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Translator: Vine
Chapter Title: How Those Men Reached the Peak (1)
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"I couldn't make a hand."
"Haha! Taek, looks like you're drawing again all by yourself this time."
Mo Yongtaek flipped over his tiles, clicked his tongue, and downed a drink.
He was out of luck.
Lately, his luck had been absolutely abysmal.
Of course, surviving his return from Mount Taebaek could be called a stroke of divine fortune, but ever since, luck had completely abandoned him.
For instance, whenever he, unable to bear the boredom, so much as sauntered into the Guksa Musang Club, his sister—no, that blockhead—would uncannily sniff him out and chase him down, overturning the game.
Or, thinking he'd be safe outside the academy, he'd step foot into a nearby gambling den, only for her to unfailingly appear, twin swords drawn, to crack down on illegal gambling.
Even when he managed to overcome all those interference tactics and cleverly timed a visit for when that blockhead was busy…
"Ron! Mangan!"
"Gah!"
This was ridiculous.
It felt as if the entire universe had conspired to cruelly carve out his luck.
Clink, clatter.
Mo Yongtaek listlessly joined in shuffling the tiles.
The smooth feel of the jade tiles permeated his fingers, but rather than excitement, a damp sense of helplessness dragged at his ankles.
Stacking the wall, throwing the dice to determine the turn order.
Gradually, he drew four tiles at a time, then another four, building a new world of thirteen tiles before him.
In the world that unfolded before Mo Yongtaek's eyes, his own unique world…
…there were tiles that, by themselves, could do nothing.
Several honor tiles inscribed with characters.
Unlike the numerical tiles in the middle that could extend in any direction…
…there were several 1s and 9s, trapped at the extremes, unable to branch out anywhere.
*Kyushuhai*.
The gathering of nine types of "useless tiles," nine of them in total.
"Haaah…"
Expressing emotion through one's actions at the gambling table was close to taboo.
Unable to suppress the wave of futility, Mo Yongtaek let out a deep sigh.
The game was already nearing its end.
The fourth hand, with the South wind blowing.
Before, Geum Sihyeon had said something like this:
"Anyone who gets garbage tiles at the very end of the South round is garbage anyway."
"Getting good tiles at that late stage, *that's* skill."
Right.
The last-place player, with an overwhelmingly wide point gap.
Was it a sliver of mercy granted to one utterly devoid of luck?
If you held *Kyushuhai* in your hand, you could declare a redraw and start a new game.
But.
What would change if he were to receive new tiles and open up the possibilities of a new world once more?
A deep sense of self-loathing surged, engulfing Mo Yongtaek's mind.
They say life is encapsulated in Mahjong.
Just as one constantly draws the right tiles at the right moments to ultimately achieve victory…
…to succeed in life, one must be able to grasp what is needed at every moment.
But what about him?
Had he grasped his birth well?
Was he born not just with the right lineage, but also with martial talent?
Neither.
Though his birth itself wasn't humble, he could self-deprecatingly admit that all the talent seemed to have gathered on his sister's side.
In that case…
At least innate talent.
Skill.
Not those things.
In a game decided purely by the luck of the moment, shouldn't fate at least take his hand?
Just as Mo Yongtaek was about to fall from self-loathing into despair…
"—Taek-ah. Nothing in this world is useless, and hope exists in every situation. Look at this flower that bloomed even in this barren land. It may not be vibrant, but isn't it beautiful?"
Suddenly.
His mother's voice echoed in his mind.
Even the weakest things had their own purpose.
And if weak things gathered, they could surely achieve something monumental.
And a scene he had witnessed recently overlapped in his vision.
Himself, infinitely weak when facing a formidable foe.
But the single sword strike, then another, that he had wielded with only the fervent desire to help his sister.
Yes.
Despair is what forges a man!
When his turn came, instead of declaring a *ryuukyoku*—a redraw to shuffle the tiles and start a new game—Mo Yongtaek chose to continue.
He picked up a tile whose possibilities seemed closed off and put it in his hand.
And he discarded a tile that could have infinitely expanded.
East, South, West, North, White, Green, Red.
He enshrined all seven types of honor tiles into his world.
Come to think of it, it was like that recently.
