This chapter presents ideas partly through the protagonist's perspective within the story,
and partly as a broader philosophical discussion beyond fiction.
The purpose of this perspective is reflection and dialogue.
It is not intended to offend or diminish any culture or belief.
With full respect to all readers and viewpoints.
————-
A full week had passed since the students' return.
It had been an unusually quiet week.
The Director's Office
Soho's team stood in a line inside the director's office.
The room was spacious, dominated by aged wood, filled with the scent of old books and warm tea.
Director Eldir sat behind his desk, his back straight, his gaze calm—
the kind of calm that could only be forged through long years of witnessing both triumph and loss.
He spoke quietly:
"What you accomplished was not an individual achievement…
but a rare example of true teamwork at your age."
The speech was brief.
That was Eldir's way.
Each of them received their reward—personal words of recognition, direct looks without empty praise.
When it was over, the team began to leave one by one.
Jin was the last.
He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and turned to go.
"Kim Soho."
He stopped.
Turning calmly, he heard:
"Stay for a moment."
The others left.
The door closed.
The atmosphere didn't change—
but it became quieter.
Eldir gestured toward a side table.
"Do you drink tea?"
"If you'll allow it."
They sat facing each other.
The director poured the tea himself.
After a moment, he asked:
"Tell me…
what does the sword mean to you?"
Jin did not answer immediately.
"A tool," he said at last.
"But not merely a tool."
Eldir smiled faintly.
"And how is it different from the rest?"
"Everything else," Jin replied,
"I can put aside."
"But the sword…"
"If I set it down, it feels like I've abandoned a part of myself."
The director lowered his gaze slightly.
"Many believe the sword is a path to killing."
"Few understand it is a path to responsibility."
He looked up.
"A sword does not test power alone…"
"It tests your judgment—
when to stop."
Jin nodded.
"That's why I fear it more than I love it."
Eldir let out a soft laugh.
"A mature answer."
A short silence followed.
Then the director asked:
"And life?"
"How do you see it, at your age?"
Jin took a deep breath.
"Short enough to make mistakes,"
"and long enough to regret them—
if I don't learn."
Eldir nodded slowly.
"Then allow me to ask a question many avoid."
He looked directly at Jin.
"If you were presented with a clear path—
a path toward endless life, as dreamed of by certain schools and philosophies—
and the ordinary path of the sword…"
"Which would you choose?"
Silence filled the room.
Not the silence of confusion—
but the silence of weighing.
At last, Jin spoke calmly:
"I would not choose immortality."
The director raised an eyebrow, without interrupting.
Jin continued:
"What meaning is there in living a thousand… or ten thousand years?"
"You would watch your family, your friends, your children…"
"leave, one by one."
He looked down at the tea cup.
The steam had faded.
"And there is something else."
He raised his eyes, steady.
"Immortality is not meant for humans to begin with."
"So why chase an illusion?"
He paused, then said clearly:
"Humans have a life."
"Let them live it."
Then—
his voice did not harden,
but deepened.
"Some seek immortality out of fear of death."
"Others desire it as proof of superiority—
a power they believe they deserve."
"And some simply cannot accept leaving this world behind."
"But no matter how long a human lives—
even a hundred thousand years—
death will come in the end."
"Clinging to eternity does not make one transcend human limits."
"It only delays accepting them."
"Life gains meaning because it ends."
"Because time is finite."
"And because choices matter precisely because we cannot make them forever."
"Humans are not meant to defy the sky."
"They are meant to live beneath it—
fully."
Eldir did not speak at once.
His gaze remained steady,
yet something deep within it trembled.
At last, he said softly:
"I have asked this question of many…"
"Leaders. Thinkers. Those wielding great power."
He smiled warmly.
"And none gave me the answer I hoped to hear."
He stood and walked to an old cabinet, retrieving a small box.
He placed it before Jin.
"Open it."
Jin opened the box—
and his breath caught.
A golden pill rested inside, stable, radiating pure energy.
Eldir spoke clearly:
"This is an internal energy pill."
"Highly condensed, purified mana."
Jin looked at him intently.
"It does not extend lifespan," Eldir continued.
"Nor does it grant immortality."
"It merely… shortens the time of accumulation."
"In other cultures, it is said to be equivalent to more than a hundred years of mana cultivation."
Jin closed the box immediately.
"I can't accept this."
Eldir smiled.
"I did not give it to you to use now."
He pushed it back toward him.
"Keep it."
"And when your sword reaches a stage where a decisive step is required…"
"Use it then."
Jin stood and bowed deeply—
a knight's bow, pure and sincere.
"I will treasure it."
"And I will remember this conversation."
The director sat back, looking at the tea that had gone cold.
He smiled, as if speaking to himself:
"Clear minds like this…"
"are rarer than geniuses."
Jin left quietly.
And the cup of tea remained—
proof of a conversation
that needed no further words.