To be honest, I quit Taekwondo after just one year. For someone like me, born a total gamer, physical exercise felt like straight-up labor.

At least if they’d taught me how to fight, it might’ve been different. But all we did was jump rope or run all day long. It was impossible to get excited about. Still, there’s one scene etched vividly in my memory.

The black-belt seniors demonstrating poomsae.

That was the one time Lee Taebaek’s eyes sparkled like any other kid’s. Not for any special reason—just because it felt good to see them perform a form with the exact same name as mine. I’d peek over their shoulders during the demo, then rush home and mimic it blindly.

Bet I wasn’t the only one.

Maybe that’s why he suddenly responded with Taekwondo—because traces of that imitation remained in his unconscious.

Or perhaps he wanted to recreate the forms of those seniors he admired in the world he’d created.

Either way, it felt like a weight had lifted from my heart. Lee Taebaek gazed straight ahead. The entire arena illuminated me, Lee Taebaek. In that instant, all surrounding sounds faded away.

His senses dulled, the world draining of color like reclaimed paint, turning ashen gray. Even at the center, he felt detached from it all.

I’m an outsider.

No matter that I’d created this world—I was still an existence from beyond it.

I loved this world, Raken’s, infinitely, yet I didn’t want to forget the me from Earth either.

Maybe that’s why he recreated that childhood longing under the excuse of taking his opponent seriously.

Raken’s was the same.

It was the product of my gloomy inner self and my aspirations.

And.

There, I am now.

At the very least, in this arena, he was the protagonist.

The me who’d always been overlooked for one reason or another was now soaking up every gaze in this moment.

Their eyes mirrored the ones I’d sent to my Taekwondo seniors.

Color flooded back into the world.

The crowd’s roars battered his eardrums mercilessly.

Bathed in the radiant overhead lights,

he raised his arm high.

Turning his back to the crowd, Lee Taebaek exited the octagon. Cheers tried to cling to him like invisible arms.

But he slipped down under the octagon without a hint of lingering.

“Taebaek! Taebaek! Taebaek! Taebaek!”

Even after he vanished, the crowd chanted the victor’s name. The loser, Swallow James, stared blankly around him in a daze.

Then, with resigned steps, he shuffled to a spot and exited the same way.

The finals had ended early.

Even as payouts wrapped up, the audience’s fervor showed no sign of cooling.

How could anyone hold back their cheers witnessing that?

Hearts once chilled reignited. Emotions buried under layers of cybernetic prosthetics erupted from within.

It started as sticky desire.

“Dad, I wanna learn Taekwondo!”

“Son. Wanna train together?”

“What if it turns out it’s not for me, Dad?”

“Hahaha. You’ve grown up right, kid.”

What had now rooted deep in the spectators’ chests was called ‘romance’. A heat no cybernetic chill could extinguish.

Just seeing it wrapped everyone in its thick afterglow. Impossible to shake off.

How must his opponent, Swallow James, feel? His whole body felt pummeled by mallets. Every bone ached like it might shatter. And yet.

Pain? Who cared.

It was vivid in his mind. That fluid, flowing technique—like water, yet precise, dismantling him utterly.

Lee Taebaek had called it that.

“Taekwondo… huh…”

Swallow James slid down the narrow corridor. His massive bulk snagged like debris blocking a drain every few steps.

“Heard of it before. Korean martial art, right?”

Korea was a small Eastern nation. All it had going for it was birthing Daesung Group.

When encountering Koreans, they’d emphasize that it was Daesung’s homeland rather than what country it was.

Do you know Daesung?

It is a clear example that describes Koreans.

Along with that.

It was a line revealing the deep-rooted sentiment of Koreans who want the world to acknowledge their standing.

The organization the pi— no, Swallow James belonged to, the Resistance, had plenty of Koreans too. So James knew their traits well.

At least, they didn’t leave a good impression on him.

Especially since the one who’d humiliated him was Korean.

His feelings toward Yu Dahui, the 9th Battalion deputy from Korea, which had been lenient because she was Korean, turned negative thanks to Lee Taebaek.

If only.

James suddenly pressed a hand to his chest.

Thump thump.

His heartbeat pierced through the thick flesh and reached his palm. Ill will toward Koreans scattered, replaced by something warm.

“Damn it.”

A smile crept across his lips.

Before fists flew, he’d planned to at least half-cripple him. Instead of turning the guy to pulp, he’d become the ground meat. Losing a duel sparked by rage was nothing new.

He didn’t feel unduly bitter about the defeat. But grinning like this after losing? First time in his life. And probably the last.

“He wasn’t just a smooth talker after all, was he?”

A real nasty piece of work.

To think he could leave the beaten man this satisfied.

Not only had he smashed the sumo he’d devoted months to, but bruises had formed all over his body.

Yet James didn’t hate Lee Taebaek. If anything, positive feelings welled up.

Crazy bastard.

