I’m Sorry, but It’s Because I’m an Ordinary Person - Chapter 17

I have a terrible memory of kings.

No, it’s not that I hate it, but there’s…something like this.

It’s related to Yesol, the friend who’s a regular at coin karaoke and the boss who takes care of snacks every time we go. She’s a friend I met when I lived like a mold in the corner of the room under my dad.

Ham Yesol (14 years old, owner of red-colored lenses), whose confidence level soared when her chuunibyou disease bloomed, transferred to our school with an unusual aura.

She was a funny friend who, without the teacher’s knowledge, wore colored lenses and wrapped a white shoelace around her right eye, insisting it was a bandage.

So, that Yesol, who covered her left eye with red-colored lenses and her right eye with an eye patch, suddenly approached me, who was crouching in the corner, and shouted out loud.

‘You! You look like you will become a king!’

Then I was like, “What the hell is wrong with this guy saying I’m going to become a king out of the blue.”

At that time, I dismissed what she said as nonsense and let is slide, but Yesol continued to follow me after that and told me that I would become a king.

‘I’m not a king. This isn’t even the Joseon Dynasty, so what kind of king are you on about?’

‘No, Yeonhui. You will be a king. I’ll bet on it. You will be a king within the age of 30.’

Maybe she was the prettiest girl I knew because she was of mixed race.

Yesol was pretty enough to stare at every time she walked down the street. She was smart enough to calculate six-digit multiplications in one second, and she occasionally muttered meaningless words.

Looking at such Yesol, I thought, She must be a weird genius.

Hair as white as snow, green eyes as clear as blades of grass.

She used to dye her hair often, saying it stood out too much, but stopped after Hunters were born because the number of white hair has grown tremendously.

Hunters’ eye color and hair color measure their characteristics and limitations.

In the case of eyes, for example, I have gray eyes, which signifies body enhancement; Natural Dream auntie has reddish brown, which is fire; Daybreak’s leader has sky-blue, which is pierce and melee; I Really Like has purple, which is dark and space; and Polar Night, who deals with the soul, has purple eyes.

In the case of hair color, it changes when the person sees their characteristics’ limitations.

In the case of Busan Milk or Polar Night with white hair, it means that the characteristics they have now have developed to the limit.

Traits that have been developed to the limit stop developing, and there is only one way to get stronger: to acquire new traits.

That’s why people called the white-haired Hunters blocked wall those who are unlucky enough never to advance in their rank unless they pick up a new trait one step higher.

Yesol, whom I met in middle school, went to the same high school and entered the same department at the same university as me.

That’s why I only had one friend, Yesol, even after I was 26. All I need is one real friend in my life. Why make more friends?

And that one and only friend continued to call me king until now, at 26.

She even made me suffer by buying a Finger King lightstick produced by Ban Seojun, saying she decided to be a Finger King fan.

There’s no other fan club that’s as hot as Hunter’s fan club these days, and I heard the Finger King fan club is the hottest among them.

And thanks to Yesol, I have one more reason to kill Ban Seojun.

“I don’t believe in pseudos.”

I thought I would never hear more kings, but it’s already the second time I’ve been called one.

No, it’s the fourth time after IRL’s call and the king in Finger King.

Anyway, the nationwide pseudo trick doesn’t work for me because all I can think about is someone of faith who pushes through to the end…

When I thought about that, Polar Night’s melodramatic eyes were suddenly filled with rain. His slightly long bangs fell around his eyes, and his terribly pretty face drew a tearful look.

This is really strange. I think he’s prettier than Yesol.

You’d want to take a picture of someone who looks like this and put it on the wall of your room and say hello to it every morning.

I’m confident that if I were a celebrity, I would dedicate my bank account to loving him, but unfortunately, he’s a cult leader.

“You think I’ll listen to your nonsense after making that face? You’re looking down on me then. As a veteran of 500 hours of volunteer work at the nursery school, I’m already familiar with gloomy expressions-“

“My king…liked my face the most…”

Tears welled up in the long eyelashes that hung down. His violet-colored eyes seemed darker because of the tears.

When a teardrop fell from his reddened eyes and ran down his cheeks, I seriously decided to declare surrender.

Such a fine look.

Yes, anyone who admires strength can call the world’s greatest king. I was wrong.

It was a teardrop that wiped away all the bitter feelings.

There are so many ugly people in the world that beauty should be preserved in peace. We have to pray for their peace and well-being in the world and let that gene spread to the next generation.

I heard Polar Night’s fans are the second most extreme in the world after Finger Technique’s fans, and I think I understand why.

Looking up close, his face just glows. He can announce the second coming of Jesus with that face…

Thought Woo Yeonhui, the Ugly #1.

Of course, I don’t know who can stand up to that face. But if the likes of Daybreak Guild’s leader, his brother, Yesol, and I Really Like pick a fight… I don’t know about the rest, but Yesol can win one out of three games.

Seriously struggling, I got down on my knees and raised the tearful Polar Night.

It’s not for nothing that the saying “beauty that tilts the country” exists.

Beauty that tilts the country and brings world peace.

I would have built a harem and promoted world peace if I were a real king.

I turned my head, which was looking up at Polar Night as I rubbed his tears with the back of my hand, away.

I, who had fallen into Polar Night’s beauty trap, was shaking my head when I suddenly saw I Really Like, who had permeated into the shadow of the furniture.

Hey, thanks. You’ve brought me to my senses. I would gladly have you as my subject if I were a real king. You will appear to break the atmosphere whenever I’m in trouble.

Polar Night, who looked like he wanted to show me droopy rabbit ears look, opened his mouth as he watched my chin twitching.

I waited for his words, nervous about what kind of medicine the swanky-looking guy would sell this time.

“I know there will be no place for me in your kingdom.”

“Of course. Because I’m not going to build a kingdom.”

“Since I’ve crossed hundreds of millions of stars to meet you again, I won’t leave you alone this time.”

So now we have I Really Like, who’s eating popcorn like a big rabbit, and Polar Night, who’s turning my life genre into romance.

I was under extreme stress filming an untimely romance in a monotone room.

No, my life is still like a mass-produced fantasy novel; only the genre has changed. The genre of my life that used to be “based on a true story” and became comedy after Finger King now has gone to space.

I let go of everything, feeling the mystery of the colorful and mysterious genre.

I got some excellent information today. The pseudo is good at answering crosswords.

“I will make a paradise just for you,” Polar Night shyly lowered his eyes and whispered. His rosy cheeks looked like someone in love. “I hope you don’t make that choice this time.”

Despair greater than love reflected in the purple eyes under the white eyelashes.

The mottled and distorted purple color, the emotion forced to let go, the burned black ashes, the reminder of damp, musty monsoon rain, and my reflection in the black pupils.

My reflection was looking at me, but it felt like she wasn’t me. It was as if someone else was being projected onto my face.

A pink cloth resembling love covered the tens, hundreds, thousands, and hundreds of millions of pieces of black glass again.

I looked at him smiling brightly like an innocent child, and inadvertently rubbed the nape of my neck.

A terrifying silence settled in the achromatic space.