Urban Vagabond: Reload

Martial arts competitions are split up pretty finely—by event and by age.

Out of all of them, the creative sword dance division I entered was the kind where you “compose techniques you created yourself into one dance, using a sword or saber.”

They judged physical ability, fundamentals, creativity, and adaptability, and the panel was made up of Martial Alliance officials and senior figures from different sects.

“It’s been so long I barely even remember this place...”

The hallway was packed with students who wanted to become martial artists and their families. Everyone was talking before heading into their waiting rooms.

“Slow breaths. You’re not too nervous, right? You can do it.”

“Take your calming pill now. You remember your whole sequence?”

“If you don’t place this time, you’re quitting. That’s the promise you made your father!”

From elementary to middle to high school, everything was separated by grade and event, so the number of participants was huge.

Which also meant there were that many kids dreaming of the martial path.

‘Even so, less than five percent of them will still be here once they’re adults.’

People drop out for all kinds of reasons.

Bad constitution test results. Running into geniuses so far ahead they feel hopeless. Injuries. Money. Or they just slide into the underworld.

Back then, I used to look at everyone in a venue like this and think competition.

But after living twenty years and coming back, each kid straining for their dream looked... admirable.

‘Hang in there, rookies.’

I pushed through the crowded hall and reached the waiting room.

A security guard posted up front stopped me with a suspicious look.

“Sorry, only participants can enter.”

“I’m a participant too. Here’s my ID and application.”

A moment later, after checking both, his eyes shot up.

“Ki—!”

I lowered my mask a little and showed my face.

“I wanted to go in quietly.”

Back then, even among my peers, I was pretty well-known, so there were still people who recognized me.

The guard caught on fast and nodded.

“Yes! Confirmed. Uh... but your division says...”

He tilted his head at my application, so I smiled in a friendly way and asked.

“I’ve got a friend inside. Can I just go in for a second to cheer him on and come right back out?”

He hesitated, then finally nodded like he couldn’t win.

“Don’t stay too long.”

“Thank you.”

After checking the area, he cracked the door open for me. As I walked past, he gave me a big thumbs-up.

“I’m a fan. Looking forward to your performance too.”

I returned the thumbs-up and went in.

The participants’ waiting room was a big hall, like a small auditorium.

Kids who’d arrived early had claimed spots, warming up, stretching, or running through their sword dance sequences.

A few glanced my way, but with the mask and cap on, nobody recognized me.

‘About thirty people. Not everyone’s here yet.’

I scanned the room, looking for Shin Kangheon.

With a presence that matched his size, he popped out instantly.

“Fuuuuh...”

Maybe he’d just finished a run-through, because he’d thrown off his shirt and was standing off to one side, steadying his breathing.

‘He looks like a hungry tiger.’

Up close, Shin Kangheon felt different than he did in front of the reporters.

The serious focus on his face made it hard to tell which version was the “real” him.

One thing was clear—between his overwhelming physique and that savage expression, nobody wanted to go near him.

‘How should I start this?’

I was stepping toward him, running through a few greetings in my head, when—

“Hey, did you guys hear Kim Muhyuk bombed his constitution test?”

“....”

I turned slightly.

A little cluster of boys was gossiping. One of them—a sharp-eyed kid with a ponytail—was talking loud enough for the entire room to hear.

Maybe he was doing it on purpose.

“My dad’s got a reporter friend. He said that bastard got his results, started crying, and ran out.”

...Sure. Making someone else’s misfortune into gossip is human instinct, and they were still kids. I could accept that.

“It is weird. He hasn’t even entered competitions since last year. Didn’t that already feel like a sign?”

“But what level could he have gotten to bolt like that?”

“If it was Level 9 or 10...”

“Then his life’s screwed. Doesn’t matter how good your frame is—if your constitution sucks, you’re done.”

So I was going to let it go.

But then—

“So what’s he gonna do to make a living now?”

“No idea. Everyone in my family’s Level 6 or higher. He’s got a good body, so I guess he can earn with his fists. Like a thug or a gangster?”

“Damn. Then what about the parents who poured money into him? What a waste. They ruined their lives because they birthed the wrong kid.”

Nobody stepped in. No one pushed back.

Everyone either snickered or ignored it while the words dripped with malice.

“...That crosses a line.”

I stopped where I was and looked at the ponytail kid and his friends.

“Guys.”

I called out quietly, almost like I was scolding gently.

But the moment they heard my voice, they flinched.

“Just asking in case, but... if Kim Muhyuk fails his constitution test, does that help your lives at all?”

As I walked closer, the boys who’d been whispering stumbled back with panicked faces.

I could feel other participants’ eyes turning toward me.

“...Who are you to pick a fight?”

“I’m not picking a fight. I just don’t get it, listening to you.”

I slowly took off my cap, then pulled off my mask.

The instant they recognized my face, they sucked in a sharp breath.

“I-It’s Kim Muhyuk...”

Murmurs spread. I heard my name here and there.

I felt Shin Kangheon’s focus snap to me too, and I spotted a few other familiar faces.

“You shouldn’t trash-talk someone when they’re not around. That kind of thing comes back as karma, you know?”

To the ponytail kid and his little crew staring at me like they’d seen a ghost, I offered some advice as a senior who’d tasted every flavor life had.

