Chapter 312: Skill Copy (4)
That was when it began.
Kang-hoo trained in silence, focusing only on the words left by his master.
Rather than fearing failure, he strove to learn even the tiniest sliver of a lesson from each one.
Even if it meant getting stabbed by chopsticks over and over again, he concentrated entirely on dodging late.
Dodging early might bring peace of mind, but that would go against the purpose of this training.
No one can be perfect from the start.
Kang-hoo humbly acknowledged his shortcomings and accepted his master’s teachings like a blank sheet of paper.
And so, the training continued deep into the night.
Celestial Assassin thought that at some point, Kang-hoo would get tired and ask to stop first, but that never happened.
Even as he panted for breath, he persisted in training, and though he seemed exhausted, he never took a break.He was brimming with grit.
His breath reeked of acidity, and at times his eyes rolled back, but still, Kang-hoo did not stop.
Celestial Assassin liked that about him. In fact, this was the very outcome he had hoped for.
As Kang-hoo wore himself out, ironically, his timing began to improve.
Just like in baseball, where releasing tension helps with accuracy in throwing.
Whether he meant to or not, the moment Kang-hoo’s force faded, his timing became razor-sharp.
Meanwhile.
Ju Haemi, who had gone to sleep assuming they’d both call it quits after a bit of training, woke up and was shocked.
Despite her nap, the two were still at it.
Judging by how soaked they were in sweat, it didn’t look like they had taken a single break.
“Father…?”
Ju Haemi first worried about Celestial Assassin’s health.
Kang-hoo might be young, but her father, Celestial Assassin, was clearly pushing himself too hard.
She thought of running over to stop them but froze after taking just one step.
Because Celestial Assassin was smiling.
He looked truly happy.
As if he had been waiting for this moment, he was smiling in every single exchange.
Then suddenly—
“…Huh?”
Kang-hoo barely avoided Celestial Assassin’s strike, leaving only a faint red dot.
Then, mixing in a counterattack, he finally created the very result his master had hoped for during this training.
It was astonishing.
Kang-hoo’s improvement had come much faster than expected—it was thought he’d need several more sessions.
Celestial Assassin dodged Kang-hoo’s counter and launched another of his own, which Kang-hoo barely managed to respond to.
Kang-hoo grew more confident.
Celestial Assassin was satisfied.
And Ju Haemi was proud.
All three were satisfied with the results of this training.
‘He actually did it. Father said it would take at least a few weeks no matter how fast someone was… and he did it in a day.’
Ju Haemi was stunned by Kang-hoo’s willpower, passion, and incredible speed of improvement.
Both her and Celestial Assassin’s expectations were pleasantly shattered. Kang-hoo was growing much faster than imagined.
“That’s enough. Get some rest.”
The moment Celestial Assassin declared the end of the training with a satisfied expression—
“Urgh.”
Kang-hoo let out a wheeze like deflating air and collapsed face-first onto the fallen leaves.
“Huh…? Kang-hoo?”
“…”
“You rascal, passed out cold.”
Celestial Assassin shook Kang-hoo’s body, but the boy was so deeply asleep he couldn’t even stir.
It was only natural.
It wasn’t just that they stayed up all night—he had endured a grueling training session from start to finish. His body was pushed to its limits.
What was meant to be a two-hour training session had turned into ten hours. No wonder he fainted.
“This kid…”
Celestial Assassin hoisted the collapsed Kang-hoo onto his back and began walking toward the villa.
Ju Haemi ran up quickly and wiped the sweat off both Kang-hoo and Celestial Assassin.
She seemed especially worried about her father, Celestial Assassin.
“Father. Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. Let’s go. I need to dump this heavy sack so I can rest too.”
“I’ll carry him.”
“No need. He might look limp, but he’s heavier than you think. It’d be hard for anyone but me.”
“Heh.”
Ju Haemi burst out laughing at the sight of the limp Kang-hoo.
He always had a blank, cold expression, as if he were carrying the weight of the world—but now he looked entirely different.
He wore the peaceful face of a sleeping child, as if all his worries had melted away.
Once inside the villa, Celestial Assassin laid Kang-hoo on the bed and asked Ju Haemi for a favor.
“Just cover him with a blanket and close the blinds to block the sunlight. Get some rest yourself. I need a shower. I feel gross.”
“Yes, Father. I’ll take care of this side.”
“Alright.”
“Father.”
“Hmm?”
“You really are okay, right?”
“That rascal… Don’t worry. I feel even better today than I did yesterday.”
“Yes, Father.”
“This kid really trained to his heart’s content today. And in the end, he succeeded. He’s a tough one. Hahahaha.”
Celestial Assassin laughed heartily as he headed for the bathroom.
More than the student who had learned, it was the teacher who had taught that felt the deepest pride after the training.
Some time later—
The moment Celestial Assassin entered his private bathroom on the second floor of the villa—
“Damn it!”
Bang!
Celestial Assassin struck the inner wall of the bathroom in a burst of frustration.
The pain didn’t fade easily, even when he tried to endure it. As he removed his top, his body—now visibly more emaciated than before—was revealed.
Each passing day, his body shrank like a deflating balloon. Even now, he couldn’t get used to it.
Shhhhhh.
He turned the shower to full blast and buried his face in the fierce torrent of water.
The water was harsh enough to hurt, but only that kind of pain could dull the other pain gnawing at him.
