Urban Vagabond: Reload

Back in the waiting room, I watched the remaining contestants’ sword dances on the monitor.

Weird. They’ve been messing up a lot since earlier, haven’t they?

Ever since my turn, the competition participants who came out after me kept making one mistake after another.

They’d try to force unreasonable moves and tangle their sword paths, or they’d throw in pointless ad-libs and end up with something that was neither this nor that—every kind of mistake was happening up on stage.

KRAAASH!

“Oof...”

“Yikes...”

The last contestant overdid it, spun several times in midair, then crashed hard to the floor; when he jumped back up, his lips were split and blood was dripping down, and even I felt bad just watching.

Tsk. Would’ve been better if he’d just stuck to what he prepared instead of forcing it.

Being later in the order does make the pressure worse, sure, but even so, I couldn’t understand why martial artists in the General Division were repeatedly screwing up like that.

“Good thing my turn was earlier...”

“Somebody went out there and did something insane, so now nobody wants to lose to him.”

“Is that kid really a high schooler?”

A few of them kept glancing my way and whispering. It kind of sounded like they were talking behind my back, and kind of not.

What are they even saying?

When I sneaked a look over, they all hurriedly avoided my eyes or coughed and gave me awkward smiles.

Like that, the turns of all the participants in the General Division (under 25) came to an end.

An event staffer came over and announced that the results would be posted on the website two days later, and that any prize-winners who received an individual call should attend the award ceremony at the Martial Alliance main headquarters.

“Can we head out now?”

“Yes, you’re free to go.”

I grabbed my bag, and I was just about to be the first one out of the waiting room when—

“Hey.”

The competition participant who’d first talked to me when I came into the General Division waiting room, Oh Jungmin, approached me carefully.

“This is my card. If you don’t mind, would you take it?”

The card he held out had printed on it.

It might not be a great sect, but being the first disciple in your early to mid-twenties meant you were a pretty outstanding martial artist for your age.

And in fact, on the competition stage, Oh Jungmin had shown a sword dance good enough that I figured he was fully capable of placing.

“Why are you giving this to me...?”

Of course I knew exactly what he meant by it, but I played dumb and asked.

He winked one eye.

“Because I want to ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) get friendly with a promising late-bloom prospect in his teens. And, y’know, do a little recruiting for our Songwol Gate while I’m at it.”

He had that knack for turning serious talk into something light, like a joke.

“Have you decided what you’re doing after you graduate high school?”

“Not yet.”

I shook my head.

The truth was, my mind was leaning in a certain direction, but there was no reason to say that now and put myself at a disadvantage.

Sure enough, his face brightened.

“Songwol Gate is a solid mid-tier sect with strong foundations. It might not seem good enough for you at first, but if we talk things through, you might change your mind. I can at least promise you this: when it comes to support for outstanding late-bloom prospects, we’re on par with the great sects.”

Songwol Gate.

When people in the Korean martial arts world talk about solid, mid-tier sects, it’s one of the names that always comes up, so there wasn’t much exaggeration in what he said.

The fact that I could get steady support and aim for a high position within the sect was definitely a big draw.

But what I wanted wasn’t just a stable job.

“...I’m still thinking about my path. I need to talk it through in detail with my parents, too.”

When I brought up my parents with a serious expression, Oh Jungmin took a step back.

“Of course. I’m not trying to pressure you. I just mean it’d be nice if you’d consider Songwol Gate at least once. Oh, and...”

He hesitated for a moment, then went on with a slightly sheepish look.

“If it’s not rude to ask... could I ask about your constitution test result? If you haven’t taken it yet, we might even be able to sponsor you...” 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

“Level 4.”

At my answer, his expression shifted for a split second.

It looked a bit like regret, and a bit like relief.

But he quickly smoothed it over with a gentle smile.

“...Your constitution’s as good as your frame, then. Once you graduate, everyone’s going to be clamoring to recruit you.”

In the brief silence between his words, I read the subtext hidden between the lines, but once again I played dumb and flashed a bright smile.

“Thank you. Then... is it okay if I go now? I’ve got someone waiting for me outside.”

“Ah, sure! Sorry for holding you up. I hope I see you at the award ceremony next week.”

