How do people react when they are insulted?
There are various responses to an insult. If one cannot suppress their anger, it leads to a fistfight; if the insulted party chooses patience, it ends as a mere argument. Here, the critical factor was the act of calling someone an "Infected" when they were not.
The Infected—the targets of the world's scorn. To label a healthy person as Infected is a sign of extreme disrespect, enough to make most reach for their weapons instantly. However, Yujin was used to this behavior. He knew exactly how the Sarkaz were treated by the rest of Terra.
The drunk man spun through the air. Yujin had caught the man's outstretched hand and pivoted, slamming him down in a fluid motion. Normally, the sound of a shattering spine would have followed the impact with the floor. But at the final second, Yujin showed mercy; he loosened his grip on the collar to dampen the blow, sparing the man a permanent injury.
"This is the last time I'll be patient," Yujin said, his voice cold. He turned back and sat on his stool as if nothing had happened.
Silence fell over the tavern. The thrown man looked dazed, unable to comprehend what had just occurred. Even the other patrons watched with eyes wide in shock.
"Hmph..."
The middle-aged man behind the bar let out a low hum. Despite his own limited combat knowledge, he hadn't even seen Yujin move.
The drunk man picked himself up and returned to his seat. His friend patted him on the shoulder and whispered, "You nearly died just now."
"I know," the man replied. The sudden violence seemed to have sobered him up; he stared at the table, blinking rapidly. Yujin, relieved that no further provocation was coming, intended to finish his meal and leave.
Something felt wrong.
When Yujin had thrown the man, he noticed that while the man couldn't react to the initial grab, his subsequent movements—the way he braced for the impact—were that of a trained warrior. It wasn't the clumsy flailing of a street brawler, but the calculated posture of a professional.
Furthermore, the atmosphere in the room had shifted. It had started as a simple confrontation with a drunk, but the way the other patrons were now watching Yujin felt different. Just as Yujin was considering whether he should just grab his bags and run...
"Everyone out," the man behind the bar ordered, raising a hand.
The patrons nodded and filed out of the tavern without a word.
"…What is this?" Yujin asked, lowering his center of gravity and resting a hand on his sword.
"I apologize. We showed disrespect to a genuine customer. The climate has been quite dangerous lately, you see."
A genuine customer. Did that mean they had mistaken Yujin for someone else?
"What, were you expecting assassins?" Yujin asked jokingly.
The man's expression did not lighten. Silence returned to the bar.
"…Are assassins actually coming?"
"It has happened twice so far."
"Wait, aren't you just a tavern owner?"
Why would assassins target a bartender? Why was this conversation even happening? Yujin had only chosen this place because the local reviews said it was a good spot for tourists to find lodging.
"I am no ordinary tavern owner."
"Should I leave then?" Yujin asked. He didn't want to spend his nights worrying about assassins while trying to get some sleep.
Just as Yujin stood up to gather his gear, the man spoke again. "As an apology for the disrespect, I will give you our best room. Your stay and meals will be free of charge."
"Do you want me to stand guard in my spare time?" Yujin offered. Finding other lodging during the Major would be impossible; prices for tourists and visitors had already doubled or tripled. Even with money to spare, it was better to save his LMD.
"Hah, you seem confident in your skills."
"I know enough to earn a living with a blade."
If Buldrokk or Theresis were here, they would have told him to stop talking nonsense, but Yujin was still testing his own limits against the outside world. He couldn't go around boasting when he didn't yet know how many true masters Terra held.
"It's fine. I can't ask such a favor of a tourist."
"Well, if I hear fighting downstairs while I'm trying to sleep, I'll come down to help."
"I appreciate the sentiment."
I actually meant it, Yujin thought, feeling satisfied. Free room and board in exchange for one minor scuffle was a great deal.
"Did you really come from Kazdel? It's rare for a Sarkaz not to be Infected."
"So I've been told."
Most Sarkaz were born into environments where infection was inevitable. Yujin, being neither a true Sarkaz nor a Kuranta, kept his words brief.
"The checkpoints are strict during the Major. An Infected walking around downtown would be unheard of," the owner noted. "For an Infected to enter Kazimierz right now, they would need a great deal of help."
Smuggling, the man implied, but didn't say the word.
The mention of smuggling and the Infected reminded Yujin of his secondary mission. He pulled out the photo and pushed it across the counter.
"Have you seen this person?"
"Are you looking for her?"
"Yes. It's a personal matter. I'm not hunting her—I was asked to find her."
The man studied the photo carefully before shaking his head. "I haven't seen her. But I can ask around for you."
"…You'd go that far?"
"I told you. It's an apology for the disrespect." The man set a fresh plate of fries on the counter to replace the ones Yujin had finished.
"An apology is one thing, but this feels like excessive kindness," Yujin said, his suspicion rising. In his experience, people who were too kind usually had an agenda.
"I've been overly cautious myself, but it's just my nature. Please, try to understand."
Yujin decided to drop it. He didn't want to look like he was suffering from paranoia.
"Fine. At least give me your name, if I'm to accept your help."
"…My name," the man hesitated for a heartbeat before answering. "Daniel Nearl."
Daniel… Nearl?
Wait.
Yujin froze. The drunk man from before had been specifically insulting the Nearl name to bait him.
"This was… a test from the start, wasn't it?"
"I told you," Daniel said with a shrug. "I committed a discourtesy."
Yujin studied him. A Kuranta. Golden hair, golden eyes, the ears and tail of a horse. He scanned the area behind the bar and spotted a small framed photograph on a shelf: Daniel standing with a brightly smiling child.
"Still, even for a test, wasn't that a bit much?" Yujin asked. The insults the drunk had hurled at the Nearl family had been vitriolic, enough to offend even a total stranger.
"It was the truth. I have nothing to say in defense," Daniel replied simply.
"…Hmm."
The Nearl family. The Golden Pegasi. Yujin knew little of Kazimierz beyond its reputation as a land of knights and its sports, but he could see the self-deprecating bitterness in Daniel's eyes.
"But you said your family is entering the tournament. A skilled knight could surely aim for the championship—"
"That's enough. Let's not discuss this further." Daniel cut him off, his face hardening. "That is glory from a bygone era. I have no intention of rebuilding a sandcastle that has already crumbled."
Yujin sensed deep-seated issues within the Nearl household but didn't push. He knew better than to reopen a closed wound.
"I'll head up to my room then. Let's just say today was an interesting encounter."
"I'm glad you see it that way."
"Don't thank me. I think I'm the one who came out ahead here."
Yujin grinned and stood up. He wasn't worried about being targeted; he had enough confidence in his survival skills to handle whatever the night brought.
As Yujin climbed the stairs, Daniel sighed and began clearing the plates.
"I've truly grown old," he whispered. His eyes fell on the photo of his son on the counter. The boy was laughing, but the sight brought Daniel no joy, only a heavy sorrow.
"Kiril... you still haven't given up, but I am a failure of a father. I am sorry."
He closed his eyes and could still see his young son shouting about reclaiming their lost honor.
Daniel Nearl finished cleaning the spot where Yujin had sat and turned off the lights.
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