Living Dangerously with a 999-Year-Old Gumiho – Chapter 137

Namgil strained in desperation to gather money continuously.

But it was almost impossible to save a million won within a week using normal methods.

He began to consider increasingly extreme options.

His first attempt was a loan.

He wandered around various banks and loan companies, but his credit status was already poor, making it nearly impossible to get a loan.

Despair deepened. Namgil began to cross the line of the law.

He decided to cross the boundaries of the law and targeted small shops.

He started stealing cash from several small shops.

At night, he donned a hood and hat, slipped on black gloves, and quietly snuck into the back of the shops.

He would forcefully break down emergency exit doors or pry open old locks to get inside.

What he could steal mostly consisted of drawer cash, a few expensive bottles of liquor, and sometimes cigarettes or small electronics.

As he repeated these actions, Namgil gradually became accustomed to his behavior, but at the same time, his inner guilt and fear grew.

The money he obtained still fell far short of his goal, and his desperation only deepened.

At home, his family seemed completely unaware of Namgil’s situation and lived peacefully.

His middle school daughter continued her school life as if nothing was happening, and his wife devoted herself to household chores and caring for the family.

Namgil struggled to hide all of this from his family, trying to act as normally as possible at home.

In the morning, before leaving the house, Namgil handed his daughter a bit of pocket money and smiled gently.

“Have a good day at school.”

He said. His daughter, completely oblivious, responded with a bright smile.

“Okay, I’ll be back~”

In that moment, Namgil’s heart felt heavy with guilt, but he consoled himself by thinking that if his daughter could be safe and happy, all of this would be worth it.

His wife assumed Namgil had gone to work and focused on her daily chores.

She believed he was working hard since he left the house early every morning.

Namgil’s desperation deepened.

Stealing from several shops was no longer enough, and his insides were filled with guilt, fear, and despair.

But time was fast running out, and he had little left.

Consequently, his thoughts began to tilt even further toward the extreme.

*

The old man, with one eye covered, carefully entered a rundown-looking house that was surprisingly spacious inside.

The workshop was filled with strange machines and items that seemed to blend the future and the modern.

Along the walls, glass jars of various sizes and shapes were lined up, some sparkling with unknown liquids.

On the workbench were unusual distilling devices and several scientific machines, alongside scrolls covered in strange letters piled in a corner.

The old man cautiously approached the workbench.

There lay a flat, thin rectangular device.

As his fingers brushed over the responsive surface and pressed various buttons appearing on the screens, music began flowing from the device.

His fingertips lightly tapped the screen, and it glowed softly, displaying various icons.

Classical music started to fill the air from this flat device.

The melodies from the cello and violin filled the space, gently weaving their way among the machines and glass jars in the old man’s workshop.

The melody created a peaceful atmosphere, allowing the old man to concentrate on his work as he prepared potions.

He sat at the workbench, organizing his complex thoughts while continuing to write.

His hand moved restlessly, and new futures and ideas bubbled up continuously in his mind.

His pen raced across the paper, trying to capture the stories bubbling up from within him.

The workshop was filled with the gentle melodies of classical music, but his mind was chaotic with more stories.

Beneath his eyes, exhaustion was evident, yet he couldn’t stop writing.

One sheet, two sheets, and soon three sheets became densely filled.

He mumbled to himself as he organized his thoughts.

His voice sounded weak and tired, but his movements remained fast and precise.

The old man’s work became increasingly passionate and focused.

Visions of future stories unfolded in his mind as he plunged deeper into his own world.

Quickly extracting information from the scrolls filled with strange letters, he diligently recorded something on the paper.

The classical music that filled the workshop began to grow more intense as it plunged into deeper realms.

The resonant tones of the cello layered with the sharp melodies of the violin, stirring the old man’s emotions as well.

His writing became almost frenzied, the turmoil of his feelings directly reflected in his handwriting.

At one moment, he paused, looking up to stare at the ceiling.

The vision of the future was vividly painted in his eyes.

His expression suddenly shifted, bursting into a maddened laugh.

Deep pain, confusion, and an unknown excitement mingled within this laughter.

“Hahaha! This is the answer! This is it!!!”

He shouted.

His laughter grew louder, echoing within the serene confines of the workshop.

As the old man’s laughter gradually subsided, a sense of anxiety and confusion reflected in his gaze.

He realized that the future he had seen had suddenly changed, understanding that his discovery was flawed.

The confident look in his eyes twisted sharply, becoming unstable.

The old man’s psychological torment reached its zenith.

In the throes of anxiety and despair, yearning for death, he slammed his head against the workbench multiple times.

“I want to die… I just want it to end!”

He screamed.

But ironically, the old man could not meet death due to the ‘method of immortal existence’ he had witnessed in the past.

The old man’s sense of powerlessness deepened.

Solving the secret of immortality meant that no illness or injury could harm him.

