A feeling of disconnect washed over Lee Seong-Hwi.0

Maybe "disconnect" wasn't the correct term to describe what he felt right now. After all, it was something much more bizarre than that, like the feeling of eery weightlessness while levitating in the air. Lee Seong-Hwi wasn't literary enough to find a suitable way to express this feeling.0

'I don't belong in this place.'0

He wasn't quite sure how he ended up attending this shindig.0

This place… It wasn't where martial artists like him risked their lives to fight and win. Although Lee Seong-Hwi had become something else and couldn't really call himself a martial artist anymore, he still didn't belong here.0

A tense quietness one could cut with a knife flowed in the chamber.0

This atmosphere wasn't the source of Lee Seong-Hwi's discomfort, though. Things like the antiquated tatami floor or the sight of a screen obscuring the seat of honor like a scene from a movie… He didn't mind any of these things.0

What made him uncomfortable was the man sitting on Lee Seong-Hwi's opposite side. Or, more correctly, his hand.0

Lee Seong-Hwi could only see four fingers. A spot where a person's pinkie should be… was empty. Just clean air. And that was what made him uncomfortable.0

He already knew the Japanese loved to do bizarre things before coming here. He also heard that one of the ways the Japanese warriors took responsibility for their blunders...0