Chapter 13: How to Accidentally Get Hated by the Strongest Guy in Korea
From the personal and definitely very cautious journal of Rock Lee, aka Song Jae Gu
Charles might have been the calm, suit-wearing type, but the information he was throwing around? That stuff hit harder than a full-force spinning kick.
He leaned back after dropping another world-shaking fact, like it was just another Tuesday.
"The collapse of the skyscraper happened a few years ago, during a fight between the two strongest fighters in the USA—Terry Bogard and Geese Howard."
I raised an eyebrow. That wasn't just two dudes brawling—it was two demigods throwing hands like they were starring in their own final boss fight.
"They fought because of personal hatred. The building fell because of the collateral. Thankfully, the Murim Association cleared the civilians in time. No deaths. But Geese Howard didn't make it. Terry won. He's now the second strongest person in the world."
Second strongest.
So that meant the old man in China—Tung Fu Rue—was still standing at the top. Alone.
Charles continued without pause. This was all normal to him, like he was reading out tomorrow's lunch menu.
"You must be wondering how a country like this—so young, with little martial history—can produce such powerhouses. It's a valid question."
Yes. It was. I'd seen more history in Konoha's graveyard than this country had on its textbooks.
"The truth is, all of them are connected to outside forces. Terry and Geese learned from the Immortal Man. Same martial art. Same foundation. Terry even trained under him."
That explained the power. Martial arts weren't just about tradition—they were blueprints for mastery. You take the right method and give it to a determined soul, and boom—you get a skyscraper-puncher.
Then came the numbers.
"At minimum, the top Murim masters move at Mach 3, can lift 10,000 tonnes, and survive any conventional weapon. The normal world can't even compete unless they use nukes."
Mach 3. 10,000 tonnes. Bulletproof, bomb-resistant.
Charles didn't even sound like he was bragging. Just stating facts. And then he casually threw in a self-evaluation like a teacher checking his own homework.
"My own level of power is enough to handle any attack below missiles or rockets. But I wouldn't try to block them. I'd dodge."
That got a small grin from me. Smart man.
Then he looked at me, clearly expecting some kind of response.
"Impressive, isn't it? Makes you feel like the world is so alien."
I nodded, keeping my face calm even though my mind was racing with comparisons.
Alien? Maybe. But not overwhelming. Not to me.
In my world—back where chakra flowed freely—children could outrun bullets. Mach 3 was rookie speed. I hit Mach 30 at thirteen. During the war I lifted 10,000 tonnes without even opening a gate. That wasn't pride—it was just fact. A reminder of what I'd been. What I still was deep inside.
Yes, I couldn't tank a nuke. But then again—who would want to?
The world here was clearly limited. Bound by energy—Ki—by laws that capped its champions. They could destroy buildings, not mountains. Shake cities, not continents.
But that wasn't a problem. That was a challenge.
Konoha's will wasn't to accept limits. It was to shatter them. We believed in growth. In surpassing the generation before us.
"A shinobi who breaks the rules is trash… but a shinobi who surpasses the limits is the future."
I just made that up. But Guy-sensei would definitely approve.
I looked at Charles, my eyes reflecting that burning fire—the one I inherited from my teacher, my comrades, my world.
"This is just the beginning," I said, voice steady. "If this is the ceiling, then I'll break through it."
Charles chuckled. "I thought you'd say something like that."
Damn right. Because Rock Lee doesn't stop at limits. He kicks them down.
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So there I was, nodding like a wise sage while Charles dropped yet another Murim bombshell on me. We were sitting in this sleek, unnecessarily expensive-looking meeting room, and I was trying to absorb a world that clearly took its daily protein shakes.
Charles leaned forward, speaking in his usual calm, "Let me tell you about the strongest person in South Korea."
Naturally, I perked up like a squirrel on caffeine. Strongest? I live for this kind of intel. But then he said something that made my stomach do a full backflip.
"It's an awkward situation. The strongest guy in Korea absolutely despises the Murim Association. Like… 'stab first, ask questions while you're bleeding' kind of hate."
Ah.
Wonderful.
As a recently inducted member of the Murim world, that wasn't the kind of personality trait I was hoping to find in our local champion.
Charles continued, with that expression people get when they're telling you your Airbnb might be haunted but "don't worry about it."
"His name is the Nine Arts Dragon. His master was executed by the Association for teaching a forbidden berserk art."
And just like that, I understood everything.
The rage. The hate. The vibes.
You don't touch a man's master. You just don't. In my old world, that was like burning down someone's soul and expecting them to walk away smiling. If anyone had ever laid a finger on Guy-sensei… well, let's just say "nuclear regret" would've been an understatement.
"Berserk arts," Charles added, "are the type that turn you into a kill-everything-until-you-die monster. Not ideal for public parks."
Got it. So, forbidden power, tragic backstory, violent tendencies. A walking anime arc with anger issues. Check.
"Avoid him at all costs. He might kill you just for being associated with Murim."
Right. Cool cool cool. I'll just put that on my "do not meet in dark alleys" list, right next to "giant snakes," "tiger demons," and "my own feelings."
But then Charles switched gears like he was auditioning to be a sports commentator for Dragonball.
