After training began, the old man really did show up every single day.
Nopia’s 4-Drones.
Regret, Ruin, Obsession.
Since I’m in charge of regret and despair in this novel, maybe this really is a 4-Drone novel.
“Get your shit together, you idiot!”
“Fuck.”
Once again, the old man’s wooden sword found its way into my solar plexus.
As he’d promised, my parents acted swiftly.
They informed the school that since I wanted to apply to the Hunter Academy, all my classes except for the exam day would be replaced with training.
So, the very next day after training began, I received the abrupt notification.
“Mom, what about my opinion?”
“Mister! Shinwoo’s hiding here!”
“Come out, you little shit.”
“Fuck.”
I got caught whispering to my mom while hiding.
In the end, I had no choice but to be dragged to the training center like a pig to the slaughterhouse.
At least pigs have it better.
They only get electrocuted or hit with a sledgehammer once.
And here I was, off to be minced meat yet again.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Humans are creatures of adaptation.
There’s a reason that saying exists.
Initially, I spent most of my day lying on the ground.
But as I got used to the beatings, that time gradually decreased.
Of course, it decreased, but it didn’t disappear completely.
I started getting hit while standing.
It hurts.
It hurts.
I say it twice because it’s important.
But just like a dog can learn to write after three years, I also experienced some growth.
The old man truly was the best physical (pain) instructor.
I learned a lot from him.
From various martial arts to how to use most weapons.
Not to mention, basic physical strength, tips for Hunter life, and more.
It was all very useful stuff.
Of course, just because it was useful didn’t mean it wasn’t shit.
He was a man of few words, but whenever he beat me up, his mouth would run like a motor.
During punch practice:
“When you throw a punch, use your waist too. You won’t use it otherwise, so might as well use it now.”
“…That waist you’re talking about is the one you shattered, and that’s why I’m lying here.”
“Oh, was it?”
During running:
“Run faster. You’re faster when you’re jerking off.”
“You bastard! Those are my chips!”
“Finish your run before I eat them all.”
During sword practice:
“Can’t you get it up? Don’t be limp, swing it properly.”
“I’m swinging it like your dick.”
“My dick is rock hard, you little shit!”
During bench press:
“All you have are chicken legs.”
“Ugh… grunt…”
“Oh, my package arrived. Keep going.”
“Get the weight off me first, you asshole!!”
During sparring:
“You! Have! To! Step!”
“Stop! Hitting! Me! With! Every! Exclamation! Mark!”
“You’re not stepping! So! I’m! Going! To! One-two! One-two! Beat! The! Shit! Out! Of! You!”
He was a constant source of creative insults.
But there was one day when he remained silent.
It all started with a small mistake.
Before activating the training ground system, I tried to take him down with a grappling move, but I lost my balance and stumbled forward.
When people fall, they instinctively grab onto something.
Unfortunately, what I grabbed was both sides of the old man’s hair.
“Hey! Stop it, you bastard!”
“Ah.”
Rip!!!!
I simply pulled it out like a weed.
In that moment, everything stopped.
Time stopped.
The world stopped.
And the old man stopped.
“…”
“…I’m sorry.”
“…Get off me, you little shit.”
“Yes.”
People who awaken abilities generally have better physical specs than ordinary people.
The old man, being a Hunter, was also an ability user with enhanced physical strength. However, his hair follicles were not as resilient.
After that day, the old man sported a buzz cut like a marine.
But calling him “Baldy!”?
You’d get the shit beaten out of you.
Which is exactly what happened to me.
But I didn’t regret it.
It was worth it.
“You… maggot!”
“Take another hit, you bastard.”
As I was getting used to this kind of situation, I decided to confide in the old man about the stupid numbers that only I could see.
I spoke with a sliver of hope that he might know something.
“Baldy! I awakened an ability too.”
“Your head.”
The old man’s wooden sword found its mark on my head.
But it didn’t hurt.
“How weak.”
“What the fuck? Anyway, what kind of ability? Spill it.”
The old man was actually clutching his slightly numb wrist.
“I can see numbers above everyone’s heads, except for mine.”
“Yeah, right. Another load of bullshit. What do they mean?”
“Old man, you jerked off three times yesterday, right?”
“…Did you see?”
The old man suddenly looked at me with suspicion, his face slightly flushed.
Hey.
You bastard.
This is a harem novel, not some fucked-up gay story.
“Don’t blush, you asshole. My youth is precious.”
“Keep talking shit and I’ll shove this in and pop it.”
“Don’t show me your bald head. It might be contagious.”
“Fuck.”
The old man immediately shrunk back.
He spoke in a gloomy voice,
“…But… you’re the one who made me like this, you bastard.”
“It doesn’t matter if it’s there or not.”
“It matters a lot to me. Give it back, my precious hair.”
“Kekeke. That’s impossible.”
I continued to taunt him as he was on the verge of tears.
Adversity builds character.
Maybe it’ll strengthen his hair follicles too.
Anyway, back to the original topic.
“The number above your head changed by 3, that’s why I knew.”
“So you’re saying I did it three times because the number above my head went up by 3?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
…?
It’s going up again?
Huh?
My hands started to tremble as I spoke,
“Did you cum, old man? Did you have a dry orgasm or something?”
“Don’t talk nonsense. I’ll kill you, for real.”
The old man spoke in a menacingly low voice, but at that moment, I didn’t care about such trivial things.
My youth was more important.
I slowly backed away, making my last stand.
