The training field of Ironroot Village echoed with the well-known rhythm of fists on wood, boys hollering, and elders mumbling criticisms. Dust drifted lazily under the afternoon sun as Sung Jihan stood alone at the far edge of the field, as he had often done.
He inhaled deeply, raised his fists, and struck the practice post.
Thud.
Pain shot through his knuckles.
He winced and shook his hand, but lifted his fists again.
Thud.
Thud.
His strikes were weak. Uncoordinated.
After years of effort, he was still lagging behind children younger than him.
"Hey, look! It's Jihan!" someone said mockingly.
A group of boys turned, smirking.
The ringleader, Han Gun, swaggered toward him with a wooden practice sword resting on his shoulder.
"Still hitting the post? You know it won't magically teach you martial arts, right?" Gun laughed.
Jihan remained silent. He continued to punch.
Gun clicked his tongue. "What's the point? You can't feel qi. You can't channel strength. You can't even block properly."
Another boy added, "Maybe his mom dropped him on his head. That's why he's so slow."
Laughter erupted.
Jihan's fists tightened. His shoulders quivered—but he didn't turn around.
He'd learned long ago that reacting only made it worse.
Gun leaned close. "Hey, I'm talking to you."
When Jihan didn't answer, Gun swung the wooden sword at Jihan's leg.
Crack!
Jihan fell to one knee, gasping as pain flared up his thigh.
The other boys howled with laughter.
Gun raised the sword again for another strike—
But this time Jihan instinctively moved. His arm shot out, catching the wooden blade mid-swing.
Everyone froze.
Gun blinked. "What—?"
Jihan stared at his own hand, dumbfounded.
He hadn't meant to grab it.
He didn't even understand how he'd reacted so fast.
His spine tingled faintly-like something inside him had flickered awake for a heartbeat.
Gun yanked the sword back, his face twisting in annoyance.
"Getting brave, huh? Just because you blocked once?
He lunged forward, swinging harder.
Jihan knew he couldn't block that.
He steeled himself—
-but a soft chime rang in the back of his mind.
[User injury probability: 84%. Pre-emptive correction engaged.
Everything slowed.
Gun's swing looked sluggish, even floating.
Jihan's body shifted of its own accord, sidestepping, leaning slightly.
The sword passed by him, missing him entirely.
Gun stumbled, could not adjust.
The other boys stared.
"What… what was that?"
Jihan panted hard.
He didn't know either.
His spine tingled again, then went silent.
Gun's face flushed red with embarrassment. "You little—! Stop dodging and take the hit!"
He dived again.
This time, Jihan tried to move the same way—and nothing happened.
No voice.
No guidance.
His body felt sluggish once more.
Crack!
The sword came down on his back, striking him to the ground.
The boys laughed even more loudly.
"See? Lucky fluke!"
"Jihan could never dodge for real!
Gun lifted the sword for another blow—
"Enough!"
The shout cracked like thunder.
The village instructor strode across the training field, his eyes cold and hard.
Gun flinched. "M-Master Hyeon— we were just—"
"Bullying a weaker student?" Hyeon said sharply.
"Do it again, and I'll have you scrubbing the privies instead of training."
Gun's face paled; he and the boys scattered in an instant.
Hyeon crouched beside Jihan. "Are you injured?"
Jihan shook his head weakly.
"Stand."
With effort, Jihan rose.
Hyeon studied him with an unreadable expression.
"You blocked Gun's first strike," he said simply.
Jihan swallowed. "…Yes." "And you dodged the second." "I… I don't know how. It just—" Hyeon raised a hand. "Regardless. That reaction wasn't normal." Jihan's heart skipped. Was he discovered? But Hyeon went on, "It means you have potential. More than you believe." Jihan bevacча/cache blinked. Hyeon straightened. "Tomorrow morning, come to the training hall before sunrise. I'll test you personally." Jihan stared at him, wide-eyed. "Don't be late," Hyeon added, walking away. For the first time in years, Jihan felt something stir inside him. Not fear. Not pain. Hope. Unbeknownst to him, the Nexus Core, which had lain dormant deep inside his spine, pulsed once—ever so faintly—like a sleeping giant turning in its slumber.