Academy's Drunk Fighter-Chapter 41: Black Market (1)

Overflowing food and lively crowds.

Delicious smells wafted in from every direction, and people laughed as they enjoyed street food in their hands.

To anyone passing by, this place looked like a completely ordinary street market.

And with the absurdly cheap price of handmade liquor, even I ended up buying a bottle myself.

But believe it or not... this was a black market.

That’s right. Not a night market—a black market.

The kind you see in fantasy stories or RPGs, where the protagonist sells off the rare loot they got from some suspicious opportunity, without drawing too much attention.

Of course, in most stories, they still end up getting caught anyway—but that’s only because everything they’re selling is so outrageously valuable it was bound to draw suspicion.

And sure, most black markets have flimsy security and loose rules...

But this place was different.

It was a black market—but one that operated with governmental permission.

Yeah. You heard that right.

It’s simple, really.

If there are public markets and businesses that handle all the products you’re allowed to sell, then there also has to be a space for goods that can’t ever be put on display.

Things that are too dangerous, too powerful, have no clear origin—or have been banned or erased from history altogether.

In a perfect world, those would be regulated by the state.

But unfortunately, in this world’s city-state system, that was just a fantasy.

There was no way a single nation could police the endless flood of goods flowing in from countless cities.

High-ranking officials themselves were already known to make purchases here from time to time.

There was even a side quest in the game where a police chief—yes, a police chief—asks the player to get her a super-strength aphrodisiac from the black market.

‘The fact that the chief was a woman just made it that much scarier...’

And so, this market operated with state permission. Everyone who needed to know already knew. And no journalist or news station would ever dare report on it.

Not with how many very important people were tangled up in this place.

****

Ding~

As I pushed open the door of a nearby building, a cheerful chime rang from the glass.

Inside, I saw rows of people quietly engaged in various transactions.

“Excuse me, customer?”

“Mm?”

“That bottle you’re holding—alcohol, is it?”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“We can’t allow liquor inside, just in case. You’ll need to either drink it all now or discard it before entering.”

Unfortunately, I wasn’t allowed to bring my booze in, so I downed it in one go.

The security guard just stared at me like I’d lost my mind.

I could do this now thanks to my increased Mental Strength stat.

If this had been earlier, even this much alcohol would’ve knocked me out cold.

“How was that?”

“...Please don’t cause any trouble. No good comes of it for either of us.”

“Yessir!”

Once he moved his arm out of the way, I stepped inside the building.

[Please take a number!]

[Now serving – Number 1033]

A strange little robot voiced its line from inside a floating speech bubble.

I calmly took a ticket and waited for my number to be called. Before I knew it, it was my turn.

“Ugh, is that alcohol I smell... Do you have something to sell, or are you looking for something in particular?”

Pretty sure I just got insulted. freewёbnoνel.com

I was about to glare when the attendant, thanks to some inhuman sense of professionalism, forced herself to snap back into work mode.

I reached into my clothes and pulled out a certain item.

A mask.

[False Mask of the Doomsday Followers]

“This thing—think it’ll sell?”

“Could you please describe the item’s effects for us?”

“Hmm... It’s cursed! Uh... if someone with low Mental Strength puts it on, they get this overwhelming urge to commit terrorism...?”

“...If you’re here to have the curse removed, you’ll need to head down the alley and look for the white building.”

Her expression clearly said ‘Are you seriously wasting my time?’

I quickly added what I’d forgotten to mention.

“Oh—right! Also, it boosts your physical stats once a month!”

That made her face ease a little. Good.

I kept going.

“Permanently.”

“Ah, permanent? ...I see. Understood. Would you like to sell it directly, or place it up for auction?”

“Let’s go with auction. Oh, and I’d like to include a condition—the buyer handles the curse removal.”

“Please note: adding that condition may reduce your final payout or increase the chance of the item not selling.”

“That’s fine.”

Auctions take a while to pay out, but I wasn’t exactly desperate for {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} cash.

Sure, with my Mental Strength stat going up, I needed to drink more often, and pricier liquor too. But it was still within budget.

If I trimmed down my daily curry portions little by little... I’d probably survive.

And the reason I wanted to sell this mask in the first place was simple.

‘Having two cursed masks in my room just makes me feel gross.’