After staying under the freezing water for quite some time, Celestial Assassin looked out the bathroom window at the sky and muttered—
“You wouldn’t take me when I was begging to die… but now you pull this kind of cruelty?”
It was a desperate cry, soaked with every ounce of his emotion.
Back when he didn’t want to face the tomorrow ahead, that hellish tomorrow still arrived, like clockwork.
But now that he longs for tomorrow with all his heart, the heavens were playing a cruel trick on him.
It was a grim sign—one that told him he might not have a tomorrow left.
“Not yet. Not yet.”
Celestial Assassin shook his head. He would leave when it was truly time—but not now. Not like this.
He couldn’t close his eyes and leave behind his precious daughter and the cherished disciple he had just begun to bond with.
“One month. I’m only asking for one month.”
Celestial Assassin had never once begged so earnestly before.
He had always been the one to scoff at gods and the idea of divine beings—but now he was begging.
That’s how desperate he was.
He wanted to cling just a little longer to the time he had left in this world, before the heavens could snatch it away.
At the same time—
“Fk! Fk! You f**king bastards!”
Kang Dong-hyun finally exploded, unable to contain his fury, and shattered everything in his office.
It didn’t take long. One blow from his fist sent out a gust of force that demolished everything with ease.
Even though he had gained control over the Cheongju Liberation Area, he couldn’t bring himself to celebrate—not after losing the Cheongmyeong Detention Center.
The losses outweighed the gains. It was a glory lined with wounds.
In the process of taking over Cheongju, he had pushed too hard, and they’d lost considerable internal manpower.
He had vented enough.
After the Cheongmyeong Detention Center was taken, he had captured the families of the wardens who hadn’t returned to Eclipse.
He used them as hostages to threaten the wardens into coming back.
The problem was, even those who returned—whether voluntarily or through threats—were all imprisoned.
Which, of course, meant they’d soon be sold into human trafficking.
Kang Dong-hyun had never planned to show mercy to those he considered losers.
He simply wanted to find buyers willing to pay for the returned vermin.
“Shin Kang-hoo… who would’ve thought that bastard surviving would lead to all this…”
Even after destroying his entire office, his anger still didn’t subside.
If anything, it felt like it had doubled, despite the aggressive outburst.
The reason was simple.
He hadn’t eliminated the source of that rage: Shin Kang-hoo. As long as that bastard was alive, the fury wouldn’t go away.
“Cha So-hee. Jin Hyo-young. Go Gyeong-pyo. Jo Hwan-seong. Just how many officers did that damned Shin Kang-hoo get killed?”
Thinking about his fallen subordinates, he realized the number wasn’t small.
They weren’t nobodies either—they were elites Kang Dong-hyun had personally valued.
Especially Go Gyeong-pyo and Jo Hwan-seong, who ranked among Eclipse’s top ten.
All of them had been killed by Kang-hoo.
If at least Kang-hoo had died in return for the sacrifice, he could’ve told himself it was worth it.
But the problem was—Kang-hoo was still very much alive. Worse, the Cheongmyeong Detention Center was now in the hands of the alliance.
Two attempts had been made to reclaim it, but both failed.
The very defenses that once protected the prison were now repurposed to attack them—it was hell.
“What a disgrace…”
Kang Dong-hyun let out a sigh.
He wanted to go out and slice off Kang-hoo’s head himself, but if it were that easy, he would’ve done it long ago.
Now, it was Kang Dong-hyun who needed to be cautious. The remnants of Black still lingered.
At that moment—
A man entered through the slightly ajar office door.
There was only one person who could walk in without asking permission.
That man spoke.
“Looks like it’s finally time to repay the food I’ve been eating all this time.”
“Hyungnim, Yuji…”
“I’ll handle it. I’ve finished analyzing Shin Kang-hoo, and the attention on me has finally died down.”
Ishihara Yuji.
Ever since arriving in Korea, he’d been waiting for the perfect moment to take revenge on Kang-hoo.
His entry had been impulsive, and with all eyes on him, he had laid low.
He wanted revenge, but not if it meant attracting the attention of bounty hunters.
Ishihara Yuji was a top-tier wanted criminal under joint investigation by Korean, Chinese, and Japanese public safety bureaus.
So after entering the country, he had waited for the heat to die down. And finally, that moment arrived.
Kang Dong-hyun asked with excitement—
“You’re really going to step in?”
“I have to. My only goal is to drag him back to Japan alive and get treatment from Gosuke.”
“Because of the addiction symptoms, right?”
“Yeah. These damn eyes.”
Red eyes.
A phenomenon caused by Gosuke’s black magic treatment—a kind of brand or curse.
It marked someone who had been deeply exposed to cursed black magic, usually beyond recovery.
The only way to remove it was purification through the blood of the one who inflicted the curse.
Though this too was part of black magic, Yuji believed Gosuke’s words without question.
If Shin Kang-hoo’s blood failed to cure the red eyes, Gosuke wouldn’t survive either.
“I’ll assist you.”
“No need. This is my problem. And I’m not so weak that I’d need your help.”
“But…”
“Just prepare the way back to Japan. I won’t take long to finish this revenge.”
“Yes, understood.”
“See you soon.”
As Yuji walked out of the office, Kang Dong-hyun’s lips trembled.
Yes, if it was Yuji, subduing Shin Kang-hoo would be nothing.
Even if it meant borrowing someone else’s blade, as long as the outcome was the same—it didn’t matter.
Shin Kang-hoo, bound by a twisted fate from the very start, would now have the Grim Reaper knocking at his door.