"Teacher Ajin! Look, I can cut leaves!"
"That's grass, Bodin…"
The children's laughter echoed in the air—
a sound Ajin would come to miss for the rest of his life.
Morning slowly shifted into afternoon. The smell of freshly cooked rice and stir-fried vegetables drifted from the communal kitchen of Rogo Pavilion, calling every hungry stomach within reach. Smoke curled from the chimney, carried by the gentle wind toward the training grounds.
The orphaned children were the first to run inside, shoving each other with cheerful chaos.
"I'm first!"
"No, that's my bowl, Bodin!"
"Loka, don't take my spot!"
Ajin walked behind them at his slow pace, a soft smile tugging on his lips as he watched their noisy scramble. The kitchen felt alive with warmth—wooden tables, clattering bowls, children's laughter mixing with the scent of food.
He sat at the long wooden bench, letting the children crowd around him like ducklings.
"Teacher Ajin!" Loka raised her tiny dirt-covered hands. "I drew your face in the dirt!"
She giggled. "But… it ended up looking like a frog."
Ajin chuckled. "A very handsome frog, I hope."
A shy girl tugged on his sleeve. "Teacher… will you tell another story tonight? The one about the clever mouse deer pretending to be dead?"
"Of course," Ajin replied, ruffling her hair. "But only if everyone finishes their vegetables."
"Ehhh… even the bitter ones?"
"Yes. Even the bitter ones."
Groans erupted all around him, and Ajin laughed softly. He distributed rice evenly among the children, making sure Bodin—who always looked the thinnest—received a slightly larger piece of fried tempeh. He wiped Loka's mouth, separated arguments, and listened to the endless chatter about who swung the bamboo sword the fastest today.
Ajin wasn't just their teacher.
He was their older brother.
Their shelter.
Their safe corner of the world.
He didn't have strength like the other instructors.
He didn't master flashy martial techniques.
But he had heart. And in this small kitchen, it was enough.
…Or so he thought.
Darta and Keno entered the kitchen next. Their steps were loud, heavy, and impatient. They shoved aside a smaller student just to reach the serving pots. The two adult trainees grabbed their food harshly, shooting Ajin and the children looks of open disdain.
"Disgusting," Darta muttered loud enough for all to hear. "What kind of martial pavilion raises weaklings and brats?"
Ajin heard him.
He always heard them.
His shoulders stiffened for just a moment—but he only offered a small smile, pretending it didn't matter.
"Don't listen to them," Loka whispered, clutching Ajin's sleeve. "Teacher Ajin is the strongest."
Her little words warmed him more than anything else in the world.
But warmth was fleeting.
A heavy voice cut through the chatter like a blade.
"Ajin."
Everyone froze.
Elder Rogo stood in the doorway—his old frame rigid, his expression far heavier than usual. His white eyebrows furrowed, casting shadows over his worn eyes.
"Come with me."
Instant silence filled the kitchen.
Even Darta and Keno bowed deeply.
Ajin quickly rose to his feet, his heart thudding.
"Yes, Elder."
He followed the elder out of the warm kitchen and into the quiet corridors behind the pavilion. The sounds of laughter grew faint as the wooden doors closed behind him.
The elder's private chamber was dim, lit only by thin candles. Scrolls filled the walls and shelves. The scent of incense hung gently in the air—so faint it was almost like a memory rather than a smell.
Elder Rogo did not sit.
He stood before an old map of the ancient Nusantara kingdoms—yellowed, torn, almost crumbling from age.
Silence stretched for several long seconds.
"Teacher…?" Ajin finally spoke, uncertain.
The elder didn't turn.
Instead, he exhaled—one long, weary breath that seemed to age him another ten years.
"The world is changing, child," Elder Rogo whispered, his voice rough like old parchment.
Ajin waited.
"The Karadipa government… they have grown greedy. Too greedy."
His voice darkened.
"They now seek the Twelve Sacred Scrolls."
Ajin's breath caught.
He had heard of the Twelve Scrolls only as bedtime legends—mystical texts created by ancient masters to shape body, soul, and spirit. Stories told to entertain children.
