"Pull the energy within your core."
Chi-Long's voice.
Flat.
Even.
"Let it move through the body as you breathe."
A pause.
"Breath control is everything."
---
Ha Joon and Eun Byol sat across from each other.
Eyes closed.
Their chests expanding slowly.
Pulling back.
Expanding again.
The black tracksuits dark with sweat already.
The energy in their stomachs moving with the breath.
Warm.
Like air that had been heated from the inside.
Not fire yet.
Not water yet.
Just warmth.
Learning its shape.
---
Chi-Long watched.
Said nothing else.
Just watched.
---
*Eun Byol*
---
I've started to get used to this.
The mornings especially.
They're not that different from before if I don't think about it too hard.
Wake up in the morning.
Go to practice.
Get ready.
Wait for someone to tell you what comes next.
---
The difference here is simple.
---
You wake up.
Cold shower.
Make your bed.
Stand and wait for her.
---
She beats you.
Just a little.
Just enough to remind the body it's awake.
Just enough to make sure you don't forget where you are.
Just to get the day started.
---
Then the day starts.
---
Hard labor first.
Morning drills.
Running.
Lifting logs that are too heavy and getting heavier the longer you hold them.
Push-ups until the arms stop being arms and become something else entirely.
And more.
Always more.
---
Then breakfast.
Whatever it is.
You eat it.
---
Then cultivation.
---
That's the one that earns its name.
The energy moving through the body like something that hasn't decided yet whether it wants to heal you or hollow you out.
Like being eaten from the inside in slow careful bites.
Every morning.
Same thing.
---
After that the wooden sticks.
Standing in position and striking until the hands stop feeling like hands.
Until they're just the things at the end of your arms that keep moving.
And if you shift.
If your stance moves even slightly.
If your foot finds a different angle without being told to.
---
Wood meets body.
High speed.
No discussion.
---
And you get up.
You always get up.
---
Final meal.
Then the dungeon.
Goblins.
Whatever is in there waiting.
You go in.
You come back.
Or you don't think about the alternative.
---
Then sleep.
Then you wake up and do it again.
---
That is my morning.
That is every morning.
---
Do I like it.
No.
---
If I were somewhere else would I still be alive.
---
Probably.
---
Sad to say.
I miss my life.
My old life had its problems.
Things I would have changed.
Things I argued about and cried about and thought were the hardest things I would ever face.
---
They were not the hardest things.
---
I know that now.
---
But that life was mine.
I chose it.
Or most of it.
Even the parts I didn't choose I could walk away from eventually.
---
Here I can't walk away.
---
Most of all I miss my father.
His face in the morning.
The way he said my name like it meant something specific only he understood.
Even when he was wrong about things.
Even when his ideas weren't mine.
---
He was still my father.
---
But it's not all bad here.
---
I have someone with me.
Someone who is in all the same pain.
Who wakes up to the same cold shower.
Who gets beaten# Chapter 50: Morning Routine
"Pull the energy within your core."
Chi-Long's voice.
Flat.
Even.
"Let it move through the body as you breathe."
A pause.
"Breath control is everything."
---
Ha Joon and Eun Byol sat across from each other.
Eyes closed.
Their chests expanding slowly.
Pulling back.
Expanding again.
The black tracksuits dark with sweat already.
The energy in their stomachs moving with the breath.
Warm.
Like air that had been heated from the inside.
Not fire yet.
Not water yet.
Just warmth.
Learning its shape.
---
Chi-Long watched.
Said nothing else.
Just watched.
---
*Eun Byol*
---
I've started to get used to this.
The mornings especially.
They're not that different from before if I don't think about it too hard.
Wake up in the morning.
Go to practice.
Get ready.
Wait for someone to tell you what comes next.
---
The difference here is simple.
---
You wake up.
Cold shower.
Make your bed.
Stand and wait for her.
---
She beats you.
Just a little.
Just enough to remind the body it's awake.
Just enough to make sure you don't forget where you are.
Just to get the day started.
---
Then the day starts.
---
Hard labor first.
Morning drills.
Running.
Lifting logs that are too heavy and getting heavier the longer you hold them.
Push-ups until the arms stop being arms and become something else entirely.
And more.
Always more.
---
Then breakfast.
Whatever it is.
You eat it.
---
Then cultivation.
---
That's the one that earns its name.
The energy moving through the body like something that hasn't decided yet whether it wants to heal you or hollow you out.
Like being eaten from the inside in slow careful bites.
Every morning.
Same thing.
---
After that the wooden sticks.
Standing in position and striking until the hands stop feeling like hands.
Until they're just the things at the end of your arms that keep moving.
And if you shift.
If your stance moves even slightly.
If your foot finds a different angle without being told to.
---
Wood meets body.
High speed.
No discussion.
---
And you get up.
You always get up.
---
Final meal.
Then the dungeon.
Goblins.
Whatever is in there waiting.
You go in.
You come back.
Or you don't think about the alternative.
---
Then sleep.
Then you wake up and do it again.
---
That is my morning.
That is every morning.
---
Do I like it.
No.
---
If I were somewhere else would I still be alive.
---
Probably.
---
Sad to say.
I miss my life.
My old life had its problems.
Things I would have changed.
Things I argued about and cried about and thought were the hardest things I would ever face.
---
They were not the hardest things.
---
I know that now.
---
But that life was mine.
I chose it.
Or most of it.
Even the parts I didn't choose I could walk away from eventually.
---
Here I can't walk away.
---
Most of all I miss my father.
His face in the morning.
The way he said my name like it meant something specific only he understood.
Even when he was wrong about things.
Even when his ideas weren't mine.
---
He was still my father.
---
But it's not all bad here.
---
I have someone with me.
Someone who is in all the same pain.
Who wakes up to the same cold shower.
Who gets beaten just as much.
Who gets up every time the same as me.
---
We're different though.
He chose to be here.
I didn't.
---
But I think we're finally starting to become friends.
---
And I'm happy I met him.
---
Even here.
Even in all of this.
---
I'm happy I met him. just as much.
Who gets up every time the same as me.
---
We're different though.
He chose to be here.
I didn't.
---
But I think we're finally starting to become friends.
---
And I'm happy I met him.
---
Even here.
Even in all of this.
---
I'm happy I met him.