In the upper stands, away from the noise of the common crowd, a boy leaned forward, eyes locked on the arena.
"This will be an easy win for Sister Seoyeon, right, Father?" he asked with a proud grin.
Beside him sat a man in a simple grey kimono — quiet, calm, and unreadable. His long sleeves folded over each other, and his eyes watched the field with quiet intensity.
He gave a slow nod.
"Yes," he said in a deep, composed tone. "But even a blade honed to perfection… must never lower its guard."
The boy blinked. "Huh?"
The father's gaze narrowed as it settled on Jisoo, still standing motionless in the arena.
"There are flowers that grow in the dark," he continued. "They bloom quietly… without light, without care. But once stepped on, they release poison strong enough to kill in seconds."
The boy frowned. "You mean... Jisoo?"
The man nodded slightly, his tone calm but sharp.
"He stands like someone who has nothing to prove. That kind of stillness… is not born from weakness."
"I don't know who he is—but I sense danger in that boy."
Seoyeon narrowed her eyes.
Jisoo hadn't moved. Not a step. Not a blink. He just stood there—calm, still, unreadable.
So… you're being careful, she thought. But being too careful will only lead to one thing—
"Losing."
She exhaled slowly. A soft mist escaped her lips, curling in the air like smoke before fire.
Her hand moved. Smooth. Precise. Deadly.
"Hana-Ryū..."
Her stance shifted—sharp as a drawn bow.
"First Form: Higanbana."
A single flash tore through the air.
Red petals scattered like a storm. The arena floor cracked beneath her feet as she blurred past Jisoo in a blink, appearing behind him with her sword fully drawn. Her blade hummed with a faint red glow, petals falling gently around her like rain.
She stood motionless, back turned.
Higanbana... The Crimson Farewell.
The red spider lily blooms on the path of no return.
Silence.
Then—
"Well," a voice said behind her. Calm. Unshaken. "That was close. You're faster than I thought."
Her eyes shot open.
No way.
She spun around.
Jisoo stood there—behind her.
Not a single cut. Not even a wrinkle on his plain white shirt or the scuffed jeans he wore. His hands were still in his pockets, his white hair brushing softly from the gust of her own attack.
And on his face—was a quiet smile.
---
Seoyeon stood still.
Her sword was drawn. Her breath steady. Her petals still floating around her.
That attack should've ended it.
Then came his voice, right behind her—
"Can you be faster than that?"
Her eyes widened.
She spun around, and there he was. Jisoo.
Untouched. Still as casual as ever in his plain white shirt and beat-up jeans.
He tilted his head slightly and leaned in just a little.
Sniff.
"Ewwww," he said, pulling back with a disgusted expression.
"Yo, did something die in your mouth? Was that… was that smoke or garlic breath?"
Seoyeon blinked, caught completely off guard.
Jisoo fanned the air in front of his face.
"Seriously, how many onions did you eat this morning? I swear I just got flashbanged by your breath."
She twitched.
A tiny vein popped on her forehead.
She exhaled sharply through her nose.
"Tsk…"
Jisoo raised a finger dramatically.
"No, don't do that! You're reloading the stench!"
That was it.
Her grip tightened around the sword. Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes—not from emotion, but from sheer frustration.
"H-How... H-HOW DARE YOU!!" she screamed, her voice cracking as she charged at him.
She swung her blade wildly, face red with rage.
Jisoo weaved around each slash like it was nothing, bending backwards, leaning to the side, even hopping on one foot.
"Whoa! Almost singed my eyebrows there!"
"Careful! I think your breath is melting your blade!"
"Try mints! Or gum! Or mouthwash! I BEG YOU!"
Seoyeon shouted in pure rage, slashing at the air with full force, swinging blindly.
"SHUT UUUUUUP!"
The crowd was losing their minds—some stunned, some laughing, others completely speechless. The VIPs leaned forward in shock, unsure if this was a fight or a roast battle.
High above the arena, in the dim-lit VIP box, two men stood side by side. One leaned against the railing, cigarette burning between his fingers. The other stood a step behind, relaxed, quiet.
The crowd below was in chaos — Seoyeon was swinging wild, Jisoo was dodging with a grin on his face like he wasn't taking any of it seriously.
The man with the cigarette chuckled.
"I guess your hunch was right after all."