…Not something real.
"Rogo Pavilion is in danger," Elder Rogo continued.
Ajin blinked in confusion. "But… we're small, Elder. We have nothing of value. We teach orphans. We barely train fighters. We—"
His voice cracked.
"…there is only me."
The elder finally turned around. His cloudy eyes held a weight Ajin could not understand.
"Precisely because we seem small, they think we're easy to crush," he said. "Karadipa has begun purging any pavilion that refuses to swear loyalty."
Ajin felt a chill crawl up his spine.
He had heard rumors of distant burnings.
Of missing teachers.
Of children taken for 'interrogation.'
But he never imagined Rogo would be next.
"And you…" Elder Rogo said, taking a step closer, "you think I took you in out of pity?"
Ajin stiffened.
His heart hammered painfully.
"…didn't you?"
The elder shook his head slowly.
"I sheltered you because the world outside would devour you. Because your existence is not ordinary, Ajin."
Ajin's throat tightened.
What was he supposed to say to that?
He had always believed he was taken in because he was weak. Because the elders pitied the starving teenager who collapsed at their gate years ago.
Elder Rogo placed his wrinkled hands on Ajin's shoulders, gripping them with surprising strength.
"You were never meant to live a quiet life," he said softly. "But I tried to give you one anyway."
Ajin lowered his gaze.
"I… I don't understand."
"You will," Elder Rogo replied.
He turned sharply toward a wooden cabinet in the corner. His fingers tapped a specific spot on the side panel.
KLIK.
A hidden drawer slid open.
From within, the elder retrieved an object wrapped in dark cloth.
He turned around—and Ajin felt his breath freeze.
In the elder's hands was a scroll.
A pitch-black scroll.
Bound by ancient leather straps.
Sealed with dried blood that had turned into a dark, rust-colored crust.
Ajin instinctively took a step back.
The scroll radiated something heavy—like a presence.
As if something alive slept inside it.
Elder Rogo held the scroll with reverence and fear.
"This," he said, "is the thing Karadipa seeks."
Ajin swallowed. "One of the Twelve Scrolls?"
"No," the elder whispered.
"Worse."
His voice shook slightly.
"This is the scroll of our own lineage. The scroll of Rogo Pavilion."
He looked directly into Ajin's eyes.
"Passed down through suffering… from master to disciple."
Ajin's heartbeat became a painful drum.
"Elder… why are you showing this to me?"
The elder sighed, as if he had carried this weight far too long.
"Because if Rogo Pavilion falls…"
His fingers tightened around the scroll.
"…you are the only one who can inherit this technique."
Ajin felt the world tilt slightly.
"Me?"
He laughed weakly, voice trembling.
"Elder, there must be a mistake. I can't even finish morning drills without coughing. I can't teach the advanced students. I'm not—"
"Strong?" the elder finished for him.
"That's the one thing the scroll demands most."
Ajin froze.
"What…?"
Elder Rogo stepped closer, eyes shining in the candlelight.
"The Twelve Scrolls destroy those who seek power greedily," he said. "They consume the ambitious."
He placed a wrinkled hand against Ajin's chest.
"You do not seek power. Your heart is soft. Too soft. That softness… is your shield."
Ajin felt his legs weaken.
All this time…
all his weakness, all his failures, all his inadequacy—
Were they not flaws?
But reasons?
The elder took a deep breath.
"Ajin… the world will show you cruelty very soon. I don't know if I can protect you any longer."
His voice quivered—not with fear, but sorrow.
"And when that time comes… you must choose: to die, or to rise."
Ajin's throat tightened.
"Elder, I'm not ready."
"No one ever is."
Elder Rogo pressed the black scroll into Ajin's trembling hands.
And at that moment—
Something moved outside the room.
A shifting shadow.
A faint crack of bamboo bending.
A silent presence creeping closer.
Ajin turned his head, sensing that same cold feeling from earlier.
The elder closed his eyes for a moment, a pained expression crossing his face.