Chapter 81: Waves of Memory
Five years ago. Shatterbay's coast drowned under storm. Waves broke like towers, black water heaving against itself. Only an idiot would sail on a night like that.
There was an idiot.
A mile out, a lone light thrashed between swells, vanishing in the troughs, reappearing for seconds at a time before lightning split the sky and swallowed it whole.
Then came the giant. A wave bigger than the rest. It rose over the vessel like a cliff, the ship's weak glow no larger than a spark at its base. The sea closed over it, erasing both light and ship in one breath.
On the docks, Seo-jin watched.
"Too bad."
He'd been pulling for it, same way a man pulls for the underdog in a fight. No grief. No pity. Just disappointment that the game ended too soon.
Rain hammered his umbrella, water bleeding through the patchwork fabric. He looked like nothing—a drifter in rags—but the body under them was built hard, and the eyes watching the sea were sharper than the storm.
He turned to go when something slammed the pylons below. A dull thud, followed by a low groan. Debris didn't groan.
Seo-jin leaned over the edge. A human clung to the beams, arms shredded raw by the waves.
"No fuckin' way. Shit. Hold on!"
His gaze snapped around the dock until he found an old spool of rope. He tore a length free, system light flashing in his palm as he conjured a blade, hacking off what he needed. One knot cinched around his waist, the other lashed to a support post.
"What the fuck am I doing..."
He muttered through clenched teeth, before hauling himself over the edge.
The wood was slick, half-rotten, waves battering him like hammers. But he'd just broken into E-rank. Strength carried him down where the storm tried to crush him flat.
He slid down the slick beam until he reached the body clinging below. A woman. Blonde hair plastered to her face, glowing like a flare in the dark. Armor weighed her down, thick leather vest strapped tight against her chest.
Seo-jin hooked a hand into the strap and pulled...and pulled.
"YOU NEED TO LET GO!"
Her arms didn't move. Locked like iron, she clung to the piling with the grip of the dead. He hauled harder—nothing. Muscles straining, rope biting his waist, and still she held.
Then her head lolled, chin rolling against her shoulder.
'She's out cold?! How the fuck is she still holding?!'
The dock groaned above. Splinters dug into his fingers as the wood began to peel away. The waves slammed harder, salt and rain choking him as he roared down at her.
"WAKE THE FUCK UP OR YOU'RE GONNA DIE!"
No answer. Just her limp face and her death grip.
"Fuck it!"
System light bled into his palm, hardening into a spear. He drove it as hard as he could into the piling beneath him and stepped onto the shaft, balance shaky, water thrashing around him. Grabbing her wrists, he tore at them with everything he had.
The wood gave first. Her hands ripped free with a chunk of the beam still clenched in her fists. The release snapped them both backward, rope jerking tight as they swung. The pull nearly tore his waist in half, but it held.
He clawed his way back up, dragging her bulk inch by inch over the rail. The two of them finally collapsed onto the boards of the dock, water streaming off them in rivers.
"Now that…"
He gasped, chest heaving.
"…is a big woman...fuck."
She lay still. He lay cursing, lungs on fire.
Squinting and breathing hard, he looked over to see her unmoving.
"God dammit. You better be alive."
He crawled over, rolled her onto her back—
—and caught a fist across the face.
The blow cracked his nose sideways, sent him sprawling into the boards. He clutched his face, vision swimming, hot blood pouring over his lips faster than the rain.
"You fucking hit me?! I drag your fat ass out of the sea, nearly drown doing it, and you sucker punch me?!"
He forced his eyes open, ready to plant her skull through the dock, but stopped.
She was standing. Barely. Arms up, fists trembling, but her eyes were glass. Tears ran steady down her cheeks, her mouth twisted into something raw...sadness, grief. A fighter on autopilot, still dreaming through the wreck.
"I should've stayed inside…"
His anger bled off. He blew the clot from his nose, spat red, then crept closer. A quick check told him what he already knew—she was out cold on her feet.
"Crazy bitch."
He muttered, and heaved her onto his shoulder. She was heavy as hell, every step groaning the boards. He carried her through the storm, back to the abandoned warehouse that passed for home, and kicked the door open.
"Need a hand! Towels, fire, now!"
The people inside jumped to life. First to him was an older man, face lined, his chin cut through by the scar that gave him his name. Split-jaw.
"What the hell happened? You go for a swim?"
Seo-jin dumped her onto a bench, wiped blood from his mouth.
"Boat went down off the coast. She washed in, hit the pylons. I pulled her up."
Split-jaw's brow furrowed, eyes roaming her body for wounds.
"Lucky girl. Holy shit, look at the size of her. Built like a warhorse."
Another rushed up, round face, almond eyes, fire dancing across his palms as he worked heat into the air. Steam rose as the water bled out of their clothes. He looked her over, let out a sharp whistle.
"Who's she?"
Seo-jin stripped off his shirt and shook it out.
