After some time had passed, the boy finally woke up. His eyes slowly opened, blinking at the unfamiliar ceiling above him. There was a dull ache all over his body, as if every muscle had been stretched and beaten. He tried to move, but his limbs protested with pain. He looked around, confused and disoriented, and realized he was lying on a bed. A soft sheet was loosely covering him, and a nearby window let in a warm beam of sunlight.
Then he heard a voice — calm, steady, slightly muffled but clear enough to recognize.
It was Orien.
The man was seated just outside the room, at a table, questioning villagers. His deep voice echoed into the room where the boy — Marin — was resting. Marin strained his ears, trying to make out what was going on.
After defeating the monster using his "genre injection," Orien had taken on what he called his next great battle — paperwork. But before he could even get to that tedious mess, he had carried Marin, who had been unconscious and bloodied, all the way to the village.
Marin had been badly hurt. Bruised from head to toe, it looked like he had received a week's worth of beatings packed into a single dreadful night.
Orien, seeing the boy in that condition, asked the villagers to prepare a bed for him to rest and a table and chair for himself to continue his work. He laid Marin down gently and left the room, settling outside to handle everything else.
But Marin wasn't the only one he brought back.
He had also dragged along the unconscious scientist — the very one who had caused the tragedy in the village. Orien had tied him up securely with ropes, making sure he couldn't escape even if he woke up. He placed the scientist in a spot where he could keep an eye on him at all times.
Once everything was set, Orien called upon the villagers. He asked them all to form a line — a long queue of weary, anxious people — and began taking their testimony.
He didn't just ask what had happened.
He asked strange questions, questions that made many pause. "Were you related in any way to the people who died?" he would ask.
If the villager answered "no," he thanked them and sent them on their way.
But if the answer was "yes," then he followed up with more.
"What was your relationship with the victim?"
"Brother."
"Son."
"Father."
"Wife."
"Uncle."
Each answer carried the weight of loss.
There had been thirteen deaths in total — each a wound that ran deep through the village.
Then came the final question.
"What punishment do you think the perpetrator deserves?"
The answers varied. One villager said, "He should be skinned alive." Another shouted, "Chop off his arms and legs and let him suffer!" A third, with tears in her eyes, whispered, "He should be castrated and made to feel what he's done."
Orien listened to each one without flinching. He wrote down every answer. His expression never changed, but his eyes held something sharp — like judgment was already taking form inside his mind.
When he was done, he stood up, walked over to the unconscious scientist, and threw a bucket of water on his face. As the man stirred, confused and groaning in pain, Orien ordered the families of the victims to follow him.
They walked a little farther from the village square, just outside the houses, in an open clearing.
And then he shouted
"Genre Injection: Revenge Drama!"
That was the last thing Marin heard before his world faded again. His stomach cramped from hunger, and his body finally gave in. He passed out cold.
Some time later, Marin awoke once more. His head felt clearer this time, though his body was still sore. He got up slowly, trying not to strain anything, and walked out of the room.
What he saw shocked him.
The village — the same place where people were crying, screaming, and begging for help just a day ago — was now full of cheer. The villagers were clapping, laughing, cheering for Orien as he stood at the center, waving his hand to calm them down.
Marin blinked, confused. This… doesn't make sense.
He leaned against the doorframe for support, trying to make sense of it. Why were they happy? Why now?
Orien saw him and rushed over.
"Whoa there, kid," he said, catching him just before he stumbled. "You alright?"
"Yeah… I guess," Marin said. "But what just happened here? Why are they cheering? Shouldn't they be mourning the people who died?"
Orien gave a tired smile. "Yeah… that's what most people would expect. But sometimes, grief turns into joy when justice is served."
Marin frowned. "Justice?"
"Yep," Orien nodded. "That's what this is. These people… they're not just celebrating me. They're celebrating the fact that someone finally listened to them. That their pain wasn't swept under a rug."
"What do you mean?" Marin asked.
Orien signaled a villager to bring some water, and then added, "Give him something to eat, too. He needs food more than questions."
The villager nodded and brought him a chair to sit.
Marin didn't wait. "Did you kill the scientist?"
Orien chuckled. "Nah. He's still alive — barely. He's unconscious over there. He'll face the court too. But until then, I made sure he got a taste of what he gave others."
Marin was quiet for a second, then asked, "What exactly did you do to him?"
"I just followed the wishes of the victims' families," Orien said. "Each one of them told me what punishment they wanted. I carried it out. Simple."
"That… that's not how the law works," Marin muttered.
"I know," Orien said calmly. "The law says justice must be blind, must be fair, must be balanced. But you see, the law wasn't the one who lost a son. It didn't cry itself to sleep at night. It didn't bury thirteen bodies. These people did."
He looked toward the crowd.
"I believe justice isn't real until it makes the victim feel at peace. What's the point of punishment if the one who suffered doesn't feel relief? That's just paperwork. Real justice gives closure. Real justice gives the right to choose. And these people chose."
Marin stared at him in awe. He actually made justice feel human… like it belonged to the ones who were hurt, not the ones who write the rules.
"And the children?" Marin asked, hesitantly. "The ones the scientist experimented on?"
Orien's voice turned heavy. "None of them made it. They died in those labs… but maybe that's better for them. If they had survived, this world wouldn't have treated them kindly. They'd be seen as monsters, outcasts, even though they were the victims."
Marin's chest sank.
Just then, as the two were deep in conversation, a man suddenly appeared out of nowhere — stepping directly in front of them.
Without asking a single question, Orien reacted instantly — thrusting a solid punch straight into the man's face.