Academy's Drunk Fighter-Chapter 42: Black Market (2)

“Looking for something, miss?”

“A get-well gift.”

“Ah, then how about this one?”

I turned toward the stall after overhearing the merchant’s voice—he must’ve noticed I was browsing for a hospital gift to bring Noah.

“Apples, huh.”

“Yep. Is this your first time here?”

“Yeah.”

“Thought so.”

The apple he handed me looked pristine—glossy, red, the picture of health.

Not that the other fruits looked any different.

“Can I sample it?”

“Of course! You should always taste before you buy something like this!”

When I asked if I could try one, the merchant grinned and reached under the stall... but instead of offering it to me, he shoved the sliced apple straight into his own mouth.

“Mm—ugh—mmf!”

“Don’t fight it. Tastes good, doesn’t it?”

“MRGHHH!!”

He thrashed and fought to pull away from me, but the liquor I’d downed earlier had already kicked in. I was comfortably buzzed.

At this point, unless someone had Academy-level physical strength, there was no getting out of my grip.

“...Snnrrk.”

After a few minutes of cramming apple slices into his mouth, the merchant passed out cold.

“Thought so.”

Even if the black market was state-sanctioned, there were always a few bastards who stepped over the line.

Kidnappers, for example.

And food made it easy. Everyone knew this place wasn’t for kids or the elderly—if you had sense, you stayed away.

And my body? Yeah... I probably looked more kid than adult.

He was probably planning to take me even if the drugged fruit didn’t knock me out.

Someone might wonder if the alcohol was spiked too, but that’s not how it works.

The booze came from one of the outer stalls, for one, and there were tons of people watching.

More importantly, my nose is sharp enough to sniff out anything mixed into liquor.

It only works with alcohol, so I figure it’s not some basic addiction trait—it’s gotta be part of the [Drunken Fist] package.

I don’t get the same sensitivity when it’s regular food, see.

“Miss, would you like to try this?”

“Want to split it with me?”

“Sorry, I’ll pass.”

“...”

I kept wandering, hoping to find a decent gift, but the moment anything looked cheap, it came with a catch—bruises, rotting spots, drugged cores.

Fruit was clearly out.

‘Why’s fruit so damn expensive these days?’

We never even ate it at home, yet the second I want to buy some, it feels like highway robbery.

Still, no way I’m giving Noah knockout apples just because they’re a good deal...

I gave up.

Buying from a regular store would be safer. Lower risk, too.

The mission to get Noah a gift ended in failure, but I still had things to do here in the market.

I needed money.

And no, it wasn’t just to buy more booze.

Sure, drinking something top-shelf felt amazing... but the bigger problem?

My body can’t handle alcohol anymore.

You know how in wuxia novels, you’ve got those sword saints who drop dead from a single sip of poisoned wine?

It’s kind of like that.

I’m curious, actually—what would a martial arts master do if they got cancer?

Point is, even if your stats rise—Mental Strength, Constitution, whatever—it doesn’t mean you’re physically healthy.

And lately, even low-proof drinks are hitting me harder. Something’s wrong.

If things keep going like this, my body’s gonna give out before the game even hits the midpoint.

Or maybe... it already is.

‘My body’s dying.’

Even if my stats boost me on paper, that just means the risk of sudden death is even higher now.

It’s terrifying, honestly.

That’s why I need money—fast—to fix this.

I didn’t expect the mask I sold to be worth so much, but it worked out.

Assuming I get the payout the attendant mentioned, I should have enough to buy a few months’ worth of treatment.

But I can’t buy real medicine or legit gear through the usual routes.

Too expensive. Too restricted.

Unless I get a miracle—like winning the lottery—this is just a temporary solution.

So, what do I do?

Simple.

Like I said before, the black market’s a kind of strategic gray zone the government just lets exist.

Which means... not everyone walking around here looks like a black market regular.

Professors. Model students. People you’d never expect.

There must be some kind of institution that connects the surface and the underworld.

“Found it.”

A dull gray building appeared at the end of the alleyway.

About a five-minute walk from the market’s main entrance, it straddled that invisible line—official, but not too official.

