“I really don’t want to see your face anymore.”

The man, with a face full of displeasure, spoke in a cold tone. Taeui nodded and replied with an equally indifferent voice:

“I don’t want to see your face either, if I could help it… But given the circumstances, what else can I do? This is absolutely not something I wished for.”

The man grumbled complaints under his breath and violently slammed the drawer shut, creating a sharp, jarring sound. Then, he grabbed a jar of ointment and threw it straight at Taeui.

“Take that. Take it all and just leave. For light bruises, just apply this and stop coming here. Lately, the number of patients has suddenly skyrocketed. I’m busy to death, and yet you keep bringing the sick here every single day.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying! I don’t want to do this at all!”

Taeui sighed, grabbing the jar of ointment he had already seen too many times today. He stared intently at the jar labeled ‘Tiger Balm’ – a supposed miracle cure for everything, according to the person who had just tossed it at him – and sank into thought.

The label mentioned it could be used for headaches. Maybe he should try applying a bit to see if it might ease his pounding headache.

Taeui opened the lid, dabbed a little of the faintly white ointment onto his fingertip, and pretended to rub it onto his temples. But immediately, Kyohō caught sight of the act, and Taeui had to endure another round of scolding.

“But you’re the one who just said it could be used to treat headaches!”

Taeui shouted in defense, but under Kyohō’s thunderous tirade, which felt as though it could swallow everything, he had no choice but to fall silent.

Recently, Kyohō Lee, the person in charge of the infirmary, had been constantly complaining about being so overworked he felt like collapsing. He had repeatedly begged the finance department to hire additional help, but no action had been taken. From Taeui’s perspective, Kyohō’s complaints seemed entirely justified. With the flood of patients arriving daily, it wouldn’t be surprising if Kyohō one day fainted from sheer exhaustion.

“It’s all because of that European guy! Why did that lunatic have to come here and stir up trouble?”

Fatigue was etched deep into Kyohō’s face as he finally let out a curse.

Taeui considered speaking up in mild defense, and saying: “Well, technically, he’s part of our division now, not a European anymore.” But after glancing at the current atmosphere, he quickly decided against it. He knew that saying such a thing would only escalate the situation. Swallowing his words, he kept his mouth shut.

“If I keep working myself to death and end up in the hospital, who’s going to take responsibility? Huh?! Mark my words—if I collapse, it’ll be you lot who will suffer the consequences!”

Faced with Kyohō’s noisy and accusatory rant, Taeui merely nodded without responding. Internally, he thought with weary resignation: ‘If anyone’s going to the hospital first, it’s probably going to be me, not you!’

Whenever someone was too injured to move on their own, it was always Taeui’s job to carry them to the infirmary. Worse still, on the way there, he had to endure their vulgar curses and complaints.

In truth, this situation was something he had foreseen.

Since Ilay Riegrow arrived at the Asian branch as an Instructor – no, even before he arrived – this chaos had been expected. Everyone had anticipated it. Not a single person was unaware that turmoil would follow in his wake. Perhaps even Ilay himself knew.  

Taeui still vividly remembered the first day Ilay entered the lecture hall as the new Instructor.  

In truth, everyone already knew that the new Instructor was Ilay. That’s why, right before he stepped in, the lecture hall was engulfed in an eerie silence.  

But the moment Ilay walked through the door, the atmosphere shifted dramatically, turning into a heavy, oppressive tension, as dark as ink, and perhaps even more dangerous.  

Initially, the Instructor position Ilay was taking over had belonged to Kippenhan, who had been in charge of information management before his death. Because of this, deep down, Taeui had silently hoped – despite his bad premonition – that Ilay would not take that seat.  

In Taeui’s mind – and likely in the minds of most members of the Asian branch – Ilay was a cold-blooded butcher. Ilay Riegrow, that man, was known for nothing except smirking and casually killing people. Aside from that ‘talent’ he was considered trash. Naturally, given such a reputation, the thought of someone like him, who only knew how to kill, becoming an Instructor was utterly unacceptable. This sentiment was shared by most in the branch.  

Yet, during his very first lecture…  

Those angry glares, tinged with fear and anxiety, watched the ‘butcher’ intently, waiting to see what nonsense he would spout about information management. But in an instant, all those gazes froze.  

Standing at the far corner of the lecture hall, Taeui observed the session, unable to shake the thought: ‘This person can’t possibly be Ilay Riegrow. He must be someone hired as a lookalike to take his place.’ It was hard to believe that someone who could casually smile while killing with his bare hands could deliver such a clear and flawless lecture.  