I answered his good wishes with some of my own.

“I think you’re more than good enough to win something, sir. I’m not sure what’ll happen with me, though.”

“Hahaha! You’ve got jokes too, huh?”

“...?”

Anyway, I took his business card and tucked it safely into my pocket.

And I was finally about to leave the waiting room when—

“Hold up! Take my card too!”

“Here, I’ll give you mine!”

“Could I maybe get your number?”

The other General Division participants, who’d overheard our conversation, came over and blocked my path, thrusting out their cards.

I accepted every card they gave me, and turned down every request to exchange numbers.

Only after I was holding more than ten business cards in my hands did I manage to all but flee the waiting room.

“Whew...”

In case they decided to keep following me, I cut quickly across the corridor toward the High School Division competition hall.

Thinking about the faces of the General Division participants staring at me, I couldn’t help but let out a small, crooked laugh.

“Guess my sword dance wasn’t that bad.”

Being recognized by others felt good.

And when those others were people walking the same path as me, that went double.

*****

After Kim Muhyuk left the waiting room.

The General Division participants who remained started talking in earnest about the sword dance the nineteen-year-old boy had shown them.

“What the hell is that kid? Who interprets Ghost Steps like that?”

“He did interpret it as black-path style swordsmanship, right? He kept his killing intent suppressed and only let it show when he needed it, it was just like...”

“I’ve still got goosebumps.”

“Hahaha! I’m screwed, but at least the competition was fun!”

The quiet calm from before the competition had completely vanished. They were all excited now.

Because before they were competitors, they were all martial artists who were dead serious about the sword.

Some of them even brought up Kim Muhyuk’s constitution and expressed regret.

“He said Level 4, right? It’s a decent constitution, but compared to that frame of his, it’s a real shame...”

“Exactly. If he were just one grade higher, all the great sects would be tripping over each other to recruit him.”

“I bet they’re already drooling as it is. It’s not like there are many cases where both constitution and physique are top tier.”

Still riding their high, the participants started predicting the awards among themselves.

None of their predictions left out the name Kim Muhyuk; only the type of prize attached to his name changed.

“He’s definitely getting a Special Award at least... Silver? Bronze?”

“If I were a judge, I’d give him the Special Award and Silver. The quality was high, but he was too rough around the edges to give him Gold.”

“I think Gold’s possible.”

“I wonder how the judges are going to rate him?”

They were just having fun guessing the winners.

They had no idea.

“We have to give the Gold to Kim Muhyuk!”

“No matter how you look at it, Gold is too much!”

“Man, you’re killing me here...”

“Are you talking about me right now?”

That the judges were currently spraying spit at each other in a heated debate—because of Kim Muhyuk.

*****

I headed for the High School Division hall where the competition was underway.

Because of all the parents, the audience seats were much fuller than they’d been during the General Division, but even so, I spotted Kim Bokja’s back sitting in a front row seat she’d somehow snagged.

“Everything okay?”

When I sat down in the seat she’d saved next to her, she hunched down like we were in the middle of some secret mission and looked at me.

And seriously, why the hell was she wearing sunglasses?

“I heard you flipped the General Division competition on its head.”

“...How did you find out?”

Bokja tapped her smartphone with her fingers.

It hadn’t even been ten minutes since the General Division ended, but according to her, the online communities were already buzzing about me.

I clicked my tongue softly.

“People really have nothing better to do. They could swing their swords one more time instead of wasting time like that.”

“There you go again with the old man talk... Anyway, you okay with this?”

“With what?”

She glanced around us, then lowered her voice even more.

“You had a reason for hiding your constitution, didn’t you? And now you’re drawing way too much aggro.”

Understanding what she meant, I let out a short laugh.

“It’ll die down soon enough. I made sure to drop that I’m Level 4.”

It wasn’t for nothing that I’d casually told Oh Jungmin I was Level 4 back there.

When someone with a Level 1 constitution appears, that alone makes the entire Korean martial arts world explode.

Level 2 might not be that level of shock, but it still gets you talked about on video platforms and every kind of media for a good while.

Even Level 3, depending on their frame and strength, is a talent the great sects will covet.

