Free Web NovelBy the time we were done exchanging threats, insults, and enough cursing to set some kind of record, I’d somehow gotten myself invited into Kim Bokja’s workshop.
“Here. Drink this or whatever.”
She slid a suspicious-looking black liquid toward me.
I stared at it once, then casually pushed it aside.
She gave me the kind of look you reserve for people who’ve just kicked your dog.
“Didn’t you say you wanted to talk over a cup of tea?”
“Yeah, talk. But who the hell chugs whatever a stranger hands them? For all I know you spiked it.”
“Huh? It’s literally just coffee.”
Look at this shameless brat.
I’d already noticed her fiddling with something when she pulled it out of the fridge—sleight of hand so sloppy it was almost cute—but I didn’t bother bringing it up.
It was probably just a stamina poison or a light paralysis toxin anyway.
When you run a business serving unpredictable, occasionally murderous martial artists from the underworld, that kind of “precaution” is just survival instinct.
Not that any of her tricks worked on me.
Not on me—not on someone who’d already spent twenty years dealing with every flavor of scumbag alive.
“...How exactly are we supposed to talk if you refuse to have even a shred of trust?”
She tried to hide it, but her frustration slipped through.
Her right hand—hidden under the table—kept fidgeting with something.
I already knew what it was.
A gun.
‘Still paranoid as ever.’
Behind the flashy hair and aggressive makeup, Bokja was way more skittish than she liked to pretend. If she sensed even a sliver of danger, she’d pull that trigger without hesitation.
‘She should really be using anomalies instead. Guess she’s not there yet.’
A few years from now, Kim Bokja would be controlling mid-grade anomalies like pets and calling herself a spell-caster.
Right now, though?
Right now she looked like a rookie pretending to be tough.
Which honestly worked in my favor.
I lifted both palms and gave her the friendliest smile I could conjure.
“Trust is something you build slowly, right? And as you can see, I didn’t bring any weapons.”
“I hate your type already.”
Man, what did I even do?
I tilted my head like some falsely accused puppy, but she stayed stone-faced as she fired her next question.
“Where did you hear that name?”
“Your name? Kim Bokja?”
“...Say that one more time and the conversation’s over. I’m throwing you out.”
Still hates her real name, huh.
We’d gotten pretty close in the first life, and even then, calling her by her real name was something you only did when you were absolutely sure she wouldn’t blow up on you.
I backed off immediately.
“My bad. Didn’t mean to piss you off. I heard your name from someone. I’m looking for a specialist for a few procedures, and someone recommended you—said you were the best among the quacks they knew.”
“...Who?”
I shrugged and didn’t answer.
Because, well...
that “someone” was me.
“Can’t really say. Not like it was a formal introduction, and I don’t wanna get them in trouble.”
“And you think I’d take a job from someone who doesn’t even introduce themselves properly?”
“You do this for a living, right? I can pay plenty.”
“...”
She stared at me without blinking, clearly trying to guess who in hell could’ve leaked her real name.
Not that she’d ever figure it out.
‘C’mon. Think as hard as you want. Won’t get you anywhere.’
I’d known her for over a decade in my first life.
Her personality, her skills, her connections—I knew all of it down to the bones.
Her real name was a rare secret, sure. But it wasn’t some world-ending mystery.
‘And right now, I need her skills badly.’
Of all the underworld spell-casters I’d ever met, she was the only one with skill and something resembling a conscience.
Hell, even among legit spell-casters, only a few could match her talent.
If she’d been born into a good family and gotten the right support?
She would’ve been a monster.
“...Well, as long as the money’s good, I can take on a client.”
Finally, she nodded and leaned forward.
“What procedure do you need? Artificial dantian? Weapon spell-inscriptions? Face-shifting? Maybe some talismans or curses?”
Our Bokja really is a jack-of-all-trades.
I smiled.
“Sorry, but I’m broke.”
“...Are you fucking kidding me?”
Her eyes went colder than liquid nitrogen.
If that was enough to scare me away, I wouldn’t have shown up in the first place.
“We’ll trade something else. I’ll give you something worth more than money.”
