that he had killed.

Fortunately, he felt neither regret nor guilt.

With a faint sense of relief, Dung Beetle silently continued to wash himself.

He scrubbed until no more blood remained on his body.

Only after using up an entire bar of soap and ensuring his body was clean did he step out of the shower.

And as soon as he opened the door, he was met with a surprise.

"Huh... I didn’t realize it before, but you’re actually quite handsome."

Seti was sitting outside, casually eating a cup of instant noodles.

Dung Beetle raised an eyebrow and glanced at the cheap motel bed she was sitting on.

The bed was covered with convenience store food—ramen, triangle kimbap, burgers, bread, cakes, and more.

About half of it had already been consumed, with wrappers scattered about, while the other half lay partially unwrapped, waiting to be eaten.

"...When did you get all this food?"

"While you were busy holed up in the bathroom for 30 minutes."

"...I see."

"When I use a lot of energy, I need to eat. Normally, I don’t eat this kind of junk food, but..."

She glanced between Dung Beetle and the motel room, then cleared her throat and added,

"Ahem, I couldn’t exactly be picky about food after sneaking into a motel with a guy."

Slurp. She downed the ramen broth in one gulp before grabbing a triangle kimbap.

Dung Beetle shook his head and sat on the chair next to the bed. He had been about to speak, but he figured he could wait until she finished eating. Even a dog shouldn’t be disturbed while eating, after all. He could give her this moment.

As he watched her, his mind drifted back to their conversation at Dock 13.

At first, Dung Beetle had furrowed his brow, thinking it was nonsense, but Seti had been serious.

Seeing his hesitation, Seti had moved around the dock, demonstrating her sincerity.

She had started by mangling the corpse of the pig-headed man and covering up the body of the government official, making it look like he had died beneath the titan.

Then, she had carefully erased any traces Dung Beetle had left at the scene.

The remnants of the shotgun shells, grenade shrapnel, and marks on the titan’s body—she had meticulously destroyed and wiped away every clue.

Only after watching her do all this had Dung Beetle realized something important.

The government might analyze the scene and track him down.

Seti had considered that possibility and manipulated the scene to prevent the government from identifying or tracing Dung Beetle.

If anyone investigated the scene later, it would appear that she had fought the necromancer.

Inside was a vial of awakening potion. Only one of the vials had survived, but that was more than enough.

The potion the government had traded with the necromancer for was incredibly valuable. Even just one bottle could be worth millions.

Hearing her words had made Dung Beetle’s resolve waver slightly.

He had decided to entertain her proposal, or at least pretend to, while he assessed her sincerity.

And now, here they were.

As Seti swallowed the last bite of her triangle kimbap, Dung Beetle asked her,

"Why are you so confident in making this offer to me? Let’s hear your reason first."

Seti chewed and swallowed her food, wiped her mouth, and answered calmly,

"There are two reasons."

"...Two?"

"The first is your talent."

"My talent?"

As Dung Beetle trailed off, Seti smiled softly.

"You stole the Feather Step technique from me and used it perfectly, didn’t you?"

"..."

"Did you know? The footwork you used is called 'Feather Step.' I spent my childhood practicing it. Every time I sprained my ankle, the instructors would whip my calves."

Her smile turned slightly bitter as she recalled her past.

"I practiced until my calves were bruised and bleeding for months before I finally mastered Feather Step. Do you know what my instructor said when I succeeded?"

"...No."

"He said I was a genius—a once-in-a-century prodigy. Ha! Do you understand? Feather Step is a technique that earns you praise for being a genius if you can master it in a few months. And you? You mastered it in just three days."

Mastered—it wasn’t the right word.

The Feather Step Dung Beetle had used was far from perfect.

While dodging the titan’s attacks, his ankles had twisted multiple times, and his ligaments had been stretched to their limits.

He lacked the understanding and the proper method to fully execute the technique. He had only managed to survive thanks to his absurd physical durability and regeneration.

But Dung Beetle didn’t feel the need to correct her. Instead, he deflected with a slightly evasive answer.

"Are you really sure about my talent based on just one technique? Maybe I just happen to be well-suited for Feather Step."

As soon as he finished speaking, Seti’s eyes narrowed into a mischievous smile.

"...The fact that you can say something like that is proof you’re a natural talent. You act like you don’t know anything about martial arts, yet your body perfectly executes techniques. If that’s not talent, what is?"

"..."

"Real martial arts like Feather Step aren’t like sports. Once you involve mana, it’s no longer about what suits you or doesn’t."

