My life could be summed up in one word.
Weed.
I was a weed straining to put out a flower from a crack in dry asphalt.
My father died when I was young, and my mother raised the four of us alone.
A single basement room where we couldn't even run the boiler in peace, because there was no oil. The kind of place that flooded when the rain came hard.
Poverty took our dreams from us first.
My mother cleaned buildings, and a whole month of breaking her back brought in a mere 1.5 million won.
To scrape by on that money, a family of five had to eat rice wrapped in nothing but dried seaweed, all month long.
So the moment I came of age, I enlisted.
On the strength of nothing but a rumor: that if you became a special forces operator, and specifically one who ran the dangerous missions, you could earn a great deal of money.
Maybe that was what did it?
It was only after I joined the military that I found my talent.
'Right flank.'
CLAAANG!
The harsh ring of metal echoed back at us.
The samurai closed the distance in a single beat and stabbed at my chest, over and over.
'Solar plexus.'
This red line my eyes saw was not simple precognition.
The direction his muscles contract in, where his gaze sits, the shift of his center of gravity, and the fine change in airflow as a blade cuts the air.
It was the output value of data my brain instinctively computed out of all that instantaneous information.
A domain other people navigate on feel alone, I receive as visualized information.
That talent was why I had been pulled into the '9th Clandestine Unit', a place only the gifted few inside the Defense Intelligence Command can enter.
If the Special Warfare Command has the 707th, the Intelligence Command has the 9th Clandestine Unit.
Unlike the existing units assigned to North Korea, it is an espionage outfit that runs unofficial missions with the whole world as its stage.
There I walked the line between life and death more times than I could count and came to know combat in every form it takes.
Which was why I could keep my composure even with a blue blade flying at my throat right now.
[LIVE) Japanese Amateur League match 《2,749 vs 1,701》]
└Ah, I'm seeing 1701 here www
└Is 2749 brand new? His record's zero?
└Lucky.. why do I only ever get matched with resident ghosts? Is this fate?
└1701 is pretty famous, you know. That guy's good.
└Right, his win rate's nearly 60%. Even among the resident ghosts he's a particularly tricky one.
└What scares me more is that he's cleared 3,000 matches in that outfit.
└Wait, what IS that mask on 2749 w Is he running a demon concept wwwwww
└A rookie already pushing a concept. Isn't he embarrassed?
└Well, two concept guys met each other, so maybe it worked out for the best.
└This is exactly the flavor you watch the Amateur League for.
The samurai's sword was fairly vicious.
His attacks were fast and accurate, and above all his fundamentals were good.
He knew how to hold the distance properly, and his breathing was steady.
On top of that his eyes kept tracking the flow of my upper body and my toes.
Movement like that is the kind of response you only see from a reasonably experienced opponent.
'More fun than I expected.'
All that had changed was a blade in place of a gun. The structure in here isn't much different from the world I've lived in.
A space where the hours you spent conditioning your body, the skills you accumulated, and the experience carved into you decided the result.
A structure where each side tested the other on judgment and craft in the moment, and nothing else......
'I like it.'
To me it was familiar and comfortable beyond measure.
CLANG!
Just before his edge grazed the line of my throat, I let the attack slide off at an angle with the back of my blade.
At the same moment I dropped my center and drove boldly inside the samurai's guard.
It was the first time since the fight began that I had switched from defense to attack.
"......Guh!"
The truth is that seeing an opponent's attack in the form of a red line does not mean I can dodge everything.
The line's trajectory shifts constantly, and more to the point it is useless if my physique can't answer it.
If the attack came from a master of the sword, I would not evade it either.
But.
'His reactions are slow.'
The samurai in front of me, at least, was not fast enough that I couldn't answer him.
I twisted my wrist, knocked his blade down along a diagonal, and pushed the point of mine deep into the gap it left.
CLANG, CLANG, CLANG—!
Three rings of metal burst out in an instant.
The samurai was driven back step after step, scrambling to defend.
'That's the ceiling on guys who've only ever known combat as a game.'
I kept right on hammering him, hard.
Experience had already taught me where to touch an opponent to make him come apart.
"......!"
