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The Academy’s Sashimi Sword Master Chapter 206 – Footprints (2)

Chapter 206 – Footprints (2)

He‌​ was around seventeen.​ Of course, I’m‍​ not talking about‍‌⁠ now—I mean in⁠‍‌ my previous life.‌⁠‌

Anyway.‍​‍

I’d‍ gotten lost. But​ my “detour” wasn’t⁠⁠ anything serious—I had‍‍‍ just stopped going‍ to class.

I had the kind‍ of personality that‍ kept me from‍ doing anything truly‌​‌ bad, so “aimless”​⁠ was probably the⁠ most accurate word.⁠

I knew even then⁠​ that I wasn’t⁠ at the right​‍⁠ age to be⁠ going through that‌ phase.

But‍⁠‌ looking at it‌‌‍ another way, it⁠ was during those​ turbulent years that‍‌ I managed to‌⁠‍ calm the storm.⁠‌‍

At‍ that time, I suppressed my teenage‍‍ emotions and tried‍ to imitate an‍​ adult.

Faking⁠ maturity, faking indifference.‍​
A youth full of​ pretending.
That’s‌ how it was‍‍​ until I graduated⁠⁠ high school.

And‌ it was all‍‍‌ because of my​ family.

What⁠‍​ I remember of⁠‌‌ my home life​‌⁠ was the worst.‍‌ Even if I tried to see​‌ it optimistically, it‍‌ would be hard‌‌ to deny it‌‍⁠ was absolute trash.‍‌

I won’t go into​⁠ too much detail.⁠​ I have no⁠‌⁠ intention of digging‍ up such a disgusting past. Besides,‍‌‍ who wants to⁠‌⁠ hear about miserable‌⁠ family tragedies? But​‌⁠ if I had‌‌⁠ to sum it⁠‌‌ up—

It⁠​ was a gutter⁠ life, lower than‌​ most could ever⁠​ imagine.

If⁠ we had just⁠‍ been poor, I could’ve accepted that.⁠ But no—it was‍​​ worse.

Even​ a world full‍ of castes and‍‌​ demons seemed better‌‌ than that.

The‌‌ shadow of a “civilized” society can‌ be darker than⁠‍​ the demon realm⁠‍⁠ itself.

In​‌ any case, it‌​ was because of‌​‍ that indescribable family‌​ that I ran‌​ away from home‍‍⁠ on the day‌‍‍ I graduated high​ school.

I couldn’t live in⁠‌ that hellhole any⁠‍⁠ longer.

I escaped.

Though‌​‌ more than an​‌ escape, it was​‍ a final departure.​ And I began​​​ wandering the streets.‍⁠⁠

I had left, but‌ had nowhere to‌⁠‌ go. I was​ too old for⁠​​ a youth shelter‌ and had no⁠⁠‍ relatives I could​ turn to.

No‍‌​ money, and no‍‍‍ way to earn​‍​ it. In Korea,‌‌ teens are strictly‌‍ prohibited from working.‌​

I felt like the​​ whole world had​‌⁠ abandoned me. I never caused a scene, never acted‌‍ childish. And yet,‌ the world showed​​‌ me no kindness.‌

So⁠‌​ my mind started‌ to empty out.‌‍ I was losing⁠ my will to‍ live. And that⁠ was when I met my Master.‌​​

.
.
.

‘…Hey,​‍ kid. What are‍⁠‍ you doing out​​ here in the‍​‌ rain?’

A man approached while‍⁠​ I was curled‍​​ up in an⁠‌‍ alley, playing with‌ cigarette butts.

The‌‍ left sleeve of‌ his shirt fluttered​⁠ in the wind‍ and rain.

He‍ tilted the umbrella‌⁠ in his right‌​ hand slightly toward‌ me.

Only‌‌‌ then did the‍‍ rain stop pounding‍​ on me. I looked up at‌ him without a word and snapped⁠ coldly.

‘And‍‍ who are you,‌ old man? If⁠‍​ you’re going to‌​‍ act like you’re⁠ in some drama,⁠⁠ take it elsewhere.⁠‍ Don’t bother someone‌ who’s just sitting‌ here quietly.’

That⁠‍ harsh tone was⁠​​ just my way​ of protecting myself.⁠‌ I knew he⁠‌ didn’t mean harm,‌⁠ but at the‌⁠ time, I reacted⁠‍​ like that to​‌ everything.

‘Well,‌⁠‌ look at you.‍‌​ You’re like a fish out of‌​​ water, and yet‌‌ you glare like​‍⁠ that. But I like sharp eyes.‌‌‍ That’s good.’

The​ man looked at⁠‌ me with an⁠ amused expression and⁠⁠‌ gave a slight⁠ smile.

