After returning, He became the greatest returner of all time

Chapter 21: Kim Gil-yong (2)

“…Hello.”

Kim Yi-an, her face slightly flushed as if embarrassed, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Then, still wearing her backpack, she scurried over and plopped down beside Kim Gil-yong.

Kim Gil-yong stared at her, wide-eyed.

“Why are you sitting here?”
“Are you the new instructor?”
“Since when do you use honorifics with me?”
“What do you mean ‘since when’? I’m just acting normal, Dad.”

Kim Yi-an neatly placed her backpack on her lap and flashed a sweet smile. Kim Gil-yong, stunned, pressed his hand against her forehead.

“What did they serve for lunch today?! You must’ve eaten something weird!”
“What do you mean, ‘weird’?! Don’t you know I’m naturally this refined?!”

Kim Yi-an swatted his hand away and snapped, then gasped and covered her mouth with her hands, looking at me in shock.

“Oh my! My voice was a little louder than usual.”

In an instant, she transformed from a feisty wildcat into a docile kitten, beaming at me.

“Please take care of me from now on! My name is Kim Yi-an, and I’m in my third year of middle school! Which means I’ll be an adult soon.”

(Third-year middle school is still a long way from adulthood…)

“By the way, I don’t have a boyfriend yet. What’s your name, Oppa?”
“Lee Geom-shin.”
“Wow! Your name is so cool! Oppa, you have to stay at the Thunder Dragon Sword Hall for a long, long time! That way— Ow! What the—?!”

Before she could finish, Kim Gil-yong scooped her up like a sack of potatoes, slung her over his shoulder, and marched out of the office. Kim Yi-an flailed in protest but still managed to shout back at me.

“I’ll greet you properly next time—!”

SLAM! The door shut, cutting off her words.

A moment later, Kim Gil-yong returned, scratching his head awkwardly.

“My daughter takes after her mother—completely unpredictable. Haha.”
“It’s that age.”

After that, we formally signed the contract quest.

[Contract Quest]
Title: Master the Thunder Dragon Sword Technique!
Clear Condition: Learn all forms of the Thunder Dragon Sword Technique.
Time Limit: Until the contract expires.
Reward: Acquisition of the Thunder Dragon Sword Technique.
Additional Benefit: If mastered within three months, bonus rewards.

Unique skill transfers between players are also handled through contract quests.

With this, I officially became a member of the Thunder Dragon Sword Hall.

Kim Gil-yong nodded in satisfaction as he reviewed the contract, then looked back at me. But in that brief moment, his gaze had completely changed—like a predator locking onto its prey.

And it wasn’t just his eyes.

“Now that you’ve officially joined the Thunder Dragon Sword Hall, I’ll speak casually.”

His tone had shifted into something authoritative, as if he were a completely different person. The way he acted before and after signing the contract was like night and day.

And the same went for me.

“Of course. You’re my master now.”

He was no longer my subordinate.
And I, as a formal disciple, had to show him the respect a master deserved.

“Haha. Yeah, that’s right.”

Kim Gil-yong nodded with a pleased expression.

“I’ll forge you into a blade—just trust me and follow my lead!”

His pupils burned with fiery determination.

This.
This was why the Thunder Dragon Sword Hall was deserted.

In an era where skill books made learning techniques effortless, the appeal of unique skills still existed—but only if the training wasn’t excessively grueling.

If the process was too painful, most people would rather save up and buy a skill book instead.

Because of this, Kim Gil-yong’s swordsmanship philosophy posed an impossibly high barrier for players wanting to learn the Thunder Dragon Sword Technique.

Who in this day and age would willingly subject themselves to the suffering required to become a true swordsman?

●: Ugh. Here comes the old-school disciplinarian act.

Old-school disciplinarian.

A painfully accurate description.

Kim Gil-yong’s beliefs were stuck in the past.

He insisted that mastering the Thunder Dragon Sword Technique required the right mindset, a robust physique, and a solid foundation in swordsmanship.

The problem? His standards for “solid foundation” were absurdly high.

To meet his expectations, one would have to spend at least a couple of months on basic training alone.

‘No wonder players flee instead of paying monthly fees for this.’

But I didn’t consider his beliefs foolish.

Because they were the right path.

It might be painful and arduous now, but that time would eventually pay off tenfold.

I could say this with confidence because I had lived through it all before.

Nothing reached the pinnacle through easy, comfortable paths.

Only deep, heavy steps laden with hardship could elevate someone to greatness.

So I wouldn’t say Kim Gil-yong was wrong.

But I wouldn’t say he was entirely right, either.

Everyone has their own life, and the path they choose is ultimately their own decision.

The consequences? They bear them alone.

In Kim Gil-yong’s case, his stubbornness left his dojo empty.

Players who avoided hardship and took the easy route? They’d never become anything more than mediocre.

So which path should I take?

The answer was already decided.

‘I’ll take the easy and comfortable route.’

A long, difficult path?

Deep, heavy steps filled with hardship?

My past life had been saturated with that.

Through endless pain and struggle, I had finally reached the end.

That’s why I didn’t need to walk that path again.

This time—

No matter what I chose, it would be easy and comfortable.

