The office was quiet, save for the faint ticking of the clock above the fireplace. Ozpin sat behind his desk, fingers wrapped loosely around his mug of coffee, though the steam had long since faded. The paper in front of him was worn, its edges softened by time, but every word still struck like a hammer.
Hyun Kim.
Ozpin's eyes lingered on the handwriting — sharp, hurried, yet carrying the weight of a man who knew his life could end at any moment. He had read this letter before, countless times, but tonight... after seeing Hyunwoo's eyes in that office, after hearing the boy demand the truth... the words cut deeper.
Ozpin's hand tightened around the letter, his knuckles pale.
Hyun Kim had been one of the finest Huntsmen he had ever seen. A man whose courage and devotion reminded him of the best qualities of humanity... and yet, he had sent him on a mission that even Ozpin himself hesitated to take.
The guilt never faded.
Now, his son — the boy who bore the same steel in his eyes — stood before him, unknowingly carrying the legacy of a man who had died to shield the world from truths too heavy for most to bear.
Ozpin leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. He adjusted his glasses, staring past the glass of his office window where the shattered moon hung in the night sky.
"Hyun Kim... your son has grown stronger than I expected. Stronger... and more dangerous." His voice was barely a whisper.
He set the letter down carefully, almost reverently, and placed a hand over it. For a long moment, he closed his eyes, hearing the echoes of that man's final words.
"Protect my son."
Ozpin opened his eyes again, their green depths reflecting both sorrow and resolve.
"I will try," he murmured. "But if he walks your path... I fear the cost will be his own."
The words seemed to blur, pulling him back to the day he had sent Hyun Kim into the field.
The memory was sharp, almost too sharp.
⸻
Flashback
The forest was thick with mist, every tree branch shrouded in an eerie stillness. Ozpin had watched from a projection feed, far away, as Hyun Kim adjusted the straps of his weapon harness. His expression had been calm — calm in a way only seasoned Huntsmen could be before stepping into hell.
"Remember," Ozpin's voice crackled faintly through the scroll, "this is reconnaissance only. If you confirm the target, you are to return immediately."
Hyun Kim gave a small grin, like the one his son would wear years later.
"Reconnaissance, huh? You wouldn't send me if you didn't expect a fight. Well I will clear this place for you, didn't want my son know that I do nothing this time."
That was the last time Ozpin had heard his voice with such lightness.
____
Static crackled over the communications line. The signal was faint, riddled with interference, but Hyun Kim's voice came through in fragments.
"...two... of them... not Grimm..."
A sharp sound of steel clashing rang in the background, followed by a burst of manic laughter that Ozpin had never forgotten.
Then came the woman's voice, smooth, cold, and laced with fire. Even through the distortion, Ozpin recognized the ambition dripping from her tone.
Hyun Kim's breaths grew heavier, strained. His voice, though broken by static, was steady.
"Ozpin... this isn't a mission anymore. They're after Beacon."
Ozpin leaned forward, clutching the desk, his voice low and urgent.
"Hyun Kim, withdraw immediately. That is an order."
A pause. More static. Then the unmistakable sound of fire tearing through the air, colliding against steel.
"...if I don't kill them here..." Hyun Kim's words came ragged but unyielding, "...they'll destroy the school. Tell my son... to live and Oz, protect him."
And then — silence.
No scream. No final clash. Just the line cutting dead.
⸻
Later, in the aftermath
The search teams combed the area. What they found was devastation — scorched earth, broken stone, the traces of venom eating into the soil.
But no body.
Only Hyun Kim's spear, standing upright in the dirt as if someone had deliberately placed it there.
⸻
Present
Ozpin closed the letter with a slow breath, his eyes heavy with guilt. He had not seen the battle. He had only heard the final moments of a man who had chosen to stand where no one else could.
And yet... the missing body lingered in his mind like a curse.
"...Hyun Kim," Ozpin whispered to the empty office. "What became of you?"
Ozpin leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, his voice a whisper meant only for the quiet room.
"If Salem could make use of him..." His eyes closed. "If she turned even Hyun Kim into one of her creatures..."
He let the thought trail away, unable to say it aloud.
The letter still sat before him, a son's questions now colliding with a father's uncertain fate.
Ozpin rubbed his temple, the weight of it pressing down on him.
"Hyunwoo... I can only hope you're strong enough for the answers."
Ozpin sat alone, the letter folded neatly on his desk. His hand lingered over it, though his mind was still trapped in the echo of Hyun Kim's final words.
The soft click of heels pulled him back. Glynda entered quietly, setting a file down.
"You're still awake, Headmaster. I thought you'd retired hours ago."
Ozpin forced a small smile, hiding the heaviness in his chest.
"There's always work to be done."
Glynda's sharp eyes caught the strain in his expression. She glanced at the paper in front of him but did not pry.
"...Is it about Hyunwoo?"
Ozpin paused. For a moment, he considered speaking — telling her about the missing body, about his growing fear that Salem had done something unspeakable with Hyun Kim.
But then he shook his head lightly, taking a slow sip of his coffee.
"No. Just... matters that weigh on an old man."
She studied him, unconvinced, but did not press further. Instead, she sighed, adjusting her glasses.
