The Weapon Genius: Anything I Hold Can Kill-Chapter 55: Choosing the Fighters

They found Sang-hoon in one of the smaller rooms off the cafeteria — what looked like it used to be a staff break room. The walls were yellowed with age, the paint peeling in the corners. A cracked microwave sat on the counter, next to a stack of expired instant noodles.

Sang-hoon sat at a rusted metal table, rubbing his temple like he had the worst headache in the world. A half-empty bottle of water sat beside him, his fingers drumming against it in slow, repetitive taps.

He looked up the second Jin stepped through the door.

"...You're still alive," Sang muttered, leaning back in the chair. "Impressive. I thought them outnumbering you would be enough. You truly are skilled."

Jin didn't smile. He dropped into the chair across from him, laying the staff across his lap like a blade.

"They fought hard," Jin said, voice low. "Not well. But they fought."

Sang-hoon snorted, rubbing his eyes. "That's more than they've done in these two weeks," he muttered. "I'm surprised any of them still know how to fight."

Seul leaned against the doorway, arms folded, her clothes still streaked with dust and blood. "There are people with potential," she said. "Some with decent skills. They just don't know how to use them to their full potential yet."

Joon slid into the room behind her, lazily tossing his metal spheres in the air like he hadn't just spent the last hour pummeling people with them.

"I met a human blowtorch," Joon said, grinning. "I liked her."

Sang-hoon let out a slow breath, the lines in his face deepening.

"You want to bring some of them, yes?," he muttered, not even phrasing it as a question.

Jin nodded. "Yeah."

Sang-hoon rubbed his face, looking like the weight of the world was pressing against his chest.

"You can't take everyone," he muttered. "We don't have enough people as it is. If you strip out the few that actually can fight..." He shook his head. "This place will collapse."

Jin leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "If they stay here without training, they'll die," he muttered. "You know that, right? You can't just keep hiding in this place forever."

Sang-hoon's eyes sharpened. "It's not hiding," he snapped. "It's survival."

Jin didn't flinch. "Then why don't they use their skills?" he asked, voice cold.

Sang-hoon exhaled through his nose, leaning back in the chair. "Because the system wants us to," he muttered. "And not everyone wants to play along."

Seul's brow furrowed. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," she muttered.

Sang-hoon shrugged. "Maybe," he said. "But the moment people start thinking they're stronger than others, it stops being survival. It becomes a power struggle. People start fighting over food, supplies, leadership." His fingers curled into a fist. "So we made a choice. No skills. No system shops. We get by on what we have."

Jin clenched his jaw. "And how many people died because of that choice?" he muttered, voice sharp enough to cut.

Sang-hoon laughed bitterly. "A lot," he said. "But not as many as would've died if this place turned into a bloodbath."

The room fell into a suffocating silence.

Jin ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tangling in the strands. "We can train them," he said, voice rough. "Get them stronger. They'll survive longer with us — and when they're ready, they can come back if they want to."

Sang-hoon rubbed his face, his jaw tight. "You think you'll live long enough for that?"

Jin's grip tightened on the staff, his knuckles white. "We killed death," he muttered. "Seven times. We're not dying anytime soon."

Sang-hoon rubbed his jaw, thinking hard, his fingers tapping against the table like he was playing a slow, deliberate rhythm.

"How many people?" he asked.

Jin didn't hesitate. "Twenty."

Sang-hoon scoffed. "Ten."

Jin frowned. "Fifteen."

Sang-hoon's expression didn't change. "Thirteen."

Jin tapped his fingers against the staff, his gaze sharp as a blade. "...Sixteen."

Sang-hoon raised a brow. "Fifteen," he said, voice final.

Jin exhaled slowly. "...Deal."

Seul shook her head. "We really haggled for people like they're produce?" she muttered.

Joon snorted. "I'd fight someone for a good snack," he said, twirling his spheres. "I respect it."

Jin pushed back his chair, standing with a wince. "We'll take fifteen," he said, voice steady. "The strongest ones. We'll get them ready for whatever comes next."

Sang-hoon watched him carefully, his expression unreadable.

"Do what you want," he muttered. "But if they die out there... that's on you."

Jin turned to leave, his muscles screaming, but he didn't stop moving.

"They won't," he muttered.

And he walked out of the room, already planning who to recruit next.