‘Also—if‍‍ you’ve got that‍‌ much energy to⁠​ talk, do something​ about that stomach​ of yours. The​​ rumbling was so‌⁠ loud we heard​⁠ it inside the‌​ restaurant. Never heard​‍ anything like it.’‌‍‍

‘…R-restaurant?’⁠‌

The⁠​ man jerked his‍​​ chin toward the​ brick wall I was leaning on.​‌‌

‘The‍ place you’re sitting​ against is my‌ restaurant.’

I looked at the​‌⁠ sign.

“Busan‌ Bam-bada” (Night Sea⁠​‌ of Busan).

Pretty‌​ cheesy name.

‘No‍‌‌ wonder no customers‌​‍ came today…’

Although​ honestly, that name‌ probably wasn’t helping.‍‍

‘If​ you stay here,⁠‍​ you’ll scare off‍ what little business​⁠ I get. Go‌ find somewhere else‌‌ to squat.’

He⁠ said that, then​‌​ turned and walked⁠ away.

Splash.⁠‍

The​⁠ rain began pummeling‌‍ me again. The‌​ heavy drops slammed⁠‌​ the ground and⁠‌‌ sprayed water in‍⁠⁠ every direction.

Step.⁠​

He‍‍ walked a few‌‍​ steps and sighed.​‌ Then he spoke‌​‍ over his shoulder.‌

‘And⁠⁠​ relax those eyes,‍‍ kid. I’ve been​​ using knives for‍‌‌ twenty years, but‌‍ you’re the one⁠ who looks like‌ he’s about to‌ stab someone.’

‘Old‍‍ man… Are you​‍​ a cook or‌ something?’

‘Yeah.‍​ A cook with‌‌‌ knives.’

I looked at his​‌​ outfit more carefully.​

A crisp white shirt⁠​ and trousers. A navy apron tied‌‌ around his waist.‌‍ Clearly, a Japanese⁠ cuisine chef.

He​​​ tilted his head‌⁠ and added,

‘Anyway,‌ if you’re going‍ to loiter, at‌⁠ least come inside⁠‍⁠ and get out‍​ of the rain.​‌ I don’t want​‍ to be hauling‌‍⁠ out a swollen⁠‍‌ corpse in the‍‌‍ morning.’

‘……’⁠​

‘Today’s‍⁠ business is already⁠​⁠ a bust anyway.​⁠‌ One more beggar⁠ won’t make a difference.’

I watched him walk‌‌ away.

And⁠⁠‍ for some reason,‌‍‍ I stood up.‌⁠

My​​ feet followed after​​ him.

The⁠ man gave a slight smile and⁠ opened the restaurant⁠ door for me.‍

That⁠‍ day, maybe he‍ opened more than⁠ just a door.⁠‍⁠

…Or‍⁠ maybe he just‌⁠ gained a new⁠​​ worker he could⁠‍ exploit.

And⁠‌ it wouldn’t be‌⁠‌ a stretch—he cussed‍‍ me out every​​​ hour of the‌ day.

“You‍⁠ ruined the snapper,⁠​ you moron! Do‍⁠ you know how‍ expensive that fish​⁠ is? Go apologize‌‍ to it. Tell‌‌ it you’re sorry​‍ for killing it‍⁠ twice.”

“I‌⁠‌ told you not⁠⁠ to hold the​⁠ knife like that,​ didn’t I?! Look⁠‍ closely! Rest your​⁠ index finger on⁠‌ the sashimi blade.‌‌‍ That’s the only‌ way to get⁠​ an even slice,‍ you useless brat.”⁠⁠

“How​ does someone with⁠‍⁠ two hands cut​⁠‌ worse than me—with⁠‌ only one that⁠‌‌ works? If you’re‍ gonna waste it‌ like that, give‍‍ it here, I’ll​‌​ take it!”

“You’ve​‌ been getting cocky‍⁠‌ lately just ’cause‌ customers praise you,⁠​ huh? That’s exactly‌‌‌ why you need‍ to stay humble.⁠⁠‌ Don’t you know​‌ mature rice bends‌​ low? There’s no⁠​ end in the⁠​ world of sashimi.”‍​⁠

One​ day, I snapped‌‌​ and shouted.

“My⁠‍ ears are bleeding!⁠ And every time⁠​ you call me,‍ it’s ‘Hey idiot,’‌⁠ ‘Oi, you,’ ‘Useless‍ punk’—why can’t you​‍ call me by⁠ my name just‍ once?”

“And​‍​ you? You’ve been‍‍‌ living with me​‌ for two months‍⁠ and still call‍​​ me ‘old man.’‌‌ Why can you‌‍ do that and‌ I can’t?”

“So​ what, I’m supposed‌ to call you⁠‌​ by your name?​ Want me to‍ call you that?”‌⁠

“There’s⁠‍ a decent word​ for it—Master.”