His immortality had become an eternal torment.

He groaned and touched his face.

Slowly pulling down the cloth that had covered one eye, he inspected the scars that remained there.

Where his eye should have been, there was nothing but emptiness, with not even a trace left behind.

The old man attempted to calm himself, moving toward the warehouse.

There stood a special machine he had completed in preparation for the present.

This machine was a highly developed mechanical device that could replace his blind eye.

He picked up the device and carefully situated it into his empty eye socket with trembling hands.

The machine was intricately made, fitting perfectly against his skull.

When the old man turned on the device, he felt a brief moment of pain but soon adapted.

As the device activated, his world unfolded in a new way.

The mechanical eye provided visual information across various spectra, showing him things he normally could not see.

Now, through thermal, infrared, and ultra-high-resolution vision, the old man could perceive his environment.

This new visual ability offered him the precise observational skills he needed for his experiments, significantly aiding his life.

At the command of the old man, a soft sound began moving from one side of the workshop.

A rusty-looking robot, Intel, clumsily approached.

Its body was composed of various parts and scrap metal, with a small light flickering in its chest.

That was the core of Intel, the heart and body of AI.

The old man turned his head toward Intel and spoke in a fatigued voice.

“Intel, I truly want to die.”

“But because of this immortal body, I can’t.”

The small light in Intel’s eye flickered.

The robot’s eyes blinked, and it cautiously responded.

“Master, there is a possible solution.”

“As a machine, I experience and perceive the future differently than humans do.”

“There is the best option for you to transfer the future vision to me, Master.”

“By doing so, I can alleviate your burden and help you make better decisions.”

The old man nodded at Intel’s suggestion and spoke seriously.

“But the method you mentioned is something only a human can do, Intel.”

“You cannot transfer future vision to a machine.”

“I may pass on this ability to someone else, but that person will no longer be able to pass it on to others.”

“It’s like a curse; the recipient will have to live their life entangled in that ability.”

The old man sat at the workbench, lost in thought for a moment.

His fingers nervously tapped on the workbench.

“Passing this weight onto someone else is a tremendous responsibility I must bear.”

“But it’s also the only way that can truly free me.”

“To end this eternal life where I cannot die…”

The old man fell silent for a moment, unable to continue.

He looked up at Intel and saw his reflection in the machine’s eyes.

His eyes reflected the pain and exhausting life he had endured over the long years.

*

The grandfather sighed as he watched Yoonhwa and Tori descend into the village.

After they disappeared, he walked out to the yard.

Standing in the broad courtyard of the traditional Korean house, he paused to look up at the sky and took a deep breath.

The grandfather’s expression turned serious, and he steadied his heart as he lowered his body.

His movements were slow and calm, but each action carried weight.

Leaning on his cane, he cautiously began his training.

This training was a martial art he had refined over a long time, and his body seemed well accustomed to each movement.

In the calmness of the yard, his movements gradually became faster and stronger.

The grandfather recalled the difficulties he faced in his duel with Yoonhwa, applying the lessons he had learned to his training.

He recognized that feeling his limits in the duel with her made him stronger.

“Stay calm, and be precise…”

The grandfather murmured as he executed a series of movements.

His feet firmly planted on the ground, and his hands sliced through the air.

He gathered all his energy, rotating his body, the sound of air cutting filled the yard.

The grandfather continued his training in the yard of the traditional house, as evening deepened and dusk began to cloak the space.

His movements remained fluid and full of concentration, but his body slowly started to feel fatigue.

At last, he paused his training, wiping the sweat from his brow, and sighed.

The grandfather walked around to the back of the traditional house.

There was a cluttered box full of various objects.

He seemed to have a clear purpose in searching through the box.

While rummaging through it, his hand caught something—shimmering golden keys.

The keys found in the box were seven identical keys, each with unique designs.

The grandfather held the golden keys in one hand, sitting down in a chair, lost in deep thought.

His gaze occasionally shifted between the keys and the darkening sky.

He knew that giving one of these keys to Yoonhwa could help her.

Yet at the same time, the uncertainty of whether she could use it well weighed heavily on his mind.

He was aware that Yoonhwa might lack experience and be naive to the ways of the world.

“These keys are convenient, but if one becomes too engrossed in them, it could lead to great danger…”

The grandfather muttered.

After pondering for a while longer, he rose with determination and took one key out.

The key had beautiful engravings and was delicately adorned with intricate magical runes on its surface.

The grandfather contemplated whether or not to give this key to Yoonhwa, recalling its power and potential.

Finally, he decided to place the key into a small cloth pouch, resolving to keep it well hidden.

When Yoonhwa returned and showed that she was ready, he planned to hand her that key.

It would be an important tool to help her overcome the challenges she would face, promoting her growth and maturity.

The grandfather returned to the yard, slowly looking around, hoping that Yoonhwa and Tori would return safely while gazing at the sky.