Urban Vagabond: Reload

Kim Muhyuk gazed out the window, satisfied, at his own banner fluttering in the wind.

He even nodded along, praising himself for how well he’d written the slogan—

“Hey! Kim Muhyuk—!”

The downstairs tenant, Kim Bokja, burst in like she was going to break the door. Blue ghostflame blazed in her eyes.

Startled by how murderous she looked, Kim Muhyuk’s expression hardened as he swept his gaze around, on guard. Something big had happened. It had to have.

“What is it? Is there some kind of danger outside?”

“In my life, you’re the biggest danger, you bastard—!”

Kim Bokja lunged straight at him, trying to grab him by the collar, but Kim Muhyuk reacted without thinking first—he shoved her forehead back with his palm.

“......What the hell is wrong with you all of a sudden?”

“Ugh! Let go! You won’t let go?!”

Kim Bokja windmilled her arms through the air as she unloaded like a machine gun.

“This is landlord power-tripping and abuse! You said I could use a prime spot for free, so I came—then you set up a private investigator’s office upstairs? If you were me, would you want to rent here after seeing that tacky banner? Even the customers who were coming will run awa—mmph, mmph!”

“Wait. Okay. I get it—just listen to me.”

Kim Muhyuk covered her mouth and corrected the downstairs tenant’s misunderstanding.

“First of all, what I set up isn’t a private investigator’s office. It’s more like a counseling office. Well.......”

Depending on the situation, it might end up functioning as a fixer’s office, too.

He swallowed the rest silently.

But from her perspective, it clearly wasn’t convincing at all. The moment he moved his hand away, Kim Bokja snorted.

“You know what my first thought was when I saw that banner? Someone getting paid to dig up dirt or beat somebody down. You think I haven’t seen offices like that before?”

“......Ahem.”

Kim Muhyuk averted his eyes and cleared his throat, stung for no reason.

It was true—he’d based the wording on a few offices he used to frequent back when he lived as a drifter.

“Come on. It’s not that—”

If the only person objecting had been Kim Bokja, Kim Muhyuk would’ve dug in at least once more.

But then he saw his parents coming up right behind her—and he ran out of words.

“Kim Muhyuk, wake up! Wake up!”

Kim Chanho stood beside Kim Bokja and joined the protest, a towel tied around his head like he was about to lead a labor strike.

“This self-employed couple protests landlord Kim Muhyuk’s power-tripping! A private investigator’s office in a prime Yeonnam-dong building—what kind of nonsense is that?! At this rate, even the café is going to go under! Kim Muhyuk, wake up! Wake up!”

It was a fierce, deliberate protest, but honestly, Kim Muhyuk wasn’t that scared of his father acting like this.

The real problem was Park Jiyeon behind him, arms crossed, wearing a chilly smile—and the look in her eyes.

“Landlord? Want to have a little talk. Just us?”

At those words, cold sweat beaded down Kim Muhyuk’s spine.

Only then did he realize something had gone seriously wrong.

“......Is that banner really that weird?”

In the end, under the barrage of complaints from the first- and second-floor tenants, Kim Muhyuk’s banner was taken down within just a few hours.

Right on time, Choi Geon showed up to see his disciple. When he heard the story, he clutched his stomach and burst into laughter.

“Hahaha! What in the world is inside your head? Dispute resolution? Compensation negotiable? This is unbelievable. I’ve never seen anything so ridiculous!”

He was laughing so hard he practically teared up, picking apart every single line on the banner like each one was a joke.

When even the master he’d thought might be the one person on his side joined in to mock him, Kim Muhyuk sighed like he’d given up on life.

“Make fun of me all you want. Your disciple got blinded by money and opened a private investigator’s office.”

“Heh. If I keep going, you look like you’ll sulk for real—so I’ll stop. Still. Would my disciple actually open a private investigator’s office?”

Choi Geon brushed a finger over the line on the banner—We’ll help you find your justice!

His gaze looked like it had drifted somewhere into his own younger days.

“Justice. It’s easy to write, but terribly hard to realize. Is this truly what you want to do?”

“Yes.”

When Kim Muhyuk nodded with a serious face, the three listening with him all looked back at him again.

After meeting each of their eyes in turn, Kim Muhyuk explained why he wanted to open the office.

“I want to listen to the concerns of people who’ve suffered unfair things tied to the martial world—and help them, as much as I can. There are more people than you’d think who can’t even get the chance to ask for help.”

