Chapter 31: The Only Thing I Believe In (3)

Kang Hyeonseong and Goeun stepped inside. With every step they took, the marble floor let out a crisp, sparkling sound. The texture brushing against their shoe soles felt utterly unfamiliar.

‘House owner, what’s all this about?’

‘You’re the one who was hospitalized, remember?’

Not only Goeun, the actual owner of the place, but even Kang Hyeonseong, who frequented Eunko Bar often enough, shared the sentiment. Under their demanding gazes, Lee Taebaek obediently confessed everything that had happened.

He summed up the essentials: the midnight visitors and how he’d rightfully—well, more like extorted—received compensation from them.

It was a straightforward tale, nothing complicated. Of course, that’s from the speaker’s perspective—mine.

Even accounting for that bias, their expressions grew gravely serious, paling noticeably. More visibly, with each event laid out, the shadows on their faces deepened.

Even as they listened intently, Kang Hyeonseong and Goeun occasionally glanced at each other.

It was the kind of reaction you’d expect from huddling together and hearing a chilling ghost story, their eyes cross-verifying the tale’s credibility.

‘You get it?’

‘Not at all. But weirdly, I do.’

Anyway.

Lee Taebaek’s summary wrapped up like that.

“That’s how it all went down, more or less.”

“Sigh.”

Kang Hyeonseong finally covered his eyes with his hand. His rough palm felt like it spanned his entire philtrum.

Goeun stayed quiet. She seemed relatively calm, but her slightly widened pupils betrayed her shock.

“……”

Lee Taebaek simply watched their reactions. He understood. Of course he did.

It was a shoddy narrative stripped of its rising action and climax, cobbled together from just the setup and resolution.

‘A story left with only the bare bones of beginning and end—hard to swallow as is.’

Instead, Kang Hyeonseong and Goeun tried their best to make sense of it. Amid the awkward tension, their twin groans tangled like vines.

“I know it sounds absurd, but when does the world ever follow a neat path?”

Lee Taebaek brazenly asserted.

“Uh… Taebaek… could you explain a bit more…?”

They exchanged glances, pooling their collective intelligence, to the point where Lee Taebaek almost felt sorry for them.

But he couldn’t just admit that this nonsense held up thanks to buffs and restrictions piled onto his mental stats, right? Especially since it was an operator-exclusive secret—and it’d require an apology first.

From the moment he’d opened his mouth, Lee Taebaek had been buffing his [Mental] stat nonstop, infusing his words with irresistible power.

On top of that, the restriction of “only Mental” let him scrape every last point from the bottom of the barrel.

He’d tested its effectiveness beforehand on Branch Leader Jin Sobang as a guinea pig. It worked wonders on someone like that. Few could withstand it.

Persuasion didn’t need flattery, eloquence, or lame excuses.

‘Just enhanced Mental alongside it.’

Even an utterly implausible yarn without a shred of logic could morph into an epic on par with The Lord of the Rings.

“You get it now, right?”

“Y-yeah……”

They nodded along as he spoke.

That was it.

‘Buffs really are total cheats.’

A hardly novel observation.

‘…An ability that seals rebuttals.’

Politicians would kill for it.

As a total gamer, if he had to game-ify it, it’d be like a skip—skipping the elaboration.

Let’s put our hands on our hearts and be honest, fellow Koreans confessing to our consciences.

How many players actually read every single line of a game’s story?

Data shows ninety-nine out of a hundred ignore even the tiniest text. Statistics don’t lie.

Barring a few text addicts, most players mash that spacebar like mad, skipping NPC chatter faster than a blink—I, operator Lee Taebaek, know all about it.

Curious about the plot? Hit up a wiki. Hell, even this operator checks it now and then when he blanks.

And hey.

Who whines through side quests begging for them? Arrogant much? You’d level up twice in that time!

‘…What K-gamers crave in games is that superiority from growth and rewards.’

Dense lore or heart-wrenching tales won’t stiffen that other part of a K-gamer’s brain.

At least in Korea, story’s just preference, not box-office draw.

No need to look far. Lee Taebaek felt it deeply. Pre-operator, he’d blown his life on K-games as a crazy K-gamer.

Besides, he was the operator. No one’s overriding his whims. Blasphemy.

A true operator shuts out the noise and bulldozes ahead with ironclad resolve!

In games, the operator is God.

He wore the face of a parasite.

‘Fuck, he’s finally losing it.’

