Jihoon stood in the training ring at Blade's Edge, the facility's hum of clanking weights and buzzing holo-dummies filling the air. The polished floor gleamed under bright lights, and the smell of sweat and metal clung to everything. His new training vest and pants, light and snug, made him feel like he belonged, even if his scrawny frame said otherwise. Across from him, Han Taeyang hefted a metal ball the size of an orange, its surface scratched but glinting. The B-Rank hunter's grin was wide, his scarred chin catching the light as he tossed the ball lightly in one hand. "Ready, Jihoon?" he asked, his voice booming over the gym's noise. "Your hitbox trick's cool, but it's useless if you can't keep your head in the game. Lesson one: focus. Always."
Jihoon nodded, his pulse quickening. The ring was a wide circle, marked by glowing lines, with a padded wall behind him. Taeyang had set up the test simple enough: Jihoon would use his Hitbox Control to evade the ball when thrown. He'd done it before, back with the Blade Mantis, focusing until claws passed through him like he wasn't there. But that was instinct, panic-driven. This was deliberate, and the exam loomed in two weeks. He wiped sweaty palms on his pants, squaring his shoulders. "I'm ready," he said, voice steadier than he felt.
Taeyang's grin sharpened. "Good. Here it comes." He reared back and hurled the ball, hard and fast, a silver blur aimed at Jihoon's chest. Jihoon's eyes narrowed, his mind sharpening to a single point. Don't get hit. He pictured himself untouchable, his body's outline shrinking in his mind. The ball sailed through him, no resistance, no impact, and slammed into the padded wall with a dull thud. It bounced once, rolling to a stop.
Jihoon exhaled, a grin breaking out. "I did it," he said, looking at Taeyang, his heart pounding with pride.
"Nice one!" Taeyang clapped, stepping forward, his voice loud and warm. "Told you, kid, you're like a ghost! Untouchable!" His grin was infectious, and Jihoon's chest swelled, his focus drifting to the praise, the rush of success.
Then pain exploded in his shoulder. The ball, ricocheting off the wall, caught him off-guard, slamming into him with a sharp sting. He stumbled, cursing under his breath, and rubbed the spot, his face flushing. The gym's noise seemed louder, a few nearby hunters glancing over with smirks. "What the hell?" Jihoon muttered, glaring at the ball now rolling innocently on the floor.
Taeyang laughed, not mocking but sharp, like a teacher proving a point. "That's the lesson, Jihoon. You dropped your focus. You think a beast stops after one swipe? Or a hunter in a duel? You gotta stay locked in, every second, or you're eating dirt." He picked up the ball, tossing it lightly. "Again. Don't look at me, don't grin, don't think about lunch. Just focus."
Jihoon's jaw tightened, embarrassment burning but determination stronger. He nodded, planting his feet. "Got it. Throw it."
Taeyang didn't hesitate, launching the ball harder this time, a vicious arc toward Jihoon's stomach. Jihoon zeroed in, his world narrowing to the ball's path. Untouchable. The metal passed through him, hitting the wall with a louder thud, bouncing back. This time, Jihoon kept his eyes forward, tracking the ricochet, his mind taut. The ball rolled harmlessly past. He exhaled, sweat beading on his forehead, but didn't let his guard drop.
"Better," Taeyang said, grabbing the ball again. "But let's make it interesting." He gestured to a control panel by the ring, tapping it. The holo-dummy nearby flickered, its form shifting into a clawed beast, swiping in slow, predictable arcs. "Keep dodging the ball. Ignore the dummy. Stay focused."
Jihoon swallowed, his heart racing. The dummy's claws glinted, even if they were just light, and the gym's clatter—weights dropping, hunters shouting—pressed in. Taeyang threw the ball, a low, fast shot at his legs. Jihoon focused, letting it pass through, but the dummy's swipe pulled his eyes for a split second. The ball ricocheted, grazing his shin before he could refocus. He hissed, pain flaring, but stayed upright.
"Damn it," he muttered, shaking it off. Taeyang didn't laugh this time, just nodded, his eyes serious.
"You're getting it," Taeyang said, retrieving the ball. "But you're thinking too much. It's not just seeing the ball—it's making focus your default. Like breathing. Again."
They went at it, throw after throw, Taeyang mixing up angles and speeds. Jihoon dodged most, the ball phasing through him when his mind stayed sharp, but faltered twice more—once when a hunter's shout broke his concentration, another when his legs burned from standing too long. Each hit stung, bruising his arm, his thigh, but he gritted his teeth, pushing harder. Sweat soaked his vest, his breath coming in gasps, but the rhythm started to click. Focus. Dodge. Repeat.
Taeyang upped the ante, moving to a treadmill rigged with a relic launcher, firing foam darts alongside the ball. "Real fight's chaos," he said, tossing the ball while the launcher spat darts. Jihoon's focus wavered, a dart clipping his shoulder as he dodged the ball, but he caught the next throw, the metal passing clean through. His mind burned with effort, but he felt it—a flicker of control, like his power was less a fluke and more a muscle.
Hours passed, the gym's lights dimming as evening settled. Jihoon's legs shook, his body screaming for rest, but he kept going, dodging another throw, then another. The ball ricocheted, and he sidestepped it, focus unbroken. Taeyang stopped, wiping sweat from his brow, and grinned. "Alright, Ghost, you're not half bad. Let's take a break."
Jihoon collapsed onto a bench, panting, his training gear drenched. The gym was quieter now, a few hunters packing up, the holo-dummy flickering off. Taeyang sat beside him, tossing the ball between his hands. "Your evasion's something else," he said, his tone serious. "I've seen A-Ranks who can't dodge like that. But here's the problem—you've got no way to hit back. Exams'll have beasts or a duel, and you can't just dodge forever. You need gear, weapons, something to deal damage. Problem is, that stuff's expensive, and you don't look like you're swimming in cash."
Jihoon's stomach sank, the high of training fading. Gear? He barely had money for food. "Yeah," he said, voice low. "Didn't think about that. Guess I'm screwed."
Taeyang shook his head, tossing the ball aside. "Not screwed. Just tricky. I've got some buddies in Iron Fang, maybe a few others. I'll ask around, see if anyone's got spare gear they'd loan or sell cheap. No promises, but I'll try." He stood, stretching, his scar glinting under the lights. "You did good today, Jihoon. Keep that focus, and you might just pass those exams."
Jihoon nodded, exhaustion mixing with a spark of pride. "Thanks, Taeyang. For all of this." His voice was quiet, but he meant it. The hunter's help, the training—it was more than he'd expected.
Taeyang clapped his shoulder, nearly knocking him off the bench. "Don't get soft on me. Go change out of that sweaty gear. Locker room's got fresh stuff—grab what you need and head home. We'll go again tomorrow."
Jihoon stood, legs wobbly but heart steady. He headed to the locker room, the gym's hum fading behind him. The air was cooler there, smelling of rubber and soap. He found a rack of clean training gear—another black vest, fresh pants, a towel—and changed, the dry fabric a relief against his skin. He glanced at his reflection, sweat-streaked but standing taller. Ghost, Seoyoon had called him. Maybe he could be that, with enough focus.
He stepped out, the training ring dark now, Taeyang gone. The facility felt vast, empty, but Jihoon's mind was on the next throw, the next dodge. The exams were close, and he had work to do.