Seti grumbled a little more before sighing and continuing.

"And most importantly... you used Jin Gak."

"Jin Gak?"

"The technique that smashed the titan’s head. It’s... well, I guess you could call it the ultimate move of Feather Step."

"...That’s an ultimate move?"

Dung Beetle recalled the moment he had obliterated the titan’s head. The power had been impressive, but there hadn’t been much skill involved.

He had simply put everything into one blow, regardless of whether his body would break.

That was it. He had simply pushed his body beyond its natural limits, overcoming the instincts that restrained him.

In Dung Beetle’s case, it had been more of a gamble, relying on his regenerative abilities.

An ultimate move? For someone without his regenerative powers, it was more like a self-destructive attack.

Seeing the confusion on his face, Seti elaborated.

"Like Feather Step, Jin Gak is a stepping stone to higher-level techniques. If you don’t have talent, mastering it is impossible."

"...I see."

"You must have felt it when you used Jin Gak, right? The control over your entire body needed to complete the technique."

Ah.

Now Dung Beetle understood the true nature of Jin Gak.

Breaking through the body's natural limits.

He had done it so easily that he hadn’t even realized it. But in reality, it was about unlocking the restraints that the body instinctively placed on itself.

Enhancing one's senses with mana was already a difficult task, but surpassing one’s instincts? If that wasn’t the mark of talent, what was?

"...Do you understand now why I believe your talent is genuine?"

Dung Beetle nodded quietly.

He tucked the small realization away for later, then continued with his questions.

"So, what’s the second reason?"

"Your desire for revenge."

The immediate and unexpected answer made Dung Beetle frown slightly.

"My desire for revenge? What does that have to do with anything?"

"You didn’t run away."

"...What?"

Seti stared straight into his eyes as she spoke.

"When you fought the necromancer. You could’ve run away, but you didn’t."

"...I..."

"No matter how fast the titan and necromancer were, they wouldn’t have been able to catch up with you if you’d used Feather Step. You’re much faster in short bursts, and the necromancer couldn’t have gotten into a car to chase you."

"That’s..."

"If I hadn’t been there, you would’ve died. And you knew that, didn’t you?"

Dung Beetle couldn’t find any words to refute her. She was right.

"But you didn’t run. Why? Because you’d rather die than run."

Seti’s blue eyes bore into his. Deep within them, something swirled—something he couldn’t fully understand.

"Am I right?"

"...”

There was something almost regretful in her voice as it reached Dung Beetle.

"Heh, it’s written all over your face. Right now, you’re probably wondering, 'How does she know me so well?'"

And then she spoke words that sent ripples through his mind.

"Because I’ve been in the exact same situation before."

Seti slowly lifted her head, her gaze no longer fixed on the dingy motel ceiling, but on something far in the past.

"But... I ran away."

Dung Beetle didn’t know what past memory she was recalling, but he could tell one thing for sure.

She regretted it.

"I ran away, telling myself, 'I’ll survive now and get my revenge later...'"

Her clenched fist, her trembling voice.

"But after surviving, I realized... I didn’t have the guts to seek revenge. My enemy was too strong, and I had to keep living..."

She lowered her head again, her gaze no longer in the past but fixed on Dung Beetle.

"...It’s a pathetic story, isn’t it?"

"Yes, it is."

Heh. Seti chuckled, covering her mouth.

"I would’ve been mad if you hadn’t agreed with me."

With that, the two fell into a brief silence.

After a moment of contemplation, Seti extended her hand toward him and spoke.

"Dung Beetle, why don’t we join forces? You help me, and I help you—without risking our lives."

Dung Beetle didn’t respond immediately. He rested his chin on his hand and stared at her extended hand.

A hand that, despite the calluses, was delicate and beautiful.

It was the hand of someone who had lived in a world entirely different from his.

"Uh... If you keep leaving me hanging like this, it’s going to get really awkward..."

"Seti."

"Yes?"

"I’ll join forces with you. You help me, and I help you. But, we don’t put our lives on the line."

"...”

"That’s my condition."

Dung Beetle extended his hand in return.

It was a hand covered in calluses that no amount of soap could hide—the hand of a cleaner... or rather, a killer.

Seti blinked, looking between his face and his outstretched hand, before breaking into a small smile.

"Alright. Deal."

She reached out and clasped his hand. And it was then that Dung Beetle realized—this was the first time in his life that he had ever held a woman’s hand.