The cold steel rested against the youngest disciple's neck. It did not tremble, but the boy did.
The blade was polished so cleanly that Master K could see the reflection of the child's pulse fluttering beneath the skin.
A frantic rhythm. Too fast. Too young.
Do not look at him.
Master K stood straight despite the iron cuffs binding his wrists behind his back. His spine did not bend, and his breathing remained steady. He would not give this man the satisfaction of watching him break.
The man in the golden robe examined the dojo as if evaluating architecture rather than lives.
His fingers idly caressed the petals of the Blue Lotus in his hand, its sweet fragrance drifting through the blood-thick air.
"You built discipline here," the man said softly.
"I respect that.
He flicked his finger.
Slash.
The youngest disciple's body fell in two movements: first the knees, then the torso. It was clean and efficient.
There was no scream, only the soft, sickening sound of blood reaching the wood.
Master K did not move, but something inside him recoiled violently—like a heavy rope snapping under an unbearable strain.
You trained him to bow correctly. You corrected his stance. You told him he would become strong. And now...
His eyes hollowed out.
The man in gold inhaled deeply. "Will you still be silent?"
Master K said nothing. He forced his focus onto the floorboards. Second row from the entrance. Slight crack near the grain.
I meant to repair it last winter. He forced himself to breathe. Pain is temporary.
Resolve is eternal. Even if I am dragged to hell, I will not drag our savior(kai) down with me.
The man in gold stepped toward the oldest disciple. The boy knelt perfectly upright. No trembling. No tears. His jaw was tight, but steady.
Good, Master K thought faintly.
You remembered your breathing exercises.
The man gestured for the Chunin to force the remaining disciples' eyes open. "Ask your master," the man in gold said mildly, "where the remaining elixirs are."
Silence hung heavy in the room. The oldest disciple lifted his chin, his voice unwavering.
"Even if we die, Master, do not tell him anything."
The words struck Master K deeper than the blade had. You foolish, child.
The man in gold sighed. "Mm. Difficult, then."
He moved without haste. Steel flashed. The oldest disciple's fingers fell to the floor. The sound they made—soft, almost delicate—was worse than the blood. Master K felt his stomach violently twist.
Do not look.
But he looked. The boy's face remained rigid. There was no scream, only a tightening around the eyes. A flicker of agony.
The man cut again, lower this time. The leg severed cleanly, and blood struck the hardwood in violent arcs.
The metallic scent filled Master K's lungs until he tasted iron. Still, the boy did not scream. He stared directly at his executioner.
Master K's heartbeat hammered in his ears. Please… please let him faint.
Instead, the man in gold raised the Blue Lotus. A blue radiance spilled outward like moonlight made liquid.
The blood stopped flowing. The severed flesh twitched and then began to crawl.
Bone slid toward bone, and muscle knit itself together in an obscene reverse motion.
Skin sealed with a wet, sucking whisper.
The boy gasped. One breath.
Alive.
There was a heartbeat of silence. Just one. Master K's mind could not process what he had seen.
Slash.
The head rolled, stopping at Master K's feet with the eyes still open as the body collapsed.
Then, the blue light flared again. A pause. A heartbeat. The head jerked, dragging backward across the blood-slick floor as if pulled by invisible strings until the neck sealed.
The boy inhaled sharply. Alive again.
Master K felt something completely crack inside his chest.
Slash.
Blue. Pause. Breath. Again.
Each time, there was a fraction of stillness before revival—a tiny, sacred moment where the boy was truly gone.
And each time, he was forcefully dragged back. On the third revival, the boy's breathing came faster.
On the fourth, his pupils could not focus. On the fifth, his hands twitched before the blade even struck, his nervous system anticipating the pain.
This is not death, Master K's fragmented mind realized. This is theft. He is stealing mercy from them.
On the sixth revival, the boy's lips moved soundlessly.
On the seventh... the body came back, and the breath returned, but the eyes did not. They stared at nothing.
A tremor started in the boy's hands, quickly giving way to laughter. It was soft at first, a thin, brittle sound that rapidly grew.
The boy clawed at his own face, his nails tearing his skin as he smashed his forehead against the floorboards.
He was laughing, but it wasn't humor. It was a mind desperately trying to escape a prison of flesh.
Master K could not breathe. He buried his face in his hands.
This is my fault. I taught him loyalty. I taught him endurance. I did not teach him when to give up.
"This happened because of you," the man in gold whispered gently beside him.
"If you remain silent, the others will learn what he has just learned."
The dojo was quiet except for hysterical laughter and wet sobbing. Master K looked up, meeting the vacant eyes of the broken boy.
Forgive me. Then he saw Jie. The youngest. Still alive, trembling, terrified, and suddenly looking very small.
A single thought surfaced, quiet and undeniable: I cannot let him see this happen to himself.
In that agonizing breath, Master K remembered a winter morning years ago.
The disciples had risen before dawn to train in the snow. Jie had fallen repeatedly, too weak to stabilize his stance, and the others had laughed.
Master K had walked over, lifted the boy by the collar, and said: "Strength is not born. It is endured."
Jie had nodded then, tears frozen on his lashes. Back in the present, Master K felt those same frozen tears forming inside his own soul.
He exhaled. "Alright," he said. The word tasted like betrayal. "I will tell you."