Chapter 122 – Palace Maid (15)
[Chapter 6 – Section 7] The Shaman Is on the Move!
For the first time, I woke up not staring at a ceiling.
“Kang Moon-soo. After winning gold in the 100 km track marathon, followed by gold medals in men’s taekwondo (20s) and all-ages, you’re now facing doping allegations. What are your thoughts on that?”
“…Is that really a question?”
“E-Excuse me? Ah—yes.”
Instead of Seo Hye-joo, a young woman who looked like a reporter stood in front of me.
The senior really had it rough.
Countless cameras and focused gazes were pointed at me.
But this body had once been the second-in-command of a great empire in the world of the romance fantasy novel I Became the Youngest Daughter of a Count’s Family. After everything I’d been through, this was hardly enough to faze me.
“Come back after you’ve studied how those substances actually work. Then I’ll talk to you.”
“Are you treating me like an idiot?”
“I never said that.”
What are performance-enhancing drugs?
They temporarily boost performance by dulling negative factors like pain and fatigue.
Naturally, they place a heavy burden on the body, causing side effects and aftereffects. For someone like me—competing in multiple events over several days—they’d actually be poison.
In other words, drugs aren’t some flawless multivitamin.
“Kang Moon-soo, this is a live broadcast—”
“Yes. If you keep bothering me, I’ll sue for interference with competition.”
“…My apologies.”
The reporter shot me a sharp glare, then turned away irritably and left.
“You’re back.”
Song Sun-young, who had been watching from just behind, noticed immediately.
“Uh… hey.”
In the world of the historical drama Palace Maid Deok-chun, every woman wore long traditional skirts, so nothing really crossed my mind.
But Song Sun-young?
It feels like my soul is being healed!
No matter how well I did in dreams, reality was still better.
“That’s a relief. I thought that old man might never leave your body.”
“Uh… sorry for worrying you.”
I knew I’d caused concern.
I didn’t know either.
I’d never imagined that the Blood God I’d contracted with in a dream could control my physical body in reality. If I’d known beforehand, I would’ve warned her.
Song Sun-young spoke casually.
“As long as you know now, that’s fine. Go. Head out that way.”
“Okay.”
If I’d had more time, I would’ve asked her all sorts of things about what had happened in reality while I was gone—but first, I had to finish the track event right in front of me.
“Confident?”
“Of course.”
I could tell immediately.
After surviving and escaping a patient’s dream world while gaining all kinds of experience, I’d grown again.
“You didn’t start dating another woman, did you?”
“Of course not!”
“Good. That’s all I needed to hear.”
“I’ll be back!”
The patient had said something strange at the very end, but that wasn’t my fault.
So—innocent!
“Kang Moon-soo. It looked like you argued with a reporter earlier. When the real you comes back later, how do you plan to take responsibility?”
Jeon Ji-eun, standing near the stadium entrance, confronted me.
“I am the real one.”
“…Moon-soo?”
“Yeah. It’s me. Hi.”
“I didn’t notice at all. At this rate, I really can’t—”
“Hm?”
Did I do something wrong? She frowned deeply, looking genuinely offended.
“Go.”
“Okay.”
There was no time, so I set aside my questions and headed into the stadium.
“……”
“……”
I returned the openly hostile stares from the other athletes with a smile.
“Hello.”
Faces full of displeasure—like some contaminant had entered the sacred track competition meant only for those with the track athlete aptitude.
They sneered when they looked at my comparatively short legs.
That’s unfair!
I take pride in having ideal body proportions, thank you very much!
Track and field.
An Olympic event where physical ability matters far more than technique or experience.
In the old days, there was supposedly a “Track Emperor” who dominated the sport—like Nam Hae-soo, the Swimming Emperor—but nowadays, track athletes are notorious for having much shorter peak careers than swimmers.
(Group 8 has crossed the finish line. Group 9, please move to the starting line.)
“On your marks…!”
I moved to the starting line, placed both feet on the blocks, lowered myself, and waited in a crouching start.
Kang Moon-soo. Let’s finish this in one go.
Events decided by records—like track, swimming, weightlifting, shooting, and archery—were over in less than half a day.