It seemed Taeui wasn’t the only one harboring such doubts. Others in the room, each consumed by their own fears or concerns, shared a similar unease. Some feared Ilay himself, some were merely curious about what he would teach, while others worried whether they might suddenly become his next target. Whatever the reason, every face bore an expression of anxiety, fear, or anger. The longer the lecture went on, the more pronounced those feelings became.  

And then, just before the lecture ended, a particularly bold individual suddenly spoke up:  

“Instructor, this isn’t really your field of expertise, is it? Seems like you’ve picked the wrong specialty. Why don’t you switch places with Instructor Golding instead? ――Oh, but then again, Golding only teaches martial arts, not how to kill people like you do.”  

Taeui frowned slightly at the blatant mockery, immediately casting a worried glance toward Ilay. He couldn’t be certain that the lunatic wouldn’t lose his temper and hurl a knife at the speaker. If the worst happened, Taeui would have to step in to prevent it. After all, that was part of his role as an Assistant Instructor.  

‘Damn it, why did this idiot have to hold back his blade* all lecture long, only to spit it out at the very end and stir up trouble*?’ – Taeui cursed internally. – ‘If you’re going to cause a scene, why not wait until I’m gone so I don’t have to take responsibility? Damn it.’

(*입에 칼을 물고 있다가: a metaphor for holding back anger or suppressing emotions. *뱉어버리고: an expression for finally voicing suppressed emotions or thoughts in a dramatic way.)  

The conclusion was clear: Ilay Riegrow turned out to be a far more exceptional Instructor in information management than anyone had anticipated.  

There were no unnecessary introductions or pleasantries. He simply opened his materials and began the lecture immediately.  

Ready to spring into action at any moment, Taeui tensely observed Ilay’s reaction. Meanwhile, Ilay simply stared silently at the bold member who had just spoken. The entire lecture hall fell into complete silence. The speaker glared defiantly at Ilay, while the others watched the situation unfold with a mix of anticipation and dread.  

“That’s correct. This clearly isn’t my area of expertise. But neither is the field Golding handles. As you already know, I’m only good at killing, not fighting. So among the few things I can do, information management happens to be the most feasible. And as luck would have it, when Kippenhan – the one previously in charge of information management – died, this position became vacant, and I was placed here. If you’re unhappy with the subject I’m teaching, that’s not something you should bring to me. Instead, go find your supervising Instructor and plead with them to switch you elsewhere.”  

Ilay responded in a calm, unperturbed tone, showing no signs of anger. In fact, a faint, indifferent smile lingered on his lips. It was the gaze of a tiger looking at a naive puppy—majestic yet utterly inscrutable. For a fleeting moment, Taeui found himself thinking that perhaps this lunatic retained a sliver of humanity after all, and he was unexpectedly moved by the thought.  

But it didn’t stop there. As if emboldened by the first speaker’s remarks, another crude voice rang out from the far side of the room:  

“Stop pretending to be decent and act like the deranged murderer you are!”  

This insult was far more personal and vulgar than the first. Pressing his fingers against his temples, which were now throbbing, Taeui sighed internally. 

‘Is this the moment where I’ll have to jump in and save this room from turning into a bloodbath?’

But, surprisingly – and thankfully – Ilay still showed no inclination to retaliate. He didn’t get angry, nor did he show the slightest sign of displeasure. Instead, he clicked his tongue softly, as if the whole situation was a nuisance, and responded in a tone full of weary indulgence:  

“My true nature? Even I’m not entirely sure…” – Ilay said with a faint smile playing on his lips. – “… But if you really want to see what you think is my true nature, I can show you something similar. Come here.”  

Ilay crooked a finger, beckoning the person who had just insulted him. Taeui’s eyebrows furrowed deeply, his expression so tense that the muscles in his face seemed ready to fold in on themselves. At that moment, Ilay’s gaze swept over Taeui’s scowling face.  

“Hmm…” – Ilay murmured as though deliberating something. Then, in what seemed like a magnanimous gesture, he added: “I’ll let him live, so don’t worry too much.”  

Ilay said this just as his eyes met Taeui’s.  

Taeui, who had been bracing himself to intervene, suddenly realized the remark was directed at him. More precisely, Ilay wasn’t saying, “Don’t worry too much” but rather, “Don’t interfere pointlessly.”

Hearing this, Taeui promptly abandoned his plan to step in. If Ilay wasn’t planning to kill anyone, then there was no reason for him to thrust himself into trouble. After all, Taeui hadn’t wanted this Assistant Instructor position in the first place. From the moment he took on the role, it had been nothing but an endless string of headaches he was forced to endure.  