"I have high hopes for him. I think he might be the one to surpass the Immortal Man. He's kind of like Korea's Hope for reaching the top."
Hold up.
From murder-happy outcast to symbol of national potential in two seconds?
This guy was a walking contradiction wrapped in a riddle wrapped in black belts.
I had to ask.
"Why's he called the Nine Arts Dragon?"
That got Charles grinning like a teacher about to drop a history lesson I didn't study for.
"Korea has nine clans. Each one guards a unique martial art—dragon-themed, naturally. Dragon claw, dragon legs, dragon eyes, mind, wings, heart, spirit, body, and fire. Every year, they hold a big tournament where kids fight to earn one of these arts."
Sounds totally fair and not traumatizing at all.
"In history, no one has ever mastered all nine. It's said that if someone does, they'll become like an immortal dragon, ascending to god-like power. But that's just a legend."
Right. A legend.
Totally not the kind of thing someone like me would totally try to do if given half a chance.
"The Nine Arts Dragon was the only person who ever tried to learn all of them. He didn't even master each one—just absorbed them all like a power-hungry sponge."
I could respect that level of ambition. Honestly? I related. In the old world, people laughed at me for not having chakra. I responded by kicking so hard I left craters.
"The current top Murim fighter here is called the Three Arts Dragon. He's mastered three styles and that's already enough to be a powerhouse."
So Nine Arts Guy was like a buffet plate—too much food, not enough chewing.
Charles gave a thoughtful sigh.
"He disappeared a decade ago. No one knows if he got stronger or burned out. If he returns… well, the world might change."
I leaned back and exhaled slowly.
Nine arts. Forbidden history. Vengeful power.
And here I was, the new guy with a borrowed name, some light trauma, and legs that could split mountains if I got serious.
But something stirred inside me. That old Konoha feeling.
The next generation will always surpass the previous one.
I don't care if this Nine Arts Dragon is stronger than me.
I'm going to learn all nine myself.
And this time?
I will master them.
Even if it kills me.
Okay, maybe not kills me.
Just… severely injures me in a character-building way.
Because that's how you become a legend.
That, and not getting murdered by the current one.
(Note to self: Invest in armor. Preferably dragon-proof.)
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So Charles looked me dead in the eye and dropped the kind of smile you only get when someone knows they're about to change your life.
"Yes. You can learn it."
I blinked. My brain short-circuited.
Learn it.
It.
As in, the Nine Arts. The thing that turns normal people into dragons. Literal, face-breaking, sky-punching dragons.
Me? Song Jae Gu? Rock Lee 2.0? I could actually fight for a chance to learn the legendary martial arts of Korea?
It was like someone told me the Chūnin Exams were back on, but now they came with a dragon prize and better lighting.
Charles chuckled like this was all part of his master plan.
"The tournament's at the end of the year. Five months from now. Kids from every clan join it to earn one of the dragon arts. Girls, too. I let the others try before the age limit hit. You've got more time, and honestly? You're stronger."
Okay, I know I'm not supposed to let that go to my head, but I might've stood a little straighter. Just a little.
"I never got to learn them. I'm an outsider. But in the US, I learned something similar after winning a dozen tournaments—Lion's Heart. Focuses on stamina. Similar in principle, different in culture."
I nodded, soaking it all in like the responsible student I pretend to be.
But then Charles dropped something heavier than a chakra-infused weight vest.
"These arts aren't yours to give away. Once you learn them, they're yours to use, not to teach. If you try to share them without permission, your body will be crippled. We have a soul contract. Non-negotiable."
Ah. The ol' "teach your friend and explode" clause. Classic.
Still, I couldn't stop the fire that had started burning in my gut. I was ready. I wanted this. No—I needed this. Five months from now, I'd walk into that arena, and I'd show them what kind of monster a hard-working, underdog underachiever could become.
I stood up, the air buzzing around me like a pre-fight bell.
"I understand. I'll join the tournament—and I'll win it."
Charles gave a nod. I could see the gears spinning behind his calm expression.
"Take care. And remember to focus on your studies."
Right. Studies. Because math homework and ancient martial tournaments totally belong in the same mental space.
I stepped out of the room, my mind already flashing with training montages, victory poses, and maybe a few dramatic slow-motion scenes where I dodge flying kicks like a movie hero.
What I didn't see was the way Charles leaned back in his chair, frowning slightly.
'He doesn't stand a chance against them yet… Their stats are through the roof, they've trained with Ki since childhood. He's still human.'
It was true. I didn't grow up with secret techniques or power-enhancing teas brewed by grandmas with spirit contracts.
But I had me.
I had effort.
And I had five months.
That's more than enough time to become dangerous.
Charles tapped his fingers against the desk, thoughtful.
'Should I invest in him now? Use my savings to buy high-grade materials? Or wait it out this year? The age limit is twenty… he'll have more chances. But maybe… just maybe…'
Whatever decision he made, it didn't matter to me yet.
Because right now, I had a gym to destroy.
And a destiny to chase.
(Note to self: Make training montage playlist. Include "Eye of the Tiger." Maybe "Stronger" by Kanye too.)