A crowd of reporters had gathered in a tight swarm.

With both hands planted on his hips, Shin Kangheon was holding court in a voice bursting with confidence.

“Of course, since so many of you were looking forward to it, a Level 3 rating might feel a little disappointing! But my bones and muscles are so outstanding that it’d be hard to see another like me in the Korean martial world!”

He looked proud as hell, but for some reason, I was the one feeling embarrassed just watching him.

‘He’s really saying that with his own mouth...’

There was no denying it—Shin Kangheon’s physique was absurd.

A huge build that looked at least one-ninety tall, long limbs, shoulders spread wide like a doorframe, and a body packed with dense muscle. The kind of frame where people would say, “No matter what sport he picked, he’d have been a national team athlete.”

Purely on physical talent, he’d been rated higher than me back in our generation.

‘Overall, I was a bit above him, though.’

In the end, I’d gotten slapped with constitution-incompatible, vanished from people’s memory, and dropped into the underworld as a vagabond.

Shin Kangheon, on the other hand, lived up to everyone’s expectations and became Korea’s Greatest Blade.

Sure, that Korea’s Greatest Blade later showed up as the Heavenly Demon Cult’s main terrorist behind the National Assembly attack and shocked the entire world... but still.

“Honestly, the doctor told me that even though it’s Level 3, the detailed numbers are basically close to Level 2. My qi storage and qi storage speed are the only things a little lacking. He said my qi-blood toughness and explosive power are way above other people at my level!”

But that was twenty years away.

Right now, Shin Kangheon was just a kid getting drunk off the attention—bathing in questions and camera flashes like it was candy.

I actually remembered that even when he was younger, he ran his own channel and did nonstop interviews with the media.

He’d also tossed out plenty of provocations about how all the guys people called his rivals—including me—were nothing special once you actually fought them.

I ignored it and kept training, but a few idiots got baited hard enough that even practice duels got arranged...

I don’t remember the details, but yeah, Shin Kangheon probably won all of them.

“Am I disappointed with the result? Sure, it would’ve been nicer if Level 1 or Level 2 popped. But if the path upward is too easy, where’s the fun in that?”

Like he couldn’t get tired of hearing his own voice, he answered every question with a bright, confident smile.

“Oh, and among the Five Elements, my fire affinity came out insanely high. The doctor stressed that I have to learn martial arts that match my affinity! Hahaha!”

Yeah, he was kind of obnoxious.

But talent-wise, he really did have what it took to be recognized as Korea’s Greatest Blade someday.

The problem was what came next.

“My goal is to be number one in Korea! And one day, I’m taking over the World Martial Arts Tournament too!”

“...Says who?”

Maybe I muttered that out loud without thinking. Because my father slung an arm around my shoulder and spoke in a serious, comforting tone.

“Son. Don’t get discouraged.”

“...Huh?”

“Right now Shin Kangheon’s getting more attention than you, but you never know how people’s lives turn out.”

My father followed martial-artist news and channels and communities more obsessively than I did.

With his fist clenched, he glared out the window at Shin Kangheon and unloaded like a machine gun.

“He’s bragging over being one grade higher! If you got lucky, you should know humility. What’s with that little punk acting arrogant already, gathering reporters like this? It’s not even Level 1 or Level 2—what’s so special about Level 3 that he’s strutting around like that—”

“Dad, calm down.”

Somehow I was the one calming him down while his face turned red with rage.

“Muhyuk’s sitting here fine. Why are you the one exploding?”

Mom, on the other hand, gave me the practical advice.

“Muhyuk. He’s him and you’re you. Don’t worry about other people. Think about your own path from here on.”

“I know. I’m not really bothered.”

Even if my retest result got exposed to those reporters right now, it wouldn’t make a huge splash.

Maybe a few would show interest, but my constitution grade wasn’t high enough to keep them hooked. They’d get bored fast.

And honestly, that level of attention was exactly what I wanted.

“But still... Level 4 and Level 3 aren’t that different, right?”

