The night air was cool as Jin Tae-Hyuk moved silently along the rooftops.
Below him, the city stretched endlessly, a forest of steel and glass glowing under artificial light. The streets bustled even at this hour, yet Tae-Hyuk's attention remained fixed on something else entirely.
The faint pulse of Qi he had sensed earlier.
He followed it carefully.
Not rushing.
Not revealing himself.
The signal led him through several districts until the buildings began to change. Towering office complexes gave way to older structures, narrow streets, aging apartments, dim streetlights flickering against worn brick walls.
The Qi was stronger here.
Not by much.
But enough for Tae-Hyuk's trained senses to detect.
He stopped at the edge of a rooftop and looked down.
An abandoned parking lot sat between two buildings.
Four boys stood there.
They formed a loose circle, their stances disciplined and alert.
Training.
Tae-Hyuk lowered himself into a crouch, remaining hidden behind a ventilation unit as he watched.
The men began sparring.
Their movements were fast, far faster than ordinary fighters. Feet slid across the ground in precise patterns, fists cut through the air, and faint ripples of Qi accompanied every strike.
To normal eyes, it would look like nothing more than a group of skilled martial artists practicing late at night.
But Tae-Hyuk could see everything.
Every breath.
Every shift of weight.
Every fragment of energy.
One of the fighters stepped forward and launched a series of palm strikes.
His movements were fluid.
Sharp.
Rhythmic.
Tae-Hyuk's eyes narrowed slightly.
That stance…
The man pivoted his body and unleashed another sequence of three rapid strikes followed by a spinning palm aimed at the opponent's chest.
A faint ripple of Qi burst outward.
The other man blocked and slid backward across the pavement.
Tae-Hyuk's heart skipped.
That…
The technique was incomplete.
The breathing was wrong.
The Qi circulation was uneven.
But the structure and the foundation of the movement was unmistakable.
He had seen it before.
Many times.
Long ago.
"Eight Flowing Palms…" Tae-Hyuk whispered under his breath.
The technique had once belonged to a minor orthodox sect from his era. It was not among the greatest martial arts in Murim, but it was elegant and efficient, designed for close-range combat.
Yet what the modern fighter performed was only a shadow of the original.
The final strike lacked the explosive release of Qi.
The footwork was slightly off.
The energy never reached the palm's center.
Instead of flowing like a river, it broke apart halfway through the sequence.
Still…
It was the same technique.
Somehow, it had survived the centuries.
Tae-Hyuk watched silently.
The fighters continued sparring, unaware of the observer above them.
Another man attempted the same technique.
His movements were even rougher.
The sequence ended prematurely, his breath faltering.
One of the others shook his head.
"Your timing's off again," he said.
"I'm trying," the man replied, breathing heavily. "The manual only explains half the sequence."
Manual.
Tae-Hyuk's eyes sharpened.
So written techniques still exist…
But clearly incomplete ones.
The fighters resumed training, repeating the same sequence again and again.
Each attempt is slightly flawed.
Each attempt missed the true essence of the technique.
From the rooftop, Tae-Hyuk watched carefully.
His mind instinctively corrected every mistake.
Adjust the stance.
Control the breathing.
Guide the Qi through the arm meridians.
Release it at the final palm.
Simple corrections.
But they made all the difference.
Yet Tae-Hyuk remained silent.
He had no reason to interfere.
Not yet.
The sparring continued for another half hour before the group finally stopped.
One of them rubbed his shoulder.
"Man… if we could actually master this technique, the other gyms wouldn't stand a chance."
Another laughed.
"Yeah, if only the old sects had written better manuals."
They gathered their bags and slowly left the parking lot.
Soon the space was empty again.
Tae-Hyuk remained on the rooftop.
His gaze lingered on the ground where they had trained.
"A technique from my world… still exists."
He folded his arms slowly.
"But only fragments remain."
That meant something important.
If a minor sect technique had survived…
Then other techniques must have survived as well.
Perhaps stronger ones.
Perhaps even legendary ones.
But if the manuals were incomplete…
Then the practitioners of this era were training blind.
Half-knowledge.
Half-power.
Half-truths.
Tae-Hyuk looked out across the city again.
The realization settled deep in his mind.
Murim had not disappeared.
It was simply… forgotten.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"This world truly is different."
The wind swept across the rooftops as Tae-Hyuk turned and disappeared into the night once more.
Somewhere in the city, other martial artists were training.
Other sects were hiding.
Other techniques were waiting to be discovered.
And Jin Tae-Hyuk, one of the last people who remembered the old Murim, had only just begun to explore it.