Aesthetics (3)

-He was forcibly returned to Shinwol. Has Hyungnim never told you about Shinwol?

“No, he hasn’t.”

-First, about Haemi—she’s safe. She’s in a hideout I prepared at Ground Zero.

“Did something happen to my master?”

-Yeah. I used the phrase ‘forcibly returned,’ but it’s basically a kidnapping. Haemi was in danger too, but she got out.

“Ah…….”

‘Go to Cheongdo and find Songnim’ is a code that symbolizes me. Shinwol won’t know it, but still.

“I think you’ll need to explain Shinwol to me first. I’ve never heard anything about it.”

From the content alone, it was certain that Celestial Assassin had gone back to some organization.

That was why K used the word “return.” It meant he’d been taken back to where he originally belonged.

It wasn’t that Kang-hoo had absolutely nothing to go on, but it was pure conjecture—there wasn’t a single thing he could be sure of.

Still, the fact that it was an organization Celestial Assassin had once belonged to was enough to guess their reason for existing.

They were either a hidden hand like The Thirteen Stars, or an existence standing in opposition to that hidden hand.

If he had to choose, Kang-hoo honestly hoped it was the latter rather than the former. The lighter the sandbag, the better.

-I’ll tell you the details myself when you get back. Can you come to Ground Zero?

“Of course I have to. I don’t have any other plans set aside. I’ll head there as soon as I return.”

-Good. Be worried, but don’t be fatalistic.

“If it were something worth despairing over, your voice wouldn’t be this calm.”

-You’re not wrong.

“I’ll contact you from the airport.”

-All right.

The call ended.

Kang-hoo sank into quiet thought.

Predicting what kind of future Celestial Assassin faced in the original story was easy.

He would have lived a life on borrowed time, and then naturally passed away.

And there would have been no story after that—unless it was Ju Haemi grieving for the Celestial Assassin who had left.

But Kang-hoo had changed Celestial Assassin’s future by using the Angel of the Battlefield constellation. The timeline had shifted.

That butterfly effect leading to the current situation was an undeniable fact.

Kang-hoo was certain that the existence of Shinwol would become a major turning point for him as well.

He could instinctively feel that his master’s altered future was now exerting a huge influence on him, too.

“Whatever the reason, judging by what they did, it’s obvious they’re bastard scum…….”

He wanted to clearly fix his anger on a target for Celestial Assassin’s kidnapping, but for now, too much was still shrouded.

For the moment, it seemed best to meet K as soon as he got back and hear the full details about Shinwol.

A major incident had certainly occurred.

But since Celestial Assassin’s safety itself hadn’t become immediately perilous, he decided to keep his heart light.

And if it was his master…… he wouldn’t die so easily. Kang-hoo believed in Celestial Assassin.

He rested deeply for a day.

After Ayane’s mana-shot rifle modification was finished, she also left the special room and enjoyed a rare break with Kang-hoo.

A performance test showed that her mana-shot rifle’s overall firepower had increased by about fifteen percent.

They hadn’t replaced the rifle, nor had they forcibly raised item instability with reckless engraving.

Just having a master’s hands touch it raised weapon efficiency by fifteen percent.

To a mediocre gunner, fifteen percent might feel like nothing special.

But for someone as skilled as Ayane, it was a different story.

Wasn’t there a difference between raising fifteen percent on a total skill output of 10, and raising fifteen percent on 100? Ayane was the latter.

As night ripened.

Since they planned to head straight to the airport in the morning and take a flight back home,

Kang-hoo and Ayane were essentially saying their goodbyes at the villa.

Kang-hoo would return to Korea, and Ayane to Japan, so even their departure times would be different.

Perhaps she regretted the parting.

Ayane kept suggesting “just one more glass of wine,” and she was already on her fifth.

“Kang-hoo.”

“Yeah.”

“If I’m useful to you, call me anytime. Korea or overseas, anywhere. I’ll go. If you call me, Kang-hoo.”

“You’re saying you’ll be my mercenary?”

“Yeah. Except without pay.”

“Why go that far?”

“I just want to earn my keep. No matter how I think about it, this talisman is too much, and I feel like that’s the only way I can repay it.”

Ayane shook the talisman.

A talisman that could even cover “position exposure,” one of a sniper’s few inherent risks.

A zero-grade item’s effects exceeded anything you could imagine.

So Kang-hoo didn’t feel her reaction was excessive.

If she felt indebted—if she truly wanted to repay it—then letting her do as she wished wasn’t a bad idea.

Kang-hoo nodded.

“Hah. Fine. Unpaid mercenary work—how much are we talking?”

“Unlimited?”

“Give me a number you feel like.”

“Ten times. Ten times, I’ll do whatever you tell me, no questions asked. Assassination? That’s fine too.”

“That’s a dangerous thing to say.”

“I mean it. I’m used to being alone anyway. Killing one more person won’t really be a huge loss, and it won’t feel awkward to make more enemies.”

It was true.

Ayane already had plenty of foes bound to her by bad blood.

If you tried to divide good and evil here, Ayane was closer to the side of good.

But that didn’t justify murder. To someone, Ayane would inevitably look like evil.

It was just that— the world’s order ultimately flowed by the logic of power, so no one could “punish” her.

“Alright. I’ll call you if I need you.”

“Yeah. Unless I’m inside a dungeon, I’ll always prioritize your contact first, Kang-hoo.”

“You’re going to squeeze that zero-grade item for all it’s worth, huh. At this point.”