He shook his head vigorously.

But the emotion rooted like a stake wouldn’t budge. Partly from romantic immersion, but above all, the [Mental] stat’s massive effect.

Plus all those vicious concepts layered on.

James and everyone else had fallen under hypnosis.

“Anyway.”

He rummaged in his pocket suddenly. He felt the wooden box’s hard texture. It was a precious elixir the Commander-in-Chief had fetched personally.

He’d meant to give it to that guy…

Where’d he go?

The passage that swallowed Lee Taebaek spat him out not into the waiting room where he had been, but somewhere else. Chae Hakgyun had twisted the trajectory midway with telekinesis.

He dropped from the ceiling.

Thud.

Just before hitting the floor, he twisted into a perfect breakfall, landing cat-like. Even a six-story fall was no sweat now.

Lee Taebaek looked up.

The Great Buddha Statue loomed before him, a faint incense scent wrapping around him. The statue stretched to the ceiling, face invisible above the nose. Torches hung sparsely on the pillars, keeping the interior dim.

So this place was connected to the arena.

A familiar spot.

After all, this was where you faced the mid-boss ‘Human Butcher Shohei’.

By the original scenario, Fumito should’ve been here before the Buddha, Para Blade over his shoulder, chanting sutras.

But that went out the window once I took the Para Blade.

Lee Taebaek chuckled softly.

The laughter echoed repeatedly. After the deafening arena roar, this silence weighed heavier. Then—

“Congratulations, Creator!”

He turned toward the voice.

Jasbi ran up barefoot. Behind the kid, Goeun and Chae Hakgyun approached quietly.

“You were so coo— Mmph!”

Jasbi tried rubbing against his face. Lee Taebaek blocked swiftly with his palm. Jasbi wriggled stubbornly, forehead trapped.

“Why do you always try to hug me out of nowhere?”

“For congratulations…!”

“I’ll take the sentiment.”

“Actually, I just crave human warmth!”

Bonk!

A horn sprouted on Jasbi’s crown.

Whoa.

Impressive.

“Hweeeeng—!”

I didn’t know they even implemented biological feedback like this. What the hell did Siesta build?

“Honestly impressed.”

Chae Hakgyun, now close, spoke. Hostility lingered in his eyes, as usual, but…

Still, it had softened compared to before.

He continued, his voice rippling the torch flames.

“External martial arts reached a decent realm. Thought you were just arm-bending nepotism when Hwaryeon first mentioned you. As a martial artist, I acknowledge it. Man-whore, you’re a true powerhouse.”

“Fine, whatever. But drop the ‘man-whore’ already.”

“Taekwondo… Stirred up some nostalgia.”

“Ignoring me?”

“…”

“Hey.”

“Ahem!”

The character was roughly grasped: tough exterior, soft inside. Stubborn as iron wire, though.

“Enough chit-chat.”

Goeun, walking beside him, prodded.

“Hand over the first prize already.”

“What’s the rush? And prize ceremonies are traditionally public. But they made an exception and sent you here.”

“Don’t pout with that build, Hakgyun. Creepy. Just hand it over.”

“You’ve really left it to them, haven’t you?”

Goeun grabbed a torch, lighting her long pipe. She could’ve used Samadhi True Fire, but deliberately didn’t. Her face flushed crimson.

“Told you. With his skills, first place was a given. He just made it real.”

“Here comes the mom.”

“Wanna die?”

“Say that after dodging your own death.”

“This bastard’s harsh.”

“…Whatever…”

Chae Hakgyun sighed.

Then he stepped toward the Buddha.

The sound of wood splintering scraped his ears.

“Amitabha.”

After chanting a sutra once, he lit incense and stuck it in the rice bowl. Hands in gassho, he backed away.

“Hwaryeon.”

“Got it.”

This time it was Goeun’s turn. She pointed her pipe counterclockwise at the pillars. Flames snuffed out one by one.

It was pitch black. Nothing was visible. It felt as if the senses were numbed, like anesthesia. Eyes open or shut? Indistinguishable.

Still, Lee Taebaek stayed composed. He’d orchestrated even this situation. Though the chilly air made him slightly cower, he didn’t show panic.

Knowledge minimizes emotional sway.

Thus, the root of imperturbability was mostly intel.

He planned to fill that intel gap. That’s why he’d joined the tournament unquestioned and won. The whole process…

Well.

Honestly, smooth sailing.

No real hurdles.

Finals were lackluster too.

Good’s good.

Anyway.

“Lord Taebaek…”

Jasbi clung to his calf, meerkat-like, scanning anxiously. She sensed it too.

It was the omen that would occur the next moment.

It was a phenomenon even her intellect couldn’t calculate.

Her unease finally surfaced.

“Ask.”

At that voice,

Jasbi startled and raised her gaze. The source of the voice was the Great Buddha. Dark eyes gleamed down upon them.

“I shall grant enlightenment.”