Chapter 270
Six days before the history book began, Seo-jun received a detailed briefing on the accommodations.
Since the discussion about moving the capsule had been settled before the trials even ended, there were no other issues.
Two weeks ago, they’d asked if he had any special requests for the lodging, and Seo-jun had said no.
He decided to move into the accommodations four days before the start.
As a Korean, there was no need to rush in early like others, but he also didn’t want to arrive late and find himself blindsided by unexpected problems.
And so, four days before.
Seo-jun packed his things and was on his way in a taxi.
The location wasn’t far from home, so the ride was expected to take under thirty minutes.
In the car, Seo-jun checked the nationalities of the participants.
There were plenty of well-organized posts on the subject.
Five from China.
That was the country with the second-highest number of participants.
Among them was the Sword God.
Looks like they’re saying he’s a coward for switching to a hero other than Verdure.
The post also added a postscript suggesting that he and Seo-jun might clash from the very beginning.
Seo-jun let out a small laugh.
It was true—he had run away.
Will we meet at the eve of the event?
The posts kept telling Seo-jun to bring a safety helmet. And to be careful walking at night.
Just in case, they said.
LOL idiots! Worrying about assassins or thugs is one thing, but worrying about the broadcast master? Does that even make sense? LOL you real fools
└For real lol
└The reason I donated to the broadcast master to buy a safety helmet: if he has any conscience, when he’s beating people up, he can at least give them that to wear and then beat them
└LOL
These comments were all just tsundere.
They’re too embarrassed to show their true feelings.
“It’s enough if they just worry about me, really.”
It’s always hard to say what’s in your heart.
[Broadcast master. A one-week hiatus? And then going off to the history book? Are you crazy?]
[What happened to the night broadcast?]
[Bring recording equipment! Take the editors!! Tae-woo, please! Stop the hiatus, anyone ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ]
While he was scanning the various reactions, the taxi arrived near the site.
“Yes, yes. Drop me off near the complex entrance. Thank you.”
Seo-jun paid the fare and got out.
“Alright, Sword God-nim. Take care.”
The driver’s parting words caught Seo-jun off guard for a moment.
It was something even most devoted viewers wouldn’t pull off, and this cab driver, who had pretended not to know him the whole ride, had done it.
“I mean, if you knew, you could’ve at least let on…”
“Heh heh. Take care.”
And the taxi drove off.
Seo-jun scratched his head for a moment before heading toward the lodging.
It was about a hundred meters away.
He could have been dropped off right inside, but he’d specifically asked to be let out at the entrance.
The reason: a bit of a stroll and a chance to get the lay of the land.
As he walked up the road, he spotted a group of foreigners gathered in front of a building. As Seo-jun approached, one by one they turned their heads, meeting his eyes.
Not a single one looked away.
Professionals.
They hadn’t recognized his face in advance—no, but if foreigners were gathered near the accommodations, there was only one likely explanation.
They could have been streamers invited to the eve of the event, but.
The confidence. And the searching, wary gazes that clearly marked him as a competitor.
Seo-jun kept walking without slowing his pace.
Then, a large man stepped slightly out from the group and greeted Seo-jun in the common language.
“Good to meet you. Seo-jun Jin. I’m Yon Yul-man, a pro gamer with the European league, from Denmark. A participant in this history book, same as you.”
Looking down at Seo-jun from above, Yon extended his hand.
He offered a handshake, and Seo-jun accepted.
“Nice to meet you. I’m a streamer, and my nickname is Sword God.”
“I know what Sword God means. God of Sword, right?”
“Something like that.”
It was a normal handshake, no squeezing contest or anything.
Then the others began introducing themselves too.
It was all perfunctory.
“Hi, I’m Rachel.”
“I’m Bernard. This one’s got a crush on you.”
Thwack.
The man who introduced himself as Bernard grabbed his rear and made his exit.
“I’m Christina.”
Christina.
The same name as the NPC from Assassins’ Dawn.
There were people from many other nationalities as well.
Two were streamers.
They weren’t doing their night broadcast. He wondered if it was because it was morning or if they just weren’t doing it at all.
It was nine-thirty, a time for strolling around after breakfast.
Seo-jun was about to say his goodbyes and head to the lodging.
That’s when someone called out to stop him.
“Hey, Seo-jun, you tired? If you’re not, want to give this a try?”
He pointed at the punching machine.
It was the massive Yon from Denmark, flaunting an overwhelming physique that seemed almost another species.
“We’ve all been taking turns hitting it. If you’re a man, you can’t resist this. It has nothing to do with gaming skill, so no pressure, ha ha ha.”
Hmm.
That’s what he said, but Seo-jun sensed Yon was testing him.
More precisely, he wanted to fight.
Competitive spirit.
Seo-jun dug into his memory for Yon.
And soon realized: Yon was the one who had taken first place among the trial rankings for the hero whose ranking Seo-jun had messed with—and then came up.
Having lost there, then?
The punching machine wasn’t entirely unrelated to virtual-reality gaming skill.
Even with overwhelming physicality, there’s ample room for technique to intervene.
He’s probably trying to gauge Seo-jun’s real-world level.
Plus, it would be a chance to get a win in.
