"You want me to leave?"
"Yes."
The girl's response was firm, leaving no room for further explanation.
"I've come so far, and you want me to just turn back now?"
"Don't worry about the reward. I'll take care of it, but for now, just wait outside."
'Take care of it,' he thought. How much would she give him? A hundredth of it? Or maybe a thousandth? In his mind, the only reason she wanted him gone was to claim the entire reward for herself.
It was she who had taught him these thoughts from the beginning. 'Trust no one.' 'Doubt and question everything.' 'Always think twice.' Under the guise of teaching him, she had subjected him to countless hardships, the exact number of which he had long stopped counting.
They were at the end of the underground dungeon, with only the final boss room left. The reward for defeating the dungeon's master was within their grasp.
When they first entered the dungeon, their party consisted of four members: an archer, a thief, and two others. The archer had succumbed to a goblin's poisoned arrow, and the thief, overconfident in his knowledge of traps, had become a flattened corpse under a falling ceiling.
It was common knowledge that challenging dungeons brought great rewards. While the absence of empty-handed returns was something to be grateful for, humans inevitably turned on each other when faced with such rewards.
Perhaps this reward was part of the dungeon's trials, testing their greed and the bonds of companionship. And so, the man and the girl found themselves in a significant conflict.
In truth, there was no room for conflict. The man was unqualified and not a proper party member. His strength was insufficient for him to be a competent combatant. His role was merely that of a 'porter', not a true 'companion'.
Unlike others who naturally received the 'blessings of the gods', this man was an exception. Despite his large build and intimidating appearance, he couldn't withstand even a single blow from the girl in a fight. In a life-or-death situation, she would easily take his life.
Hence, there was no room for resistance, for defiance meant death. In this place, far removed from civilization, there were no 'laws' or 'morals' to protect him. Only the logic of power prevailed. To defy the girl was to invite death, a fact the man was well aware of.
However, humans are not always rational in their decisions. The man was exhausted, feeling a deep sense of despair about life. He knew that injustice was inevitable, and he had experienced powerlessness countless times before. But today, he didn't want to endure it anymore. Usually, he would suppress his feelings, but today, he couldn't help but feel irritated and wanted to voice his dissent.
Why was that? Was it because his mind had finally broken under the weight of prolonged suffering, or was it because, upon seeing the two deceased members of their party, he felt not pity but envy for their release from the pain of living? The man couldn't fully explain it, but he convinced himself that it was a mix of both.
"No."
He said no because he didn't want to. This was unusual, as he had always swallowed his dissent and agreed, as the girl had taught him. She had taught him through beatings that disobedience was not an option.
"You've been quiet lately, but why are you acting up now? Do you miss the taste of my fist?"
The girl did not tolerate defiance. Her eyes narrowed, and the man swallowed hard, gripping his sword tightly. He knew he couldn't win, but there were times when one had to fight even when defeat was certain, and he felt this was one of those times.
"You're planning to take all the rewards for yourself, aren't you? If you check it alone and say it's not much, I can't argue. That's why you want to open it alone, right?"
The girl sighed. But the man continued.
"Even if I'm just a porter and a servant, I risked my life to come here. Isn't it only fair that I get my share of the reward? Your compensation is too meager. You're being too greedy, taking it all for yourself. How much more do you want?"
No hint of apology or remorse appeared in the girl's eyes. She placed her hand on her forehead and sighed again, this time even longer.
"If you're unhappy with the compensation, you should have asked politely in the city, among other people. What do you think you'll achieve by getting angry in a dungeon with just the two of us? Is that the right attitude for a weak person like you? I've told you this many times. If you act like this, you won't survive."
The girl calmly drew her sword, the gap between their skills so vast that even a surprise attack would be futile. A direct confrontation was nothing short of suicidal.
"Kneel and beg, and I'll spare you ten punches. If you don't, I'll kill you."
"Fuck you!"
The man, known as 'Hyeonjae', raised his middle finger with the hand that wasn't holding the sword. It didn't matter if he held the sword with one hand or two; he was going to lose either way.
The girl's eyes, already cold, grew even colder.
"That's your answer, then. Die."
The distance between them was about ten meters, and the girl was around 160 centimeters tall. Hyeonjae would need at least five steps to close the gap, but with a swift dash, the girl covered the distance in two steps and kicked Hyeonjae's sword-wielding hand. Normally, this would have caused him to drop his sword, but this time, he held on.
"Ugh!"
Hyeonjae ignored the pain of his broken hand and thrust his sword forward in a final act of defiance, hoping to at least scratch the girl.
"Gah!"
But miracles were absent, and the predetermined outcome unfolded. The girl effortlessly dodged his sword and delivered a spinning back kick to Hyeonjae's chest, sending him flying. His flight, devoid of wings, inevitably ended in a fall, bouncing off the ceiling before crashing to the ground.
Kuuuuung!
The impact on his chest prevented him from executing a proper fall technique. Standing at over 190 centimeters tall and weighing nearly a hundred kilograms, he bore the full brunt of the fall. He wasn't dead, but he was clearly incapacitated, unable to move a finger.
"Ugh... Ugh... Ugh..."
Hyeonjae groaned, on the verge of passing out. The girl, for reasons unknown, didn't finish him off, instead staring at him with cold eyes.