Besides, this was an inevitable confrontation. Someone was bound to provoke Ilay eventually. Taeui hadn’t expected it to happen on the very first day of his lecture, but the situation had been foreseeable, so it wasn’t particularly surprising.  

The young man who had shouted at Ilay stood up immediately, as if he had been waiting for this moment all along, and strode forward. As Taeui got a better look at the man’s face, he suddenly remembered where he’d seen him before.  

This was one of the three men Taeui had encountered in the restroom that day—the day four people lost their lives at Ilay’s hands during the joint training session with the European branch. This guy had shared a room with the man who had openly said he wanted to throw a cluster bomb at Ilay. They were likely close friends.  

In relationships that have soured and grown increasingly tense due to confrontations, pinpointing the initial cause of everything is harder than determining whether the chicken or the egg came first.

In truth, deep down, Taeui always thought that the root of all the resentment here undoubtedly began with Ilay Riegrow’s indiscriminate and ruthless massacres. But now, he couldn’t voice that thought. 

‘Damn it, I hate being an Assistant Instructor. I hate this cursed Instructor role too.’

As the man stepped forward, the atmosphere in the room grew taut like a stretched string. All eyes – filled with worry, curiosity, and excitement – focused intently on them.

Ilay remained calm, as if oblivious to the intense attention, and quietly watched the man approaching. This man was just as tall as Ilay. In fact, although Ilay had a towering height, his physique wasn’t overly muscular. In contrast, this man exuded incredible strength, the kind that comes from battle-hardened muscles rather than regular training sessions.

“Since I said I wouldn’t kill you, it might be hard to show you the ‘true nature’ you’re so eager to see… But I can certainly show you something close to it. Come on over.”

Ilay offered a faint smile. Once again, his tone was light, as if nothing was serious. That attitude seemed to be the very reason the other man felt his anger flare up.

The man confronting Ilay was clearly skilled—enough to be accepted into this branch. Perhaps he had never lost to anyone before.

His attack was swift. Without any warning, he aimed a knife-hand strike straight at Ilay’s neck while simultaneously driving his knee toward Ilay’s abdomen. Dodging both attacks at once would be extremely difficult. Indeed, Ilay didn’t evade them both. He accurately avoided the chop to his neck but allowed the knee to slam into his stomach.

“Hmm.”

A short breath escaped as Ilay took half a step back.

There was no counterattack. Although he had dodged the chop, the knee strike had landed perfectly. Yet, it was the attacker who seemed perplexed. Standing behind them, Taeui couldn’t hide his astonishment.

‘Why didn’t he go down?’

It wasn’t just Taeui who thought this; many in the lecture hall shared the same bewilderment. The murmurs in the room instantly ceased, giving way to absolute silence. The man who had delivered a knee strike strong enough to fell a bull tilted his head in confusion. He clearly felt that his attack had landed flawlessly, but the outcome was unimaginably strange.

At that moment, Taeui sighed and closed his eyes. Without needing to see more, he could only silently pray for the other man’s fate.

Ilay hadn’t been unable to avoid the knee strike; he had intentionally taken the hit. The only attack he chose to evade was the chop to his neck—a strike that could have killed him instantly if it had connected. As for the knee, he had ‘allowed’ it to hit his abdomen as if granting a favor.

And all it did was make him step back… half a step.

Even though he had anticipated it, Taeui couldn’t help but think: ‘This guy is a real monster!’

That kind of body couldn’t be explained by merely having high endurance; it could only be called monstrous. For someone daring to confront such a monster without realizing the consequences, failure was inevitable. Not just failure, but also facing a corresponding retaliation for the ‘gift’ the monster had bestowed—a devastating defeat with no room for excuses.

And so it was. The moment after Taeui closed his eyes, a heavy thud echoed, loud enough to drown out the ensuing scream of agony. Following that were one or two more cries of pain.

When the screams faded into sporadic groans, Taeui, feeling uneasy, reluctantly opened his eyes. He knew he was about to see something unpleasant and had no desire to look. Yet, as soon as his eyes opened, his gaze landed on Ilay, who was calmly pointing at the floor and saying:

“Clean this up.”

With no other choice, Taeui was forced to look where Ilay was pointing.

The man’s shoulders were both dislocated, and one of his ribs was broken—a fact Taeui only learned later when he brought the man to the infirmary. Compared to the gruesome scenarios Taeui had envisioned, like a pool of blood spreading across the floor, this scene was surprisingly ‘mild’.

