Chapter 41 - The Kid of San Franciso

Django had used 3 bullets so far.

Since he hadn't reloaded, he had 3 bullets left.

The weapon difference between me and Django was knife versus gun.

If he kept his distance, I had no chance.

So if I wanted to slit his throat, I needed to close the distance once more.

And...

I needed to seize the opportunity when Django used up all 3 loaded bullets and reloaded.

Fortunately, after experiencing it earlier, I was getting more used to Django's bullets.

So I put strength in my feet to challenge him head-on again.

Whoosh.

As I cut through the wind, another baseball comes flying.

Bang—!

From seeing his posture earlier, I could be certain.

Django wasn't used to guns.

He probably hadn't been properly trained, let alone handled one much.

But due to his overwhelming talent, Django's bullets were incredibly fierce.

As if instinctively knowing I'd react if he shot at my torso, his bullet flew toward my left leg.

He seemed to intend to stop my mobility first and then finish me off with follow-up shots.

Swish.

The bullet aimed at my leg narrowly missed and hit the ground.

This was my subconscious reacting.

[Superhuman Senses], another trait I had when entering this game.

That keen sense I had made my own over the past 17 years automatically lifted my left leg.

But even [Superhuman Senses] couldn't solve the follow-up shot coming.

Bang—!

Django's fanning was so fast it was hard to see even in slowed space-time.

Another pitcher's fastball came flying.

This time at my torso.

But having barely dodged the first shot, I had no blind spots.

It’s coming.

That fierce bullet was coming to end my breath.

Grin.

I smiled seeing it and bent my arm.

And...

Thwack—!

"...!!"

I caught the flying bullet with my bent arm instead of my torso.

Django's face turned to confusion, clearly not expecting this.

He must have been very surprised.

I was too.

Trading flesh for bone.

It was my strategy inspired by the duel with Red Beard.

Swish—

Now the distance had been considerably closed.

Django's eyes turn towards my right arm hit by the bullet, as if entranced.

It couldn't be helped.

The right side hit by the bullet... was also the side holding my knife.

But...

Whoosh.

"...!"

I, who had been waiting for Django's gaze to turn right, immediately drew another knife from my left back pocket.

My hand drawing the knife was as fast as Django's hand doing the fanning cock.

Before I knew it, my left hand holding the knife was at Django's collarbone.

Click.

Django quickly fanned and aimed his gun at me.

Is it because I got shot after a long time?

Maybe because blood circulation had sped up, my brain was working faster too.

Django, cornered, would hurry to shoot my head to kill me instantly before getting stabbed.

This was within my expectations.

Unlike the torso, legs, or hands, bullets aimed at the head could be dodged even at close range.

The head could move quickly and freely thanks to the neck, and with eyes attached, one could see and react immediately.

Not knowing this, Django would waste his last bullet as I intended.

After dodging that and slicing Django with my knife when he had used all his bullets...

Checkmate.

It would be over.

But...

"..."

"...!"

Contrary to my expectations, Django just aimed at me without firing.

So...

Stab—

My knife plunged into Django's collarbone, but I couldn't slice all the way to his neck.

If I took time slicing to the neck, Django, who still hadn't used his last bullet, would have an angle to shoot me.

So the most I could do was pull out the knife and back away again.

Step.

He's enduring this.

Ironically, I couldn't finish him because Django didn't fire his last bullet.

Even so, the match was almost over.

"Guhk..."

"Django—!!"

Though I took a few more bullets, Django was stabbed in his right collarbone.

Splash—!

Blood gushed like a fountain from Django’s collarbone, causing him to grimace in great pain.

Django had one bullet left.

He couldn't easily fire his last bullet even though the distance had widened.

He probably wasn't confident he could hit me.

Still, I'll give him credit.

Django was the most troublesome prey among those I had met recently.

But even that fierce black panther was now gasping for breath after being stabbed.

Instead of approaching immediately, I tightened the noose further.

"NPCs can't beat players."

"......"

As the situation calmed, the excitement that had filled my body began to subside.

I regained cold reason and pondered how to handle the rest.

But that's when it happened.

"..."

Instead of me planning the next strategy, Django looked at me intently, lowered his gun slightly, and said, "...I'm too ignorant to understand what you mean by NPC and player, Mr. Noah."

He must have been bothered by my constant use of the word NPC.

I smiled slightly and answered, "You probably won't know that until the day you die."

And that would be true not just for Django, but for all inhabitants of this game world.

But unlike me smiling slightly, there was no trace of a smile on Django's face.

Until yesterday, he had looked like a grinning sucker...

Perhaps because he was grimacing in pain, he looked quite agitated.

"...But I do know one thing. That I misjudged you yesterday, Mr. Noah."

"Misjudged? What?"

"I thought you were different from other white people. But you're the same."

What on earth is he talking about?

As I tilted my head for a moment, Django spewed out the resentment rooted in his heart.

"I'm different from you."

"..."

"The white people who managed black slaves always looked at us with those eyes. Just like how you're looking at me now, Mr. Noah."

In Django's rising voice, it seemed like his past was flashing through his eyes.

