TSBIRBV Ch 12

Chapter 12 – No Home, No Guide (5)

“Ugh, that fucker from Literature and Arts left early again.”

Yegyeol, who had been about to open the back door, stopped in his tracks.

“That unlucky bastard. The disciplinary officer didn’t even tell him to dye his hair black, did he? Mine’s naturally brown too.”

“If it bothers you, awaken already. Why are you bringing that up again?”

The question implied, What’s gotten into you now?

“No, I was trying to teach some cocky punk a lesson yesterday, and he butted in. Shit. What does he think he is, a knight or something?”

Only then did Yegyeol recall who the one grumbling about that out-of-touch freak was. It was one of the bullies who used to harass classmates, making them buy cigarettes. He remembered how the guy fled the scene like a coward when Yegyeol stepped in.

‘Guess his pride took a hit.’

Just as he was about to open the door and walk in, Yegyeol froze upon hearing a familiar voice.

“A knight? Please.”

It was an ordinary male student’s voice, but it dripped with malice. Yegyeol narrowed his eyes, instantly recognizing the speaker.

“That’s not it. He thinks he’s some kind of hyeopgaek.”

The derisive snickering that followed made Yegyeol’s chest clench.

“Hyeopgaek? What the hell does that even mean?”

“Oh, you know. Like those martial arts novels old men read at secondhand bookstores. He thinks he’s the protagonist of one of those.”

“What, are you saying Moon Yegyeol’s some cringy otaku freak now?”

“Honestly, being an otaku would be better. He says he remembers his past life—growing up in the martial arts world.”

“Wow… That guy’s seriously out of his mind.”

“All Espers are like that. Awakening messes with your head.”

Yegyeol turned his gaze toward the one twirling his finger near his temple mockingly. The boy had some acne scars, an unremarkable face—neither ugly nor particularly well-formed. Just your average high schooler.

Yegyeol had once considered him a friend. That’s why he had shared such a secret. He had been the only one who responded to Yegyeol’s words with genuine interest.

They had even scoured bookstores together, hunting down martial arts novels that came closest to resembling Yegyeol’s past life.

He’d been curious what had become of the martial world after his death. Had Jeharyang survived? But no matter how many books he searched, none told stories similar to the world he once lived in.

Instead, he found solace in the heroic journeys of fictional hyeopgaek in the novels.

“Even his parents couldn’t handle him and locked him in a psych ward for a year or two, right?”

Yegyeol lowered his gaze.

The superiority in the boy’s voice, once trusted as a friend, was unmistakable. That smug tone of someone boasting about a secret no one else knew—it made Yegyeol feel sick.

The only relief was that his precious Jeharyang hadn’t been dragged into that foul gossip.

“And yet they’re letting some lunatic Esper like that be responsible for public safety? A guy without even a Guide?”

Another voice chimed in sarcastically, clearly more entertained by the drama than genuinely concerned.

“Oh, so Moon Yegyeol’s supposed to be Chinese, huh?”

A blond boy, pressing his palms together, nodded politely.

“Nǐ chī fàn le ma.”

“Yo, did you just curse at me?”

“You idiot. That’s just how you say ‘Have you eaten?’”

Even after getting smacked upside the head, the boys cackled like idiots.

Yegyeol calmly scanned the rowdy boys before abruptly throwing open the classroom door and walking in.

Everyone froze at once, suddenly reminded that Yegyeol had left early saying he had to visit the Center.

Without a word, Yegyeol walked between them, opened his locker, and pulled out a book.

“Hey. They say you’re a damn ch*nk, right?”

It was the same blond kid who had mocked him before. The very one who had backed down immediately when Yegyeol warned him not to bully others.

Clearly, he wanted to bolt, but pride kept him rooted in place.

Boys this age were like wild animals. Terrified of how a mad Esper might lash out, but even more afraid of looking weak to the rest.

“Oh, that?”

Yegyeol let out a dry laugh, then turned his head toward his “friend”—just enough to make it clear he had heard everything. The boy struggled to avoid his gaze but couldn’t bring himself to fully look away.

“You actually still believed that? I was just messing with you.”

His tone was gentle, even kind, which made it all the more incomprehensible.

“I just got tired of you always pestering me to copy my Chinese homework. Constantly asking how I spoke it so well—it got annoying.”

Maybe at first, the boy had really been curious and genuinely wanted to befriend a young Esper.

But however it started, the ending had curdled into something else.

“But then…”

As Yegyeol turned to leave, the boy grabbed his arm and shouted, practically shrieking.

“You said it yourself! That you begged your parents to go to Kunlun Mountain—even though it doesn’t exist in China!”

Yegyeol looked at the boy’s red and blue face and smiled awkwardly.

“I didn’t expect you to believe so sincerely that I was hospitalized just because I cried to go to a non-existent mountain. Wow, I feel bad now.”

Brushing off the boy’s hand, Yegyeol left him standing there, head hung low, and walked out of the classroom.

‘Must be the stress lately that’s bringing up dreams like that again.’

It had been a long time since he’d dreamed of that period in his life.

Maybe it was because of how things had been going recently.

Yegyeol sighed and got out of bed, tidying up his sleeping space. The area next to him, which should’ve been occupied by his new fellow disciple, was still completely empty. Baekyang-jinin had assigned him a solo room from the beginning.

He stepped outside, picked up a broom, and made his way to Baekyang-jinin’s residence. A thick layer of snow had built up in front of the building. Yegyeol began sweeping it away.

It was a task he’d done yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that—but he took it seriously regardless. Who knew when or where the First Brother might be watching?

He had to play the role of the obedient disciple if he wanted to stir up a bit of pity.

Shoveling snow in the spacious courtyard alone was no easy feat.

