Urban Vagabond: Reload

I figured Gu Hyeonwoo would’ve gone straight to the infirmary.

The wounds he’d taken while facing Hell Hound weren’t shallow in the slightest.

‘He cut deep on purpose—deep enough for blood to spray everywhere. And in the middle of that, he even adjusted it down to the tiniest margin so the organs wouldn’t be damaged.......’

Gu Hyeonwoo had deliberately put injuries on his own body so the spectators would increase their bets.

If he staged a close call, more money would pile on, and the share he took would grow with it.

It wasn’t something you could even attempt without absolute confidence in your own skill—and even if you had that confidence, it was still insane.

“Ah, fuck! Did you see that bastard White-Masked Swordsman do a fist-palm salute?”

“Seriously... if I could, I’d kill him with my own hands.......”

“I’ll pay! Anyone—anyone wanna rip that mask off and kill him for me?!”

The complaints and curses of spectators who’d lost money spilled from every direction.

I remembered Gu Hyeonwoo, facing the crowd that screamed for him to kill his opponent, giving them a fist-palm salute like he was telling them to go to hell.

It was... how should I put it.

There was only one familiar word that came to mind.

“Crazy bastard.”

Muttering a word I usually only heard aimed at me, I stepped into the infirmary.

“Ghh.......”

“My arm! Where’s my arm—!”

Inside, martial artists with severed limbs or in critical condition were groaning and wailing.

Strangely enough, most of them were winners—people who’d survived and taken the bout. The losers usually died, so there was no reason for them to be brought here.

“How did you get in? You don’t look injured.”

“I’m here to visit a patient.”

“What?”

Leaving the nurse behind in her confusion, I found Gu Hyeonwoo off to one side, treating his own wounds.

He was still wearing the white mask splattered with blood. Shirtless, he stared into a °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° mirror as he slathered a thick layer of hemostatic powder over his chest.

“Hmm?”

Gu Hyeonwoo finished his rough first aid and started wrapping himself with bandages, then turned at the feeling of an unfamiliar gaze.

A man in red goggles and a face mask was staring at him.

“Who?”

“I’m new. I watched your match just now and I was moved.”

As if he couldn’t believe the kind of nonsense he was hearing, Gu Hyeonwoo stared back in silence. I didn’t avert my eyes.

“.......”

“.......”

When two masked martial artists faced each other without saying a word, the doctors and nurses began to inch away.

This was the underground arena, after all—people got murdered even in the infirmary.

Gu Hyeonwoo was the one who broke the awkward silence first.

“You want an autograph or something?”

A dead, chilly joke that didn’t fit the situation at all.

The taut tension vanished in an instant, and the people watching with bated breath let out relieved sighs.

I could tell it was consideration—Gu Hyeonwoo was paying attention to the people around us.

“I don’t need an autograph. Mind if I ask you one thing?”

As if it amused him that someone would bother questioning him, Gu Hyeonwoo smirked and nodded.

“Go ahead.”

“Why didn’t you kill him?”

“Did you lose money because of me, too?”

At his curt question, I gently shook my head. But what followed was cold.

“Hell Hound. He looked like someone who deserved to die.”

“.......”

On the way here, I’d heard people talking about Hell Hound—Gu Hyeonwoo’s opponent.

They said that in a previous match, he’d cut out an opponent’s tongue when the man tried to surrender, then killed him slowly. And before that, he’d hung someone by the neck on the bars and dragged it out on purpose.

A textbook piece of human garbage who took pleasure in murder.

“He wasn’t the kind of opponent you’d feel guilty about. And you had a chance to make a ton of money. So why?”

Some people probably thought the White-Masked Swordsman was a coward who was afraid of killing.

But I knew better.

You didn’t earn the nickname Talbaek Sword by being a coward.

“Doesn’t look like you came to pick a fight. You really are curious.”

Gu Hyeonwoo rubbed at the rough stubble beneath his mask. After hesitating a moment, he spoke in a low voice.

“......I don’t kill because someone else forces me to, or just for my own benefit. That’s my conviction as a martial artist.”

Conviction.

One of the least fitting words in the underground arena.

Gu Hyeonwoo said it like he didn’t care if the other person mocked him for it.

But I didn’t mock him. If anything, my voice turned even more serious when I asked again.

“Even if the other guy is trash you don’t need to treat like a human being?”

“The moment you allow exceptions, conviction loses its meaning.”

“I see.”

I nodded like I understood.

It was hard to dismiss that answer as hypocrisy when the White-Masked Swordsman had racked up sixteen wins in the underground arena without killing a single person. That fact gave his words weight.

“You’re a heroic swordsman.”

Gu Hyeonwoo let out a dry laugh at the unexpected comment.

“A funny rookie came in. You don’t match a place like this.”

He pulled on the shirt he’d taken off.

He’d realized, too, that I wasn’t some ordinary martial artist.

Once you reached the pinnacle-expert level, you could read a certain amount off someone even if they didn’t openly display their intent.

“Well, I guess there isn’t a single guy who comes down here without a story.”

As if offering encouragement, Gu Hyeonwoo gave my shoulder a light tap and walked past.

“Try not to run into me again.”

I watched his back until it disappeared from view, then muttered under my breath.

“Like you’re one to say that.”

He was a stubborn orthodox martial artist.

That was exactly why it irritated me more—because he was the kind of person I liked.

But when he spoke of conviction, the look in his eyes had already seemed precarious.