Of course, there were laws and systems. Kim Muhyuk knew full well that Martial Alliance members and state-affiliated martial artists worked to protect the weak.

But anywhere you went, there were always vile bastards who slipped cleverly outside the rules and operated in the gaps.

“......I hate the idea of guys like that sleeping with their legs stretched out, comfortable. So I take requests, solve problems, build up all kinds of experience on the side, and even get paid for it—three birds with one stone, right?”

Kim Muhyuk grinned, half-playful.

Everyone shook their heads like he was impossible.

“Haah. You punk.......”

Choi Geon looked at his disciple with a pleased smile.

It wasn’t an exaggeration to say Kim Muhyuk had played the biggest role in exposing the Eight Great Sects’ wrongdoing and corruption to the world. Just that alone meant he’d already set one huge piece of justice right.

But maybe the world needed far more small justices than one big one.

The fact that his disciple had thought that far at such a young age—his heart behind it—felt admirable.

“Even if the end result was a disaster, your intent is excellent. Whenever I have time, I’ll help you!”

Choi Geon stepped forward, willing to support his disciple’s work.

Kim Chanho and Park Jiyeon exchanged looks like, Well, it can’t be helped, then turned back to their son.

“You should’ve said that from the start.”

“I thought you were really going to open some weird office.”

“But we should redo that banner. People could misunderstand.”

“Wouldn’t a sign be better? A banner doesn’t even make any sound when it flutters.”

Kim Bokja, who’d been listening quietly, finally relaxed her stiff expression and offered advice, too.

“The intention’s good, but if you leave it like that, everyone’s going to think it’s a place that handles dirty work. You’ll get nothing but inquiries like, ‘My wife ran off with a martial artist—go dig up dirt on her,’ won’t you?”

It was convincing enough that all three nodded at once.

Kim Muhyuk, too, didn’t insist on rehanging that banner with its stiff, calligraphy-like vibe.

“Then what should we do instead?”

No matter how much of a regressor he was, Kim Muhyuk couldn’t be perfect at everything.

He could still make mistakes. He could still make immature decisions.

But it’s fine.

Unlike his lonely past life, he’d gained this many people around him now—people who would give him advice.

When Kim Muhyuk looked around at everyone and asked, ideas poured out like they’d been waiting.

“These days, even if it’s a sign, it doesn’t have to be huge. I’ll design something clean for you. Want to make business cards while we’re at it?”

“You’ve got to promote it so people who really need it can search and find it. Leave that to me!”

“I’ll help with the interior. If it feels bleak inside, the client will be too scared to even talk.”

“Heh. I’ll speak to the Martial Alliance about it.”

Kim Muhyuk accepted all the help and advice wholeheartedly.

Kim Bokja designed and produced the office sign herself, and Kim Chanho—alongside the café Naru social media he’d been preparing—also opened social media accounts for the Blue Wolves office.

Park Jiyeon walked through the third-floor interior that would become the office and threw out interior ideas, while Choi Geon sought legal counsel needed to operate the office through the Martial Alliance.

Kim Muhyuk barely had anything left to do.

“If you’re all doing everything, what am I supposed to do?”

“You train like you always do. For a martial artist to carry justice through, what matters most in the end is the martial arts within your own body.”

Kim Muhyuk decided to follow his master’s advice.

He just didn’t handle a sword—that was all. Day after day, he kept training diligently, following his routine.

First floor: cafe Naru

Second floor:

Third floor: Blue Wolves Office

Fourth floor: crew hideout

Each floor of the building was gradually finding its own color.

The café and the Spellcraft Beauty Shop still needed a little more time before opening, but Blue Wolves could start operating anytime as soon as the sign went up.

A few days later, a small, clean sign arrived—white lettering on a blue background.

[Martial-world Victim Counseling Office]

Next to the words “Blue Wolves,” Kim Bokja added a wolf logo she’d drawn herself.

Everyone was satisfied with the clean, refined feel.

Looking up at the sign he liked so much, Kim Muhyuk fell into thought.

If the road I walk changes, then my martial path will change too.

A thing he’d started to try experiences different from his past life.

In the process, he would naturally gain the realizations he needed as well.

Kim Muhyuk told the acquaintances he’d newly forged bonds with after his regression that the Blue Wolves Office had °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° opened.

“What the heck... You said it was our hideout, and now what is all this?”

“I’m just trying it as a hobby. Here—these are business cards, so take some.”

