Choi Dawit wasn’t particularly perceptive. You couldn’t say his situational judgment was outstanding, either.
But on a gut level, he could tell that that smart-looking idiot was crossing a river you couldn’t come back from.
To put it another way, it was like standing in front of Jesus and sneering, calling him a damn monk… and the one doing it was a pastor-level, priest-level guy at that…
“D-do I… save him… or not…?”
An all-time screw-up. Watching Cheong Hee-do bark that he’d be filing a damage claim while pointing at his cracked glasses, he couldn’t hold it back any longer.
Choi Dawit clenched his fist and shot to his feet.
“Hey! You idiot!”
All eyes swung toward the shout. Among them was Jioh. Seeing that blank, sullen face, Dawit faltered for a beat.
“…Surely you aren’t talking to me? I can’t say I’m eager to hear anything from the world champion in the idiot category.”
“You—…!”
“Try using words, not babble.”
“He’s n-not just some mere swordsman!”
“…Then what is he?”
Am I allowed to say it? Should I just blurt it out? Why isn’t my friend…