My shaggy hair now brushed against my shoulders.
Judging by how long it'd grown, it seemed like I'd been in this other world for a decent while now. It was a mess from letting it grow out haphazardly, but sadly, I didn't have the coin to spare for a barber. And if I tried trimming it myself? That'd just turn into a disaster. So here I was, stuck growing it out without a clue what else to do.
Ah, I really need to cut it.
"Fuck."
To put it nicely, the last brutal fight had left my blade totally fucked, and my armor even worse off.
The scar on my face went without saying. What little money I had went straight to repair fees and medical bills. And the already ragged look was only made worse by the patchwork quilted armor I'd stitched up here and there. I looked like the world's biggest bum. The kind of guy beggars would greet like an old pal.
The losses weren't minor by any stretch.
Fine, quest failure aside—the meds had fucked me over hard.
Gremlin claws carry a mild poison, and if you let a wound fester, that spot starts itching like hell. No way was I dealing with that shit again, so I emptied my wallet once more. That's how I ended up dirt poor.
"Ah, goddamn it pisses me off."
I couldn't go a day without cursing.
This other world was a shithole beyond imagination.
No clue why a tube of something like Madecassol cost 2 silver here. Un-fucking-believable. For a meticulous, kind-hearted modern guy like me, this world was too primitive, too rundown, too barren and savage. And the food tasting like ass? Just the cherry on top.
Fucking alchemists. They had a monopoly on potions and ointments through their guild, so folk remedies were my only other option. Problem was, I wasn't from around here, so I didn't know shit about them. Had to swallow my tears and pay up.
Those alchemist bastards probably made it for ten copper or less, then hawk it for 2 silver. No bullshit—they're classic con artists. My heart was already shattered. I choked back hot tears and forced down the grief.
"Ha, my face though..."
But what depressed me most was my mug.
Ever since arriving in this world, I'd been rolling in the dirt daily, picking up scars left and right. Now my face looked more like a mugshot—or a wanted poster. I worried that if I ever made it back home, my family wouldn't even recognize me.
"Sigh, shit."
Muttering complaints and curses under my breath, I tasted the soup from the inn's breakfast. As expected, it was beyond imagination—in the worst way. Pure medieval slop. Fucking disgusting.
To break it down: the inn's soup was always bland yet salty, half-assed in every vague way.
Truth be told, expecting anything tasty from this grotesque mess—where they chuck in random veggies, fruits, potatoes, mystery meat or dried fish, and weird monster bone-like shit, then boil it forever—was probably asking too much.
The owner of this Upside-Down Hat Inn where I stayed seemed to have this negative quirk of tossing whatever caught his eye into the pot that day. I figured it was some PTSD from life's hardships.
"Fuck."
This dogshit-tasting crap was my standard meal.
That's where I learned to appreciate instant ramen. Still, filling my belly was the greatest luxury this world offered, so it was satisfying enough.
It was soup, after all. With everything but the kitchen sink in it, there had to be some nutrition. The fact I hadn't gotten scurvy meant there were vitamins in there somewhere. These days, I even choked it down okay. Compared to begging for scraps back then, it was a feast.
Lucky for me, humans were like pigs in that way.
Stuff some feed in the trough, and we're content enough.
After eating, I headed to the inn's well to brush my teeth.
In this primitive world, that kind of hygiene was as crucial as back home. Get a cavity, and they'd just yank it out rough—no other options. Implants? You know how much those cost, asshole?
Sure, proper methods existed, but only for rich nobles. Way out of my league. I wasn't wealthy; I was barely above beggar level. My neighbors? All bums, total bums, or crazy bums.
Anyway, I wondered if in a fantasy world, a priest could heal a missing tooth to grow a new one. Asked one once—nah. So I brushed meticulously.
—Scrape, spit!
With morning prep done, I stepped out into the square.
What a hellish world.
Even Hell Joseon back home wasn't this bad. Compared to this other world, Korea was a wholesome Teletubby village fairy tale.
At least hygiene facilities were decent. Without public baths, I'd probably never wash till I dropped dead. Lots of locals seemed fine stinking, but with my modern sensibilities, bathing was non-negotiable—even if I had to pay. When I could afford it, anyway.
Anyway, as a day-to-day adventurer scraping by, I headed straight for the Adventurer's Guild.
I'd blown my savings and hadn't collected on the last commission, so without new work pronto, I'd starve starting tomorrow.
I was flat broke. Less than 10 copper to my name.
Adventuring was getting routine, but poverty? Never got used to that shit.
Not "he who doesn't work doesn't eat"—more like, no work means no goddamn food. Churches tossed bread to beggars sometimes, but it was too spotty to count on.