Hwang Suksu stopped by with alcohol as a gift and left with a stack of business cards on his way out, and Bu Yeonha gifted a refrigerator stamped with the AZURE SKY SWORD GATE logo.

“Thank you. But do you really need the sect logo on the refrigerator......?”

“It means you should show off your connection to AZURE SKY SWORD GATE as much as possible. Then the troublemakers will drop off fast.”

One day, Gu Hyeonwoo and Gu Jiu—who’d moved to Seoul—came to the office, played with Apricot to their heart’s content, and left.

“Can I come play again later?”

“Anytime you want. How are you feeling?”

“I feel like I don’t hurt at all anymore!”

And in that peaceful daily life, Kim Muhyuk waited leisurely for his first client to come.

*****

The Dark Den, run by Hwang Suksu.

A man limped into the shop and found an empty seat.

“.......”

A few glances slid over him, quick and sharp, but once they judged he was nothing special, nobody paid him any further attention.

The man drank in silence.

His gloomy face and the scars carved into his body made it easy to guess he’d lived a rough life.

“Looks like a drifter?”

At the voice from above him, the man lifted his head.

In an instant, cold killing intent gathered in his eyes.

“Mind your own business and get lost.”

In The Dark Den, it wasn’t common for someone to speak first in a situation like this.

Usually it only happened when someone was picking a fight—or when they’d decided the other guy was an easy mark.

But this wasn’t either of those.

Because the one who’d spoken was Hwang Suksu, the owner of The Dark Den.

“Young punk. You’re drinking without even ordering food, so I figured you might get wasted and start making trouble. And.......”

Hwang Suksu stared straight into the man’s bloodshot eyes and clicked his tongue.

“It’s pathetic, watching a grown man sit here bawling his eyes out.”

“Bawling my eyes out—who the hell—!”

The man started to snap at Hwang Suksu, then let out a long sigh instead, and kept drinking.

“I’m just going to drink quietly and leave, so stop bothering me. Even if I wanted to cause trouble, I don’t have the strength for it right now.”

“Sounds like you got screwed over.”

“.......”

“If you’re a drifter, it’s obvious. Someone stole the money you were supposed to get, or someone you trusted stabbed you in the back, or maybe.......”

“Damn it! I said get the hell away from me!”

The man flared and swung a liquor bottle at Hwang Suksu—then froze.

At some point, Hwang Suksu’s hand had shot out and clamped down on his wrist, forcing it down.

An expert?

He’d heard Hwang Suksu used to be a drifter, but he’d never imagined he still had this level of skill.

The man broke into cold sweat.

“Alright, alright. Don’t get worked up.”

After calming the angry man, Hwang Suksu pulled out a business card and held it out.

“It’s a place I know. If you got wronged, go there once.”

[Martial-world Victim Counseling]

Below that were the phone number, email, and office address.

The man stared at the business card for a moment, then twisted his face and looked back at Hwang Suksu.

“Once I pay my tab here, I’m broke. You gonna let me put my drinks on credit?”

“Bullshit. Even if you have to sell an organ, you pay before you leave. You don’t know that’s the rule here?”

At Hwang Suksu’s firm tone, the drifter let out a limp, drunken laugh.

Of course. If you didn’t have money, you were finished.

Because of that damn money, he’d ended up limping, killed someone, and betrayed friends.

“Heh... heh... heh.......”

Hwang Suksu watched him for a moment—this man who looked like he couldn’t tell if he was laughing or crying—then spoke.

“I can’t, but that office might do it for free if you talk right.”

“There’s no such thing as free! The ones who say they don’t need money are the most insane about money!”

The man screamed like he was having a fit and raised the bottle to chug.

“Jeez.......”

Hwang Suksu scratched at his beard, smiling.

He wondered if he’d stuck his nose in for no reason—but since he’d advertised it anyway, he decided to do it properly.

“I agree with you a hundred percent. But just treat it like you’re getting conned and go get counseling once. Because.......”

The bastard running that place is a heroic swordsman.

Maybe the man heard it. Maybe he didn’t. Drunk enough, it was hard to tell.

Hwang Suksu said he’d ordered plenty, so it was on the house, and set down a plate of braised pork before walking away.

“Heroic swordsman, my ass.......”

The man glared at the business card, then crumpled it and threw it on the floor.

But a little later—

When he stumbled out of The Dark Den, swaying drunk, a half-crumpled business card was still clenched in his hand.