Chapter 107
Training (6)
There was a strange silence that settled between them.
The two stood a few paces apart, eyes quietly locked. Somewhere in the background, the hum of distant machines filled the training room with its faint, low static—but neither of them noticed. This moment between them had its own gravity.
IAM slowly rubbed the front of his neck, his fingers brushing the line of skin just beneath his jaw as he glanced away for a second. Then he looked back at Henry and asked, cautiously, "I see… Does… does it have to do with something that Ari said?"
Henry didn't respond. He kept the same easy smile on his face, but now it looked strained. Not forced, exactly—but held together, like a cracked mask that hadn't quite broken yet. His silence stretched on for a few seconds longer.
IAM opened his mouth to say something else—when Henry suddenly raised his jian and pointed the blade directly at him.
"Maybe…" he said quietly, "maybe not."
The blade wasn't threatening. There was no bloodlust in his eyes or hostility in his stance. Still, the suddenness made IAM tense slightly. He narrowed his gaze.
"You're being real mysterious right now," he muttered.
But then he noticed something.
Henry's right hand—the one gripping the sword—was trembling again.
IAM's gaze rose from the quivering fingers to Henry's face. It wasn't anything specific in Henry's features. But something in the way he stood… something about his expression…
It looked… pitiful.
That was the only word IAM could find for it. A quiet, aching kind of pity that wasn't directed outward—but inward. As if Henry himself was the one he couldn't forgive.
Henry began to whisper, his voice dry and low, like he was trying to speak to himself more than anyone else. "You said earlier that you envy me…"
His eyes didn't leave IAM's. "I wonder if you knew… if you really knew… would you still be able to say such a thing?"
IAM tilted his head slightly, expression softening.
"Does that even matter?" he said gently. "Whatever it is you're talking about… you went through it. And you became who you are right now. To me… right now, you're a good person."
Henry blinked. Then scoffed, but not in mockery. There was a laugh buried in the sound.
"Geez…" he said, shaking his head with a chuckle. "You really have a way with words. Saying embarrassing crap like that without even blinking. It's almost like you're a therapist or something."
IAM smiled faintly, lowering his wooden sword just a little. But inside, he wasn't smiling at all.
"Hmm... I do have a pretty good therapist," IAM said with a casual shrug. "And I'm a pretty understanding person."
Henry chuckled, lowering his sword at last. The tremble in his hand slowly subsided as he rolled his wrist once to shake off the stiffness, then took a quiet breath. Whatever storm had been brewing behind his eyes seemed to fade, if only for now.
He cleared his throat and stepped back. "Wow… these past few days have been one hell of a bonding point, huh."
IAM said nothing. He simply gave a small nod, not really in agreement or disagreement.
Henry scratched the side of his head, fingers ruffling through his curls. "Well anyways…" he said, stretching his arms behind his back, "I'm going to need you to do a hundred swings."
IAM's head slowly turned toward him, his brows raised in disbelief—but before he could say a word, Henry raised both hands like he was warding off a protest.
"Hey, hey, don't blame me," he said, grinning. "Blame the game. You didn't finish your last thirty properly. And the ones you did manage?" He gave IAM a critical look. "Pretty awful. I only count swings I consider perfect, and let's just say... your count is still at zero."
IAM didn't argue. He just sighed quietly and stepped back into position. He raised the wooden sword again and straightened his spine.
"Ahem," Henry cleared his throat behind him. "That's wrong."
IAM adjusted his shoulders.
"...Still not quite."
He shifted his stance again.
"Hmm… a little better."
IAM didn't respond—he was trying to ignore the smug tone in Henry's voice. He tightened his grip and tried again.
"Okay," Henry said, his arms crossed. "Not bad. Now, just do that same thing. Ninety-nine more times."
IAM sighed again—longer this time—and began.
After what felt like an eternity of non-stop repetition, Henry finally spoke. His voice echoed slightly in the mostly quiet room, breaking through IAM's haze of exhaustion like a bell. "Okay, that's it for today. You managed about one hundred and thirty proper swings… Not bad. Hopefully, by tomorrow when we meet up again, you'll be able to double that."
IAM didn't respond right away.
He was sprawled flat on the floor, limbs stretched out in every direction like a fallen starfish. His shirt clung to his body, soaked through with sweat. Each breath dragged through his throat like gravel. He blinked up at the ceiling, trying to will feeling back into his arms.
"You… you are the devil," he wheezed.
"What was that?" Henry asked, half-turning from where he was, not quite catching IAM's words.
IAM closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. He almost wanted to slap himself. Just a few hours ago, he'd actually been worried—worried that Henry might not be up for late-night training, that he might not take it seriously. But this experience had erased any doubt.
If anything, Henry took it too seriously.
The man was a perfectionist when it came to the sword. If IAM was even a fraction off—his angle, his posture, the flow of movement—Henry would immediately stop him. With a calm, almost cheerful expression, he'd simply say, "Do it again." And again. And again.
IAM groaned softly as he forced himself upright, every part of his body screaming in protest. His shoulders were stiff and his palms slightly blistered from gripping the hilt too tightly. He staggered over to collect his things.
As he reached the door, he realized Henry wasn't behind him.
He paused and looked back.
Henry stood a few meters away, still in front of the mirror, his jian resting in his hand. He wasn't moving yet, but IAM could see it in his eyes—he wasn't done.
"I'm going to stay a little bit longer," Henry said without turning, waving him off casually.
IAM stared for a second, then shuddered lightly—more from the memory of the hundred-plus swings than the chill in the air—and finally stepped out of the training room, the door sliding closed behind him with a soft mechanical hiss.
There was a few seconds of silence.
The training room had finally settled, the echoes of footsteps and blade swings fading into the void. Only the soft hum of the overhead lights remained, casting a glow across the padded floor and the glinting edge of Henry's jian.
He stood there, unmoving, staring down at the weapon in his hand. His fingers rested gently along the hilt, not in a grip—just a touch.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"I wonder..." he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "If you could see me now... would you be proud of what I've become?" His eyes softened, though the rest of his face remained composed. "A good person."
The smile faded, slowly, like it had never been there at all. He gave a quiet shake of his head, as if to clear it. Regaining his focus.
Then, wordlessly, he moved.
He stepped back into the beginning stance—the same one IAM had seen earlier before the whirlwind of cuts and strikes. His feet planted firmly, his spine straight and shoulders relaxed. The jian lowered to his side, angled just so, its tip resting lightly toward the ground.
He closed his eyes. Inhaled deeply.
And began again.
A fresh restart.