[POV — Seongji Yuk]
Seongji learned the sound of bone before he learned technique.
It was a dry, hollow crack.
The kind that didn't echo—but stayed in your ears.
His own arm screamed as Mujin Jin twisted it past what felt possible. The pain was instant, blinding, sharp enough to force air from his lungs.
Seongji didn't scream.
He bit down and endured.
"Wrong," Mujin said flatly.
He released Seongji, who collapsed to one knee, shaking.
"Again."
[POV — Ethan Cross]
Ethan watched with shining eyes.
Not because Seongji was hurting.
Because of how Mujin moved.
No wasted motion.
No hesitation.
Hands went straight to the bone—wrist, elbow, shoulder—ignoring muscle entirely. It wasn't brute force.
It was understanding.
Ethan lunged.
Mujin caught him by the collar mid-step and slammed him into the dirt.
The impact rattled Ethan's skull.
He laughed through it.
"There it is," Ethan said breathlessly. "That feeling."
Mujin's glowing eye narrowed.
"You like pain."
Ethan grinned wider. "I like limits."
[POV — Mujin Jin]
They were adapting faster than he expected.
Too fast.
The wild had stripped them down. Now instinct filled the gaps technique would later refine.
He grabbed Ethan's wrist again.
"Feel," Mujin said.
He twisted.
Not enough to break—just enough to teach.
"Bone tells the truth," Mujin continued.
"Muscle lies."
Ethan's teeth clenched. Sweat poured down his face.
But his eyes stayed locked on Mujin's hands.
Learning.
[POV — Seongji Yuk]
Seongji attacked again.
This time, he didn't swing wildly.
He stepped in.
Close.
Too close.
Mujin paused.
Seongji felt it—an opening no wider than a breath.
He grabbed Mujin's forearm and twisted.
It didn't move.
Mujin's knee drove into Seongji's ribs.
Seongji flew back, skidding across dirt.
Mujin nodded.
"Better."
That single word burned brighter than pain.
[FLASHBACK — Mujin Jin]
A ring of bodies.
Silence.
Hands stained red.
Strength wasn't mercy.
It was certainty.
[POV — Ethan Cross]
Night fell.
Ethan lay on the ground staring at the stars, body throbbing, bones aching.
"This sucks," he muttered.
Seongji lay a few feet away, equally broken.
"…Yeah."
Ethan laughed softly. "Still better than before."
Seongji didn't argue.
[POV — Seongji Yuk]
Weeks passed.
Their bodies changed.
Bruises healed faster. Movements sharpened. Instinct replaced hesitation.
Mujin started throwing them at Cheonliang's real dangers.
Older fighters.
Bigger ones.
Men who didn't care if they lived.
Seongji learned how to end fights quickly.
Elbow to throat. Knee to spine. Grip and twist until something gave.
He stopped counting how many fell.
[POV — Ethan Cross]
Ethan fought differently.
He smiled.
He baited.
He let them hit him once—just to feel it—then punished them twice as hard.
He learned how to fall and rise instantly.
How to break rhythm.
How to enjoy chaos.
Mujin watched without comment.
But his silence felt approving.
[POV — Mujin Jin]
One night, he stood watching them spar under moonlight.
Two children no longer.
Two beasts forming.
They reminded him of the past.
Of mistakes.
Of blood he could never wash away.
Soon, he would leave.
They didn't need him much longer.
[POV — Seongji Yuk & Ethan Cross]
They clashed again.
Faster now.
Stronger.
Seongji caught Ethan's wrist mid-strike and twisted.
Ethan rolled with it, countering with a knee.
They broke apart, breathing hard.
Eyes locked.
Rivals.
Equals.
For now.
Mujin's voice cut through the night.
"Tomorrow," he said,
"you learn what it means to fight alone."
The fire crackled.
Cheonliang watched.