Chapter 9: So Apparently I'm a Demon Now
Let me be real with you: when a guy like Charles grins at you like he's just unwrapped a shiny new weapon—and you're the weapon—you start reevaluating your life choices.
The office was quiet. Not just normal quiet, either. That kind of I've-just-been-invited-into-an-underground-fighting-cult quiet.
I sat across from him, arms folded, legs relaxed, but my mind? Oh, it was going full Dragon Ball Z mode.
This was no regular offer. This was the offer.
Charles leaned in, fingers laced like he was about to ask me to rob Olympus. "Will I get paid?" I asked, like we were just chatting about chores and not soul-punching assassins in secret bunkers.
He laughed. Not the fake chuckle CEOs do when they're trying to gaslight you into an unpaid internship. This was full-on amusement.
"Of course," he said. "Payment scales with difficulty. But it's not just the money."
Of course not. It never is.
"We'll give you a place to grow," he said, sweeping his hand like Oprah giving away training arcs. "A space where you can go beyond your limits."
Okay. That made me pause.
Because going beyond limits? That's exactly my kind of language.
He kept going, clearly enjoying his TED Talk on the Future of Me.
"Wild High isn't a clan yet. But we're building one. I've trained Lee Na to be the strongest here. But talent alone doesn't win wars—it needs resources."
Now he sounded like an MMORPG loot guide.
"Magical herbs. Ki potions. Rare items. Things that don't grow on trees—or if they do, they're guarded by monsters that eat trees."
Then he dropped the bomb.
"And healers. Broken bones? Organs? Vitality? We can fix all of it. Just… don't lose a limb."
Right. Note to self: protect limbs at all costs.
But honestly? I was already sold.
A proper training ground. Ki boosters. Instant healing. Basically a gym, pharmacy, and respawn point rolled into one. And all I had to do was say yes.
But...
"I'm in," I said.
Charles lit up like he'd just pulled the rarest card in a booster pack.
"But," I added, "you fix my problems first."
That got his eyebrow up.
"If you've done your homework, you know what I need."
Because I wasn't just fighting for the thrill anymore. I had mouths to feed. Futures to protect.
"I want my family out of that crumbling apartment. A better home. Safer transport. And my mom? She needs a real job. Something stable."
I didn't blink. Didn't flinch. Didn't even smile.
I meant every word.
Charles sat back, smiling like he'd just seen his favorite character hit a power-up.
"Wonderful," he said. "You're such a filial child."
He turned to Lee Na, who'd been standing quietly like a very intimidating statue this whole time.
"Lee Na, handle it."
She nodded without a word.
And I could tell—just for a moment—she was actually impressed. I mean, I didn't get a high-five or anything. But her eyes said: This guy might just survive.
Charles, meanwhile, looked like he'd just found the final puzzle piece in his master plan.
My Ki was buzzing now, reacting to my thoughts. My emotions.
Excitement.
Resolve.
Maybe even a little... joy?
Charles saw it too.
"This kid," he murmured. "He's not just strong. He's a rising demon."
…Okay, rude. But I'll take it.
Lee Na stepped forward at last. Her voice was calm and precise, like a scalpel.
"Welcome to the Wild Guards, Song Jae Gu."
Then she turned and walked out, already making my demands reality like it was a Tuesday chore.
And me?
I leaned back in the chair and let out a slow breath.
No more just surviving.
No more holding back.
This was my chance to evolve.
To take the version of me that crawled through every day...
And turn him into someone who could soar.
Let the world watch.
I was about to show them what happens when you give a loyal son the power to change everything.
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You ever walk into a room expecting one thing and then get blindsided by something way bigger? Like, "Hey, here's a simple job interview," and next thing you know you're signing up to maybe die in secret martial arts death matches? Yeah. Same.
Charles leaned back in his throne—I mean, chair—like he was a Bond villain on casual Friday. He had that look. You know, tailored suit, charming grin, eyes that said, I own three tigers and a private island. Not sure if he actually did, but wouldn't be surprised.
"I know you didn't ask why I'm doing all this," Charles said, steepling his fingers like some anime mastermind. "But I'll explain anyway."
Great. A monologue. Just what I needed.
Still, I stayed quiet. Better to listen than to miss something important. Like, say, a trap door opening beneath my chair.
"In the Murim," he continued, "there are clans—ancient, secretive, and more powerful than any government. These guys play chess with people's lives. Normal folks don't even know they exist, but they're the ones calling the shots."
Okay, so: Illuminati, but make it martial arts. Got it.
He tapped the desk like he was writing the next great kung fu philosophy book. "Power is necessary."
I felt the weight of those words. Not just because he said them all dramatic-like, but because… well, he wasn't wrong.
Then came the surprise: "The Wilde family—my family—we're from the U.S., but we're considered low-ranking in the Murim world."
Low-ranking? Seriously? The guy had the confidence of someone who owned a spaceship.
I raised an eyebrow. He caught it, of course. That smug grin returned.
"Yes, I have wealth—more than you could dream of. But in Murim, wealth doesn't mean squat if you can't back it up with strength. Real influence comes from Ki, from martial prowess. Not bank accounts."
Honestly? Kind of refreshing. I'd take a hundred Ki points over a credit score any day.