Even with the superior body of an Esper, the cold still seeped in.

‘God, I wish I could just melt all this with lightning.’

But without a Guide, he couldn’t afford to recklessly use his powers. He didn’t want them seeing him break down from illness—just the image of someone quietly enduring.

Stopping for a moment, Yegyeol blew on his hands to warm them.

The snow never seemed to end.

Ever since he was reborn, he often recalled the snowy landscapes of Mount Kunlun. Especially when alone in the hospital, he had longed for the days when he had been the youngest disciple of the Kunlun Sect.

And now that he’d been thrown back into that world, he couldn’t believe he’d ever forgotten.

On Kunlun’s towering peaks, snow fell year-round. It was always the youngest disciples’ job to clear it before their master caught cold.

Among Baekyang-jinin’s countless disciples, Yegyeol was like the dregs that had trickled in last. Naturally, snow duty had fallen squarely on his shoulders.

Usually, two or three would handle it together. But he did it alone for an obvious reason.

Everyone else had entered the sect through connections or talent, while Yegyeol was a mystery boy no one knew. Of course they’d be wary.

Latecomers often had shocking skills and were usually brought in by the sect’s head.

Being treated like an out-of-nowhere rock was the same in Korea as it was here.

He was shunned.

‘Not like I can even learn martial arts anyway.’

It wasn’t like Yegyeol hadn’t tried to relearn Kunlun’s techniques. His body and senses were better than in his past life, so he’d been confident he could do even better.

But no matter how closely he followed the internal energy cultivation chants, the energy would dissipate before it reached his dantian.

Without being able to store energy, martial arts were impossible.

When he reported his condition, Baekyang-jinin’s brow had furrowed into a deep 川 (chuan) character.

He had never been a favored student to begin with—and now he’d returned as a dud who couldn’t even form a dantian.

Yegyeol had even felt hopeful for a moment, wondering if he’d be expelled—but it didn’t happen.

Baekyang-jinin showed no signs of sending him away.

Worse, he began assigning Yegyeol small personal errands and always kept him close.

As if monitoring him.

But to the other disciples, this just looked like special treatment.

As self-proclaimed followers of Taoist virtue, they didn’t openly beat him up—but they started to leave him out of meals, ignore him during conversations, and subtly isolate him.

Strangely, Yegyeol found this comforting.

He didn’t want to get involved in childish pecking orders.

The lonelier he looked, the more the First Brother would feel compelled to check on him.

‘But when’s that even gonna happen…’

The Kunlun Sect didn’t have parent visitation days.

Yegyeol was stuck waiting endlessly without knowing what Jeharyang was thinking.

The real problem was his body—he wasn’t sure how long it would hold up.

After finishing his sweeping, Yegyeol trudged outside the building.

He headed for a secret training ground he used to sneak off to in his past life.

It was hidden between buildings, barely used because of the awkward location.

Sitting down on a rock in the corner, Yegyeol pulled out the flute Hongyeo had given him.

The intricate, unique patterns carved into it made his heart stir with emotion.

‘I want to use it.’

It had been two months since he’d heard from the First Brother.

Yegyeol was holding up better than expected, but no matter how many letters he sent, no reply came.

‘Did he really cut me off?’

He had already sent over ten letters through Baekyang-jinin.

Even if Jeharyang was traveling across the martial world for business, surely he could’ve sent at least one letter.

Yegyeol trusted his responsibility—but slowly, doubt was creeping in.

Maybe the First Brother thought keeping ties with a banished disciple would damage his own standing.

The flute had been given for emergencies.

If he used it now, the signal would surely reach him.

‘And then I’d be the boy who cried wolf.’

Yegyeol, torn by indecision, tucked the flute away.

He couldn’t waste Jeharyang’s trust on something like this.

After all, patience was the most vital trait for an Esper.

Having taken a brief rest, Yegyeol made his way to breakfast.

Normally, he would eat with his fellow disciples—but right now, he was alone.

The entrance to the Kunlun Sect was bustling with the merchant caravan.

‘Oh, today must be supply day.’

From a distance, Yegyeol watched as the caravan leader gestured to one of the jaengjasu (logistics agents) before disappearing inside with someone who looked like a person of authority.

“Ugh, this climb is exhausting every time.”

“Still, they always pay generously. A respected sect can’t afford to delay payments, you know.”

As the jaengjasu chatted while unloading goods—grain, cloth, and other necessities—Yegyeol perked up at a specific phrase.

“Hey, be careful with that! The caravan head’s on edge because of that damn snake.”

Snake? Yegyeol’s ears sharpened.

With the enhanced hearing of an Esper, he could easily catch the conversation even from this far.

“It’s just some spirit snake. Why the fuss?”

“It’s a Thousand-Year Thunderhorn Python (천년뇌각망)1! Its core alone can grant a hundred years’ worth of internal energy. Of course people are going crazy over it.”

One of the jaengjasu sighed deeply.

“And of all people, it ended up in that madman’s hands. That guy ran straight to Xinjiang to join the Demonic Cult, and now Qinghai’s in chaos.”

“I heard the Namgung Clan sent their elite team, the Sky Piercing Swallows. Makes sense—they were supposed to receive the python in the first place. No wonder they’re pissed.”

“No wonder the caravan head’s nerves are shot. When martial artists start fighting over secret techniques and miracle elixirs, the first to die are always us regular folk.”

Footnotes

Thousand-Year Thunderhorn Python (천년뇌각망): A mythical snake in wuxia/xianxia fiction. “Thunderhorn” likely refers to its horned appearance or lightning-based powers. Its core (inner energy crystal) is often a major treasure in martial arts stories, said to grant enormous power to whoever consumes or absorbs it.