“…Master,‍⁠​ my ass.”

“Ha…⁠‌‍ You little brat.‍⁠‍ Close the shop!​​‌ No fish today—I’ll​ fillet you instead!”⁠‌‍

“Officer!‌‍ This ex-gangster is‌ trying to kill‍ me!”

That‍ was our daily​ life—constant chaos. And​‍⁠ before I knew⁠ it, a year⁠ had nearly passed.‍‍ It was early⁠⁠ winter.

One⁠​‌ day, the old‌ man suddenly asked⁠‍ me a question.‌‍

“Don’t‍ you ever feel‍‌⁠ frustrated?”

He‍ wasn’t even looking‌ at me.

He⁠‌ was watching some‍‌ students walk past‍‍‌ the shop.

“Frustrated?‍⁠ About what? That‌ you work me​ to death for​‌‌ a few coins?”‌

“No⁠‌ point in using⁠‌⁠ formal speech if⁠ you’re just gonna‌‍⁠ talk back. I’m‍ not talking about​ that. I mean…​ don’t you want⁠​⁠ to wear a school uniform? Study‌ like them? Live⁠‍ a normal life?”⁠

I tilted my head​ while still sweeping‍‌ the front of⁠ the shop.

“Frustrated‌‍ about that? They‌ and I just‍ live in different​ worlds.”

At⁠ those words, he​‍ looked a bit​‌ sad. Then, with⁠​ a firm voice,​ he said,

“You’re‌​​ also just a regular teenager. You​ have the same‍​ rights as anyone.”‍​‌

“What,‌‍​ have you been​​​ drinking in broad⁠‍ daylight? Why are‍ you saying all‍​ this out of‌ nowhere?”

“I⁠‌⁠ want you to‍ go to school‌‍ someday. Whether it’s‌​ university, grad school,​ or even an‍‍ academy.”

“All‌ of a sudden?​⁠ Besides, I only‌​ finished high school.​​ I’m not interested⁠⁠ in studying.”

“You⁠‍ need to learn⁠‍⁠ how to interact​⁠​ with people. You⁠‍‌ can only get​ that by mixing‍ with people your⁠‍ age. You, who‌ have no social‍‍ skills whatsoever, need‌ it more than‌ anyone.”

“……”⁠​

“If‍​ you really want⁠‌ to go to​ school… I’ll do‌​ whatever it takes​⁠ to make it‍ happen.”

.
.
.

Now‍ I finally understand.⁠‌‍

“Come,‍‍‍ Balor Joaquin.”

Now‍⁠ I understand why​‍ the old man​‌ said those words.⁠​​

“Kill‍ Lycan… and guide‌​‌ humanity’s survival. Then​‍ you’ll become the‍‍ founder of all⁠​‍ heroes.”

***‌

Two​‍​ beings walked across‍‍‌ the vast, boundless‍ territory of the​⁠ Demon Realm, Gehenna.⁠⁠

Both​‍ pointed their swords​ at each other,‍​ tense, unwilling to​⁠ yield even a single step.

The​⁠ air trembled, releasing‌‌ a sound akin​ to a beast’s‌ howl.

The‍⁠​ entire atmosphere quaked‌‌ under the pressure⁠⁠ of their presence,‌​ a clear omen​‌⁠ of the imminent‍⁠ clash between light⁠⁠ and darkness.

Boom!⁠‍

At⁠‌​ the moment the‍‌ lightning struck, Lycan‌ launched his attack.⁠

The‍ ground burst beneath‌⁠ his feet as​‍​ he exploded forward,​ closing the distance⁠⁠‌ to Balor Joaquin⁠‍ in the blink​ of an eye.​​

At⁠ close range, Lycan⁠ swung his lightning-forged‍‍ sword, crackling with‌‍ thunder.

A yellow trail cut‍ through the air,‌⁠ aiming straight for‌​ the human’s throat.‍‌

So‍​​ absurdly fast that​‍⁠ no mortal could‍ possibly react.

And‌‍ it wasn’t a metaphor—every one of​ his movements truly​ flashed like lightning.‌

But‌‍ Balor’s eyes followed​‌ that trajectory precisely.‍‌

His⁠‍ senses, pushed to‌‌‍ their limits, approached⁠‌‌ perfection.

In‌ that instant, when‌​⁠ time itself lost‍‍‌ meaning, Balor raised‌‌ his Sacred Sword,⁠ Gram.

Black⁠‌ and white. White‍ and black.

Two⁠‌⁠ opposing forces collided⁠​‌ at a single‍⁠‍ point.

Ssshhhh—‌‌

Instead​​‍ of an explosion,⁠ a searing white​⁠‍ hum burst forth.⁠

The⁠​ impact was so⁠‌​ massive that the‍ very sound lost⁠ its shape and⁠ function.