Lee Taebaek’s ego wailed rationally… but the operator account—his super-ego—smashed every voice flat.

‘If I’m losing it, so what?’

What’re you gonna do about it?

The operator account, plus all those concepts he’d stacked, turned him into this shameless operator. Take it or leave it.

Of course, a sliver of conscience twinged. He’d regressed their intelligence to toddler levels, after all.

‘Just for my convenience.’

Lee Taebaek vowed inwardly. Unless pressed like now, he’d restrain this authority around allies. As much as possible.

“…But still, Beggar Clan members aren’t the type to roll over like that. Not them, selling their pride to beg for scraps.”

Kang Hyeonseong muttered, scratching his cheek.

Proof his base stats outclassed Jin Sobang’s. Even with buffs and restrictions mixed in, it wasn’t enough to break Kang Hyeonseong’s Mental over 30.

‘If he pushes back here, it’ll drag on.’

He had a packed schedule today.

Smoke a cig outside, catch a quick nap at home. It synced perfectly with Goeun’s discharge. Any longer was wasted time.

‘Scrapping the plan to grill Goeun on Lilith Order. She might know religion in general, but a new cult? Doubtful.’

Lee Taebaek’s conclusion after two days rebuilding crumbling Eunko Bar. The big spend on reno? Chalk it up to debt. He’d cash it in soon enough.

Plus, Eunko Bar was Goeun’s building—and his crash pad.

Gutting the shabby interior was essential, even for this tenant.

So he’d renovated at his discretion. Cheaply, thanks to Slit-Eyes hooking him up with a Blue-Robes contractor.

Steady now—

Even then, Kang Hyeonseong pressed with a probing gaze for more details.

‘Tricky.’

Unfortunately, he lacked the eloquence. Past life glued to monitors, now concepts numbed his empathy—Lee Taebaek was tongue-tied.

Swish.

He pulled a lead weight from his pocket. A hyeopjeon. Picked it up with two fingers in a ring.

“……!”

“……!”

They widened their eyes in unison, pupils round as the square hole in the coin.

Stalemate. Kang Hyeonseong broke first.

“Th-that’s… a hyeopjeon?”

“And a three-knot one at that!”

“So… everything you said is true? Branch Leader of 31st District paid 300 million in compensation, and the beggar elder who came along apologized to you personally?”

They looked incredulous despite seeing it. Both reached out to touch it.

Lee Taebaek let them. Their three sets of fingers met in midair over the coin.

He didn’t miss the opening.

His pupils ringed with light.

A gray veil clouded their retinas, eyes glazing over. Lee Taebaek spoke softly.

“This convincing enough?”

“…Y-yeah……”

Now he grinned openly.

Pulling the hyeopjeon was setup for this.

Combining restricted [Buff] and [Nerf].

Even superhumans or mages over level 30 had their Mental crumble like sugar.

Anyway, fully cleared of suspicion. While they mumbled, he pocketed the coin and bolted.

“Got work. Later.”

Lee Taebaek turned on his heel, stirring a breeze, waved goodbye, and left Eunko Bar.

Kang Hyeonseong snapped to belatedly, flustered. Clarity returned to his hazy focus.

“What the… fuck.”

Like waking from a nap. Memories intact, but the feeling evaporated.

‘So that’s it.’

He had a hunch. The power that made 8th Battalion Deputy Swallow James kneel.

Kang Hyeonseong chalked it up to “gifted.” Battalion member Rock was gifted too—that’s why she always wore a mask.

“Hey, what the hell was that?”

“Gonna keep asking dumb questions?”

Goeun puffed her long pipe in reply, snapping her fingers to light the ash.

“You’re a mage, aren’t you?”

“Mages aren’t AI. But restrictions? Definitely used one.”

“Restrictions? You said restrictions? How’s he pulling that off? Took me half a year nagging you to barely grasp the basics.”

“That’s ’cause it was you.”

“Hope you know I might renovate Eunko Bar again depending on your answer, friend.”

Goeun exhaled a long plume of smoke, veiling the glaring fluorescent lights like a membrane.

“Told you I fought Lee Taebaek using restricted Samadhi True Fire.”

“Yeah. But why…?”

Lightning struck Kang Hyeonseong’s mind.

“N-no way?”

“Learned from watching me then.”

Goeun murmured through smoke-slicked teeth.

“That’s possible…?”

“Approaches zero, but yeah.”

“Hah.”