Starting from Level 4, it gets a bit ambiguous.

Most of the people who hit the peak expert stage and can’t go any higher tend to have Level 4 or lower constitutions.

They just don’t have enough talent at accepting and handling qi to climb past that realm.

That limit puts you at: elite martial artist of a great sect.

Or the core figure leading a mid-tier sect.

Perfectly impressive, but not irreplaceable.

That was why Oh Jungmin and some of the other participants had that subtle look on their faces when I said I was Level 4.

“Once word gets around that I’m Level 4, the fuss will die down quick.”

“You sly bastard... Hide it as much as it’s worth hiding, and enjoy the benefits as much as you need, huh?”

She really was my friend. Bokja saw straight through my intentions, and I grinned at her.

“Well, enough about me. Anything around Shin Kangheon?”

“Not really. His ‘people’ aren’t anything special either. His parents died when he was young, and he lives with his uncle. He’s right there.”

She jerked her chin toward a spot in the audience where a tall man who looked a lot like Shin Kangheon was sitting with a grave expression.

“But that kid Shin Kangheon... looks to me like he’s got a straw stuck in his uncle.”

“What do you mean?”

I already knew he lived with his uncle. I’d written that down in the info I’d given Bokja.

In the meantime, it seemed she’d dug up more than what I’d handed her.

“Call it the intuition of someone in the same boat? I watched a few of his clips online and I could just tell.”

Looking at the strange smile on her face, I remembered one thing.

This girl didn’t just have a bad relationship with her family—she hated them.

Did Shin Kangheon get sucked into the Heavenly Demon Cult because of family issues?

I fell into thought for a moment, but it wasn’t something I should judge rashly based only on Bokja’s words.

“...Let’s not focus on that part for now. Anything else suspicious?”

“Nope. No suspicious people. Just high schooler level stuff. Honestly, it’s boring.”

Bokja let out a small yawn, clearly unimpressed, and I promised her some extra compensation for the trouble.

“Let’s watch the remaining performances and then go get spicy rice cakes. Dessert’s on me today.”

“Extra cheese. Extra flat dumplings. Extra glass noodles. Side of French fries...”

“You’re going to completely drain a high schooler’s allowance.”

We sat side by side and watched the High School Division competition.

The High School Division was a step below the General Division in level, sure, but it had its own desperate charm.

Especially when it was Shin Kangheon’s and Pi Seunghwa’s turns, it was a real treat for the eyes.

Not bad at all.

Shin Kangheon put on a tough, intense sword dance that fully exploited his overwhelming physicality, and Pi Seunghwa’s sharp, precise movements made the audience let out involuntary exclamations.

The two of them were so evenly matched in how outstanding they were that the turns after them felt bland by comparison.

“Last one now.”

“Is it Lee Hyunseung’s turn? That kid’s pretty good too.”

“...It says Kim Hyunseung up there. On the screen.”

“Oh, right.”

Kim Hyunseung, twin swords on his back, walked out onto the stage.

He fell a bit short of Shin Kangheon and Pi Seunghwa, but within the High School Division competition, he was definitely good enough to be in the running for a prize.

“Haaahp!”

With a shout, he drew both swords at once—and immediately made my expectations look foolish by moving on par with Shin Kangheon and Pi Seunghwa.

He crossed the entire stage in an instant; the tips of his blades were alive with power. That didn’t mean he lacked precision or sharpness, either.

“Cha-haaaa!”

On top of that, he added a presence that seized control of the stage, and he was putting on a far stronger sword dance than the Kim Hyunseung I remembered.

“Was that guy always that good? He’s completely in a trance, moving like he’s possessed...”

My impression was cut off by Bokja’s hard voice.

“When you say ‘possessed,’ you don’t mean somebody deliberately slapped a ghost on him, right?”

“What are you talking about?”

At that absurd question, I turned to look at her—and saw blue ghost-flame rising in her eyes behind the sunglasses she’d taken off.

Those eyes were glaring at Kim Hyunseung like they were piercing straight through him.

“He’s possessed by a ghost.”

The moment her finger pointed at Kim Hyunseung, the guy snapped his head toward us at a grotesque angle—and our eyes met.