“You’re going to violate me! Just like in an erotic doujinshi!”
“Shut the fuck up!!!!!”
That day, I learned that a skilled Hunter can rip off limbs barehanded.
I also learned for the first time that the training ground could be reset by repeatedly activating and deactivating it.
As a surge of pain washed over me, I blurted out,
“You idiot, you should have reset earlier. Now you’re going to hit hard pity and I’m guaranteed to suffer.”
“Just die.”
The last thing I saw was the old man’s face contorted with rage as he tried to rip my head off.
He was a ruthless bastard.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
In the end, my conversation (physical 9: verbal 1) with the old man yielded no significant results.
However, there was a bit of luck.
While waiting at a traffic light on my way to a restaurant, I spotted a group of office workers a short distance away.
Even though it was evening, their faces were flushed red, indicating they were quite drunk.
I overheard a conversation between an older man and a seemingly young man.
“Now that we’ve eaten, it’s time for round two!! Han, where do you want to go?”
“…Huh? Me, sir?”
The young man, who looked surprisingly young for someone with the title of “Assistant Manager,” asked the Section Chief in a bewildered tone.
Instead of answering, the Section Chief announced to the others,
“Let’s all go to the place Assistant Manager Han chooses for round two!”
“But…”
People are naturally drawn to spectacles.
And I was no exception, sneaking glances at them.
At that moment, I saw the number above Assistant Manager Han’s head increase by 1.
“Sir, we have a meeting with the client first thing in the morning. Let’s call it a night.”
“Ah, I knew you’d say that, so I invited everyone from the client meeting! Let’s just have a casual meeting during round two!”
Assistant Manager Han’s face lit up with a forced smile as he gritted his teeth in delight.
“…Th… thank you…”
“Don’t mention it. It’s the least I could do! Let’s go!”
At that instant, the red number in parentheses above Assistant Manager Han’s head increased by 1.
I stared blankly at the number until they disappeared from sight.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
As soon as I returned to the training center, I told the old man about what I had witnessed.
For the first time, he wore a serious expression as he spoke,
“I don’t know.”
“You bastard, why are you saying that with a straight face?”
The old man fell into deep thought again.
After a moment, his eyes lit up as if he had figured something out, but his answer was far from what I had hoped for.
“It’s probably… related to decision-making.”
“That’s incredibly vague.”
“The numbers are probably counting the choices made.”
Upon hearing that, I offered an example,
“So if I’m debating between taking the enemy’s red buff or going top lane, and then decide on a route, does that count?”
“Probably. And a butcher like you should always go top.”
?
This bastard?
Daring to insult the jungler?
“Those idiots who say, ‘The enemy Fiora lives top, what’s our jungler doing? Jungler!!!’ should just die.”
“No, that’s actually broken. The trades are impossible. And why would Fiora live top?”
“Because the opponent’s top laner is there, you idiot.”
Then I brought up something else I had been wondering about.
Not the black numbers, but the red ones.
“Then what about the red numbers in parentheses?”
“Use your brain for once. It probably indicates an undesirable outcome.”
“So that’s why the office worker looked so miserable.”
Indeed, his expression was as pitiful as mine.
The old man patted my shoulder and said with a bright smile,
“Don’t worry! I’ll make you look just as miserable soon!”
“Be honest, you’re still pissed about your hair, aren’t you?”
“Shut your mouth, you little shit.”
I got the shit beaten out of me once again.
On my way home after training, I saw a familiar face.
It was Assistant Manager Han from earlier.
He had his arm around the Section Chief on his left and a skinny man on his right.
I hadn’t seen the man on the right with the office workers before, so I assumed he was from the client company.
Perhaps alcohol fueled his enthusiasm, because Assistant Manager Han was shouting about going for a third round.
The people he had his arms around, on the other hand, looked nervous and flustered.
“Han, it’s getting late. How about we head home?”
“Yes! Assistant Manager Han. There’s no meeting tomorrow, so get some rest and come in later in the afternoon!”
“Look, we’ll let you rest tomorrow, just please let us off the hook here!”
Assistant Manager Han paused, closed his eyes, and pondered.
The other two clung to a sliver of hope, silently watching him.
Finally, he opened his mouth and declared,
“If I’m off tomorrow, then third round it is!!! We gotta party when we’re free!! Let’s go!!!”
Hope vanished.
The two men muttered in despair with lifeless eyes,
“We’re fucked.”
“I have a feeling our company slogan is about to take a nosedive.”
“To Mars we goooo!!!!!”
As a side note, the next day’s news had a short segment about a break-in at the Aerospace Museum.
The intruders were three office workers.
The news reported that three men were found unconscious in front of a spaceship model.
While hugging a Shiba Inu.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Back at home, I started to organize my thoughts.
Changes in the black number when predicting and acting.
Changes in the red number when faced with undesirable outcomes.
It was all vague.
It seemed clear that the old man wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.
He couldn’t even draw a proper conclusion about something like this.
My IQ is 100, and the old man’s is 70.
Even with a combined IQ of 170, we couldn’t figure it out.
I subtracted 30 from the old man’s IQ because he’s missing hair on both sides of his head.
There’s a definite reason why I deducted 30 points.
Lately, he’s been losing his mind and crying while stroking the sides of his head.
What else could it be other than mourning the loss of his 30 IQ points?
In the end, I fell asleep without any concrete answers.
But deep down, I held onto a faint hope that I would figure it out someday.
No clue until now 😕