With a physique like that.
Seo-jun snorted a quiet laugh and let go of his luggage.
A chorus of ooohs rose around him.
“Yon, have you tried it yet? Is that 908 your score?”
“No. I haven’t tried yet. Now that it’s come up, I’ll do it right now.”
Yon laughed heartily at Seo-jun, who’d walked willingly into the trap, and strode up to the punching machine.
And the giant readied himself to move.
“I think it needs to be higher? Ha ha ha.”
“Show us!”
“They always whiff it at times like this.”
Regrettably, there was no whiff.
BAM!
***
Yon’s score appeared with a special effect, starting not from 1 but with each digit set individually—an effect triggered only when a particularly high score is achieved.
Seo-jun had assumed that the pros had already taken swings at the thing several times before he arrived.
Yet the highest score had been in the low 900s.
As he’d said earlier, a punching machine demands precise body mechanics more than raw strength.
Actually, things that only require brute force are rare to begin with.
Anyway, if they were pros, on an ordinary neighborhood punching machine they should easily clear 900 points, but they hadn’t—so the obvious conclusion was that this machine didn’t hand out points easily.
And the record Yon just set was.
[New Record!]
[981]
“Whoa.”
“He’s a monster!”
“That’s an insane punch.”
The streamers jokefully hyped him up, and the pros clicked their tongues.
The women, just here for fun and not involved in the confrontation, looked on.
“Seo-jun, what do you think?”
“What about?”
“My score. Doesn’t it match exactly how I look?”
He was just thick all over.
Tall but not sluggish-looking—simply a different breed.
No one would deny it.
If he’d hauled lumber in my past life, he definitely would’ve gotten a free pass up the mountain.
Even Seo-jun was impressed, and that said it all.
“You think so?”
It didn’t match his look.
It was a combination of insane physique and exceptional technique.
“Well, my score is my score. Seo-jun, you give it a try. Ah, don’t worry if your score isn’t great.”
He rested his hand lightly on Seo-jun’s shoulder, no weight behind it.
“Sword God, this isn’t your field of expertise. And above all, this is reality.”
Everyone chuckled.
A light provocation.
Childish, but effective.
At the first meeting, he’d seized the chance to push the opponent onto his own favorable field and press the advantage from the start.
Everyone began watching to see how Seo-jun would respond.
If he let this slide, he’d be starting off on the losing foot—would that not bother him?
How would the man who’d challenged the whole world handle this psychological battle?
They all watched with amused smiles.
It wasn’t that they hadn’t seen what happened with Sword God.
It was just that, in the end, it would be Yon who took the heat for this.
Here, Seo-jun could have gotten visibly annoyed and blown up the situation.
But the key point was that Seo-jun had willingly walked into this setup in the first place.
“Well then, let’s give it a go.”
“Yeah! Show us what you’ve got! Ha ha ha.”
Seo-jun stood in front of the punching machine.
It was the type where you strike the mat, sending a weight up to hit the sensor.
While he loosened up, Seo-jun spoke.
“You know, I’ve been thinking ever since I was young—why do these punching machines hand out points so generously? Don’t you think?”
“What?”
“Even back in high school, my friends would hit 900 at rest stops without much trouble. I get that it’s for arcade fun and it’s better for scores to come out high, but once you’re all above 999, there’s no way to compare.”
“?”
“That always happens to me.”
“Ha ha ha. Hey, Seo-jun. Are you maybe getting the wrong idea? Because I got 981?”
“No.”
“?”
“I’m just saying, it always comes out 999 for me.”
Smiling, Seo-jun slowly shifted his body back.
He pulled both arms back, hands loosely clasped at the wrist, and twisted his waist.
Then he stepped in, relaxed his upper body, and launched his fist.
Whoosh!
Strength isn’t about muscle mass.
If it were, bodybuilders with huge muscles would beat out weightlifters.
Power is technique.
Seo-jun might lose to Yon in sheer muscle volume, but in force, he wouldn’t lose.
It was simply a matter of course.
His technique had reached that level.
CRASH!
The mat shot up, slammed into the sensor with a thunderous roar.
“Oh.”
“That was really clean.”
“The swing speed was insane.”
“The sound was like….”
Then the score.
The score.
“The score… isn’t coming up?”
“The machine turned off.”
“What?”
The onlookers who’d been watching with interest began murmuring.
Seo-jun shrugged and grabbed his luggage, then said to Yon.
“Sometimes that happens. In the end, I never get to see my own score.”
“…….”
“See you later.”
Seo-jun didn’t bother to pat Yon’s shoulder in consolation.
Simply because it was too high up.
“Hey, did anyone get that on camera?”
“He says ‘see you later.’ Hah. Yon’s screwed.”
“That guy’s grudges are legendary.”
“Can’t believe he broke it.”
“He’s strong.”
The dozen-plus people gathered here all knew that power is technique.
So Yon’s intentions in bringing up reality over a punching machine had been obvious from the start.
And Seo-jun had shattered it with pure force.
“Maybe Yon damaged it beforehand?”
“Not a chance.”
“Then?”
“Did he really just destroy it?”
“That’s even possible?”
A new urban legend was born in that moment.