“Ah, damn it…”
Beomdong, formerly of the Flying Dragon Unit, spat a curse. He shuddered as he looked at the youngest punk who had brazenly called his name.
‘That bastard…!’
A sneering smile. A mean face with not an ounce of manners.
Savage looks, and an unusually nasty temperament to match.
Everything about him rubbed Beomdong the wrong way.
It grated that he strutted around as the Paejon’s disciple, but what pissed him off even more was—
‘Because of that bastard…!’
—that Beomdong’s own standing had turned to crap.
It happened at the Murim Alliance’s recruitment for new Sword Unit members.
The one Beomdong was evaluating there—the opponent he faced—had been that guy named Baek Yangcheon.
‘…Damn it.’
Back then, Beomdong had been utterly beaten by him. Sent flying by a single blow, knocked out cold. The humiliation and ridicule he endured because of it—
He still remembered his colleagues’ snickers at the tale that he’d lost to…