Balor‌‌ twisted his waist​​ with force.

The‌‍ blade of Gram,‍‌ as it swung,⁠⁠‍ absorbed the light​⁠​ and tore through‌ space as if​⁠‌ devouring it.

Faced​‍ with that terrifying​‍​ arc, Lycan responded‌ instinctively, using lightning​⁠ magic both to​​‌ defend and counter.⁠‌‌

Bolts‌‌ of lightning began​‍ crashing into the‍ ground.

“Chain‍ Lightning.”

Another‌‍ roar of thunder‍ echoed.

From‍⁠​ there, everything was​‌ ruled by instinct.​‌

There⁠⁠ was no longer‍​ room for thought—only‌‌⁠ the body’s reactions‍ remained.

Balor‌‌ cut through the⁠​ lightning with his​‌⁠ blade.

Some‌ fragments of shattered‌⁠‍ lightning shredded the⁠ air.

The⁠⁠ lightning blade clashed‍​ against Gram.

Beneath‌ them, the ground‍ began to melt‍‍ from the heat.‌‌​

Lycan‌ drew back his⁠​ sword slightly, then‍‌‍ thrust it forward‌‍ in a stabbing​‍‌ motion.

He​ wasn’t defending—he was‍​ forcing a counterattack.⁠‌​ Balor held his‍​ breath and raised⁠ his right arm.​ From below, a pillar of light⁠‍ surged skyward.

The​​‌ sword’s energy split​ the clouds. The⁠‌‍ two combatants traded⁠ blows without moving‍ from their places.⁠‌‌

Even‍‍ so, their surroundings‍⁠‌ were utterly obliterated.‍​

The‍ land trembled, swaying‍ like a swing,​ losing its axis.‍‌

Lycan⁠​​ was awestruck. What‍‍‍ a waste that⁠‌ someone like him⁠‌‌ was still just⁠‍ a mortal.

Most​‌ of all, that‍‍ steadfast will and‌ unshakable power—his own‍⁠ arm, the one​ that had attacked,​ felt stiff from​‍‍ the resistance.

This​⁠ man defied all⁠⁠‍ logic.

In​​⁠ wonder, Lycan unleashed⁠⁠ even greater power.​‍‌

“Lightning‌ Punishment.”

Crash!‍⁠⁠ Boom! Rumble!

Lightning‌‍ rained down without⁠‌⁠ end. Hundreds, thousands,‍ millions… the bolts,‍​​ yellow at first,‌⁠⁠ then blood red,‍ lit up the​ sky.

The‌ mountains of flesh‍⁠​ and blood that​ blanketed the area‍ were reduced to‌⁠ ash. Balor swept‍ his right arm‌​‍ horizontally.

A white wave devoured‌ all the lightning​​‌ in its path.​‌⁠

In⁠‌‍ the midst of​​ that chaos, Balor⁠‍ gathered even more​ power. Then he‍ brought his sword⁠ down.

Slash!‌

A pure white ray⁠‌ grazed Lycan’s shoulder.⁠⁠ The ground beside‍ him wavered like‍⁠​ a shimmering heat​‍ haze.

Balor’s⁠​ strike had carved​ a void. The‌‌ air, once filled​‍ with magic, became​‌​ a total vacuum.​‌‍

The‍‌ echo of that‌ emptiness rang out‌ coldly.

Lycan​‌ froze in disbelief.⁠⁠‍ He shivered—and then,‍ like a madman,​ burst into laughter.‍⁠

“Yes…‍ it’s a shame​⁠ someone like you​‍ can’t become a hero.”

“…….”‌‌‌

“But⁠‍ I’ve had enough​ warm-up.”

Lycan’s⁠ eyes began to​ glow with a verdant light. Balor⁠ pointed his blade‍‌ at him and‌‍‌ replied.

“Let’s​‍‌ end this, Lycan.”​

Smoke‌​ rose from his‌ left arm. Flesh⁠‍‍ and bone began‌‍ to disintegrate.

Lycan’s⁠‌⁠ pupils shrank.

“The‍⁠​ power of ‘Him’…⁠‍ Not even you,‍⁠‌ Balor Joaquin, can‌ withstand it in‍‌ that body. Such‌ an incredible… and‌⁠ cruel power. But⁠​​ still, show me.”‌‍

Balor‌‌‌ calmly gazed at‍‍‌ his dissolving arm.⁠ He thought an​⁠ arm is a small price to‍‌ pay for this‌⁠‍ power.

Lycan‌‍ spoke again, his​⁠​ voice mad with‌ euphoria.

“The⁠⁠ power to Defy⁠ the Heavens—The power​ that can even‌‍‌ cut down the⁠⁠ gods.”

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