You get up to three chances.
But you have to choose carefully. If you request a retry, your previous record is nullified.
Bang—!
The moment the starting signal sounded, I exploded forward, unfolding my coiled body and sprinting.
Faster…!
The track events I’d entered were the 100 km marathon, 30 km, 10 km, and 3000 m.
Excluding the relatively short 1000 m and 300 m, that meant I was competing in more than half of them.
That was how confident I was in my stamina.
Whoosh!
“Huh—?!”
A track athlete I overtook widened his eyes. Ignoring his carefully managed pacing, he desperately increased his speed to catch up to me—
But the distance between us only kept growing.
And this was just the beginning.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
“W-what…?”
“Ghk?!”
Like swimming, track events are contests where “human cheetahs” of similar ability decide victory within less than a second.
Running at comparable speeds, then getting overtaken en masse by me—the looks on their faces were priceless.
Coming through!
By the time I’d run about half of the 3000 m, I’d already overtaken every single competitor.
This was clearly an improvement over the last time my record had been measured.
But only slightly.
Considering how much I’d run around in the world of the historical drama Palace Maid Deok-chun, it was hard not to feel a little disappointed.
Is simply running not enough anymore? Or have I hit a growth ceiling?
That was something I’d need to research seriously after the Olympics.
Flutter—
I crossed the finish line in first place without a single variable.
Because it wasn’t a particularly popular event, the cheers and applause in the stands were modest—but that was only at the venue.
(Viewers! Did you see that record? This makes no sense!)
(A full four-second improvement! Following the marathon, Kang Moon-soo has set another world record in the 3000 m!)
(Who could have predicted this? A massive record from an athlete with a different aptitude!)
(Anyone who bets on sports like me is probably crying tears of blood right now. I don’t even feel like moderating.)
(Shall we take a look? Gasp! Kang Moon-soo’s odds were 94-to-1! Is this for real?!)
(It is. He was treated like a novelty because of his different aptitude. Considering that, the odds were actually low.)
(Ah! There were rumors that big spenders picked him.)
(Looks like those weren’t just rumors.)
As soon as the race ended, the live broadcast commentary echoed through the stadium.
The commentators’ voices were filled with excitement.
According to Olympic track regulations, there were still two retry opportunities remaining, and other competitors hadn’t yet recorded their times—so the medal ceremony was still far off.
But could anyone really shave off four seconds, not just 0.4?
Enjoying the feeling that the gold medal was essentially secured, I headed to the waiting room.
“Good work.”
Jeon Ji-eun handed me a towel, then paused.
“Unni. Moon-soo doesn’t usually sweat this much.”
Song Sun-young threw out a childish jab.
“…Isn’t that still better than you, who didn’t move at all?”
“Didn’t move? I cheered really hard, you know?”
“That’s the bare minimum.”
Sparks practically flew.
Song Sun-young and Jeon Ji-eun started glaring at each other, locked in a silent staring contest.
The senior had complained before about how exhausting it was to be stuck between the two of them while controlling my body—but I hadn’t realized it was this bad.
“Unni, don’t cross the line. I’m Moon-soo’s girlfriend, you know?”
“So what? Am I interfering with your relationship? Or am I dating Moon-soo?”
“Yes! You’ve been doing it this whole time!”
“Oh my. Ms. Song Sun-young, your victim complex is a bit severe. I merely handed him a towel since he doesn’t have a coach.”
“He doesn’t have a coach? Are you insulting my mom just now?”
“Don’t nitpick. Your mother is a swimming coach.”
“She’s still right there, though! Mom! Mom too—stop looking at Toto already!”
Coach Jang Seo-yeon seemed to be checking sports betting odds on her smartphone.
“94-to-1… 94-to-1…”
The way she kept grinning to herself looked slightly unhinged.
As for the competition—
(Group 11 has crossed the finish line. Group 12, please move to the starting line.)
It was still far from over.
“…Reality time really doesn’t pass quickly.”
If the 3000 m was already a guaranteed gold, then the 10 km and 30 km—events that demanded even more stamina—were practically decided as well.
“Mom! Snap out of it!”
