The next morning, Eren awoke once again in his modest home, greeted by sunlight filtering through the thin window slats. He sat upright, taking a moment to stretch, then looked around at the familiar walls.
Still the same wooden house. Still the same dusty air.
But today, the world felt a little fresher.
After washing and dressing, he stepped outside into the village streets, his pace slow and unhurried, like a man with no debts, no worries, and no secrets. He greeted those who waved to him, smiled at those who dared not approach, and walked as if life were little more than a stroll beneath the sun.
Then, just as he turned the corner to return home, he saw Tang Hao.
The man stood as always—unkempt, gruff, eyes slightly hazed from too many bottles too early in the day.
Their eyes met.
Tang Hao snorted, as if even breathing the same air as Eren offended him.
Eren's expression didn't change.
He simply said in a quiet voice, "Tang Hao, you've chosen the path that deserves death."
Then, without another word, he turned and entered his house.
Inside, he sat calmly, opened his black-bound book, and began to write with an amused glint in his eye:
[When Tang Hao attempts to drink his wine, the wine will turn into piss. When he questions Tang San about it, Tang San will reply without hesitation: "Yes, I did it. And I'll do it again. What can you even do about it?"]
He closed the book.
Now, all that remained was to wait—and enjoy the unfolding tragedy.
Naturally, no drama was complete without proper refreshments. Eren call up a bag of popcorn and a cold cup of cola, leaned back in his chair, and watched from the slightly parted window.
---
Inside the Tang Residence
Tang Hao returned home the same way he always did—tired, silent, and driven by one sacred desire: wine.
He glanced at Tang San, who was immersed in practice. The rhythmic pounding of the Disorder Splitting Wind Hammer Technique echoed through the house.
A flicker of pride passed through Tang Hao's eyes. "That's my son."
He moved to the corner where his bottles were stored, picked one up, and took a long, satisfying gulp. he took a long gulp and looked at tang san again at the rhythmic swinging of the hammer.
"Ah Yin… our son has grown well," he murmured.
Then he paused.
His brows furrowed.
Something was wrong.
He took another sip, slower this time, and smacked his lips.
"This taste…" he muttered. "Why does it feel familiar… oddly familiar?"
He licked his lips again, and realization began to dawn.
It was familiar. He had tasted it recently. A foul memory surfaced.
His face turned green.
"By the heavens," he hissed, staring at the bottle in horror. "This isn't wine…"
With a low growl, Tang Hao threw the bottle to the floor, where it shattered with an angry hiss.
He turned toward Tang San, still hammering away at the metal, unaware of the doom approaching.
"San." The name came out like a storm brewing.
Tang San turned, cautious. "Yes… father?"
"Did you do this?" Tang Hao pointed to the broken bottle.
Tang San's instincts told him to deny it—but the words that escaped his mouth were not his own.
"Yes, I did it. And I'll do it again. What can you even do about it?"
A silence followed. Not the calm kind—the terrifying kind.
Tang Hao clenched his fists. The bones cracked.
"Ah Yin," he whispered to the air, "our son has gone astray. I must correct him. Forgive me."
"Wait, father! I didn't mean—let me expla—"
"Explain your foot."
PAAH.
PAAHH.
PAAHHHH.
Each slap echoed like thunder in a valley.
A minute later, Tang San was airborne, flying headfirst through the window, where he crashed onto the ground outside, twitching slightly, his face newly swollen with a fresh set of handprints.
He didn't move again.
---
Back at Eren's house
From inside, Eren watched it all.
This time, he didn't bother holding back his laughter.
It rang through the walls, reached the streets, and tickled the ears of Tang San, who could only groan faintly in response.
If he had the strength to move, he might have cursed Eren's name.
He simply lay there, twitching, as the sky above him spun slowly.
But for now, all he could do was lie still and reflect on the mysteries of fate… and why his father's slap was fast enough to break the sound barrier.