Even without the miracle I’d received, my path was already paved.

Because—

‘I’m a regressor.’

Skill training began immediately after signing the contract.

“Change into this and come back out.”

I took the uniform Kim Gil-yong handed me. A yellow dragon was embroidered on the chest, and “Thunder Dragon Sword Hall” was boldly written across the back. He also gave me a white belt.

“I’ll tie the belt for you when you come out.”
“Understood.”

After changing in the locker room, I stepped out into the dojo, holding the white belt in one hand.

The first floor, which functioned as the training hall, was a spacious rectangle except for the office and locker room. Training equipment and wooden swords were neatly arranged on one side.

The dojo was impeccably clean—clearly well-maintained.

“I’ll show you how to tie the belt, so pay attention.”

Kim Gil-yong personally demonstrated how to knot the belt, and I watched half-heartedly.

“Actual skill training begins after you earn the black belt.”
“Understood.”

True to his warning before the contract, he was sticking to a strict training regimen.

Who would’ve thought I’d end up being trained by my former subordinate?

It felt… refreshingly new.

“As I mentioned, the training will be extremely harsh. Most players spend three months on basic training and another three mastering the Thunder Dragon Sword Technique—six months total. As you can see, the time required to learn the skill itself isn’t much different from other places. So don’t worry about that.”

Most sword halls focused solely on skill acquisition, which took about six months.

But Kim Gil-yong split it—three months of basics, three months of technique—while keeping the total duration the same.

This meant the training intensity was several times more brutal.

For him, this was already a compromise.

But for students? It was enough to make them groan.

“But I’ll promise you one thing—after six months, you’ll be far stronger than you are now.”

Of course.

He’d grind me into dust.

Maybe he realized how that sounded because his words came off more like a threat than encouragement.

Not that it mattered to me.

“You said you specialized in swords at the academy?”

Standing before the wooden training swords, Kim Gil-yong spoke.

“Yes.”
“Then let’s see your basics.”

He carefully selected a wooden sword and handed it to me.

It was shaped like a standard longsword but made of wood, with a solid weight—likely reinforced with metal inside. The grip fit perfectly in my hand, clearly high-quality.

Even with barely any students, he spares no expense on training equipment.

I could sense his dedication to his teaching philosophy.

“How is it? Impressive, right?”

Pride dripped from his voice.

I obliged with a nod.

“Yes. It’s almost too good for a training sword.”
“A sword is a swordsman’s other self. Even a training sword must be treated with respect. That’s why I invested in good ones.”

Smiling, he gestured toward the center of the training area.

“Ready? Show me what you’ve got. Let’s see how well the academy taught you.”

He wanted me to demonstrate my fundamentals.

I stepped forward, then glanced back at him. He stood with his arms crossed, watching me with intense focus.

●: Looks like he’s about to demand money.

No, that’s not it.

Though it certainly seemed that way.

His sharp, unblinking eyes resembled a bandit leader sizing up his next victim. A nervous person might’ve already emptied their pockets.

But compared to his training methods, that face was nothing.

I knew exactly how Kim Gil-yong had drilled his troops.

Which was why I also knew what that gaze really meant.

‘He’s assessing my skill.’

He needed to identify my weaknesses—to figure out how to break me down.

Kim Gil-yong’s training was infamous for its brutality, but it wasn’t mindless.

He was meticulous, systematic, and relentless in pushing trainees to their absolute limits.

That’s what made him truly terrifying.

So I had no intention of holding back.

I had to give my best—like standing before a judge.

One misstep, and I’d be worked to the bone.

For all his boisterousness, he was ruthlessly strict when it came to swordsmanship.

—Swish.

I spread my legs shoulder-width apart and slowly raised the wooden sword.

I took the chūdan-no-kamae stance—the blade poised at throat level, aimed at an imaginary opponent’s neck.

Then, with deliberate precision, I began executing the most fundamental sword techniques.

Vertical slashes, horizontal cuts, diagonal strikes, thrusts—each movement flowed into the next with controlled grace.

I repeated the sequence in all eight directions, finishing with a single decisive thrust at the center.

“Huu.”

Returning to the chūdan-no-kamae stance, I steadied my breath and looked at Kim Gil-yong.

“……”

He stood frozen, his expression unreadable.

Only then did I relax.

At first glance, he seemed angry—but I recognized it.

He was stunned.

My skill level had far exceeded his expectations.

And why wouldn’t it?

Every motion had been executed with full sincerity.

Though my body couldn’t fully replicate my true abilities, I had poured every ounce of focus into each movement—enough to make my muscles ache.

Someone like Kim Gil-yong, who valued fundamentals above all else, couldn’t possibly miss the depth of my technique.

“Th-That was… impressive. Let’s move on to the next step, shall we? Haha.”

He laughed awkwardly, clearly flustered.

From there, Kim Gil-yong tested me further—assessing my transitions, power control, evasion techniques—anything to gauge my mastery.

But in the end—

“…Well, I suppose you don’t need basic training.”

He had no choice but to acknowledge my skill.

I smiled leisurely at his flustered, red-faced reaction.

Didn’t I tell you?

This time, it’ll be easy.