He sensed the danger too late and tried to gather his stance, but the flow had already crossed over to my side.
I dropped my hips and slid sideways, as if gliding.
Beyond the rough bloom of sand, he swung his sword like a man in a fit.
But that edge cut nothing but empty air. It never even brushed my collar.
'Checkmate.'
The price for it was fatal.
SHHK—
My blade went into the nape of his neck.
A grisly sensation traveled up through my palm.
"......Guh, guuh."
He looked back and forth between my face and my blade for a while, then crumpled.
And a moment later, something astonishing happened.
The samurai's body split, cracks spreading through it as if it were fracturing apart.
Crackle— With the sound of something crumbling, his whole body scattered into particles of light.
[You have defeated participant '1,701'.]
[Victory!]
I stared at the floor where the samurai had been, then slowly drew a breath.
'Survived this one too.'
The hot wave climbing the back of my neck.
My heart slamming against my chest.
Even the faint, metallic smell of blood still hanging in the air.
Those layered sensations all blended into one and manufactured an enormous rush.
[Participant No. 2,749]
[Record: 1 match, 1 win, 0 losses (Win rate: 100%)]
[Search for your next opponent?]
[Yes(select) / No]
I looked down at the sword gripped in my hand and let out a short laugh.
This heavy reverberation climbing my palm and striking my heart was on another level entirely from the dry recoil of a trigger pull.
'This Nova Arena thing is more fun than I expected?'
***
└Huh, what was that just now? 1701 lost in a heartbeat?
└I've got chills. For a counter to come in on that timing is honestly scary.
└A rookie who started today is better than I thought. First time I've seen 1701 lose that pathetically
└Good. He has skill to match the concept, so just this once I'll give him his due.
└The way he measured distance early on was already unusual.. a new star has arrived
└The number was ominous from the start and sure enough (´；ω；｀)
└More than that, you could see 1701 panic and I burst out laughing without meaning to lmaoooooo
└With skill like that he'll be in the pros soon. Jealous.. goddamn it, I want to be alone so I wish everyone would get out
└That mask looks like it's going to be a popular item. Should I buy one now? Copycats are definitely coming
Tokyo, Japan.
Pssshhhhk—
Compressed air escaped, and the capsule's hatch opened slowly.
Inside it, a man in a hakama, Hayashi Goro, sat up with a frown creasing his face.
He was the samurai who had just fought Go Tae-min.
Scouts from the Kagenoha Legion came over to him.
"What's this, Goro. Wrapping up already? You only just clocked in."
Hayashi Goro was not, in fact, a participant chasing a Pro License.
He stayed in the Amateur League, and his job was to find and sign promising participants.
Goro shook his head at his colleague's question.
"No. I was clocked out by force."
In the Amateur League you can fight whenever you like, but a loss locks you out of access for 24 hours.
The other scouts' eyes went round at that.
"Don't tell me you lost?"
"I did. To an absurdly strong opponent."
Goro explained, step by step, what had just happened.
Black leather armor, and a custom tactical blade with an edge around 50 cm long—
The man in the demon mask.
"He played with the distance. He was out of my league entirely."
Once his opponent started coming at him in earnest, Goro had not lasted a full minute.
He added, in a voice full of conviction:
"We have to sign him, no matter what. Raise him properly and we might be able to make him a star on the level of Oni Blade Toshiki."
"What? He was that good?"
"If he's that strong, doesn't he already have a Legion?"
Goro shook his head at his colleagues' questions.
"I doubt it. There was no Legion mark on him, and more than that, his record was 0 matches."
A Legion handles everything from the coaching system that raises a warrior's craft to supplying dedicated gear, building strategy, and managing schedules.
In exchange it takes 30% of what the participant earns as its commission.
Which is to say that if you find and raise just one gifted prospect, the returns are enormous.
The Kagenoha Legion's scouts got busy the moment they heard Goro out.
"2,749...... here he is. What's this, there's no public information at all?"
"He's even left the email field blank. Is he going for mystery?"
But there was one problem.
There was no way whatsoever to make contact with No. 2,749.
They combed the community in case there was even a clue, checked every related thread, but all they found was admiration for No. 2,749's skill. Nowhere was there any information about him.