“Why’s he sighing nonstop? You’re the one who pulled him from Brain Prison.”

“I’ve seen him more than you. That’s why I’m more shocked.”

Kang Hyeonseong grumbled, slipping a hand into his white coat’s inner pocket.

“Wanted to deliver your duel reward myself.”

What he pulled out was a perfect wooden cube box. He cracked the neat lid.

Light leaked from the gap. Inside, an elixir gleamed on silk.

“Already a monster in every sense, and now the Commander-in-Chief hands down a special elixir? Means he’s dead set on grooming Taebaek for Resistance brass.”

“Who knows.”

Kang Hyeonseong fiddled with the lid, then quietly shut it and slid it aside.

Swish.

He had to head back to HQ anyway—asked Goeun to pass it on.

She nodded, hooking her pipe’s end on the lid to drag it close.

“By the way, where’d Taebaek go?”

“Beats me……”

Probably stirring up trouble somewhere.

Kang Hyeonseong had given up reining him in.

‘Just don’t go beyond what we can clean up.’

But battalion members disappointing their commander—or company commander—was par for the course.

Just days later, he’d retract that muttered thought.

Leaving them behind, Lee Taebaek headed to the lowest district. He’d visited the geographical abyss two days straight now.

Didn’t enter the red-light district. No desire to, and no new intel anyway.

It had served its info hub purpose. Upset the librarians? Just spoils the mood.

Post-visit, he’d tweaked his short-term goals. Thus, route shifted from red-lights to lowest district.

You might wonder why bother with the pit.

“Hey. You, mask.”

Someone called from afar. Lee Taebaek obligingly glanced over. Five rough-looking boys, barely teens, approached.

Gang of delinquents at a glance. Dragging steel pipes, they hemmed him in front and back.

The apparent leader blocked the path dead center. Shoulders three, four times broader than the others. Blame the skinny punks.

Boy slung his pipe over his shoulder. Grinned sleazily before speaking.

“You scream outsider. Things get nasty here lately? Heard three gangbangers croaked the other day. So, pay decent protection, and we’ll escort you wherever. Obvious where, though.”

“How’d you know the destination?”

“Dumbass, who comes here not for red-lights? Could be your mom’s john.”

“Shit, dinner’s ruined again.”

Lee Taebaek stayed silent. His chest rose and fell, ragged breaths piercing the mask.

“What? Mute?”

“Even better. Can’t snitch after we shake him down.”

“He has hands.”

“Snap ’em easy enough.”

Delinquents bantered. First time in lowest district? Same deal. Day before yesterday, yesterday too.

Some rite of passage?

‘Reason I’m here, though.’

Judging by talk, not full gang yet. Let ’em grow, they’ll ink dragons soon.

‘No need for blades.’

Lee Taebaek sighed at the sight. Strapped Para Blade to his back, cracked bare knuckles.

“Got a god you believe in?”

Straight out with it—boys blinked. Tilted heads.

They burst out laughing, shoulders shaking. Pipes slid off shoulders.

“You from that Lilith Order too? Tough luck. We don’t vibe with ’em.”

“……”

“Everyone here. Parents got sucked in, ignore us. So we beg for grub ourselves—”

“Atheists, then.”

Leader couldn’t finish.

Boom! Foot stomp. Lee Taebaek reared his right arm high and charged. Guidance Fist.

Religion’s foe is religion. Scriptures clash, they slaughter each other—that world’s MO.

Lilith Order no different. Claims volunteer group, but goal’s securing believers.

‘Disrupt ’em.’

Enemy of my enemy tactic, time-honored. What nonsense? Nah.

“Louder.”

Delinquents sprawled around Lee Taebaek, foreheads sprouting horns. Courtesy of the Cult Leader’s etiquette pouch.

Hundred-Fold Sect initiates chanted their motto, revering Founding Patriarch Lee Taebaek. Occasional sniffles.

Catch religion with religion. Chaos Order preaching from red-light heart outward?

This side tightens from the outskirts in—they’ll clash. Like a caterpillar nibbling mulberry leaves from the edge.

Lee Taebaek, chin on umbrella grip, glanced skyward. Overcast.

This world’s folk believed gods dwelled in sky palaces—and they did.

Believe away. I’m their creator.

Could rip a god’s name and found a faith. But created things worshiping? Looks bad. Kills the vibe.

He pivoted to claiming godhood himself.

Made sense—he was the operator.

In games, operator’s word is providence.