"No clue. But don't get cute—she punches like a truck even when she's half-dead."
The woman sprawled on the bench looked like a battlefield manifesto. Ropes of muscle over broad shoulders, white lines of old scars crisscrossing her forearms. Leather cuirass scarred and patched, pants hung torn at the thighs. Bare feet, soles black and callused.
"She's stirring."
More heads peered in. The room tightened; even the fires seemed to hush as her lids fluttered.
"Back off, you vultures. Think she wants to wake up to your ugly faces?"
Seo-jin barked, and the pack shuffled back—curious, hungry, cautious.
Her eyes opened like someone fishing a light from a well, slow, unfocused. She pushed up and the world slammed into her skull; she clapped a hand to her head and retched seawater.
"Easy."
Seo-jin soothed.
"You nearly died."
She panicked at the voice and scrambled up, staggering and crashing into a crate. Split-jaw stepped forward with his palms up.
"Whoa, big lady. Hold—"
She punched before Seo-jin could warn him. Split-jaw's hardened arms took the brunt; the impact thunked him backward, teeth flashing as he skidded across the boards.
"Back!"
Seo-jin snapped, motioning everyone away.
"Listen, we pulled you out of the sea. You don't pay that back by pummeling the people that helped you. Put your fists down, and use words. I don't want to fight you, no one does, but I won't let you hurt anyone else."
Rising unsteady, she finally planted her feet. Breath ragged, chest heaving, her eyes cut quick across every shadow, every face in the room. No killing intent pressed against her, only stares. She forced one lungful of air deep, steadying herself.
"Where am I?"
Seo-jin pinched his nose.
"Rescue a drowning ox, everyone gets sucker-punched. Hell of a thank you."
"I said, where am—?"
"Shatterbay. And around here, when strangers begin a conversation, they usually start with a name."
Her frown tightened. She caught the man she'd just attacked rolling his shoulder, wincing, and a slight shame bled into her posture. The memory clawed back...waves, the wreck, the dark swallowing her. Then nothing until now. She was hot-headed, but she wasn't simple, she could figure out what must've happened.
"…I'm sorry. For striking your man."
Her voice dropped.
"And for causing trouble. I owe you a debt, I won't forget it."
She turned toward the door, swaying, legs ready to fold under her weight.
"Hold it."
Seo-jin stepped forward, his smile faint and sharp.
"You're still half-dead, probably nowhere to crawl to. Since I saved you, that makes you my problem until you're on your feet. Name's Wohan Seo-jin. These ugly bastards—"
He jerked a thumb behind him.
"—they're the Dead Hands."
She froze mid-step, shoulders stiff.
"Sorry. I don't have payment. I'll manage."
Seo-jin waved it off.
"I'm a gangster, not an asshole. I'm not gonna charge you to help. Truth is…"
His eyes dragged over her body, muscle stacked on muscle, skin cut with scars. His grin widened, deliberate.
"You're wasted wandering alone. A body like that's worth something."
Her jaw clenched—she knew it. These men were perverts. She stepped toward him, ready to fight.
Then a man with thinning hair plastered to his skull, cuffed Seo-jin in the back of the head.
"Sometimes you sound like a fucking idiot when you talk."
"What the fuck, Gregor?!"
Seo-jin snapped, glaring, rubbing his skull.
Gregor stepped in before Seo-jin could run his mouth again, his battered face pulling into the faintest smile. He smacked the younger man across the head once more for good measure.
"What this dumb bastard's trying to say—"
His voice was calm, carrying the weight of someone who'd buried enough bodies to mean it.
"Is you look strong. We're always looking for fighters."
Seo-jin spread his arms, glaring at the room.
"That's exactly what I said, right?"
Not a soul met his eyes. He clutched his chest in mock offense before turning back to the woman.
"Look, just stay until you've rested. Or at least until the storm's done. These pricks'll keep you busy with their tall tales until morning."
The woman lingered, stiff, her silence sharper than steel. She wasn't afraid of the gang—not in the way they thought. The fear clawing her gut came from something older, heavier.
[At least take advantage. Learn what you can.]
'They're men. I can't—'
[You can. You're not the same anymore. Different world. Adapt or die.]
They gave her space, a rare patience filling the room. After a long breath, her shoulders dropped, and she spoke.
"…My name is Min. Thank you for letting me stay."
Relief broke the tension. A few even smiled, though hunger hinted behind their eyes—not for her body, but for the truth. No one cared where she came from. They wanted to know her shard. Her rank. The thing that decided if she was prey, equal, or untouchable.
Seo-jin barked a laugh, filling the silence.
"That's better! You're hungry, right? Somebody dig out the canned stuff. And check my closet for the bottles stashed in there. Too damn cold tonight—I want something that burns."
The men cheered, already knowing what that meant. Supper and liquor. Blood and fire stories before dawn. Tonight was going to be chaos.