WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Hydrogen B

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

Chapter 86: Lend Me Some Money

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Who was it that said this?

A lucky hunch always misses, but a bad feeling always hits the mark.

That was why Rimon was staring down at a document and scratching the back of his head.

“Tch, I knew I had a bad feeling... It couldn't even last a month.”

Over the past month, the attacks had continued steadily.

Still, the situation had not been bad.

They had not caught the culprits, but Rimon had consistently pinpointed the subsidiaries that would be targeted next and dispatched response teams, so there had been almost no damage.

Thanks to that, the Black Dragon Clan had regained its stability, and more and more people were entrusting their security to Guardian.

From Rimon and Guardian's perspective, the culprits' attacks had actually worked in their favor.

At least, that had been the case until a few days ago.

[Your prediction was wrong, Team Leader.]

“Yeah, and it'll keep being wrong from now on.”

A few days earlier, the culprits had attacked a subsidiary completely outside Rimon's predictions.

Fortunately, the response team had arrived in time after receiving the request for support, stopping the attack before the damage could become serious.

Unfortunately, Guardian's reputation, which had only just begun to rise, had plummeted again.

But Guardian's reputation had nothing to do with why Rimon clicked his tongue.

[Is that it? The weakness you mentioned before?]

“Yeah.”

Rimon nodded.

Then, looking thoroughly troubled, he continued.

“These bastards have started choosing their targets at random.”

[How?]

“How the hell would I know? Maybe those lunatics roll a pencil to pick their next target. Or maybe they draw lots.”

[It's absurd that such a simple method can really evade your predictions...]

“It isn't absurd. It's only natural.”

Rimon had been able to predict the culprits' attacks because he had thoroughly analyzed their patterns of thought.

Conversely?

It meant that targets chosen at random could not be predicted.

No matter how well he could read their thought patterns, he could not predict where a dart thrown blind would land.

“That's why I told you this was only ever a cheap trick.”

[If you knew that, you should've stopped being lazy and caught the culprits sooner!]

“I would've if I could. What do you want me to do when those bastards are ridiculously lucky?”

Rimon retorted indifferently.

Over the past month or so, he had not merely shut himself in and played fortune-teller.

He had made a real effort to search for the culprits. He had even lurked around subsidiaries likely to be attacked, lying in wait.

Yet he had achieved nothing.

Maybe they were simply lucky.

Or perhaps they had a Skill like 『Crisis Avoidance』.

The culprits had always avoided the places where Rimon was and attacked elsewhere, making every ambush futile.

As for tracking them, the situation had been even worse.

“If I'd had some support, I might've at least caught their trail... Tch.”

[That's why you should've managed your reputation better. Every clan member you meet would rather obstruct you than help you.]

“Is that my fault? It's because that Wang bastard went around shooting his mouth off.”

The problem was the Black Dragon Clan's lack of cooperation.

They accepted Guardian's help in protecting their subsidiaries, yet whenever Rimon tried to pursue the culprits, they often interfered in subtle ways.

It was not hard to understand why.

Blood was thicker than water.

The Shanghai Wang Family was already pursuing the culprits for revenge. Rimon's efforts to find them could easily look like an attempt to steal their credit.

“Honestly, the best outcome would've been for that Wang bastard to catch the culprits before my method stopped working.”

[You should keep your expectations reasonable. What are you expecting from that ragtag bunch of deadweights?]

“Isn't calling them ragtag a bit harsh? They're still masters of the Shanghai Wang Family.”

[What good are masters? As investigators, they're worse than our old rookies.]

“That's by PAB agent standards.”

Rimon clicked his tongue.

The Shanghai Wang Family's masters were genuinely skilled, comparable to high-level Players. They were not people to dismiss lightly.

The problem was that they were martial arts masters who had trained Psionics, not investigators.

Of course, they were better than ordinary people.

They had the Seven Dragons Society's traditional tracking arts, too.

But compared to the investigative abilities of PAB, which had been established to investigate and apprehend high-level Players, they were inevitably clumsy.

[The problem is that the current culprits would be difficult to catch even by PAB standards.]

“Well, I agree with that.”

As former PAB agents, Rimon and Yoo Na-gyeong knew better than anyone how difficult it was to catch high-level Players who seriously used Skills to commit crimes.

It was only natural that they had little expectation of Wang Gi-neung.

The problem was that they could not simply stand by and treat the situation as someone else's business.

“What a headache...”

Rimon frowned.

He could no longer predict the attacks, yet he still did not even know who the culprits were.

His hands and feet were tied, leaving him no choice but to take a beating.

Of course he had a headache.

As he racked his brain until steam practically rose from his head, then grabbed Yoo Na-gyeong as she babbled more nonsense beside him and swung her around like a windmill, Rimon's smartphone rang.

‘Tch, what now?’

Few people even knew his number, so his phone hardly ever rang. Rimon clicked his tongue at the sound, but only briefly.

Then, when he saw the caller's name on the screen, he made an odd expression.

It was someone entirely different from whom he had expected.

[Hello.]

“Hey. What's up?”

[That's a hurtful question. We're not the kind of relationship where we only contact each other when there's something to do, are we?]

“Were we that kind of relationship?”

[Of course. Partners stick together until death, right?]

