Terrestrial Savior Archetype - T.S.A Chapter 13 (part 2): Stroke of Luck (1)

Jeong-woo moved his dry lips and uttered bitter syllables.

“We have to survive. Somehow.”

“…”

Sun-woong couldn’t even fathom what Jeong-woo was planning to do.

On the other hand, Jeong-woo’s consideration was not merely about becoming stronger.

He was a savior, after all.

‘No matter who it is, the person who makes the decision first will gain overwhelming superiority. The one who took the first place must already be doing that.’

The fact that he couldn’t know the amount of essences held by other saviors made him even more impatient.

Even if the hurdles at the top suddenly rose dramatically, he couldn’t know how many essences he needed to overcome them.

The only way was to continuously accumulate essences.

‘What should I do? Is constantly collecting visible essences and moving forward the only way?’

Men surrounded by a ring were visible far away through the houses.

They were another group of the Self-Defense Forces that he had encountered a while ago.

He inwardly ridiculed them, thinking they were just playing police, but Jeong-woo knew very well that they were proper human beings.

But it was this side that had become the saviors, not those righteous people who had their own lives to seek.

Why was that?

Jeong-woo knew the answer but couldn’t accept it.

“Is this the place?”

“Yes. Thank you for your hard work.”

Jeong-woo looked at Sun-woong with sweat on his forehead, as if apologizing.

In front of the two was a five-story building with the sign ‘Howan Villa.’

This is where Jeong-woo’s apartment, room 303, was located.

“Phew.”

Sun-woong heaved a deep sigh, pretending to be tired, while scanning the Howan Villa.

The exterior looked old and shabby.

But for a five-story building, there should be several units, yet there was only one man in shorts at the entrance.

He didn’t know who that person was waiting for.

With a lack of anticipation in his eyes, he was just smoking a cigarette.

“Is your father inside?”

“Probably.”

Jeong-woo’s voice was quite firm when answering Sun-woong’s question.

He assumed his father was inside, but he didn’t seem to be too concerned if he wasn’t there.

As an abandoned child who had lived his whole life in an orphanage, he could understand, or maybe he didn’t want to understand, such an answer.

“It seems like you don’t get along well with your father.”

Sun-woong asked directly, and Jeong-woo glanced at the entrance of the shabby villa.

Then he shifted his gaze to a third-floor window that was open.

“A bit peculiar. We have an awkward relationship. Please understand. I don’t know what to do either.”

“Oh…”

Sun-woong was left speechless by Jeong-woo’s response.

He still remembered Jeong-woo’s line about having “better weapons” at home when he was packing a wrench from the trunk.

What could be a better weapon than a wrench?

No, the more important question was, what kind of family stored weapons like that?

Maybe gangsters? Bodyguards? It could be some kind of weapon company.

Suddenly, Jeong-woo started walking inside the building.

The familiar smell of an old building filled the air.

It was a mixture of stale dust trapped between the walls and the unique smell of each unit.

There were two units on each floor, and only one belonged to the owner on the fifth floor.

“It’s quite quiet as usual, but it’s even worse today.”

Jeong-woo had lived in 3-2 from a young age.

He was familiar with the opposite unit, 3-3, as well as its occupants, a couple with a bad relationship.

They fought almost every other weekend in broad daylight.

Fortunately, they had no children.

The owner of the building, living on the fifth floor, was a seventy-year-old grandfather.

He seemed a bit stubborn during calls with his children, but he was polite to the tenants.

He was separated from his wife.

“Still not back, it seems.”

Finally, they arrived on the third floor.

Jeong-woo had been staying in 3-2.

Sun-woong let out a sigh of relief as he followed, pretending to be exhausted.

However, Jeong-woo couldn’t afford the luxury of accommodating his words.

He took out the key to his apartment from his pocket and knocked on the door of room 302 three times.

Knock. Knock.

Then he knocked a bit louder.

“It’s me. It’s Jeong-woo. I’m here with a coworker.”

Following the voice from inside, Jeong-woo turned slightly to look at Sun-woong.

“It’s quite high here. Phew.”

Sun-woong pouted, breathing heavily in his attempt to act.

But Jeong-woo had no room for indulging in Sun-woong’s words.

He unlocked the door, and the brass key turned in the lock.

Click.

Then the doorknob was grabbed and pulled back.

Whoosh.

“…”

Sun-woong inexplicably felt his cheeks burning as he looked at the rapidly opening gap.

What caught the eye when visiting someone’s home were usually things like the color of the floor, the number of shoes by the entrance, and other details.

But today, what struck Sun-woong first were the “words.”

“Predator…?”

His pupils dilated.

Creak.

The doorknob made a sharp noise as the lock twisted.

Then, a man who had been sitting on the floor eating breakfast in the living room looked up.

Sun-woong took a step back instinctively.

Such predatory eyes.

A real “predator” was right here.

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