“Of course they’re not different. Level 1 or Level 2 is special—starting from Level 3 it’s all kind of the same. Our son and that kid are basically neck-and-neck!”

“Right? That’s what I thought.”

“...Mom, you too?”

After that, my parents kept hyping me up—saying he was too big so he’d be clumsy, his face wasn’t as good as mine, stuff like that.

‘They’re misunderstanding something, I think.’

Unlike my parents’ assumption, I didn’t feel inferior to Shin Kangheon. I wasn’t jealous either.

There was no reason to be.

‘Sorry. My constitution is actually way better than his.’

It wasn’t that I didn’t trust them enough to tell the truth.

If I started explaining, I’d have to tell them about the illegal underworld procedure I got in my first life... and why I had to do it... and then I’d have to tell them about the regression itself.

Even for me, “my consciousness got sent back twenty years” was hard to believe. I had no confidence I could convince them.

But there was one thing I could say with complete certainty.

“Why would I care about someone weaker than me?”

“Haha! That’s my boy!”

“Tch... better than moping around, at least.”

I smiled at them and looked back at Shin Kangheon.

I didn’t have any bad feelings toward him.

If anything, he was the opponent I’d fought my last life-and-death match against in my first life, so I felt a strange trace of fondness.

That fight was the best one I’d ever had in my entire life.

‘I was planning on meeting him once someday... but I didn’t think it’d be here.’

Seeing his young—no, barely grown—face made me feel oddly glad.

Still, this wasn’t a place to act like we knew each other.

“Should we leave through the back? If someone recognizes us, it’ll be a pain.”

While Shin Kangheon was busy stirring up the reporters, we slipped out the rear exit and headed for the parking lot.

“Feels like a celebration! Let’s go eat some expensive steak tonight!”

On the way home in my father’s car, I sat in the back seat and glanced behind us.

Reporters were still packed around the hospital entrance.

Flashbulbs kept popping, so Shin Kangheon was probably still doing interviews.

A question suddenly hit me.

‘A kid who declares he’ll take over the World Martial Arts Tournament... why was he like that twenty years later?’

I knew Shin Kangheon from two decades in the future—the Shin Kangheon who’d joined the Heavenly Demon Cult and attacked government buildings.

He’d looked exhausted. Worn down. Nothing like the boy basking in attention right now.

*****

Back home, I searched up everything I could on Shin Kangheon.

Since his name was already famous, there was plenty: which high school he went to, family background, fighting style, even little habits and hobbies.

After digging for a while, I reached one conclusion.

“This kid is a total brat.”

Right now, Shin Kangheon was in full raging-storm adolescence.

The guy who would eventually become Korea’s Greatest Blade was supposed to be a bold but grounded martial artist.

But the Shin Kangheon on video—shirtless, swinging a sword around for his channel—looked like a monkey showing off.

[Anyone confident, come find me anytime! I’ll crush all of you!]

He spun a heavy blade like a windmill with that over-one-ninety muscle body, and the comments were more mockery than praise.

‘If he’d put half that attention-seeking time into training, he wouldn’t have been Korea’s Greatest Blade—he’d have been Korea’s Strongest.’

Still... I personally felt grateful to him.

In my first life, when I showed up out of nowhere and demanded a fight, he accepted without hesitation.

Even in the middle of a life-and-death match, he could have ordered his subordinates to jump me—but he didn’t.

No one does that easily when their own life’s on the line.

Shin Kangheon was a man I could acknowledge as a true martial artist.

Haah... If only we could share a drink... just once...

We will. When we meet in the afterlife.

So why had a man like that ended up in the Heavenly Demon Cult?

If he’d been coerced, or forced by circumstances... I wanted to help him if I could.

But if he’d joined because of childish curiosity, or because he wanted quick power and chose black-path martial arts on purpose—

“Maybe a beating would knock some sense into him.”

Either way, I planned to make contact at least once.

If things went well, I might even get information about the Heavenly Demon Cult.

I kept clicking through search results, and in some community I stumbled on a post.

“Hm?”