Park Dong-jae, Ayane—whether intentionally or not, it felt like they kept getting pulled in like magnets.

Like fate drawing them together.

It was almost hard to believe they hadn’t even known each other until not long ago, considering how tightly they were connected now.

Once he returned to Korea again, he’d likely have many things to deal with.

His master had disappeared.

It wasn’t something he could simply accept with “I see.” It was a major disaster.

More than anything, Kang-hoo was curious about Shinwol.

What kind of bastards were they, to drag an old man who had already retired from their organization back and make him suffer?

He wanted to peel off those fucking faces one by one and see what was underneath.

If they were the type to spout some half-baked chosen-people superiority, then from that moment on, he planned to show them exactly how long a grudge could last.

They needed to pay the price for the disrespect of taking someone precious away so casually.

The moment he returned to Incheon Airport, Kang-hoo headed straight for Ground Zero.

K had sent Moon Hyeong-seo to the airport, so Kang-hoo could ride comfortably in a secure limousine driven by him.

Moon Hyeong-seo didn’t say a word, and Kang-hoo also kept silent.

Since the conversation ahead could become quite heavy and deep,

Moon Hyeong-seo seemed wary of even small talk that might serve as a prelude. Kang-hoo agreed.

Just then,

Park Dong-jae called.

“Hey, Dong-jae.”

-Hyung. It looks like it’ll be the full moon soon. At this pace, I think it’ll happen in three days.

“Are you sure?”

-Hyung, I’m Park Dong-jae.

“Yeah. Got it.”

Kang-hoo almost burst out laughing at Park Dong-jae’s answer—using his own name as proof of certainty—but he held it in.

If you unpacked it, it meant he’d checked and calculated meticulously.

Compressing that into “Hyung, I’m Park Dong-jae” was funny the more you thought about it.

Either way, it meant there was one thing he absolutely had to do within a few days. The full-moon reward was an irresistible temptation.

Drrrk.

The moment he ended Park Dong-jae’s call, another call came in. It was Jang Si-hwan.

Since he’d only just returned, Kang-hoo suspected Jang Si-hwan might have figured out he’d come back from Germany and contacted him.

With Jang Si-hwan and the Jeonghwa Guild’s intelligence network, checking entry/exit records would be nothing.

It wouldn’t be wrong to say the Jeonghwa Guild’s influence reached every key facility in the capital region.

In other words, if Jang Si-hwan decided to turn a blind eye, he could bring in anything that would become a “problem” from abroad through the airport.

Drugs, of course, and violent foreign mercenaries like in the old Jeongmun Research Lab incident as well.

“Yes?”

-Shin Kang-hoo. It’s me.

“I know. There’s only one person who would call me from this number.”

Since it hadn’t been long since he rejected the recruitment offer, it didn’t seem likely he’d bring up the same thing again.

So Kang-hoo was curious what topic he would raise—when Jang Si-hwan went straight to the point.

-A hunter who has long held hostile feelings toward you, Shin Kang-hoo, is going to target you directly this time.

“Hmm.”

He deliberately didn’t act like he knew, but he immediately understood that hunter was Vincent Meyer.

That was only because he knew the original story’s content in advance, however.

What Kang-hoo was curious about was why Jang Si-hwan, who stood completely as a third party here, would deliberately warn him.

Wasn’t it?

Vincent Meyer was one of Justice’s members.

From Jang Si-hwan’s perspective, telling an outsider information that could put a comrade at risk made no sense.

“So you warn me of danger in advance, and make me owe you a debt of gratitude…… Is that your strategy?”

It was a plausible, clever thought.

He gives Kang-hoo this information, and— if Kang-hoo wins the fight against Vincent? Since he’s made Kang-hoo indebted, it benefits Jang Si-hwan.

If Vincent wins instead?

It becomes Kang-hoo’s punishment, for coldly rejecting Jang Si-hwan’s interest despite repeated advances.

Passing judgment on twisted affection with death—again, it benefits Jang Si-hwan.

From his perspective, there was no downside.

It also meant he had no camaraderie at all toward Vincent Meyer. Vincent was merely a means and a tool.

“So the final clash isn’t far off.”

Kang-hoo had long expected he would clash with Vincent one day.

Ever since he obtained the hidden skill, and ever since he learned that Vincent coveted it.

So he wasn’t surprised or flustered. It was just a headache, because it meant he’d have to fight a battle to the death.

“Thank you.”

-I hope you remain unharmed. If you need my help, you may tell me. I’ll find a way.

He knew it was bullshit, so he didn’t assign it any meaning. Even so, the “good guy” act was top-notch.

“This is enough for now. I’ll contact you again later.”

He ended the call.

Kang-hoo snorted.

No matter how he thought about it, Jang Si-hwan’s craftiness and cunning made him click his tongue.

At the same time, he thought the original story had really crafted its protagonist with savory excellence.

Though he did wonder if it made sense to be admiring him in a situation where Vincent threatened his life.

Either way, one fact was undeniable.

As Kang-hoo’s adversary and the goal he had to surpass, the current Jang Si-hwan was the most perfectly constructed villain imaginable.

“Jang Si-hwan. You still don’t know, do you? How much of a loss it will be for you, in the future, to lose Vincent.”

Clench.

Kang-hoo’s eyes glinted coldly as he clenched both fists.

The time for the final clash arrived sooner than expected.

But he could face it from a far higher level than he’d once imagined.

He thought it was worth trying.

Vincent Meyer.

It was time to erase one of The Thirteen Stars from the world completely.