Even if it raised my stats, I knew where those masks came from. Knowing that made sleeping beside them feel like lying down next to a mirror that reflected nothing but dread.

And one of the two looked disturbingly sinister—and its effect only triggered once a month?

Sure, it was still useful to me right now... but honestly, it wasn’t worth the psychological toll.

Selling it was about protecting my peace of mind.

Of course, I wouldn’t have even considered this if I hadn’t already acquired the bishop’s mask.

Now that I had that? I had nothing to hesitate over.

And since I’d added a curse removal clause, there was no risk of an un-cleansed mask floating around on the market, brainwashing someone else.

Besides... I had wounds that still needed healing.

Other people probably couldn’t see them—my gloves covered everything—but the injuries where those damn spikes pierced through my palms and the backs of my hands still burned.

Even now, every time I took a step or moved my hands a certain way, the pain surged. And the same injuries were mirrored across both my hands and feet.

There was still a chance—slim, but not zero—that the Academy could connect me to the bishop just from that little detail.

So my plan was to use the money from this sale to get treated at an outside clinic.

“For now, the estimated value would be approximately... this much.”

The attendant tapped away on her device, then handed me a small slip of paper.

I looked down—and nearly choked.

“This thing’s worth that much?!”

“Yes. Do you perhaps have other items of similar nature—”

In both my past life and this one, I’d never even imagined seeing a number like that.

“Oh—sorry. I added an extra zero by mistake.”

“Ah.”

Well, that was disappointing.

Still, even after the correction, it wasn’t a small amount.

For a moment, I even considered sneaking into the Doomsday cult’s main base and stealing a bunch more masks.

But no matter how I looked at it, that was way too dangerous. Not worth it.

And as for the surviving cultists who had been with the Ninth Bishop? They’d almost certainly fled already. No point chasing ghosts.

“If everything you’ve said is accurate, then yes—that mask is worth that much.”

“...”

‘Tsk... Should I do it?’

...No. No, that’s a terrible idea.

Charging in recklessly based on my limited intel, especially with the injuries I got from the Ninth Bishop still not healed?

That’d be suicide, plain and simple.

Maybe—just maybe—I could drag Yoon Siwoo or some other characters along with me...

“Excuse me, customer?”

“Ah, yeah.”

My brain, deep in the middle of fantasy plotting, finally snapped back to reality at the attendant’s voice.

“If you’d like to leave your phone number or any contact info, we can reach out to you later.”

“...No, I’m good.”

“Ah, but it might be more convenient for both sides if—”

“I said it’s fine.”

The attendant fell silent at my firm tone, then slowly nodded, accepting it.

“...Understood. In that case, how would you like to receive payment?”

“I’ll come by and pick it up myself when it’s ready.”

“...Very well.”

I handed over the mask and stepped out of the building, catching the faint look of disapproval on her face.

Honestly, it hadn’t been a bad suggestion.

It’s basically the same thing as clicking [Agree] on a game company’s Terms and Conditions.

Pages and pages of fine print and endless legalese.

And all the player has to do is check one little box and click once.

Besides, weird issues almost never actually come up after that.

Because those checkboxes? They’re just corporate safeguards to prevent players from claiming bizarre compensations later on.

But the moment the player agrees, a ton of personal information gets handed over to the company.

They always say they won’t share it, but who knows? Sure, maybe the big corporations are careful—but mid-tier ones? That’s a gamble.

What I just refused was something like that.

Or honestly? It might’ve been way worse than that—like quantum level danger compared to Terms and Conditions.

‘Because I still have no idea where the Doomsday bastards are hiding.’

Every loop, every branch, the characters shift sides depending on the player’s choices.

In the last loop, an NPC who was just a friendly tavern owner turned out to be a poisoner who spiked my food in this one.

And now that this game is reality, nothing has changed.

If a Doomsday cultist high up in the food chain knew the black market economy well enough, and one of them saw the mask I just sold...

The odds of that happening are low, but not zero. And zero’s the only number I trust.

So yeah. No contact info.

Sure, it’s annoying to have to come back and check in person. But it’s worth it.

“Hehehn~.”

Anyway, that’s one sale done.

Now let’s find a gift for Noah to cheer her up at the hospital.