MTO C9

Chapter 9

“It’s all right.”

“What in heaven’s name happened here?”

“I… I’m not sure either…”

“You bastards, let me go!”

Suddenly, hurried footsteps echoed in the corridor. Moments later, Barbara burst into the room, clutching a candlestick. Her eyes landed on the child in David’s arms—she screamed.

“Heart!”

Heart?

Instinctively, Jeong-oh looked again at the child gripped in David’s hold. At the sight of Barbara, the boy’s eyes widened, red as blood—no, not quite. Closer inspection revealed the irises were in truth a vivid shade of pink, though bright enough under candlelight to be mistaken for crimson.

Didn’t he just… tell me to stay away from Leon?

A chill raced down Jeong-oh’s spine.

“What happened?”

Barbara ignored him entirely, rushing toward David. He adjusted his hold and presented the boy.

“This child attacked the Saint—with a carving knife fit for the dining table.”

“What?”

David gestured with his chin. Barbara followed it and saw the knife lying abandoned on the ground. Her hands flew to her mouth as her face whitened, pale as a moon. The child—Heart—who had been screaming and cursing only moments earlier, kept his head down, lips sealed tight.

“Dear God… Heart…”

The candle in Barbara’s hand shook violently. No—it wasn’t the flame that wavered, but her thin wrist holding the stick, trembling so hard it rattled the wax. Her entire frame shivered pitifully.

Her lips moved, yet only strangled sounds escaped her throat, as if a hand choked the very voice from her. Desperation swam in her quaking eyes.

But panic yielded swiftly to resolve. She steadied her chest with a shallow breath and stepped forward.

“This must be a mistake. Heart surely wandered into the wrong room. It’s night—the halls are pitch dark. I will take him back and punish him myself! He knows he has erred—Heart, quickly, apologize!”

“…”

“Heart!”

Her voice rose, breaking against her own anxiety.

At that, Jeong-oh suddenly thrust out a hand, stopping her. Barbara froze, staring up at him. She wasn’t angry—she was terrified. In that instant, Jeong-oh understood. This—this was the distance he had felt all along. This was why she avoided him.

Idiot.

He cursed himself. Turning to Heart, he made a decision.

“David, lift the child’s shirt.”

“…What?”

“I want to see his back.”

Though confused, David obeyed. Heart fought, thrashing, but David forced his frail body around. Moonlight and candlelight revealed his back.

And across his bony spine lay dozens of scars, welts like crawling worms. Clear proof of abuse.

“….”

Proof this was no unfamiliar world—abuse transcended them all.

Jeong-oh’s face hardened, his shadowed eyes fierce.

“P-please, Director, have mercy…”

Barbara clutched desperately at his robe, then collapsed to her knees. Stifled sobbing filled the chamber, but no one dared comfort her. David too stared in silence at the boy’s back.

The scars lay upon his flesh like larvae etched into pale paper, writhing with memory.

The Demon Knight was a Korean webtoon serialized on a major platform for ten years, ending only recently. On its face, the story followed the classic hero’s journey: the protagonist slays the Demon Dragon and becomes a knightly champion. Yet what set it apart was this—its hero evolved from mere man into monster.

Though rated for readers 15+, the content was so grim and its violence so explicit it often drew criticism as verging on an 18+ gore piece. Especially scarring was the portrayal of the protagonist’s transformation through body-modification magic—disturbing enough to cause nightmares.

Jeong-oh had first picked it up at his students’ recommendation. Initially horrified at its intensity for children, he soon found himself enthralled, binging chapter after chapter late into nights.

He had paused near the final stretch, barely ten episodes left—only to die before seeing its end. And worse, to awaken inside its world.

Now, staring at the trembling boy, Jeong-oh’s heart sank.

Pitch-black hair under moonlight. Pink-red eyes rimmed like blood. His brother Leon, the child he loved dearly. And those scars across his back.

There was no mistaking it.

The child before him was Heart, protagonist of The Demon Knight.

“…I’ve confirmed enough. David, put his clothes back.”

Though full of questions, David complied. Before he could finish, Heart snatched the shirt back and dressed himself with stubborn defiance.

Pushing his turmoil aside, Jeong-oh bent and gently helped Barbara finish rising.

“Sister, please stand.”

“My lord, please, I beg you, show mercy…”

“Heart will not be punished.”

Barbara’s gaze lifted, eyes full of disbelief. And no wonder—the body Jeong-oh inhabited was none other than the orphanage’s cruel master. How could she so easily believe him?

He smiled, bitterly.

“…It’s late. Please, take him to bed.”

“Yes… Yes. Heart, come.”

But Heart did not move. Like Barbara, his own face was guarded, fearful.

Jeong-oh turned away.

“David. You should go as well.”

“Will you be safe alone?”

“As the Sister said, it was a mistake. The child merely lost his way in the dark. Nothing more. I was startled—that’s all.”

He felt Heart’s gaze searing into him, but did not look back.

“…I’m tired. I want to sleep.”

David hesitated, then nodded. Barbara, half-dragging Heart, finally exited with him.

As the door shut, Jeong-oh dropped back onto the bed, his mind in turmoil.

“God…”

How had he not seen earlier that this was the very setting of The Demon Knight?

The reason was plain: Jeong-oh was never good at memorization. Especially foreign terms, names, and lore were hard for him. He remembered only major characters like Heart or Seren. Never the nation or noble houses.

A true fan who’d reread for years would have realized instantly. But Jeong-oh—he was a simple reader, reading once then moving on. If not for meeting Heart, he might never have recognized it at all.

But now, he knew for certain. He was inhabiting the body of the orphanage’s villain director—the hated figure from the early chapters who abused the protagonist and killed Leon.

The orphanage director was a minor character, little more than early background. But through Heart’s long grief, readers clung to his memory, denouncing and despising him endlessly.

Jeong-oh himself had once “liked” a comment suggesting his head be mounted on display. Now here he was—trapped in the man’s body.

What should he do? Could he return to his own life? Perhaps dying once more might reset it all. But… what if death simply meant death? He could not gamble his life so recklessly.

Yet if the original director’s soul somehow took his body and used it to harm the children of his old life…

Jeong-oh chuckled sadly. He needn’t worry. Director Usung-woo would never allow such evil. Back in his youth, when Jeong-oh’s own life went astray, the director had restored his spirit through sparring blows. That borrowed professor of discipline would break even the vilest orphanage master with ease.

No—the worry was not about those children. It was about the ones here.

Until now, Jeong-oh had planned to imitate Michel’s life, pretending until the man reclaimed his body. But now he knew—Michel was a monster, a sadistic child-beater. Such a man deserved no emulation.

He clenched his teeth.

“Good. Let’s settle this.”

That night, Michel the abuser died. And in his stead, Geum Jeong-oh—Michel the Saint—was born.

Hadn’t Kaidan himself said as much? That Michel perished beneath the lightning? If the people thought a miracle of resurrection, the truth remained: it was no longer Michel’s soul inside. It was Jeong-oh’s.

From now on, this body belonged to him. He would not pretend to be Michel—he would become Michel anew.

Perhaps dying on the road and awakening here was no accident after all. Perhaps he had been given this second life for a reason.

Then Jeong-oh—now Michel—wrapped his hands around the entire cylindrical stand filled with whips. With no hesitation, he flung the lot of them into the fireplace. Flames roared, devouring the vile tools with greedy tongues of fire.

Watching the whips blacken and shrivel, Michel swore:

Never again. No more abuse in this orphanage.

The stench of burning leather stung his nose, acrid and bitter.