*****

When I got back, Kim Bokja and Shin Kangheon interrogated me with suspicious expressions.

“You’re back looking way too fine for that.”

“I was sure you’d go dump somebody somewhere... ah. You handled it quietly, huh?”

“I just watched. Quietly.”

Even so, the two of them whispered to each other about how not a single drop of blood had splattered on me, how a pro really was different. I just shook my head.

“Haha! You’ve got really entertaining friends.”

Park Gwangtae chuckled and slid into the conversation, apparently taking it as a joke.

“Goggle Killer. Could you leave me a contact number? If a match gets set, I need to inform you of the schedule.”

I gave him the burner phone number I’d already gotten through Hwang Suksu.

Right then, Park Gwangtae got a call.

The instant he checked the caller, he straightened and answered in a fawning voice.

“Yes! Sir! Ah, he’s right beside me right now! Please hold just a moment!”

When I took the phone, I heard Oho’s voice, laced with amusement.

[Enjoying the arena?]

“What do you want?”

At the sight of me answering curtly to Oho—someone who was both “sir” and an unorthodox heavyweight—Park Gwangtae’s eyes went wide.

But the two people on the call spoke as naturally as if this was how it had always been.

[I sent the contract through Hwang Suksu, so check it. And I figured I should tell you there’s one more condition.]

“Another condition?”

When I asked back with an irritated tone, Oho added an explanation.

[We need to see how much star power you’ve got before we decide how big to make the board, right? So, in that sense, I want you to do a debut match—one bout.......]

Oho gave a reasonable explanation, thinking I might refuse out of wounded pride.

But the moment I heard him, one person immediately came to mind.

“That debut opponent. Can I pick him myself?”

*****

“Next match is the debut bout of a rising newcomer making his first appearance in the arena today! When there’s no information, that’s when you can aim for the highest odds—you all know that, right? Introducing the Goggle Killer—!”

With the announcer’s introduction, the waiting-room door opened.

As I walked down the passage and stepped out, a mix of jeers and cheers crashed over me.

WAAAAAAAH! BOOOOOOO!

A circular cage with a twenty-meter radius.

Outside it, the spectators watched me with faces full of interest.

When I didn’t do anything—just stood still and looked around—the announcer raised the hype.

“Since it’s his first match, Goggle Killer looks nervous! Because today could be his first—and his last!”

“But here’s one more surprising fact! This newcomer personally named his debut opponent! And that man is—!”

At that moment, the opposite passage opened, and a beastlike roar came pouring out.

“WRAAAAGH!”

A hulking man with a face covered in vicious tattoos strode out, blade in hand.

The instant he appeared, a roar several times louder than before erupted, and the heat in the arena spiked.

“The underground arena’s mad dog, loaded with stress after losing his last match! Hell Hound!”

When Hell Hound came back out for another bout, some spectators hurled jeers.

“You made me lose everything, you piece of shit mutt!”

“If you lose again, I’ll kill you with my own hands!”

At the same time, the numbers on the electronic board started climbing fast.

Naturally, far more money piled onto Hell Hound’s victory.

He’d lost to the White-Masked Swordsman, sure, but Hell Hound was a well-known powerhouse here—and the injuries from his last match weren’t fatal.

“Huff... hufffff—.”

Hell Hound’s eyes were bloodshot as he glared at me, grinding his teeth. The tattoos carved into his face twisted like a vicious demon.

After losing to the White-Masked Swordsman, he’d returned to the waiting room and smashed everything in sight.

The manager who tried to calm him down had been beaten half to death and hauled to the infirmary.

Hell Hound, venom to the bone, wore a killing smile as he spoke to me.

“I was wondering what bastard picked me... and it’s some rookie in his first match? Did you choose me without knowing who I am?”

“I just watched you fight earlier and you looked easy.”

“You little—!”

After answering lazily, I looked back toward the stands again.

Like I was searching for someone.

But Hell Hound assumed I was getting scared now that our eyes met, and that I was avoiding his gaze.

“Heh-heh-heh. Perfect. I was planning to go back after killing somebody anyway.”

Hell Hound was the type who enjoyed the pleasure of murder.

As he trained in martial arts, that impulse only grew stronger. It didn’t matter whether the victim had martial arts or not.

In the end he couldn’t hold back—he murdered ordinary people, got slapped with a manhunt order, covered his face in tattoos, and fled into the underground arena.

“I’ll peel those goggles off nice and slow. I’m the kind of guy who gets soft when he sees someone cry.”

Even while Hell Hound cackled and ran his mouth, I kept searching the stands.

“Alright, then! The match will begin!”

Before the announcer even finished speaking, Hell Hound charged at full speed.

Fast enough that he could brag it was quicker than when he’d faced the White-Masked Swordsman.

Drunk on killing intent, he shouted toward the crowd.

“Today I’ll set a new record for how many pieces I can carve a live human into!”

Some spectators, imagining Hell Hound’s performance a few moments from now, screamed even louder.

WAAAAAAAH!

And in that moment, I finally found the person I’d been looking for. I lifted my hand and waved.

Even with my opponent rushing straight at me to kill me, I didn’t care. I clasped my hands together and shouted.

“Anyone who deserves to die gets wiped out whenever the chance comes! If it benefits me, great—and if I can make money on top of it, that’s even better.”

From far away, I saw a white mask shaking his head like it was absurd.

The goggles and face mask hid it, but I flashed him a wide grin—then turned to Hell Hound, now right in my face.

“This is my conviction.”