"You never learn. The only path for the weak is to grovel and beg for the mercy of the strong. Can't you even learn that in three years? You idiot."
Hyeonjae felt wronged. The world he originally came from wasn't as barbaric and violent. Although it was governed by the logic of money rather than strength, and neighboring countries were plagued by famine and disease, his home, the Republic of Korea, was far more livable and prosperous.
He couldn't fathom why he had ended up in this brutal world, suffering endlessly. He couldn't recall any wrongdoing on his part, and all he felt was injustice. Perhaps even in his final moments, he would feel only this.
'God of Resentment, please grant me the power to shut that mouth! I'll pay any price!'
Facing imminent death, Hyeonjae prayed to the gods. It wasn't foolish, as this strange world, unlike Earth, was clearly ruled by gods capable of miracles, with ample evidence to prove it. But it was a foolish plea. The gods of this world had denied him even the blessings that humans should rightfully enjoy, leaving him unable to grow stronger or even function as a normal human, no matter how hard he tried.
[Are you truly willing to pay any price?]
Just then, as Hyeonjae thought it was the end, the god who had never answered before responded.
[Are you truly prepared to pay any price?]
'Yes! Yes! I'll pay any price to shut that mouth!'
And so, Hyeonjae made a pact with the God of Resentment, three years after arriving in this world.
* * *
Yoo Hyeonjae, 21 years old, was the youngest member of a hotel kitchen staff.
It was a shitty day, as usual. Being the youngest in a kitchen was far worse than being the youngest in a family. He was burdened with tedious tasks like peeling onions and garlic, and despite completing them flawlessly, he had to endure the chef's meaningless tantrums. Did his seniors appreciate his efforts? No, they took it out on him when they fought among themselves.
Hyeonjae's only wish was to go home. Today, he added another wish: to quit. But to achieve his dream of owning a fancy restaurant, he needed cooking experience and capital, both of which he could gain in this hotel kitchen.
He could endure the physical exhaustion, but the people were insufferable. Their personalities were so vile that he often fantasized about stabbing them with a kitchen knife several times a day. He never acted on these thoughts, though.
"You talked shit about Hyun-jae, didn't you?"
"No, I didn't."
"Don't lie. Hyun-ho heard you."
Hyeonjae felt wronged. It was Hyun-ho who had cursed at him, and Hyeonjae had merely listened without reacting or agreeing. If he had to recall his response, it was just a casual "Oh, is that so?" Chung-jae, a senior by ten years, was someone Hyeonjae couldn't argue with.
Hyun-ho, an eight-year senior, was also untouchable. Since Hyun-ho was two years junior to Chung-jae, he took his frustration out on Hyeonjae, who was more approachable. In essence, it was a form of venting.
"Do you think you're above your seniors?"
Thud! Thud!
Hyun-ho punched Hyeonjae's chest, putting his full strength behind the blows. Being a kitchen worker, his hands were strong, and the punches were hard enough to warrant an assault charge. However, he aimed for non-vital areas, ensuring only a minor fine. Hyun-ho was skilled at inflicting pain without causing serious injury.
If Hyeonjae were to sue Hyun-ho, the latter would likely lose his job, but Hyeonjae would also find it difficult to remain in the kitchen. If one person is crazy, they are at fault, but if everyone is crazy, the sane one is at fault. Such was the nature of this kitchen, filled with bad practices.
Hyun-ho punched Hyeonjae's chest hard enough to leave a bruise but not cause serious injury, then left. Hyeonjae couldn't calm down until the end of his shift, knowing that any retaliation would result in further trouble.
"Huff."
He punched the air on his way home, venting his anger.
"Fucking bastard. If it came to a fight, he'd be nothing."
Hyeonjae was tall, standing over 190 centimeters and weighing in proportion to his height. His kitchen work had built his muscles. Hyun-ho, also a veteran kitchen worker, was strong, but he was only about 175 centimeters tall, making him seem like a child compared to Hyeonjae. Hyeonjae believed that if they fought, he would win, and that was why he endured Hyun-ho's behavior. Despite never having been in a real fight.
This was the age of civilization, and South Korea was a developed country where law and order prevailed. Engaging in life-threatening fights was rare, and Hyeonjae had never been in one.
However, being wronged and beaten inevitably sparked a desire for revenge.
"I want to kill him. If not for the law..."
So, Hyeonjae imagined a world without laws, or at least without the laws that protected Hyun-ho. It was a convenient fantasy, wasn't it? After all, he had been wronged today.
Squeeeak!
A truck roared towards Hyeonjae. Startled, he jumped out of the way, narrowly avoiding a fatal accident. He marveled at his quick reflexes and then checked on the truck driver who had crashed into a building.
"I hope he's not dead."
As he reached for his phone to call the emergency services, Hyeonjae noticed the darkness and noise around him. Had clouds blocked the sun? When he looked up, he saw something very strange.
The underside of an airplane, a view one wouldn't typically see unless working at an airport.
"This isn't a runway."
Hyeonjae tried to deny reality, but it didn't change. The plane was crashing, heading straight for him. And being large and fast, it was incredibly difficult to avoid.
"Shit!"
Hyeonjae ran, but it was impossible for a human to outrun a falling plane. He was crushed by the plane, ending his life at the young age of 21, a tragically short life in an era when the average life expectancy was 100 years.
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