The cafeteria buzzed with quiet tension.

Jin stepped back into the room, the weight of Sang-hoon's words pressing against his chest, but he didn't let it show. His grip on the staff tightened as he scanned the crowd — faces streaked with dirt and exhaustion, eyes hollow with fear and hope tangled together.

Fifteen people.

They could only take fifteen.

Joon stretched his arms, the metal spheres orbiting lazily around his fingers. "Man, this feels like picking dodgeball teams," he muttered. "I kinda wanna pick the human blowtorch just for fun."

Seul wiped the dust off her gloves, rolling her shoulder until it popped. "If you pick based on personality, I'm leaving you here," she muttered, voice flat.

Jin stepped further into the room, his voice low but sharp enough to cut through the noise.

"Everyone who fought," he called out. "Stand up."

There was a long beat of hesitation.

Then the survivors who'd charged them earlier — the ones who'd swung with makeshift weapons and unsteady hands — slowly rose to their feet. The kid who'd stolen Jin's staff was already standing, his chest heaving, face pale with exhaustion, but he didn't sit down.

Jin's gaze swept over them.

"Skills," he muttered, glancing toward Seul and Joon. "Call them out as you see them."

Seul cracked her knuckles, stepping toward the nearest fighter — a woman still rubbing her burned hands after clashing with Joon's spheres.

"[Ignite Touch]," Seul muttered. "Heat generation. Not bad."

"Yo, fire lady," Joon called, pointing at her. "You're on my team."

The woman blinked, confused. "What?"

Joon grinned. "What, you don't wanna be on the winning side?"

Jin ignored him, his eyes landing on the teenager who'd accidentally blasted compressed air at him.

"You," Jin called.

The teen flinched, eyes wide. "M-Me?"

Jin nodded. "What's your skill?"

The kid swallowed hard, flexing his fingers like he didn't understand his own body.

"...[Shockwave Pulse]," he muttered.

Jin's brow lifted. "Range?"

The kid hesitated. "...Ten meters?"

"Can you control the output?"

The kid's face burned red. "N-Not really..."

Jin nodded, filing that away. "You're in," he muttered, moving on.

They went through each survivor carefully, weighing their skills against the sheer lack of training they had. Some abilities were simple — enhanced strength, skin hardening. Others were more complex:

[Mimic Step] — Temporarily copies the movement patterns of someone they've seen. freёnovelkiss.com

[Acid Spit] — Corrosive liquid secretion, short range.

[Mirage Clone] — Creates delayed afterimages that mimic movement.

They built the list one by one, checking for potential, raw instinct, or just plain stubbornness.

But Jin already knew who his first pick was.

He stopped in front of the kid who'd stolen his staff.

The boy flinched under the weight of his stare, still gripping the staff so tightly his knuckles were turning white. The shadows that had swirled around him during the fight had faded, but there was still something sharp in his eyes.

He'd moved.

He'd tried.

And even when he failed — he didn't let go.

Jin crouched down, balancing on his heels, and tilted his head.

"You," he muttered. "What's your name?"

The kid swallowed. "...Haneul," he whispered.

Jin nodded slowly.

"You're my first pick, Haneul."

The boy's eyes widened.

"But I lost," he rasped, voice shaking.

Jin's mouth curled into a faint, tired smile.

"You held on," he muttered. "That's enough."

The kid's shoulders trembled.

Joon watched from the side, tossing his spheres like they were nothing, but for once, he didn't say anything.

Seul cracked her neck, voice quiet.

"We'll make you stronger," she muttered. "If you're willing to work for it."

Haneul stared down at the staff in his hands — the same staff Jin had used to kill the Face of Fate. His fingers trembled, his breath shaky, but he clutched it even tighter.

"I..." he whispered, voice raw.

He bowed his head.

"I'll work hard," he rasped.

Jin patted his shoulder, standing up with a wince.

"Good," he muttered. "We leave in two hours."

Seul raised a brow. "Two hours?" she muttered. "We're really not sleeping first?"

Jin shook his head, stretching his shoulders.

"We sleep when we're back at the school," he muttered, already moving. "Pick the rest."

Joon snorted, cracking his neck.

"This is gonna be fun," he muttered, eyes gleaming.

And by the time they were done, fifteen people stood with them — bruised, battered, but standing.

Ready to fight.