Chapter 7

My daily life at the academy has changed significantly.

This was because the monk said I was the only one who could hold Berserker’s leash at this point.

I wasn’t someone who believed in destiny.

But this time, it felt as though an invisible force kept pulling me back to my original place whenever I tried to distance myself from Kang Han.

It felt utterly powerless, like being trapped in a giant’s hand, but there was nothing I could do about it.

The world needed me, so for now, I had no choice but to comply.

I no longer attended regular classes.

Instead, taking special classes on managing Berserker had become my new routine.

So, what exactly do I learn there?

It was all about how to handle Kang Han’s leash.

The first lesson began like this.

The monk suddenly uttered an elegant English word that didn’t suit his usual demeanor.

“Trigger.”

“Pardon?”

“When adjusting Cadet Kang Han’s aggression, we use a pre-agreed trigger. For example, like ringing a bell when it’s time to feed a pet dog.”

Ah.

The analogy made perfect sense.

‘Pavlov’s dog.’

Just like how a dog would salivate at the sound of a bell signaling feeding time, the trigger I set was meant to influence Kang Han’s psyche.

I poked Kang Han in the side.

“So, what do you want as our trigger? Should I carry a bell around?”

“I don’t like that.”

Kang Han’s eyelids twitched.

What on earth was he imagining? It was just a joke.

The monk chuckled as he watched our silly exchange.

“No need to decide in a hurry. And it doesn’t have to be anything elaborate. The trigger could be a whistle or a stomp of the foot. What’s important isn’t the complexity of the action but whether both parties can recognize it as significant. So take your time and find a trigger that resonates with your souls.”

With that, the monk stood up from his cushion.

“That’s all for today’s lesson. I have to attend an instructor meeting shortly.”

“Already?”

“Yes, it’s scheduled soon.”

I voiced a brief complaint.

“The lesson feels too short.”

The monk replied, “There’s little more for me to involve myself in with this lesson. Didn’t I say it’s about mutual agreement? Spend today thinking deeply about it together. If that’s not enough, continue tomorrow or even the day after to figure out what truly matters to each of you.”

Before leaving, the monk left us with one last piece of advice.

“A hastily chosen trigger will break just as easily as it was chosen. Keep that in mind.”

Although the monk’s advice was invaluable, we—his students—were utterly clueless about what to do.

We understood that we needed to decide on a trigger, but half of what he said just swirled meaninglessly in our minds.

I felt like a complete fool.

Unable to suppress my frustration, I blurted out,

“What’s the big deal? Can’t we just pick one?”

“I guess…”

Kang Han looked just as confused.

Even if the two of us tried putting our heads together, progress seemed unlikely.

Time passed, perfectly fitting the description of “wasted time.”

“Tsk.”

Eventually, I stood up and kicked Kang Han’s chair.

“Hey, get up.”

“What? What’s this about?”

Seeing Kang Han startled by the sudden kick put me in a slightly better mood.

Who was the reason for all this trouble? It was none other than him.

This was the same guy who not only left me in tatters last time but also stabbed me in the stomach.

If there’s anyone in the world who deserves such treatment from me, it’s definitely Kang Han.

Looking down at the fool who was half-standing awkwardly, I suggested,

“Let’s go to a café.”

“Out of nowhere?”

“You bought last time, so I’ll treat this time.”

At the café, we both used our phones to look up information about Berserkers.

Of course, since I already knew about Berserkers from the game, I didn’t really need to look anything up.

But my purpose wasn’t gathering information; it was observing Kang Han’s reaction as he looked up Berserkers.

I occasionally glanced at the table across from me.

Kang Han seemed surprisingly calm as he searched for Berserker-related information on his phone.

…Or maybe not surprising.

It was probably natural.

After all, Kang Han knew better than anyone else in the world what kind of existence he was.

It seemed this observation was rather meaningless.

Of course, there’s no need to feel discouraged.

I had more than enough time to observe the protagonist—so much so that having too much time was the real problem.

After all, our schedule for the day had been completely cleared.

The monk in charge of Berserker special training left us behind to attend an instructor meeting.

As a result, Kang Han and I ended up with a schedule resembling that of lazy loafers from the very start of the day.

For academy cadets, it was an unimaginable amount of free time.

Not that I minded, but ever since arriving in this world, I’d never spent a moment wasting time, so I found myself feeling oddly contemplative.

“Was the world always this leisurely?”

Before noon, the roads were quiet, with almost no passing cars, and the occasional human figure walking aimlessly seemed as though they’d escaped from the grind of the world.

Only a select few, like the unemployed or housewives, could enjoy such a tranquil world.

Realizing this anew, I felt a shiver. It even crossed my mind that I had been missing out on life all this time.

The scenery through the café’s glass windows on the second floor wasn’t bad at all.

While excessive rest can be harmful, proper rest can breathe vitality into life.

“Maybe it’s okay to take a break like this every now and then.”

Just then, I heard a murmur from across the table.

“Berserkers get excited when they see blood…”

Kang Han, staring at his phone, had muttered unconsciously.

It seemed he was diligently researching Berserker-related information, just as I had instructed.

Despite already knowing about Berserkers himself, he was putting in this much effort.

Meanwhile, I had been lazily enjoying the view, making me feel a bit ashamed.

My tone came out sharper than I intended.

“What are you looking at?”

“Ah, just… stuff.”

Startled by my sudden question, Kang Han awkwardly avoided my gaze before voluntarily handing over his phone.

I ended up inspecting his phone, which made it feel like a casual phone check, but I decided not to dwell on trivialities.

I glanced at the screen.

Berserkers get excited when they see blood.

It was exactly what Kang Han had just muttered.

A simple sentence, yet more than enough to encapsulate the essence of a Berserker.

“Get excited when they see blood, huh…”

A question about Berserkers suddenly popped into my head.

Right in front of me was a real-life Berserker, the perfect person to ask.

“So, if Berserkers get nosebleeds, do they get excited too?”

Kang Han made a face that was both offended and resentful.

“No, they don’t.”

“Really? I saw in Finding Nemo that sharks get excited by nosebleeds.”

To clarify, it wasn’t Finding Nemo but Finding X-Fish—the heartwarming children’s animation about fish growing up, which was once a hit in Korea.

Thinking back, I remembered enjoying it quite a bit as a kid.

“What are you even talking about…”

As Kang Han seemed increasingly hurt, I chuckled and stepped back.

“It’s a joke, just a joke. Lighten up, will you? Why make me out to be the bad guy?”

Anyway, we spent the rest of the morning in idle chatter.

We made no progress on deciding the trigger.

The monk’s parting words stuck in my mind:

“A hastily chosen trigger will break just as easily as it was chosen.”

This raised a question:

What exactly qualifies as a carefully chosen trigger?

If I inferred from the monk’s words, it would be something akin to finding common ground—where our emotional circles overlap.

In other words, we needed to identify a shared element between us and make that the trigger.

After hearing my theory, Kang Han nodded thoughtfully.

“That makes sense. Sounds about right.”

“See? I’m pretty good at this,” I said, tapping my temple.

Kang Han gave me a puzzled look.

Annoying as ever.

Just then—

Bzzz!

The vibrating pager slid across the table, making a loud noise as the hard plastic hit the wooden surface.

I tapped the table.

“Hey, the pager’s ringing. Go grab the coffee. What did you even learn last time?”

“Wait a minute! I’m paying today!”

“It’s customary for the person sitting closer to the counter to go.”

“That’s not what you said last time!”

I wasn’t sure. Maybe the rules had changed?

[To Be Continued]