The other man didn't respond at first.
He stepped forward, brushing his coat back as he moved, revealing a pistol holstered at his side. His eyes were sharp beneath the brim of his hat.
"This time, Flint."
The man stopped.
Let out a short breath through his nose.
Then turned just enough to glance at his friend.
"Don't call me by that name."
His voice was calm, firm.
"Cass'll do more good."
The cigarette guy raised an eyebrow, amused. "Still running from that name, huh?"
Cass smirked, his eyes drifting back to the arena.
"Not runnin'. Just savin' it for the right day."
He watched as Jisoo ducked under another wild slash.
"And that kid down there..."
A small grin tugged at the edge of his mouth.
"He's startin' to feel like one of those days."
"Tsk."
Seoyeon exhaled through her nose as she backstepped, her shoes skidding lightly against the arena floor.
In one smooth motion, she slid her blade back into its sheath — the silence between them tightening like a drawn bowstring.
Her pink eyes locked onto Jisoo.
"Hana-Ryū."
The words fell like a whisper.
Then she vanished.
Not a flash. Not a step. Just gone — like the wind had swallowed her whole.
A single red petal fluttered to the ground, slow and delicate.
Then—
CLANG!
A sharp metallic ring cut the air as her blade came down like thunder.
"Tsubaki!" Seoyeon shouted, her strike crashing from above.
But Jisoo was already gone.
He twisted into a backflip, landing a few meters away with a smirk.
"Saw that coming a mile away," he said, brushing imaginary dust from his shoulder.
He winked.
"You might wanna try mint next time, though."
"You—!"
Seoyeon's voice cracked with frustration.
Her foot slammed into the ground —
CRACK!
The tiles beneath her heel fractured from the force.
In a blur, she dashed forward, her blade halfway drawn. Her body lowered as she aimed a wide, horizontal slash straight for Jisoo's torso.
The edge hissed through the air.
But—
Jisoo bent backward, his upper body dipping with unnatural fluidity. The blade missed him by inches — close enough for the wind pressure to graze his face.
In that instant—
Jisoo's palm shot forward. Open-handed. Calm. Precise.
It hovered just in front of Seoyeon's stomach, barely an inch away.
Then—
Boom.
The strike landed.
But not like a normal punch.
There was no full arm swing. No shoulder wind-up.
Just a sudden, explosive burst from the wrist and elbow — a concentrated force traveling straight from the ground, through his hips, spine, and out the palm.
The One-Inch Punch.
A technique that didn't rely on distance, but internal energy transfer — generating impact through the perfect alignment of timing, posture, and explosive intent. Like a coiled spring snapping loose all at once.
Seoyeon's eyes widened—
"Guh—!"
A shockwave rippled through her body. Her feet left the ground.
She was launched backward —
Slamming into the arena floor with a heavy crash, skidding across the tiles and leaving a jagged trail behind her.
Jisoo slowly lowered his hand.
"Told you to watch your breath."
In the upper stands, the air was heavy with tension.
Seoyeon's brother leaned forward, gripping the railing, his face twisted in disbelief as his sister crashed into the ground below. The crowd erupted — but their voices felt distant compared to the silence in their private booth.
Behind him stood their father — a tall man in a simple, grey kimono. No ornaments. No armor. Just presence. His arms were calmly folded behind his back, his sharp eyes locked onto the battlefield below.
He exhaled slowly, the sound like wind rustling through dry leaves.
"Emotion," he said quietly, "is a blade with two edges."
His son turned toward him, unsure.
The father continued, his voice low but firm.
"Your sister is skilled — graceful, precise… trained in the Hana-Ryū since she could walk."
He paused, eyes narrowing.
"But skill means little when the heart is shaken."
He glanced at Jisoo, who stood relaxed and smirking on the battlefield.
"She allowed herself to be tempted — not by pride, but by anger. The moment she gave in to his taunts… she stopped fighting with her mind."
The father's gaze returned to Seoyeon, now struggling to rise.
"Had she stayed focused… this match would be different."
He closed his eyes for a brief second, like mourning a lesson taught too late.
"Discipline, not fury, determines the victor."
"What... was that just now?"
Seoyeon's mind raced, her body still trembling from the blow.
Her breathing was shallow, her knees slightly bent as she tried to steady herself.
"A short-range punch... with that much power?"