The cheerful greeting coming through the phone belonged to Eugene, the musician Rimon had met a little over a month ago and exchanged numbers with.

It was not a particularly pleasant voice to hear, but when Eugene sang, that husky voice became music from the heavens.

Rimon snorted.

‘What a personality.’

They had only performed together once.

Yet Eugene acted as if they had been friends for ten years.

It was sociability bordering on shamelessness.

Still, perhaps because Rimon had become too accustomed to Yoo Na-gyeong's own shamelessness, he found it amusing rather than unpleasant or awkward.

[On that note, Partner, I believe partners are kindred spirits, and there's something I want to ask you.]

“What kind of favor?”

Even as he asked, Rimon already expected the answer.

There was only one favor Eugene could suddenly ask of him.

Another performance...

[Lend me some money.]

“...”

Click.

Rimon reflexively ended the call.

Then, as his smartphone rang again and the name “Eugene” appeared on the screen, he stared at it for a moment before slowly turning away.

“Na-gyeong.”

[Yes?]

“Apparently, there are people in this world even more shameless than you.”

[What exactly do you think I am?!?!]

* * *

Munch, gulp, gulp, glug, glug.

“Why don't you eat a little slower? You're going to upset your stomach.”

“It's fine. I've got a healthy constitution.”

“Usually, people who boast about their health are the first to drop dead.”

“Then I should eat even more. If I'm going to die anyway, it's better to rob a bank and have one filling meal than starve to death.”

“Is that some kind of prison saying?”

As Eugene shamelessly answered while chewing and swallowing food without pause, Rimon clicked his tongue.

“Hey, didn't you say you were a freelancer before?”

“That's right.”

“Then why are you starving because you don't have a penny? Don't tell me freelancer means a job like a stay-at-home security guard or professional beggar?”

Unable to bear Eugene's incessant calls any longer, Rimon had gone to find Eugene.

What waited for him was Eugene sprawled in a corner of the street, carrying nothing but a guitar, stomach growling.

The sight had been so pathetic that Rimon, who had absolutely no intention of lending Eugene money, had immediately dragged Eugene to a restaurant.

“Something came up.”

“What?”

“I somehow ended up in debt.”

Rimon's eyes immediately narrowed.

“Are you a gambler?”

“No way. I don't gamble or take drugs. If I got hooked on that stuff, I couldn't put soul into my songs.”

“Then how did you end up in debt? Did you get scammed somewhere?”

“Um, I don't really know either. I just performed, traveled around, and did odd jobs as usual. Before I knew it, I was in debt.”

“Is that so...?”

It did not take long for Rimon's gaze to shift from suspicion to exasperation.

He had a rough idea how Eugene's debt had accumulated.

[Tsk, tsk. Looks like Eugene's unemployed.]

‘You're not exactly in a position to say that.’

[I have an excellent job as a cute and adorable pet.]

‘...I'm sorry. I underestimated your shamelessness.’

Rimon honestly reflected on himself.

For even a moment, he had thought there could be someone more shameless than this chicken-pigeon.

That was something he needed to reflect on.

Unaware of Rimon's deep, private apology, Eugene suddenly looked interested and asked.

“Partner, I've been wondering for a while. What's that bird?”

“This chicken-pigeon? Um... If I had to put it one way, it's probably an arrogant pet.”

“Why did you add probably?”

“Because I don't know whether to call it a pet or an enemy pet.”

[Enemy pet? Where could you find a cuter enemy than me!]

Yoo Na-gyeong protested indignantly.

But Eugene could not hear the Telepathy meant only for Rimon, and simply smiled and nodded.

“I see. So it's a mascot.”

“How did you reach that conclusion?”

“When the team you support wins, its mascot looks cute. When it loses, the mascot looks like an enemy. That's what a team's mascot is, right?”

“I don't think those are alike at all.”

“It's fine. Even if it isn't, we can make it our band's mascot while we're at it. It's cute enough, too.”

Eugene was truly impressive at doing whatever came to mind.

Rimon, and Yoo Na-gyeong, who had suddenly become a mascot, both wore dumbfounded expressions. Eugene did not care.

Eugene merely bit into the apple served for dessert with a crunch and casually asked.

“By the way, Partner, why didn't you bring your instrument?”

“What instrument?”

“Don't you remember? Partner said you'd use your own instrument at our next performance.”

“I didn't come here to perform. You kept nagging me for money, so I came to kick you around.”

“Whaaat?”

“...Why do you look like a black mage who just watched the Demon God die?”

“Partner and I met, didn't we? It makes no sense for us not to perform.”

As if declaring an eternal truth, as though it were only natural for the world to end when a meteor struck Earth, Eugene insisted.

But Rimon's reply was cold.

“I think it makes even less sense for someone in debt to be thinking about performing.”

“It's fine. Great music is born from hardship and adversity.”

“That's just a pathetic excuse people who can't even earn their own food come up with to avoid working while trying to pursue art.”

“It isn't an excuse. Hardship and adversity really build soul.”

“I'll believe it if you can objectively measure that soul and prove its growth rate.”

Hearing that, Eugene clicked their tongue as though Rimon knew nothing and wagged a finger from side to side.

Then Eugene said confidently,

“Partner, soul isn't something you believe in. It's something you feel.”

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