Chapter 92: The Center of the World is Me (1)

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 Taekwondo came to mind subconsciously—to echo that imitation buried deep inside.

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 lit him up, Lee Taebaek, center stage. 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 Laykuns 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.

Laykuns was the same.

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

And yet.

‘Here and now, I’m…’

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 under 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 not to be your thing, Dad?”

“Hahaha. You’ve grown up right, kid.”

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

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

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

Pain meds? 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 it as Daesung’s homeland over their own country.

‘Do you know Daesung?’

A perfect example phrasing Koreans.

Along with it, a line revealing their deep-seated desire for the world to acknowledge their standing.

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

At least, none left a good impression on him.

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

His vaguely negative feelings toward Yu Dahui, the 9th Battalion deputy from Korea, had flipped thanks to Lee Taebaek.

‘If only.’

James suddenly pressed a hand to his chest.

Thump thump.

His heartbeat pierced the thick flesh into 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.

“Not just a smooth talker after all.”

A real nasty piece of work.

To leave the beaten man this satisfied.

Not content with smashing months of honed sumo, bruises bloomed everywhere.

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. Felt the wooden box’s hard texture. A precious elixir the Commander-in-Chief had fetched personally.

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, but somewhere else. Chae Hakgyun had twisted the trajectory mid-way 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.

A Great Buddha statue loomed before him, faint incense wrapping around him. The statue stretched to the ceiling, face invisible above the nose. Torches dotted the pillars sparsely, keeping the interior dim.

‘So the arena connects here.’

A familiar spot.

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

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 bump rose on Jasbi’s crown.

‘Whoa.’

Impressive.

“Hweeeeng—!”

Even biological feedback like this? What the hell did Siesta build?

“Honestly impressed.”

Chae Hakgyun, now close, spoke. Hostility lingered in his eyes, but softer than 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. Punk, you’re a true powerhouse.”

“Fine, whatever. But drop the ‘punk’ already.”

“Taekwondo… Stirred up some nostalgia.”

“Ignoring me?”

“……”

“Hey.”

“Ahem!”

Character 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? Prize ceremonies are traditionally public. They made an exception sending you here.”

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

“You two are thick as thieves.”

Goeun grabbed a torch, lighting her long pipe. Could’ve used Samadhi True Fire, but no. Her face flushed crimson.

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

“Momma bear mode activated.”

“Wanna die?”

“Say that after dodging your own death.”

“This guy’s got backbone.”

“…Whatever……”

Chae Hakgyun sighed.

Then stepped toward the Buddha.

Wood splintered, scraping his ears.

“Amitabha.”

Chanting once, he lit incense and stuck it in the rice bowl. Hands in gassho, he backed away.

“Hwaryeon.”

“Got it.”

Now Goeun’s turn. She pointed her pipe counterclockwise at the pillars. Flames snuffed out one by one.

Pitch black. Nothing visible. Senses numbed like anesthesia. Eyes open or shut? Indistinguishable.

Still, Lee Taebaek stayed composed. He’d orchestrated this. Chilly air nipped a bit, but no panic shown.

Knowledge minimized 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.

The impending omen rising.

A phenomenon even her intellect couldn’t calculate.

Her unease finally surfaced.

“Ask.”

At that voice.

Jasbi startled, gaze upward. The source: the Great Buddha. Dark eyes gleamed down upon them.

“I shall grant enlightenment.”