"Then I'll trust you, as always. But remember, Ozpin... even you cannot carry everything alone."
When she left, silence filled the office again.
Ozpin's hand drifted back to the letter. He whispered under his breath, the words meant for no one.
"If she truly has him... then Hyunwoo may face more than either of us can imagine."
He closed his eyes, letting the weight of the secret bury itself deeper. Glynda didn't need to know. Not yet.
___
From Hyunwoo's side.
The training hall was still, only the faint hum of the aura panels filling the silence. Hyunwoo stood in the center, eyes closed, steadying his breath. Slowly, he summoned it again.
The familiar green shimmer coated his body first—but then the red bled through, blooming like fire over grass. It didn't just protect him. It moved.
He raised his hand and focused.
The crimson aura surged outward, forming into a jagged blade of energy that clung to his arm like an extension of his will. He slashed downward.
CRACK!
The reinforced floor split slightly under the strike, sparks dancing across the fracture. Hyunwoo's eyes widened. "That... wasn't just aura enhancement."
He tried again, this time extending his arm further. The blade lengthened, rippling like molten glass before snapping back into place. It obeyed thought, not just reflex.
"...Offense," he muttered, flexing his fingers. "This aura can attack."
He shifted, focusing on defense. The crimson light rippled across his body, hardening in layers. He tapped his chest—no, it wasn't just a shell. It was thicker, heavier, adjusting in density where his thoughts lingered. He swung his arm, and the aura flared there, like armor plates sliding into position.
The boy's voice from the dream echoed faintly in his mind. Good luck.
Hyunwoo tightened his jaw. "Defense too. Smarter than mine ever was."
Then, almost without meaning to, he stepped forward—thinking only of speed. The aura pulsed at his legs. Fwoosh! His body shot forward, faster than he thought possible, boots skidding to a halt against the far wall. His chest heaved.
"...Mobility too?!"
The crimson glow faded for a moment before he reignited it, pushing harder. The aura wrapped tightly around his limbs, supporting his muscles, making his steps lighter and his swings sharper. He dashed again, zig-zagging across the hall, leaving faint streaks of red in his wake.
Finally, he stopped, panting, sweat dripping down his forehead. He stared at his palm where both green and red flickered side by side.
"Offense. Defense. Mobility. All in one aura..." He swallowed hard. "This isn't mine. It never was."
His hand trembled slightly.
"Original Hyunwoo... who were you really?"
He clenched his fist, the red glow swallowing the green for a brief second. The warmth in his chest returned, but there was also a strange weight, a pressure that wasn't entirely his.
He steadied himself, muttering under his breath.
"Doesn't matter. Whether you lived or died... you gave this to me. So I'll use it. I'll carry it."
The crimson aura roared to life once more, illuminating the hall in a fiery glow, before fading just as quickly, leaving Hyunwoo standing in silence, fists at his sides.
Hyunwoo closed his eyes, drawing a slow breath. The green shimmer of his aura rose naturally—but this time, the red came too, coiling over his body like threads of fire. The two colors layered, harmonizing yet fighting for dominance.
Alright... let's push it.
He stood still first, letting the aura hum quietly. One minute passed. Five. Ten. His breathing remained steady. There was no drain—until he clenched his fist and struck the air. The crimson glow flared, his knuckles cutting a ripple through space itself, and he felt the cost hit his chest like a tug on his life-force.
"So that's it... passive, it holds forever. Active, it bleeds."
He decided to test systematically.
He tightened his aura only around his torso, then deliberately slammed himself into the reinforced wall, again and again. Each hit cracked stone—but he felt the red aura flare and shrink slightly with each impact. Ten strikes, twenty, thirty. By forty, his chest ached, though his body bore no injury.
"Defense scales... but each hit eats away at me."
Phase two: shaping.
He spread aura into his palm, condensing the crimson threads into a small sphere. The glow vibrated like molten glass. He hurled it forward—the sphere burst in a red shockwave, scorching the floor. His aura dipped sharply. He tried again, smaller this time, conserving. Less drain.
He grinned faintly.
"Flexible. Not just a shield anymore... I can mold it."
Phase three: sustained combat.
Hyunwoo layered aura on his legs and arms, bursting forward into a rapid sequence of strikes. He went longer this time—five minutes of pure movement, dashing, punching, striking, leaping. Each attack drained some of the red, but his body responded sharper than ever before. When he finally skidded to a stop, the room bore scars—floor cracked, walls dented.
He bent over, gasping. The aura sputtered, then steadied. He realized something:
The green recovers quickly. The red doesn't. It clings, like it's waiting for me to call it again.
Hyunwoo leaned against the wall, sweat dripping down his temple. His thoughts sharpened.
"So endurance mode? Infinite, until hit.
Shaping? Costly but effective.
Combat burst? Five minutes before burnout."
His hand hovered over his chest where the original Hyunwoo had touched him in the dream.
This... isn't just aura. It's his will, his fire. Something beyond mine.
The crimson flickered faintly, pulsing like a second heartbeat inside him.
Hyunwoo smirked through the exhaustion.
"...Then I'll master both hearts. No excuses."
He straightened up again, ready to test more—this time pushing himself past the edge to find the breaking point.