"Damn it. An A-grade prospect, the first in ages......"
"We shouldn't have been sitting around like this."
The scouts let out their breath and turned back toward the capsules.
If there was no way to contact him, there was only one method left.
They closed the capsule lids and waited anxiously for the next match alarm.
"Please, let me get matched with 2,749......"
***
[LIVE) Japanese Amateur League match 《2,749 vs 10,572》
└Wow, 2749 won again. This is actually insane
└What on earth did this guy do for a living? At that level he's swung a sword outside, regularly..
└Could he be a kendo guy? His movement is really clean
└Judging by his sense of distance there's a chance he has fencing experience
└No, seriously, where do these monsters keep coming from? He's just toying with his opponent?
└Hmm.. am I the only one smelling a Chinese guy? I wonder if the trolls are back ww
└It is a bit like when that lunatic came in going on about the Huashan Sect lmao
└Whatever he is, 2749's skill is real. I want him in the Pro League fast so he'll pick a handle
└I hereby declare myself 2749's first fan (serious)
In the end Go Tae-min closed out that day's matchmaking at 3 wins and 0 losses, a successful debut, and came back.
He pushed himself up out of the capsule and let out a long breath.
As the closed hatch opened, a clammy heat and a thick wave of exhaustion came whooshing over him.
His whole body was as heavy as cotton soaked in water.
Perhaps because movement in virtual reality was relayed straight to his nervous system through his brainwaves, it felt as though he had just run a high-intensity infiltration drill for real.
'The stamina cost is tremendous.'
But what was waiting for him was not the exhilaration of victory.
Go Tae-min frowned at the figure printed on the screen.
"This is...... everything I earned today?"
40,000 won per match, 120,000 won in total.
It said 3% income tax and 0.3% local tax had been deducted from that, and he would be paid 116,040 won in the end.
Go Tae-min checked the screen one more time in case he had misread it.
It was money earned in a mere hour, but by his standards the amount was far too small.
"Come on, hyung. You're joking with me right now, aren't you? No, I went out there and swung a blade across the line between life and death, and this is all of it? My day rate is high-fiving a convenience-store part-timer!"
Chae Geon-uk wiped a bottle of 25-year Ardbeg with a cloth and answered Go Tae-min's complaint without much interest.
"I told you. You have to climb some way up first before you earn properly."
"Even so, this is too much. 110,000 won, what is that, 110,000 won. I'm a man who used to get paid in hundreds of millions in the field."
"Didn't that start at around 1 million won too?"
At the sight of Chae Geon-uk delivering nothing but facts, galling as they were, Go Tae-min let out a long sigh.
"Ugh, I should just keep my mouth shut. So how far do I have to climb?"
"Get to the pros at the very least and you'll stop worrying about eating, won't you?"
Chae Geon-uk explained that from the Pro League up, a warrior got at least 10 million won per match.
And that was the bare minimum, literally. Participants with decent results, or a good performance, or a lot of popularity, included people earning in the hundreds of millions.
Hearing that, Go Tae-min asked again in a voice that had softened considerably.
"There's something above the Pro League?"
"Three more. World and Master, then Super. So five in all, when you count them up."
"Those must pay more than the Pro League, then?"
"It's not a matter of taking more, is it? I heard the big earners take over 10 billion won a match."
"What? 10 billion won?"
Go Tae-min's mouth fell open.
10 billion won.
Even for a man who fought with his life on the line, it was a figure he had never dared to imagine.
In that instant, the disappointment that had been sitting in him a moment ago vanished without a trace.
"You said I have to take a Pro License to move up to the Pro League, right?"
"That's right. A minimum record of 100 matches or more, and a win rate above 70 percent, and they'll issue it."
A minimum record of 100 matches or more. And at the same time he had to clear a 70% win rate.
The conditions were not as hard as he had expected.
Go Tae-min nodded to himself.
The level of the participants he had crossed blades with today was, on the whole, no more than slightly better than an ordinary person's.
Though some had solid fundamentals, like the samurai he met in his first match.
A deep smile settled on Go Tae-min's mouth.
"10 billion, is it...... That's reason enough to climb."