And the people inside?

Everyone from clean-cut men in suits to homeless guys twitching in the corners.

The widest cross-section of humanity I’d seen yet.

A beggar next to a businessman, next to a junkie.

Didn’t make sense—but that’s what made it real.

It was clearly tied to the market.

I walked up to the counter, knees shaking, having left just enough in my account for booze and basic groceries.

“Are you here to make a purchase?”

“I sold something earlier in the market. I’d like to use that credit to rent some equipment.”

“What kind of item are you looking for?”

“Something... purification-based, maybe?”

In the game, purification-type gear was ultra-rare. Just wearing it would passively remove most status effects.

It was insanely high-grade—but this was real life, so I figured I’d try anyway.

“Purification gear starts at one hundred million won for the lowest tier. Are you interested in anything from our pharmaceutical inventory instead?”

“...”

Still expensive. Of course.

One hundred million.

For the weakest piece.

“What about me—m-medicine?”

Shit, I stuttered. Came off sounding like some strung-out addict.

“Depends on how much you need. For a month’s worth of the lowest grade, it’s three million.”

“Son of a b—”

“Pardon?”

“Ah—nothing. Sorry...”

The price nearly made me curse out loud.

I checked for other options.

“Healing types...?”

“Lowest tier, four million.”

“Then... control types?”

“Three million for the lowest tier.”

Finally—finally—something borderline affordable.

Control-type items are basically deferred damage tools.

They don’t stop damage; they store it somewhere else.

Of course, once it triggers, it hits like a truck. You’re almost guaranteed to die if it goes off.

So you need another item to flush it out in time.

It’s risky. It doesn’t solve the actual problem.

But it was the only thing I could afford.

“Would you like to pay in full?”

“I’ll take the 36-month payment plan... please...”

One month’s worth of purification meds, plus a control-type item on installment.

The mask I sold must’ve already been processed—authorization went through without a hitch.

Of course, I hadn’t given them any of my personal information.

Clink.

Thankfully, the control item came in the form of a bracelet I could wear over my gloves. It wouldn’t fall off during a fight or get lost if I started drinking again.

“When your control limit is reached, the bracelet will glow red. That’s your signal. Please make sure you remember.”

“...Okay.”

There was concern in the employee’s eyes—he didn’t want me to die.

But that concern wasn’t genuine. That was the problem.

People who’ve wrecked their lives for one reason or another.

People who have no choice but to rely on illegal means.

People like me.

Those people were the company’s lifeline. Its biggest investors.

If we died, the company would lose profit.

So what they wanted wasn’t for us to recover—they wanted us to survive.

Not healthy, not whole—just broken enough to keep coming back.

To keep bleeding money.

That was who they really were.

‘This world’s really not one worth living in.’ freewёbnoνel.com

It hadn’t meant much when I was just playing the game, mindlessly enjoying the story.

But now I realized: this wasn’t modern fantasy.

It was dark fantasy, through and through.

Side characters die constantly, and even the main ones drop like flies depending on player choices.

Go a little outside the capital city, and you’ll find addicts and shanty towns.

Sure, there are songs sung about noble houses and monster-slaying heroes.

But the people struggling just to survive don’t even have time to sing.

Magic and tech run wild in this world, and yet just a few months ago, I almost got an axe to the skull from a back-alley quack.

The poor get poorer, the rich grow stronger. Plain and simple.

If I didn’t have my traits...

If I didn’t have game knowledge...

I’d probably be dead in a gutter by now, after a short career of petty theft and starvation.

“Oh—right.”

In the middle of all this depressing crap, I suddenly remembered—I hadn’t checked in on my parents. The ones from this world.

We weren’t close. Honestly, °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° I didn’t have a reason to visit.

And even if I did show up, what would we even talk about?

With their home falling apart and food expenses draining them daily, my visit would probably just be an extra burden.

They’d probably find it annoying. Maybe even resent it.

“...I guess I’ll drop by sometime.”

Yeah. Whether I went now or later, it wouldn’t make a difference.

Right now, I had one priority: survive.