Even so, Taeui couldn’t stop himself from cursing Ilay in his heart: ‘Liar! This is your ‘action resembling true nature’? You’re nothing but a deranged killer!’ Yet, despite himself, he also felt a sense of relief that things hadn’t escalated further. Letting out a small sigh, he picked up the injured man and carried him to the infirmary.

Once again, he etched it into his mind: ‘Ilay Riegrow isn’t human.’

Previously, everyone had assumed that the reason Ilay survived the explosion during the training session with the European branch was because he had pushed a teammate in front of him as a shield before the bomb went off. But now, after seeing him endure a devastating strike without even flinching, Taeui began to imagine the possibility that Ilay had taken the explosion head-on and survived, like an indestructible iron man.

Whatever the truth, the outcome of this incident was still relatively ‘light’. A member dared to challenge the Instructor and ended up with dislocated shoulders, a broken rib, and a prolonged stay in the infirmary. This was the fault of the rebellious individual, not the Instructor.

At first, it seemed that Ilay – rarely, if ever – tried to maintain a polite demeanor. His punishments were limited to dislocated joints or the breaking of a few bones. But as these incidents repeated, Ilay began to show signs of annoyance. The breaking point came when six people attacked him simultaneously, and Ilay decided to ‘clean up’ the situation thoroughly.  

All six of them bypassed the infirmary entirely and were sent to Hong Kong for treatment on the same day.  

In situations like these, where the attackers always ended up severely injured – or worse – while Ilay remained completely unscathed, Taeui could only focus on fulfilling his duties.  

His role as an Assistant Instructor was to prevent anyone from attacking the Instructor and to handle the aftermath of such incidents.  

Although Taeui never fought in Ilay’s place, cleaning up the consequences of these conflicts always fell to him. Even when members were gravely injured, he never stepped in to intervene.  

There had only been one time when he intervened at the start of a fight. But after that day, he almost lost his life standing in for the rebellious members.  

The moment he jumped in, Ilay, without hesitation, swung a military boot straight at Taeui.  

Fortunately, thanks to one rare instance of his reflexes being sharp enough to be proud of, Taeui managed to dodge by a hair’s breadth. Even so, the edge of the boot grazed his arm, leaving a massive bruise on his elbow. For a long time afterward, even the slightest touch – whether from a fingertip or anything else – would make him cry out in pain.  

If Ilay’s kick had landed squarely on his chest, as originally intended, Taeui would probably have ended up in a hospital bed somewhere in Hong Kong, alongside the other members.  

“I still have no intention of fighting with you, but don’t think you can interfere. Neither you nor I like unnecessary trouble, right?”  

Those were Ilay’s words that evening, after wrapping up his daily schedule.  

‘Trouble? For me? No, I wouldn’t just encounter trouble—I’d probably be dancing on the edge of life and death. Of course, I’d prefer to avoid that.’

Taeui, someone who valued both his duties and the safety of others but prioritized his own life above all, decided then and there to never get involved again.  

Instead, he continued his familiar routine each day: transporting people with fractures somewhere on their bodies to the infirmary. And throughout it all, he kept asking himself: ‘When will this madness finally end?’ 

In truth, though, what drained him wasn’t the physical labor.  

“Hey, give me some medicated patches. I think I sprained something during training.”  

As Taeui idly played with a jar of Tiger Balm, the infirmary door suddenly swung open, and a man called out loudly.  

The man entered, shaking an arm so swollen and bruised that it far surpassed what could reasonably be called a ‘sprain’. He stopped abruptly upon seeing Taeui, his forehead creasing with irritation.  

“Hey, Qing, how’d you end up like that? Did Yuan Ho kick you by accident again?”  

Taeui greeted him with a casual wave and struck up a conversation. The man – Qing – had once been Taeui’s teammate. Though they were no longer in the same unit, they had shared countless ups and downs not long ago.  

Currently, Taeui served as Ilay’s Assistant Instructor and was part of his team—or more accurately, Taeui was the only member of Ilay’s team. As a result, he and Qing were no longer on the same team. However, back when they worked together, the two often joked around and shared a fairly good relationship.

That was Qing.

But now, Qing simply frowned at Taeui, staying silent and refusing to respond. After a moment, he turned his face away without answering and directed his request for medicated patches to Kyohō, the infirmary officer.

Taeui watched the scene bitterly before suddenly tossing the jar of Tiger Balm in his hand toward Qing.

Reacting quickly, Qing caught the flying jar. He inspected the item briefly before looking at Taeui with a puzzled expression.

“It’s a miracle cure. They say it even works on headaches. For a mild sprain like yours, this should do the trick.” – Taeui explained.

