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THE MURDER OF CROWS CRIED FIERCELY OVERHEAD, a stark contrast to the laughter and chatter that rippled through the group, their hard-earned lunch spread out like a feast. Plates passed from hand to hand, shared bites met with approving hums, and the occasional teasing banter lightened the air. Yet, on the jagged rocks a few feet away, Kwon and y/n remained locked in silent penance. Their knuckles pressed against unforgiving stone, bodies trembling with effort.
Their fight earlier had been brutal, not because of its intensity but because of what it revealed. The girl's attacks had been predictable, sluggish; her blocks barely sufficient. Yet she'd held her ground, refusing to yield to the exhaustion that threatened to drag her under. Kwon could've ended it swiftly-should've ended it swiftly-but something faltered.
It happened when her gaze slipped past him, landing on the yawning expanse of the valley below. Her expression changed in an instant. The fight drained from her face, replaced by something rampant and haunted. Her hands, once poised to strike, dropped slightly. And then, as if in a trance, she froze.
Kwon had noticed it too late. She was no longer looking at him but through him, her pupils blown wide with terror. Her knees buckled slightly, her chest heaving like she couldn't breathe. His instincts screamed to attack-capitalize on her weakness and claim victory. Yet he hesitated.
Her trembling form stirred something deep and unwelcome within him, a feeling that mocked his training and principles. Instead of striking, he shifted his stance, drawing her attention back with a feigned lunge. It worked. She blinked, startled, her body jerking into motion. The distraction cost him a punch to his chest, a kick to his jaw, and a final blow that sent him staggering back.
The group had cheered for her triumph, oblivious to the silent storm brewing in the aftermath. Yoon's gaze lingered on her a beat too long, his brows furrowing like he'd pieced together a puzzle no one else could see. Kwon had locked eyes with him for a fraction of a second, and in that exchange, an unspoken understanding passed between them.
Sensei Kim, however, had shown no such insight-or patience. "Both of you," she had barked, "No food. No water. You've brought this on yourselves," she snapped, her eyes cold and unyielding. "Mercy is a disease. Emotion is a crutch. And I don't train the weak." Her gaze had burned into both of them, sharp and merciless as always. "If you think you're worthy of leading my grandfather's legacy-if you dare to believe you have what it takes-then prove it."
The air was thick with tension as the two of them struggled through their punishment, the sound of their knuckles grinding against the craggy rocks muted by the jokes and chuckles from their teammates nearby, enjoying their meals without any care in this world. Among them, sat Kim Da-eun with an air of rare calm, her usually frigid demeanor softened-if only slightly-as she portioned out some of her homemade kimchi into the boys' meal boxes.
