Urban Vagabond: Reload

Han Shinhu.

That was the name Richard Han had used in Korea before he naturalized in the United States.

Because of that, Sunwoo Jeha, who had known him since childhood, was more used to calling him Shinhu.

“...What do you mean, what’s my relationship with him? What exactly are you asking?”

Kim Muhyuk wanted to know what, exactly, Sunwoo Jeha had seen in him that made her ask that.

But Sunwoo Jeha had already sunk into her own thoughts, staring off into empty space and muttering to herself.

“His kid? No, that can’t be it. The face doesn’t look like him, even if that obnoxious air does. He once asked me if I wanted to help create the greatest martial artist in all history with him, and I beat the hell out of him for it. I heard he gave up after that, though...”

What kind of conversation could possibly happen when two lunatics met?

Muhyuk didn’t particularly want to know, so he cut her off.

“I have no connection to Richard Han whatsoever. Both my biological parents are alive and well.”

“Then what is it?”

What did she mean, what is it...?

Muhyuk answered honestly, with the first thing that came to mind.

“Richard Han has been my idol for a long time. I’m his fan.”

“You like that bastard? You?”

Sunwoo Jeha narrowed her brow as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing, and Muhyuk tilted his head like he couldn’t understand her reaction.

“...Wouldn’t it be stranger for a Korean martial artist not to like Richard Han?”

If she meant Richard Han as the Heavenly Demon Cult Leader who plunged the world into chaos, that would be one thing.

But at this point in time, he was an object of admiration to martial artists all over the world.

At twenty-five, he had entered the World’s Strongest Sparring Tournament for the first time and won it outright, then sat on that throne for fifteen consecutive years without once giving it up.

It wouldn’t have been an exaggeration to say that nine out of ten young rising stars in Korea—and around the world—were Richard Han fans.

But Sunwoo Jeha looked at Kim Muhyuk with that trademark crooked angle of hers and asked,

“That might be true for other people. But not for you.”

“....”

Muhyuk felt like talking to Sunwoo Jeha was like answering a Zen riddle.

“You resemble Han Shinhu. I felt it from the start. You’re doing a pretty good imitation of him. That’s why I said you rubbed me the wrong way.”

“...Is that a bad thing?”

Sunwoo Jeha shook her head. But it wasn’t an answer to his question.

“But the more I look at you, the more something feels different. This isn’t just admiration, isn’t just hero worship. You’re trying desperately to become like him, but... how do I put it... the reason feels...”

She searched for the right word for a moment, then seemed to find it. Setting her coffee cup down on the table, she leaned toward him.

“I’ve got it. You want to kill Han Shinhu, don’t you?”

“...!”

Even as she asked whether he wanted to kill her old friend, there was no hostility or alarm on her face.

Only interest filled her eyes.

“That’s it, right? Hahaha—!”

Sunwoo Jeha laughed brightly, almost innocently, like a child delighted to have found the right answer.

Muhyuk realized there was no point denying it, so he stayed silent.

To become strong enough to defeat Richard Han.

That had been Kim Muhyuk’s most important goal since regressing.

He would enter the World’s Strongest Sparring Tournament, defeat Richard Han, and stop the terrible future in which the Heavenly Demon Cult launched terror attacks across the world.

Put another way, that meant the day might come when he had to kill Richard Han.

Those who are dissatisfied with my rule may come find me here. Anyone with the proper qualifications will be granted a spar.

Richard Han, standing before the camera and making that declaration to the entire world.

Muhyuk had never forgotten that moment.

Those eyes that revealed absolutely nothing of what he was thinking. That tone that went past arrogance and into utter indifference.

The Richard Han of twenty years from now... was definitely the greatest lunatic in the world.

By contrast, the Richard Han of the present was famous for being gentlemanly.

Always humble. Always considerate. Every year he donated most of his earnings to children who could not study martial arts because of poverty or illness.

That was why demonstrations calling for the Black Restraint Band on his wrist to be removed—and for him to be granted complete freedom, on the grounds that he was the Strongest in the World—had practically become an annual event.

Given all that, there was no need to say anything about Richard Han’s popularity or the weight of his influence on the world.

“...Could you keep it a secret from the person himself?”

At Muhyuk’s request, Sunwoo Jeha folded her arms as though she genuinely couldn’t understand him.

“Why? I feel like he’d like it if he knew.”

Sunwoo Jeha, the Transcendent Extremity Gate sect leader, had been friends with Richard Han for a long time.

Muhyuk did not want Richard Han learning of his existence through her ahead of time.

He wanted to face him only after he had raised his strength enough to stand before him openly.

“It wouldn’t be any fun if he knew in advance. A blade that comes out of nowhere is more thrilling, isn’t it?”

Apparently that answer appealed to the kind of person obsessed with martial arts, because Sunwoo Jeha broke into a bright smile.

“Fine. I’ll keep it secret. Becoming like your idol in order to kill him... I kind of like that. Want me to help?”

Her eyes shone as she offered to help him kill her friend.

If Muhyuk so much as asked, she looked ready to start handing over information that might serve as Richard Han’s weakness.

“No.”

But Kim Muhyuk shook his head firmly.

For some reason, it felt to him as if she was offering because she thought it was a challenge he could never overcome on his own.

“It’s a goal I want to reach through my own effort. I don’t need help.”

As though that was exactly the answer she had expected, Sunwoo Jeha laughed again.

Instead of offering direct help, she gave him one piece of advice.

“Don’t imitate Han Shinhu’s madness too. If you become the same kind of monster, you’ll never beat him.”