Charles leaned forward now, and I knew we were getting to the heart of it. "When I formed the Wild Guards, I had a dream. A goal. Raise my family's status. And give talented people—like you—a shot at greatness."
Nice. Inspirational speech incoming.
"But that's not all." He dropped his voice. Dramatic pause. "In Murim, fights decide business deals, alliances, control. The strongest warriors are more than champions—they're chess pieces that can rewrite the board."
I imagined a tournament where billionaires threw magical herbs at each other while fighters settled stock options with roundhouse kicks. Weirdly… I kinda liked it.
"I can't fight those battles myself," Charles said, voice lower now, more serious. "I'm the head of my family. If I fall, everything collapses. That's why I need warriors. Fighters who can win—who can survive."
And just like that, the invitation was on the table. No neon sign, no drumroll—just a heavy, invisible click in the air.
He looked me in the eye, and I knew this wasn't just a job. It was a turning point.
"The world you're stepping into is dangerous. And in this world, death is unavoidable."
I took a breath.
"Death is unavoidable anywhere," I said, voice steady. "I could trip on a loose stair and snap my neck tomorrow."
(Not the best image, but hey, truth.)
"But I'm not afraid of dying," I continued. My Ki stirred—quiet, but present. "I'm afraid of dying with regrets."
There it was. My truth. Served raw.
"I don't want to sit around wondering if I could've been more. Fought harder. Lived louder. If your Wild Guards offer a path where I can test my limits—and maybe break them—then count me in."
My heart thudded like it was warming up for a battle. This wasn't fear. This was fire.
Charles grinned. Then he laughed—a full-on, villain-laugh-meets-proud-dad hybrid.
"Now that's the kind of answer I was hoping for!" he said, practically glowing. "Welcome to the real world, Song Jae Gu."
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I've had weird days before—like the time I accidentally roundhouse-kicked a guy's phone into a koi pond—but today definitely made the top five.
Charles Wilde, the ultra-rich, totally-not-suspicious guy who offered me a chance to fight in underground martial arts battles for power and glory, leaned back in his oversized villain-chair and smirked at me like a cat who just invested in a mouse-themed buffet.
"Good," he said, his voice all smooth and pleased. "This is how a fighter should be."
I'll be honest—I puffed up a little at that. Compliments are like sugar. You know they're bad for your ego, but dang if they don't taste good.
Then he dropped the next question.
"Now, do you want to start training today or tomorrow?"
"Let's start today," I said, zero hesitation. "And I hope a good surprise is waiting for me at home."
Yeah. That part just kinda slipped out. Because when you've been living like a scrappy survivalist, even a warm bowl of instant noodles feels like a five-star feast.
Charles chuckled. "You will not be disappointed."
Famous last words.
We left his office and walked through Wild High like it was just another Tuesday. Students milled around, not suspecting that just a few doors away, Charles Wilde was preparing to drop me into a magical boot camp designed by the cast of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Secret War Crimes.
Then Charles made a sharp turn and pressed his palm against what I assumed was a janitor's closet. Totally normal.
Except it wasn't normal.
A faint blue light traced his fingers like the door was doing biometric high-fives. Then it clicked, and a hidden staircase opened like we were about to descend into Mount Doom.
"Secret base?" I asked. "Didn't take you for a Men in Black type of guy."
Charles just grinned. "Oh, just wait. You haven't seen anything yet."
Note to self: When a rich martial arts guru says that, run.
The air got heavier with every step. Not like "oh wow, lots of stairs" heavy. More like "the pressure in this place could crush your soul if it wanted to" heavy.
At the bottom?
A massive underground facility. I'm talking evil-genius-meets-Shaolin-temple levels of extra.
There were fighters already there—some sparring, others meditating like they were trying to astral-project into Nirvana. The air buzzed with Ki. Literal, actual Ki. I could feel it dancing on my skin, like a thousand invisible ants with spiritual licenses.
Charles led me through the chaos to a more secluded chamber. Candles flickered around us, throwing dancing shadows across the walls. The scent of herbs and incense punched me in the face—in a good way, like grandma's soup if grandma were a mystic apothecary with a black belt.
On the walls?
Murals. Warriors mid-strike, so realistic it looked like they could step out of the wall and slap you for breathing too loud.
Scrolls were everywhere. Ancient, delicate things that smelled like wisdom and terrible decisions.
Charles picked one up like it was a newborn.
"This is where you will train Ki," he said, voice calm and serious.
I nodded, because that was better than saying, "Oh cool, so I'm in a sacred dojo buried under a high school? Totally normal."
Charles gestured around.
"All of this is designed to stimulate your awakening."
Awakening.
Like some kind of spiritual energy-lifting montage was about to hit me like a truck.
"The aroma? Rare herbs. They help your body absorb energy. The murals? Infused with Ki. They can teach you how energy flows. The scrolls? Teachings of ancient masters."
He looked me in the eye.
"You'll have to earn the right to use them."
Well, duh. Of course I couldn't just roll up, pick one out like a menu, and unlock Ultra Instinct. This was Murim, not fast food.
Still…
I looked around again. This place was serious. The air itself hummed with energy. My skin itched, my Ki buzzed like it had been shaken awake from a year-long nap, and my instincts whispered, You're home.
I clenched my fists. Every breath I took filled me with focus.
Finally, I said it out loud.
"Good."
Then louder.
"Let's get started."