Geum Sihyeon, that damn bastard, had shown with a single sword that one could reach the Peak state even at a young age.
And he had shown, right before his eyes, that one could gather this weakness and build a colossal Mount Taebaek.
Compared to him, I…
I'm a child of a collateral branch anyway.
I haven't even properly learned swordsmanship.
How could I catch up with this? How could I proudly bear the Murim name? How could I even call my father, 'Father'?
Hadn't he, in fact, been subtly giving up?
The next turn.
Again, he discarded a 4 from his hand and picked up a 1 of characters, which at first glance seemed useless.
Before he knew it, his hand had transformed quite splendidly.
East, South, West, North, White, Green, Red, 1, 1, 9 of Characters, 8, 9 of Bamboos, 1 of Dots.
A remarkably powerful *yaku* (scoring pattern) in the game of Mahjong.
So famous that the club itself was named after that *yaku*.
Just one step away from achieving *Kokushi Musou*.
Sometimes, extreme misfortune can turn into extreme good fortune.
Useless, weak tiles, usually discarded for being inefficient, gathered one by one, preparing for a powerful strike.
Like Jing Ke, who suppressed himself endlessly, only to brilliantly burn himself out at the very last moment to overturn an injustice.
"Haha."
"Hmm?"
"Suspicious discards, and a suspicious laugh."
Mo Yongtaek burst out laughing, completely disregarding the gazes around him.
Normally, he would have given up long ago and aimed for the next hand with a more promising set of tiles.
Or, if he had forcefully discarded everything to create a good hand, he might not have even been able to complete the world created by adding one more tile to these thirteen.
When his next turn arrived.
Mo Yongtaek felt a strong conviction.
Even without needing to trace the pattern carved on the jade tile with his index finger, he knew the tile he needed had arrived.
East, South, West, North, White, Green, Red, 1, 1, 9 of Characters, 1, 9 of Bamboos, 1 of Dots.
Only the tile with nine circles.
If he could draw the 9 of Dots himself, or snatch it if someone else carelessly discarded it, he could achieve the feat of *Kokushi Musou*.
It was a situation that should make one's heart pound.
But Mo Yongtaek's heart was infinitely calm.
The sensation of cosmic energy gathering around him.
A feeling of omnipotence, as if he alone among all creation was blessed by the Taishang Laojun and Amitabha Buddha.
He glimpsed the future.
On his very next turn, he would…
"..."
The single remaining step on the path to *Kokushi Musou*.
He had indeed drawn the 9 of Dots.
If he were to simply declare "Tsumo!" and claim victory, everyone would applaud his achievement, and the game's score would instantly return to its starting point.
Starting point.
To the starting point.
Because he had already lost so many points…
…even if he gained the 32,000 points of a single *Yakuman*, he couldn't leap into first place; the game would end with him in second.
"Haha."
Mo Yongtaek considered himself a rational man.
And he understood well that in this cursed game, where everyone could be happy as long as they weren't in last place, second place was a perfectly fine result.
The rational decision here was…
…to declare victory.
Rationality.
Yes.
Rationally.
If he were to be satisfied with what was given and conform, as he always had…
If he were to feel gratitude for being in second place…
"Riichi."
Mo Yongtaek carefully tossed a score stick—a finely carved wooden rod with a red dot—into the center of where the tiles were piled.
The meaning of a Riichi declaration was…
…that the world built before him,
these thirteen tiles that needed only one more piece to complete the hand, would be held exactly as they were until the game ended, without any changes.
His hand picked up a 1 of characters, which had never left his world until now, and discarded it onto the floor.
What ultimately remained in his world was…
East, South, West, North, White, Green, Red, 1, 9 of Characters, 1, 9 of Bamboos, 1, 9 of Dots.
An invincible hand that could declare the game over no matter which of the thirteen types of tiles he held in his hand came to him.
*Kokushi Musou Juusanmen Machi*.
One of the rarest and most powerful *yaku* in Mahjong, a combination no one within the Guksa Musang Club had ever managed to create.
But great power came with a great price.
On the very next turn, even when a club member discarded a 1 of characters, Mo Yongtaek couldn't declare victory.