“...Then how do I beat him?”

“You have to find the real monster inside you. That’s the only way you’ll have even a fingernail’s worth of a chance.”

Kim Muhyuk engraved the Transcendent Extremity Gate sect leader’s advice deep into his mind and cupped his fist in salute.

“Thank you. I sincerely learned a great deal.”

Just learning about this madness was already a major gain for him.

So I’ve stepped into something even peerless masters go through... It almost feels like I’ve earned some kind of qualification.

Seeing the faint but satisfied smile on Muhyuk’s face, Sunwoo Jeha clicked her tongue.

“You’ve really started going mad properly. As a martial lunatic, you’ve already got the makings of greatness.”

“I will humbly accept the words of a sect leader who has already achieved greatness.”

“A few more years and you’ll be a lot easier to talk to. Want to come to the Transcendent Extremity Gate?”

“...May I go now?”

The scattered, one-way conversation finally came to an end, and Sunwoo Jeha nodded.

“Tomorrow’s assignment. Don’t disappoint me.”

“You may look forward to it.”

After saluting her once more, Kim Muhyuk turned away.

His study group members were probably still back at the lodgings, waiting anxiously for him.

He planned to return and explain everything properly to them.

...and he would probably need to apologize to Shin Kangheon too.

“Ah, wait.”

At the voice from behind him, Kim Muhyuk felt a chilling burst of killing intent.

“Since we’re at it, should I just do it today?”

The instant he heard that, Muhyuk spun and slashed with his sword.

SHHK-SHHK-SHHHK—!

Every arc of Phantom Dream tore through empty air. In the next instant, Sunwoo Jeha had slipped into his space and seized his wrist.

“...What are you doing?”

Muhyuk’s voice came out almost like a growl.

But Sunwoo Jeha didn’t seem to care. She caught his pulse as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It was unbelievably rude, but she paid that no mind.

“There’s something I need to confirm. Stay still.”

She closed her eyes and examined the state of his body, then slowly opened them again and asked in a low voice,

“Your constitution. You haven’t officially reported it to the Martial Alliance, have you?”

“....”

If it had been reported, she would have heard about it already.

Watching her mutter that to herself, Muhyuk gave a stiff nod.

Because there was, in fact, something that made him feel guilty.

“It was measured twice, and I think both results came out wrong. The first time I was judged unfit, and the second time I was classified as Grade 4.”

“...Grade 4?”

Since she was never going to be someone he could fool to the end anyway, Muhyuk mixed in as much truth as he could.

“But I only realized recently that it wasn’t Grade 4 either. I didn’t know until the license exam. I was planning to file a correction report soon...”

Even now, traces of the spellcraft procedure that concealed his constitution remained around his navel in the form of a tattoo.

I hid it because I didn’t want public attention... but now it doesn’t mean much anymore.

The youngest pinnacle expert in Korean martial history.

And yet the world’s attention on Kim Muhyuk was not nearly as intense as it might have been, for one reason only.

The limit the public believed he had: a Grade 4 constitution.

For the same reason Pi Seunghwa had looked down on him, most people judged that growth beyond the pinnacle-expert level would be difficult for him.

Because of that, martial artists who didn’t know his true constitution sometimes called him a tragic genius—someone heartbreakingly gifted, but already at the limit.

I can’t keep hiding behind Grade 4 forever. From here on, it’ll be even more impossible.

Muhyuk thought back over his recent fights.

After the Phantom Dream bloodbath on Jeju Island, Azure Sky Sword Gate had handled the cleanup. And when he fought the Black Night Gang boss and dealt with the Black Heaven Society’s society leader, he had been wearing the Blue Wolf mask. That meant only a very small number of people actually knew his identity.

But he couldn’t keep fighting with his identity hidden forever.

Eventually, as time passed, people would start asking questions. And if he revealed the truth only after that point, it would be much harder to avoid the backlash.

“I’ll go to the Martial Alliance and file the correction report as soon as this training camp is over. Until then, I’d ask the sect leader for her understanding—”

“Don’t.”

“...What?”

He had expected her to be annoyed or disappointed that he’d lied.

Instead, Sunwoo Jeha shook her head with a completely serious expression.

“I said don’t report it. Your life’s going to become unbelievably annoying.”

“It’ll probably become an issue for a while, but I think that’s something I have to accept. Even so, won’t it die down after a few months?”

“Keep lying. At least until you become a supreme master.”

“Of course, being Grade 2 is exceptional, but I don’t think it’s such a big deal that I have to go that far...”

“Grade 2 should be a good cover.”

“...What?”

“Hm?”

The two of them, speaking almost at the same time, both realized mid-conversation that they were talking past each other.

“You’re saying I should pretend to be Grade 2? But my constitution is Grade 2, so what would be the point?”

“What are you talking about? Why would you be Grade 2?”

Sunwoo Jeha blinked rapidly a few times, then looked at Kim Muhyuk with open disbelief.

“If you were only some ordinary Grade 2, do you really think I’d have cared?”

“...Only? Ordinary?”

There were very few martial artists in the entire world who could talk about a Grade 2 constitution that way.

The Strongest in the World, Richard Han, for one.

The peerless masters whose names resounded across the globe.

And Sunwoo Jeha herself, the Strongest in Korea, standing right in front of him.

Martial artists whose constitutions were the finest modern science could even evaluate.

“You’re Grade 1. And among Grade 1s, maybe even special grade.”

“...?”

At least there was no one around to hear it. That, at least, was fortunate.