In the underworld, you didn’t build friendships with favors.
You built them with mutually beneficial deals.
Deals created expectations.
Expectations created repetition.
Repetition created trust.
‘And if your very first deal buys goodwill? Even better.’
I didn’t have cash. Fine.
But I did have something she needed.
Judging from her expression, though, she had no intention of letting me get there that easily.
“I don’t care about anything except money.”
“What if I take care of a problem for you?”
She snorted.
“You know what my biggest problem is right now? You.”
Tough words—but the hand under the table was clutching that gun harder.
Classic freelancer paranoia.
No backing, no protection. One wrong client and you’re dead.
‘Yeah. That’s exactly why she needs help.’
And I knew exactly what trouble she was dealing with at this point in her timeline.
Even if she rejected my offer, I was going to fix it for her anyway.
“You’re getting scout offers from multiple underworld groups, right? And they’re giving you a headache?”
“—!”
Her eyes flew wide.
And then, even more suspicious, she glared at me like I’d broken into her house and read her diary. freewebnoveℓ.com
I scratched my cheek.
“Relax. I didn’t do a background check. A freelancer spell-caster with real skill getting scout offers? Obvious, isn’t it?”
“...How’d you know I’m a freelancer?”
“Well, you don’t have any organization markings on your door. And when you and I made enough noise to shake the building, nobody came running.”
Then I added, lightly:
“And also—”
“Ah—?!”
Bokja didn’t even see my hand move.
I reached under the table, snatched the gun from her grip, and in one smooth motion broke it down into parts and laid them out neatly on the table.
“If you’re pointing a gun at a client from under the table, it’s pretty obvious you’re working alone.”
Just a tiny demonstration to tell her:
I know what I’m doing.
“...”
She recoiled, startled, lips pressed tight.
“Keep talking.”
I reassembled the gun at the same speed and set it back down.
“My guess? You’ve been getting scout offers. And some of them crossed the line. ‘Join us if you want to keep working. Refuse and we’ll make you regret it.’ Typical shit. Groups like that never last long.”
At this stage of her life, she was still new to the underworld.
Talented, yes—
but alone.
No backing. No experience with the uglier side.
So she did what any scared rookie would’ve done:
Accepted an offer from one of the groups.
—Should’ve held out even if they’d held a knife to my throat. You know how miserable those bastards made my life for ten years? Especially that bald son of a bitch—I should’ve killed him myself.
In my first life, every time Bokja got drunk, she complained about it.
Naturally, she was staring at me now like I’d crawled out of a horror movie.
“You... what the hell are you? You look my age, but you talk and act like some worn-out vagabond in his forties...”
A friend who knows a hell of a lot about your future.
Couldn’t exactly say that.
So I just met her eyes and said it straight.
“I’ll solve your problem. That’s my deal.”
She stared at me for a long time before finally speaking.
“...And what do you want?”
Finally.
I had come fully prepared to help her for free, but since she was offering a trade, I had no reason to refuse.
And right now, there were two things I needed most.
“Martial artist constitution evaluation. And a spell that fakes the grade. That’s all.”
Bokja blinked—once, twice—and then gave me a sharp, searching look.
“Wait... don’t tell me... you’re underage?”
“Yup. Just turned nineteen.”
She clenched her fist and punched the air in sheer frustration.
“Augh! From now on, you talk to me formally!”
“You don’t look much older than me.”
“That doesn’t matter! I thought you were some old guy using a face-shifting spell!”
“Well, if we count mental age, I really should be the one getting formal speech.”
“You’re insane.”
We bickered about honorifics for a bit before eventually agreeing to just talk casually.
Finally, exhausted, she sighed.
“So why are you hiding your constitution grade before even getting it checked?”
“Because mine might be... unusual.”
Dr. Man had told me the truth.
I was the first person to ever overcome constitution incompatibility and form a real dantian on my own.
I wanted to celebrate.
But reality was rarely that kind.
If I took a proper test now, I doubted the results would be standard.
‘If I get classified as a special constitution, too many eyes will turn toward me.’