The side effect of giving up on a world that could have been completed.
There was a restriction: he could not win by *ron* (sniping another person's discard) with any of the tiles related to the possibility of completing his hand.
Therefore, from now on, all creation on this Mahjong table was Mo Yongtaek's battle alone.
Had the other three players conspired?
Or were they simply suppressed by Mo Yongtaek's sheer aura?
The weak tiles that hadn't been discarded until now began to be thrown onto the table, one by one.
There was nothing Mo Yongtaek could do.
He could only, on his turn, pick a tile from the wall and examine it.
Realizing it wasn't the tile he wanted, he would quietly set it back down.
He simply repeated this process.
Because no one wanted to directly challenge Mo Yongtaek and risk creating a chance for him to reverse the game.
Finally, at the very last moment.
With only one tile remaining.
Mo Yongtaek picked up the very last tile from what was barely a "tile wall," an isolated island.
Mo Yongtaek's thumb lightly grazed the bottom of the tile.
It had become a habit to carry Mahjong tiles in his pocket and fiddle with them all day, so he could tell just from the feel that it wasn't the tile he wanted.
Of course.
I was an idiot for being so greedy.
If I had declared victory earlier, I would have at least gotten second place. Now, I'll end up in fourth without even breaking even.
Just as self-loathing surged within him.
Mo Yongtaek's time flowed infinitely slowly.
The nearly divine movements he had witnessed before flashed through his mind.
Geum Sihyeon, who had seamlessly, in an instant, swapped the tile he drew with one that had been discarded on the table.
No, he recalled a movement so natural that one couldn't even tell if a swap had occurred.
At that moment.
Mo Yongtaek returned to his childhood innocence.
His sister, infinitely cool and beautiful, dancing like a fluttering butterfly with twin swords.
"—Taek-yi will be cool like big sister too!"
That time when he boldly declared it, his sister hugged him, and his mother stroked his head.
Memories of that time, when he couldn't even lift a wooden sword because it was too heavy, so he just grabbed a twig and blindly imitated her movements, flashed by.
Mo Yongtaek's right hand moved naturally, returning to the world he had built until now.
There was no sound of jade tiles clashing.
With only his technique, he fished out the moon that had fallen deep into the sea—*Haitei Raoyue*.
He had finally twisted the fate destined for him as fourth place.
Yes.
My path is one I forge myself.
I don't care about limits set by others.
"Tsumo. Kokushi Musou Juusanmen Machi. Double Yakuman. Sixteen thousand and thirty-two thousand."
With the realization that rushed in like a thunderclap, Mo Yongtaek took a deep breath and murmured softly.
Immediately after.
Mo Yongtaek sat cross-legged right there at the Mahjong table.
"Taek, you?!"
"Suddenly?"
Soon, a warm spring breeze began to swirl around his body.
Even though the Guksa Musang Club was a place where only Mahjong fanatics gathered, at their core, they were martial artists.
"Everyone, stop what you're doing."
"The Guksa Musang Club is disbanding for today. My apologies, but everyone, please go your separate ways."
"…That junior gained enlightenment while playing Mahjong…"
How could they not willingly stand guard, or at least show consideration, upon witnessing a martial artist shed the shell of a first-rate master and take a step forward into the new realm of the Peak?
* * *
Geum Sihyeon, who had listened intently to all of Mo Yongtaek's story, wore an incredulous expression.
"So, to summarize:"
Geum Sihyeon let out a sigh.
"You cheated with a discarded tile to win with *Kokushi Musou Juusanmen Machi*, and suddenly enlightenment surged forth, allowing you to reach the Peak. It's a cause for celebration, yes. But now you're saying you need money to clean the clubroom, which was polluted by all the *takgi* (foul energy) you released, and you want to borrow it from me?"
Mo Yongtaek nodded.
Geum Sihyeon kicked Mo Yongtaek in the side.
"What kind of crazy bastard gains enlightenment by cheating in a gamble? Just die, you son of a bitch!"
* * *
The sole first-rate master of Dongcheong Hall, Building 1, Room 304.
Un Hak quietly slipped out of the dormitory while the two Peak masters bickered without an ounce of dignity.
His deep sigh diffused into the air.