Hate starving? Bust your ass for a job.
In this heartless world, stopping meant digging your own grave.
—Creak.
I shoved open the swinging doors to the guild hall, feeling uneasy as always.
Every visit felt awkward.
Not-so-friendly stares pinned me down.
I ignored them.
"..."
Bit early, but around here, sunrise meant workday start. I crossed the already bustling interior and lined up at reception. Should've come sooner. Quests were first-come, first-served—like a labor market. Late meant no gigs.
Short wait, and it was my turn.
I shuffled up to the counter.
"Any E-rank quests?"
I eyed the now-familiar Receptionist Girl and asked. Plenty to feel guilty about. She rolled her eyes at my hesitation.
"Look, Katt. You always fuck up the jobs I hand you. What makes you think I'd trust you with another?"
Her face soured the second she saw me, but she said it sweetly. Folks here talked like they had rags in their mouths. Hell, "fuck up" was her toned-down version.
"That last quest? Gremlins swarmed big-time, bumped the difficulty, handed it off to another party. Don't get me started on the payout hike and delays. Boss chewed me out over it."
"Th-that wasn't all my fault..."
"Pardon? What'd you just say, motherfucker?"
"Nothing. Sorry."
Thinking back made me shudder too.
Who knew the mage would flip out and hurl a fireball? What the fuck, like some kid playing Kim Jong-un, launching missiles on a whim? Got a habit of turning Seoul to ash or what? Thought I was toast. Being party leader was the crime.
"Tch, eh. Whatever, you're human—mistakes happen. But listen. Know what the boss told me?"
"..."
"Said I should jam another eye in my forehead. Use that third one to judge people properly before assigning quests. Guy was so vicious, I thought I'd drop dead right there."
"Sorry."
I was too ashamed to look up.
"Three eyes on a woman? Kinda weird, right? Sure, some fetish for that, but doesn't sound like a normal guy."
"Really, fucking sorry."
"It's fine, whatever. But Katt, keep this up and you might get demoted?"
That hit like lightning!
"Demoted?!"
Demoted!
Deep sea!
Bronze!
Come to think of it, yeah, it was about time. Since ranking up to E from F, I'd botched quests left and right—always dreading the drop...
"No way! Not that!"
Anything but that!
Remember the illusory ass-show I pulled to climb from F to E?
Couldn't go back to F. Main reason: demoted scrubs couldn't find parties easier than plucking stars.
Demotion = guild-certified loser. Livelihood over.
Having partied long enough, I knew E and F-rankers casually. If they saw me demoted, would they invite me in?
Fuck no.
In game terms, even Silvers shun Bronzes. Demote to F, branded trash—no party forever.
Recent quest fails had already trashed my rep from bad to nuclear. Demotion on top? Game over.
This adventurer scene was a loose, cliquey closed society—bad rumors spread like internet wildfires.
Prime gossip: who botched what quest, "Katt fucked up again."
Drinking buddies shit-talking for fun—spread faster than online. Yesterday's flop? Probably guild-wide news.
"Yeah, can't happen. But no parties taking you now. Gonna lead another yourself?"
"Fuck my life."
E-rank Katt, veteran sword fighter, wearing quilted armor@@@@—no takers, even spamming global chat. Life fucked.
Makes sense—I recruited that last party myself...
And it imploded spectacularly.
Along with my life.
Illusion-level clusterfuck.
"Even F-rank quests... I'll take newbies if needed..."
"Sorry, nada. Go solo hunt! Next!"
Brushed off cold, I trudged to an empty table and slumped.
The shock nearly broke me. Craved a beer to drown till my nose bent, but no cash left after that shitty 2-silver Madecassol. Pure bum now.
Seems I'm screwed.
Free hunting paid shit compared to quests. Kill monsters, sell parts to magic tower, smithy, general stores—body freshness mattered, and it was labor-intensive low yield.
One guy roaming untamed zones—how many kills a day? And they'd buy? Even then, they'd haggle prices down with excuses.
Quests with clear goals like "gather X items" paid better. Free hunt parties? Unpopular.
Heading in bare-knuckled was last resort, but only path left.
Suddenly melancholic, I sat reminiscing at the table.
"...I miss Mom."
Flashbacks to arriving clueless, suffering every hardship imaginable—toughened me for any cruelty. That was rock-bottom hell. But now? Maybe not.
[Begging] → [Day labor] → [F-rank Adventurer] → [E-rank Adventurer]—regretted that illusory trash tech tree. Should've offed myself day one.
"What now, you fuck."
Herb gathering? Or hunt giant spiders for 1 copper each, peel shells?
As I swallowed sorrow, pondering, someone called out.
"Hey."
Who?
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