I wasn’t getting anywhere near the Heavenly Demon Cult’s radar until I had real strength and reputation.
Last time, I had nobody to lose.
This time, my parents were alive.
I wasn’t letting surprises sneak up on me.
“Haaah... Why am I even doing business with a kid who doesn’t know his own constitution rating...”
She looked like reality had hit her like a truck, but she didn’t back out.
“Fine. Solve my problem first. Then I’ll handle your request.”
That was the plan anyway.
I nodded and stood.
“Let’s go.” freeweɓnovel.cѳm
“...Right now? You don’t even know where they are.”
“Guys like that? Obvious. They’re at the Dark Den drinking or shooting up.”
“Just admit it. You’re not actually nineteen, are you?”
I ignored her and pulled out the mask I’d brought, fitting it over my nose, mouth, and jaw.
Seeing me gear up made Bokja swallow nervously.
“W-what do I do?”
“Lend me any knife. And...”
I scanned her messy workshop until I spotted a pair of red goggles.
She used them during bloodier procedures.
“These’ll do.”
I slipped them on and grinned.
Transformation complete.
Goggles on. Mask on.
I turned to Bokja.
“Let’s go. All you need to do is stand next to me and nod.”
“...I’m gonna lose my mind.”
****
The Dark Den—hidden beneath Namdaemun Market.
Ordinary people couldn’t even find the entrance.
A bar for the underworld.
A place where vagabonds, criminals, and rogue martial artists traded goods, favors, and dirty money.
Big place. Could hold over a hundred people when packed. Even on slow days, at least a few dozen were always lurking.
Creeeak...
Every time someone entered, people glanced over by reflex.
Usually they lost interest within seconds.
Not today.
“...Hm?”
“Isn’t that Red Rabbit?”
The red-haired woman at my side—face uncovered—and me, with goggles and a mask.
Several men stood up the moment they recognized her.
The underground was full of rumors lately:
A freelancer spell-caster with serious talent had appeared.
Meaning—
Whoever recruited her first, owned her.
“Heeey! Look what we have here!”
The booming voice made all the competitors flinch.
A bald, tattoo-covered brute pushed his way forward, proud as a dog marking territory.
“Well, well, my cute little bunny. What brings you to this dump? You here to finalize our contract?”
Red Rabbit.
That was the alias Kim Bokja went by in the underworld.
The brute glared at the people around us, daring them to challenge him.
Most looked away or clicked their tongues in annoyance.
He grabbed Bokja’s arm.
“Come on. Let’s have a drink. Who’s the guy next to you? Your boyfriend?”
He scanned me up and down.
I scanned him right back—two meters tall, muscles like steel cables, killing intent leaking through his pores.
‘This must be the bald bastard she complained about.’
I grabbed his wrist.
“Let go.”
“Oh? Got guts, huh?”
He didn’t release her. Only smirked down at me—
until I spoke the next line.
“She’s mine. I got to her first. Now move.”
“...What?”
The brute froze.
Everyone froze.
Even Bokja stared like I’d just insulted God.
‘Are you insane?!’
Her eyes screamed it, but her mouth remembered my advice and stayed shut.
“Hey. Did you really say that shit?”
“What if I did?”
The brute’s face twisted into something out of a nightmare.
He whipped his head toward Bokja.
“You think we’re a joke? If you sign with some nobody like this idiot, you’ll—”
Then he suddenly choked mid-sentence.
“Ghh—!”
“Let go. I told you nicely.”
He tried tightening his grip on her—
so I tightened mine on him.
Just a little.
His fingers went limp and Bokja slipped free, hurrying behind me.
Then I released him.
He staggered back, red with humiliation, and ripped a knife from his belt.
“You’re dead!”
The blade was crusted with dried, dark-red blood.
Gross.
If you’re gonna use a knife, clean it once in a while.
Since he drew first, I drew my knife too.
I swept the room with a glance and raised my voice.
“Just so we’re clear—”
Every rogue martial artist and criminal in the Dark Den looked up.
“—As of today, Red Rabbit belongs to our organization. Spread the word.”