Qing, his expression far from pleased, reluctantly accepted the ointment, tossing it back and forth between his hands. Then, with a sharp motion, he threw the jar forcefully back at Taeui.

“Keep it. Anyway, it’s because of that bastard you’re serving that we all keep ending up injured like this. Save it for those who’ve been hurt by him.” – Qing said bitterly before turning away.

Taeui silently watched him leave without saying anything.

Without showing any emotion, Taeui kept his gaze on Qing’s retreating figure for a long moment. Finally, he sighed softly and set the jar down on the table.

‘Honestly, if I could just grab that guy by the neck and tear that big mouth of his wide open, I wouldn’t have any regrets.’

Although his thoughts were filled with such dark musings, Taeui’s expression remained unreadable. Nearby, Kyohō shot Taeui a less-than-friendly glance.

After Qing received his patches and left the infirmary, he didn’t forget to throw one last resentful glare at Taeui. Watching this, Kyohō clicked his tongue and said:

“Everyone here acts like they’re five years old. Children! Honestly… Tay, you’ve had a rough time, I know. But hang in there a bit longer; things will get better eventually. No, scratch that—they won’t! That bastard you’re serving keeps injuring people, and I’m so swamped I can’t even breathe! Keep an eye on him for me, will you?”

“That’s not really my job…”

“Then what’s the point of being an Assistant Instructor? You’re supposed to handle these things!”

“Assistant Instructors aren’t meant to handle this kind of stuff…”

Taeui let out a heavy sigh.

‘One after another, everyone just takes their anger out on me. This is ridiculous!’

Physical labor was something Taeui could endure, but the mental strain was becoming unbearable.

Seeing teammates he was once close to now growing cold and distant didn’t just sadden him—it made his blood boil with frustration.

‘Are you all just children? Kids?!’

Truthfully, if he could, he wanted to pull each one of them aside and slap some sense into them. But knowing how deeply they resented Ilay, he held himself back.

On second thought, the person who really deserved a few slaps was probably Ilay.

By the end of the day, as usual, Taeui was completely exhausted.

Walking back and forth to the infirmary several times a day wasn’t physically taxing. What truly drained him was the mental burden.

Among the people he encountered, there wasn’t a single ally who truly stood by him. Even his former teammates, those who had once been close, now greeted him with scowls and resentment.

At his age, Taeui hadn’t expected to experience isolation, something he hadn’t even faced as a child.

‘Thinking about it, I had more reasons to be ostracized when I was younger. A talented older brother, successful parents, uncles and aunts who were all outstanding… Yet, I still had plenty of friends’ – Taeui muttered to himself, a cigarette he had “borrowed” from Ilay’s pocket dangling from his lips.

He wasn’t much of a smoker and often forgot to buy cigarettes even when he went out. Normally, he’d just borrow a few from his teammates, but now, being entirely isolated, he didn’t even dare ask.

Wanting a cigarette but unable to talk to those who had them, he arrived at the only logical conclusion: he’d have to ‘take’ from someone who did.

Given his current circumstances, the only people Taeui could approach to ‘borrow’ anything from were either other Instructors or Ilay Riegrow, the troublesome Instructor himself. But among the Instructors, none were close enough for him to ask for cigarettes.

His uncle, the one person who would have handed him anything without hesitation, didn’t smoke.

So when Taeui saw Ilay’s bag left open, revealing a pack of cigarettes inside, he didn’t hesitate to take the whole pack.

‘Go ahead and be mad if you want. After all, it’s your fault I’m craving a cigarette this badly in the first place.’

Thinking that no act of theft could be more justifiable than this, Taeui stepped outside, left the building, and settled under the shade of a sprawling old tree in the courtyard. Leaning back against the trunk, he lit the cigarette.

“Maybe my uncle really hates me, so it’s possible.”

Taeui took a drag of his cigarette while contemplating a thought he had begun to seriously suspect recently. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed to him that it was true. He didn’t know why, but if it weren’t for that, his uncle would never have brought him here, where the worst outcome was already so evident. In fact, his uncle would never have allowed him to become Ilay’s Assistant Instructor.

The current situation could only be described as, if not unfortunate, facing a living weapon like Ilay. And if luck turned even worse, he might be eliminated by those teammates who despised Ilay.

The only person who had ever been close to him – Tou – seemed to still have some pity for him. So when they coincidentally met in the bathroom, Tow glanced at Taeui, clicked his tongue, and let out a sentence, as if saying to him:

“Why did you become an Assistant Instructor, and why for someone like him?”

Taeui could only scream inwardly: ‘WHY DID I EVER WANT THIS!’