“You ever hear stories about people getting their mouths split open for talking too much? In the underworld, it’s common. Especially if you insult someone’s family. Even black-path groups treat that brutally. They burn your mouth, split it, let it heal, then split it again...”

If I were a normal hot-blooded teenager, I might’ve thrown a punch right then.

But I didn’t want to do that to kids whose mental age was miles below mine.

‘Try to talk it out first.’

If words didn’t work, then I’d consider another method... but—

“S-Sorry.”

“We just heard the rumor, that’s all...”

“Really sorry! We won’t do it again!”

Pale-faced, the ponytail kid and his friends avoided my eyes and apologized over and over.

‘Hm. Guess they’re not actually bad kids.’

I’d been wondering what to do if they didn’t listen, but they got it immediately, so they seemed like decent students.

Then why were people whispering behind me?

“D-Did you see his eyes?”

“He just threatened to rip their mouths open, right?”

“Kim Muhyuk... he’s scarier than the rumors said.”

I turned around to clear up the misunderstanding, but most of the kids whose eyes met mine were busy looking away.

A few didn’t look away—and they were staring at me like I was disgusting.

“Hey, Kim Muhyuk.”

A tall boy stepped forward. Lean and tight like a dancer.

His face was faintly familiar in my old memory. The name helped too.

“Do you own this waiting room or something? Cut it out.”

“Pi Seunghwa... right?”

A peer who handled fast swordplay well. After graduation, he got scouted by a major sect and climbed pretty high, if I remembered right.

“But cut what out, exactly?”

With a headset hanging around his neck, Pi Seunghwa glared at me hard.

“Be quiet. You’re ruining people’s focus.”

His face was all irritation, just like I remembered.

I grinned like I was chatting with an old buddy.

“Sorry. But it’s funny. My voice bothers you, but the guys trash-talking someone’s parents didn’t?”

“What—”

“Where’d you get that headset? Seems like the noise canceling works selectively. I kinda wanna try one too.”

“....”

Pi Seunghwa clamped his mouth shut, glared at me for another second, then turned and strode off to a corner.

“Pff—”

I saw Shin Kangheon shaking with laughter, trying to hold it in.

‘Thought he’d butt in, but maybe because it’s a competition, he’s oddly well-behaved.’

Instead, another voice cut in.

“Hey, but really.”

A boy with a compact, rock-solid body and twin blades strapped across his back stepped closer—another face I knew.

His small eyes gleamed like a snake.

“Is it true your constitution test was bad? What level did you get?”

“You’re Lee Hyunseung, right?”

“...It’s Kim Hyunseung.”

Just like Shin Kangheon and Pi Seunghwa, he’d been pretty famous in our age group.

The fact I didn’t remember much else probably meant he retired early... or died young.

“Sorry. It’s been too long. Mixed you up.”

“...We’ve run into each other at competitions more than five times.”

“Oh. I remember winning all of them.”

Kim Hyunseung glared at me and muttered “you bastard” under his breath.

I couldn’t exactly fire back in kind.

So I just looked at him with a calm smile and an adult’s patience.

“...Just wait.”

For some reason, Kim Hyunseung went red with anger, then stalked to a corner and started practicing.

I turned to the rest of the room.

“Guys. Sorry if I caused trouble right before an important competition. Good luck today. I hope every one of you gets the result your effort deserves on stage. I’m rooting for you, seriously.”

Shin Kangheon. Pi Seunghwa. Kim Hyunseung.

And the other kids our age.

They all stared at me like I’d lost my mind.

“Hahahaha—! What the hell, this guy’s insane?”

Finally, Shin Kangheon stepped in.

Unlike the others who were tense and wary, he walked right up to me with a grin like he was having the time of his life.

“You’re even more of an attention freak than me. You seriously waited in here with a mask on until someone started trash-talking you, didn’t you?”

“...Why would I?”

“Look at you playing innocent—”

He didn’t believe me at all.

With eyes like he was about to bite, he slowly scanned me head to toe.

Like a predator measuring prey before the hunt.

When he finished sizing me up, Shin Kangheon smirked.

“Anyway, your name wasn’t on the participant list. So why’re you here?”

“I was passing by and thought I’d say hi. And I am a participant. Just not here.”

“...What the hell does that mean?”

Right when Shin Kangheon frowned in confusion—

Knock knock.

The security guard outside came in with another guard.

“Is participant Kim Muhyuk here?”

“Yeah. That’s me.”

I raised a hand. The guard pointed at his watch and said in a businesslike tone.

“The General Division is about to start. If you don’t go to your waiting room now, you’ll be disqualified.”

“Sorry. I’ll head over right away.”

The students listening to us just blinked between me and the guard.

“...General Division?”

“What?”

“Don’t tell me he...”

I pulled my application badge from my pocket, hung it around my neck, and let it show.

Yeah, I’d entered to meet Shin Kangheon.

But that didn’t mean I wanted to play in the same sandbox as these guys.

The place I was aiming for was way higher than their ceiling.

And honestly, this felt like enough for a first meeting. I’d made sure he remembered me.

“Alright, good luck, everyone. If I’ve got time after the General Division ends, I’ll come watch. Show me your best out there. Fight on!”

I gave my stunned peers one last cheer, left the High School Division venue, and headed for the General Division.

Behind the closed door, I heard Shin Kangheon erupt into cackling laughter, mixed with a storm of curses.