She grit her teeth, staring at Jisoo across the arena.
"That shouldn't even be possible."
But before she could collect her thoughts—
"Here I go, stinky."
Jisoo's voice rang out like a bell of doom — cocky, casual… almost playful.
Seoyeon's eyes snapped up.
He was gone.
"Wha—"
A violent gust exploded downward.
BOOM!
The ground cracked.
Jisoo's body had appeared mid-air, and came crashing down like a missile, both feet stomping into the tiles with terrifying force. The shockwave rippled through the earth, splintering stone, throwing dust and debris into the air.
Seoyeon had moved — just barely. A blur of motion as she dodged to the side.
But even without direct contact—
The pressure hit her.
Her arm stung. Her side burned.
She hit the ground and rolled, scraping her shoulder along the arena floor, teeth clenched as she hissed in pain.
"Tch... what kind of monster strength is that…?"
Dust still hung in the air as Jisoo rose from the crater, one hand in his pocket, his hair slightly rustled.
He grinned.
"You dodged. Nice. Maybe your breath isn't the only thing sharp, huh?"
"Will you… stop!"
Seoyeon snapped, her voice trembling—not with fear, but frustration.
Her feet slammed the ground, cracking the floor beneath her as she dashed toward Jisoo.
CLANG!
She drew her blade and swung in a wide arc.
Jisoo leaned back just in time, the steel missing his nose by inches.
But Seoyeon didn't stop there.
Her sword blurred in motion—
slashes from the left, right, downward, diagonal—like dancing flames.
Her movements grew sharper. Faster. Angry.
"Stop talking about my breath!"
She slashed again. This time, her blade grazed Jisoo's arm, slicing through his sleeve and leaving a thin line of red.
"That's more like it."
Jisoo grinned, dodging backward, weaving through each strike like he was skating through wind.
Then—BOOM!
His palm slammed the air in front of him. A focused blast of compressed force struck out from the space between them.
Seoyeon gasped—
Too late.
WHAM!
The impact didn't hit her directly—but it didn't need to. The force alone launched her backward like a missile.
She flipped once in the air before crashing just outside the arena boundary.
Dust rose. The crowd gasped.
And at the center of it all, Jisoo stood tall, relaxed, as if nothing just happened.
Cass stretched his arms with a loud yawn, the arena lights reflecting off his silver coat.
"Well, I'm outta here," he muttered, turning on his heel.
Leon glanced at him, still seated, arms crossed.
"You're not staying to watch the rest of the students fight?"
Cass paused, pulling out a cigarette and tucking it behind his ear.
He gave a sideways smirk.
"After what I just saw?" He looked toward the arena, where dust was still settling from Jisoo's last move.
"There ain't a better participant in this batch than that kid."
Leon raised a brow. "You sure?"
Cass nodded once, his tone shifting into something almost respectful.
"He ain't just strong. He's dangerous. If I were a Gate... I'd be prayin' he never came knockin'."
Then, without another word, he walked off, his coat fluttering slightly behind him—leaving Leon alone, eyes fixed on the battlefield, deep in thought.
Seoyeon's body trembled as she tried to push herself up, her knees barely holding. Dirt and cracked stone crumbled beneath her palm.
Then—
A shadow stood in front of her.
Jisoo.
He extended his hand toward her without a word, a small smile on his face.
"Here," he said simply.
She stared for a moment… then reached out and took it. His grip was firm but gentle, pulling her up with ease.
As she steadied herself, Jisoo scratched the back of his head.
"Hey… I'm sorry for what I said earlier," he muttered.
"I didn't mean any of it. I only said those things to throw you off, to make you lower your guard. I wanted to see more of your sword."
Seoyeon, still catching her breath, gave a quiet nod.
"It's alright. It was my mistake for letting myself get taunted."
Her voice was calm now, grounded—no longer flustered.
Jisoo turned to walk away, waving lazily over his shoulder.
"Still… the truth is—your breath's better than I thought."
He paused.
"Smelled like a flower in summer."
Seoyeon blinked, stunned. Her cheeks warmed slightly as she watched him walk off with that casual, teasing swagger.
For someone raised to feel nothing but duty…
For someone trained to lead the Hana-Ryū and surpass every generation before her…
For the first time—Seoyeon felt her heart skip.
And she smiled.