"I used to think that too. That blacks and whites are different. That masters and slaves are different. But I don't think that anymore."

Tears and a smile appear on his face simultaneously.

It was hard to tell if he was crying or laughing.

One thing clear to me was...

His emotions are intensifying, but gaps keep appearing.

As he continued speaking, Django's posture was gradually crumbling.

Time to go, I guess.

Realizing it was time to finish this, I subtly raised my knife.

Just as I was about to leap and end his last breath, that was when it happened.

"Mr. Noah. We are all the same humans."

"...What?"

I paused at Django's words.

"..."

The same humans.

That phrase irritated me.

"Blacks and whites. And whatever you call NPCs and players."

"..."

"We're all the same humans."

I felt the smile completely disappear from my face at Django's words.

What is this?

If this is a strategy to excite me, I want to applaud.

Swish—

Indeed, unable to control my excitement, my body was moving before my head could command.

It was a mistake I would never have made normally.

Usually, though I might seem careless, I didn't risk my life unless there was a 100% chance of success.

Swish.

As soon as I leaped, Django's posture changed.

"...!"

His face, full of pain until just now, started to become cold.

His arm, which was shaking severely, also straightened.

Was he acting in pain until just now?

There was one thing I had misunderstood.

I thought he was just kind and naive.

Django was a perfect gunslinger with the most important virtue in the Wild West—vileness.

Bang—!

Django didn't miss the opening created by my being one beat faster and fired.

Whoosh—

In the slowed space-time where [Best Gunslinger in the West] applied, the flying bullet looked even slower than usual.

But my body also didn't move.

It was an experience I've had before.

Life flashing before my eyes.

Whoosh—

The bullet flies towards my heart, not my head.

I'm going to die.

Just as I unconsciously sensed death at that moment.

Thud—

"...Guh."

The bullet that seemed about to pierce my heart unexpectedly grazed my ribs and passed behind.

Of course, even that was enough damage to make me fall to one knee.

As I put my hand on my ribs to stop the bleeding, Django's cold voice came from above, "...Noah, you're the same human who dies when shot."

"..."

"So don't follow us. Next time, I'll really kill you."

Pitter—patter—

With those final words, I heard Django and Josephine's footsteps running away.

"You son of a..."

Just now, Django could have killed me but didn't.

Humiliation.

It was humiliating.

So I immediately tried to get up and follow them, but...

Stagger.

I had to pause for a moment due to sudden dizziness.

Swish.

In that time, Django and Josephine hid between the alleys.

As they got closer to the port, there were many shacks where laborers lived, so they dug into those alleys.

Along with the temporary dizziness, Django's words from earlier kept spinning in my head.

— Blacks and whites. And whatever you call NPCs and players, we're all the same humans.

Bullshit.

Unlike other NPCs who thought this world was real, I was the only one who knew this was inside a game.

While others were just data, I was a real human.

That was why I was trying to return to the original world, and that was why I had struggled in this damn Wild West for the past 17 years.

But this negro NPC who knew nothing was denying my original world and life.

He was denying the hardships I had gone through for the past 17 years.

How did I come this far?

"...Fuck."

I barely stood up properly, enduring the dizziness to catch Django again.

It wasn't just for money that I wanted to catch him.

I had to catch him and say...

I'm different from you.

Because if I didn't say that, I felt like I'd lose the driving force to return to my original world.

"Gun... gun..."

For that, my current weapons weren't enough.

I needed a gun.

But I didn't have a gun now.

I couldn't even see a gun.

Instead, I saw someone who had a gun.

So I immediately strode towards her.

***

Luke had assigned Billie to supervise Noah.

That role included not just simple surveillance but also preventing Noah from causing trouble in San Francisco.

In fact, Billie had allowed Noah simple fistfights, but...

She intended to intervene and stop any knife fights or gunfights.

But...

— How dare an NPC bastard.

When Noah's demeanor changed...

Billie, recalling old memories from that appearance, couldn't move her body.

— Miss, is it the South Brotherhood? Is there a bounty by any chance?

The fear from 3 years ago dominated her body.

Billie had sometimes seriously doubted if Noah was really Kid.

But the man before her eyes was certainly that Kid.

Step.

Kid approached her.

Step—step.

He approached with eyes full of anger and a somewhat twisted look.

Swish.

He stood in front of Billie and reached out his hand.

"Billie, gun."

"..."

He had promised Luke not to possess a gun in San Francisco.

Yet he demanded a gun as if he didn't care about that at all.

As a member of the South Brotherhood, Billie should have refused that demand and subdued him.

Luke had entrusted her with this task, so she should have completed that mission even at the cost of her life.

But...

"Here... it is..."

When she came to her senses, she was meekly handing over her revolver to him.

After diligently collecting bullets too, Kid checked the gun's condition and...

Swish.

Turned his body towards where Django had fled.

Billie recalled the scene from just before.

That black man called Django was truly an incredible gunslinger, the kind one might see once in a lifetime.

But in the end, the man before her eyes had grasped a gun.

The Kid of San Francisco holding a gun meant...

It meant that all those he intended to kill would die.