[Chat] Is this year’s Seoul Creative Sword Dance Competition lineup for real? lol

Did you all see the participant list?

Shin Kangheon. Pi Seunghwa. Kim Hyunseung... holy shit

Isn’t this like all-time high school legend tier?

I read the comments underneath.

└ Everyone who waited until after their birthday to take the constitution test is showing up.

└ This year’s the worst generation ;;

└ Why isn’t Kim Muhyuk there?

└ Heard that guy bombed his constitution test and disappeared.

└ For real? That’s hilarious lol

└ Get your facts straight. Kim Muhyuk hasn’t competed since last year.

I skimmed through and scrolled down. In the past, seeing my name dragged like that would’ve hurt. Now, I felt nothing.

To confirm, I went straight to Shin Kangheon’s social media.

A few days ago, he’d posted a photo of his application receipt.

[Bro, I’m entering the sword dance competition. My room’s out of trophy space so I’m thinking about moving.]

“Is he insane?”

Anyway, it was confirmed—Shin Kangheon was competing.

“Creative sword dance competition, huh...”

I’d competed in plenty of competitions too, but not after my second year of high school.

The awards I’d piled up before that were already enough, and I’d decided that sticking to my daily training routine mattered more than wasting time prepping for shows.

I opened the official site and checked the details.

<Seoul Creative Sword Dance Competition Guide>

And found one more crucial fact.

“Applications... close today?”

Looks like I was going to get a natural chance to approach Shin Kangheon soon.

*****

The day of the <Seoul Creative Sword Dance Competition> arrived.

I pulled my cap low, wore a mask, and showed up outside the venue.

There were plenty of participants already there—some with their parents, some with friends.

“They’ll be upset if they find out later... but I don’t have a choice.”

I hadn’t told my parents I was entering this competition.

If I came with them, I wouldn’t be able to move the way I wanted. And worse, they might get exposed to risks they shouldn’t even be near.

But investigating alone had limits too.

Since I was a participant, I wouldn’t be able to do anything during waiting time or while I was on stage.

‘Someone connected to the Heavenly Demon Cult could be among Shin Kangheon’s people... or watching from the audience.’

So I recruited one helper who was perfect for shady work like this.

Thinking of the helper who still hadn’t shown up even though it was past our meeting time, I clicked my tongue.

“Still late by a few minutes. Never changes.”

And speaking of the devil—there she was, walking toward me from afar with funky clothes and bright red hair.

Ignoring the glances people threw her way, she scanned the area, spotted my raised hand, and instantly started yelling.

“Hey!”

Unlike Shin Kangheon, who loved attention, she couldn’t care less how other people saw her.

“Why the hell are you dragging a busy person out here?”

I knew she wasn’t that busy. I also knew she secretly liked getting called out once in a while.

I’d already explained over messenger what I needed.

“Why should I help you?”

She was obviously here to help anyway, just grumbling for sport, so I promised her a reward once it was over.

“I’ll buy you spicy rice cakes after. There’s a spot near here I swear by.”

“Hah? Spicy rice cakes? What am I, a cafeteria kid like you?”

She said that, then swallowed hard like she couldn’t stop herself.

‘I’ve never met a woman who hates spicy rice cakes.’

Especially not Kim Bokja. If it was red like her hair, she lost her mind for it.

Spicy, sweet stuff—spicy rice cakes were basically her soul food.

“...Fine. What do you want me to do?”

I handed her the packet of info I’d brought on Shin Kangheon, plus a spare cap.

“Keep an eye on Shin Kangheon’s people. Family, friends, anyone he came with. If anyone acts suspicious during his turn, flag it. And if you can, film them with their faces showing.”

“You’re asking for a damn lot. That place better be good.”

Still complaining, Bokja tied her hair back and pulled the cap low.

Just that alone made her flashy looks stand out less. In the dim audience seating, she’d barely be noticeable.

“Heh. So this is our crew’s first secret operation, huh?”

“...I’m going in. See you later.”

Leaving Bokja muttering about Red Rabbit’s spy debut behind me, I stepped into the competition hall.