“Sun-young! Look! Ninety-four times! It was worth pulling together every last bit—”
“Act like a Coach!”
“Coach? Moon-soo! I love you!”
“This woman…!”
My private room at the track stadium was in chaos thanks to Song Sun-young’s rampage.
“…My stomach suddenly hurts.”
I just wanted to hang three gold medals around my neck already and rest at the hotel.
Because I’d given up on the Olympics to enter a dream, I hadn’t placed any bets on sports toto. If I’d known the senior would be controlling my body and attending the Olympic opening ceremony in my place…
“Urgh!”
Regret always comes too late!
I’d permanently missed the chance to multiply my bank balance by ninety-four times.
“Kang Moon-soo!”
“…What is it?”
Just as I was about to return to the hotel with three gold medals hanging around my neck, a reporter stopped me. If it had been the same reporter I saw the moment I woke up, I would’ve ignored them—but this was a different one.
“You currently have six gold medals! Are you aiming for the P-Medal?”
The P-Medal.
An honorary decoration awarded to the athlete who holds the most gold medals across both the Winter and Summer Olympics.
I shook my head immediately.
“No. I’ve only won gold in two events, so I’m not thinking about it right now.”
I couldn’t fall for the reporter’s clever wordplay.
Six gold medals?
Not technically wrong—but for the P-Medal, only one gold medal per event is counted. Whether I won four golds in track or just one, it would only count as one toward the P-Medal ranking.
“So you’re saying your thoughts could change later?”
“I have no thoughts about it at all. Being an athlete isn’t my main profession.”
“Oh! Speaking of which, there’s been a lot of talk about your aptitude. Kang Moon-soo, could you briefly explain what kind of aptitude a shaman has?”
“I catch ghosts.”
“……”
“……”
“…That’s it?”
“Yes. Is there a problem?”
“Generally speaking, it’s common knowledge that shamans catch ghosts.”
A surprisingly reasonable point from a reporter who seemed to enjoy wordplay.
“Then I’ll add an adjective. I catch real ghosts—for real.”
“Does that imply other shamans are fake?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m not interested in what other shamans do.”
“Ah… I see.”
“If you’ll excuse me.”
The reporter looked like they wanted to ask more and followed me all the way to the parking lot, but was stopped by security.
Whose security?
“Kang Moon-soo. Congratulations on the gold medals.”
An elderly woman in a wheelchair—pushed by a beautiful secretary—smiled at me.
“Thank you, Mrs. Park Han-hee.”
Mrs. Park Han-hee, who had supported track and field since her youth because she loved running.
Now elderly and barely able to walk, she depended on a wheelchair—yet she celebrated as if it were her own achievement.
“Swimming is next, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a pity my husband can’t watch your race.”
Her husband was Nam Hae-soo, the Swimming Emperor.
A patient I’d confidently tried—and failed—to save. One who ultimately turned into a Sword Demon…
“In his later years, he was more interested in politics than in sports.”
He’d been so absent in the dream that I thought he’d turned into a dolphin—but in reality, he’d been reborn as the second son of a chaebol, busy changing the course of history.
At my reply, Mrs. Park Han-hee smiled gently, as if she already knew everything.
“Kang Moon-soo. On such a happy day, may this old woman offer you a piece of advice?”
“Yes. I’m listening.”
“Sometimes, you must say what the public wants to hear rather than the absolute truth. A tree that grows straight in search of more light can snap easily in a harsh wind.”
“I understand.”
“Do you really?”
So I gave her the answer she wanted.
“I’ll follow in Nam Hae-soo’s footsteps and reign as the next Swimming Emperor.”
“An admirable resolve. I hope the Swimming Association recognizes your noble determination.”
I hope so too.
Coming from the wife of the Swimming Emperor—who had been revered as a hero—this wasn’t just a wish or hope. It would become reality.
“Thank you.”
“Hoho! I should be the one thanking you.”
“You, ma’am?”
“Ninety-four times.”
“Ah…”
So she’d been betting on sports toto too.
“I’m looking forward to your swimming as well.”
“Yes.”
The shaman did the work—
And the neighbors made the money.
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