With a vivid red mark left on her face, Han Sang-ah spat a mouthful of blood-tinged saliva onto the floor and stared straight at me.
"Tch."
"I'm not telling you to block the attack."
See it. Hear it. Feel it on your skin. Even if you can't block it, as long as you succeed at that, I stop the attack halfway. But if you instinctively raise your sword to block it like you just did, that's when I hit you.
After taking dozens of blows, Han Sang-ah was in a sorry state. It was bad enough that a few of the coast guard officers cautiously came over to ask what the hell we were doing.
"I know… that."
"If you know, you little punk, then don't just yap about it."
And so the night grew deep again. Han Sang-ah took dozens more hits, and finally managed to block properly and attempt a counterattack twenty times in a row.
"You'll be fine after sleeping it off for a day."
I'd hit her with exactly that level of force.
"Seriously, did you powder your face or something?"
Sweat had dried white across her face. On top of that, her arms and legs were covered in marks from my spear, like welts from being beaten with a switch.
I poured the water I'd prepared over Han Sang-ah's head.
"Kh… haa."
Soaked by the water, she collapsed on the spot. After performing her eighth dry-heave of the session, she buried her head in the yellowish bile she'd thrown up and slumped over.
"Hh… hff."
At least she didn't pass out. She desperately circulated her mana, trying to shake off the fatigue as quickly as possible. I wrapped her up in a blanket like a roll of gimbap and carried her into the hotel room.
"You did well. Once you recover a bit, drink some water, eat, and get some sleep."
I left water and food by her pillow and walked out.
"I'm dead tired."
I'd spent several nights up keeping her company, so of course the fatigue had piled up on me too. Mentally, though—it wasn't like this was my first time running around without sleep, so that part was fine.
Like Han Sang-ah, I ate, drank, washed up, fell asleep, and woke up the next morning.
"Oh?"
Looking out the window, I saw Han Sang-ah swinging her sword in the open lot. She really is stubborn.
"Looks like you've got a serious grudge against Club Shadai."
I yawned lazily while watching for a moment, then headed downstairs.
"Yoo Chan-seok."
I answered by swinging my spear. Han Sang-ah raised her sword to block.
"Good. Looks like you've found your footing."
"The moment I relax even a little, I slip right back to how I was."
"That's only natural."
Did she think body and mind changed that easily?
"Ever heard sayings like this?"
"Like what?"
I tapped the spear lightly with my hand as I spoke.
"'Grafting Flowers,' 'Four Ounces Move a Thousand Pounds,' 'Using Softness to Overcome Hardness.' Stuff like that."
"Yeah. I've heard those levels exist."
I frowned slightly at that.
"Levels, my ass. They're just tricks. It's not like you need some grand enlightenment to try them."
If you want enlightenment, study philosophy or cultivate the Dao. Why go crazy beating people up?
Han Sang-ah looked utterly unconvinced by my blunt assessment.
"Just… tricks?"
"It's like why Chinese martial artists get beaten senseless by MMA fighters."
While pro fighters repeat scientifically proven training and nutrition to hone their skills, those guys are punching sand and beating their own stomachs with sticks.
Back in the day, when there were no proper heavy bags or mitts, sure, they had no choice. But there's no reason for that kind of self-abuse in the modern era.
"If those so-called 'levels' really existed, then someone with mana like mine shouldn't be able to use techniques like that. That'd be normal, right?"
As soon as I finished speaking, I swung my spear. Han Sang-ah blocked with her sword, as if she'd been waiting for it. She tracked me and the spear with her eyes, listened with her ears, felt it on her skin—and only then did she defend.
When sword and spear met, I gently moved the hand gripping the spear. As if the sword were stuck to it, the blade followed the spear's motion naturally—then whoosh, it flew out of Han Sang-ah's hand.
"They even gave it a fancy name. 'Grafting Flowers.' What a load of bullshit."
Isn't it embarrassing?
All you're doing is grasping the distance of the weapon, recognizing the centers of gravity of yourself and your opponent, then applying the right amount of force in the right direction while controlling your mana.
"..."
"It's just a parlor trick with a grandiose name. If someone's skilled enough to pull that off on you, they could just beat the shit out of you and finish things way faster."
After speaking, I spun the spear lightly a few times and continued.
"It's something people do to show off. Basically a circus act. A cheap trick."
It's the product of narcissism—wanting to bask in others' admiration.
"Don't idolize crap like that. Train steadily, day by day. Skill doesn't skyrocket because you suddenly get struck by lightning-like enlightenment."
I exaggerated my movements, striking a mock-solemn pose and sitting cross-legged.
"And obviously, people don't shed their shells and emerge anew either. What are we, moths?"
Han Sang-ah, who'd been listening quietly, finally spoke.
"There were a few moments during sparring when my mind felt completely empty."
"Yeah, I know. I hit you every time that happened to snap you out of it."
She let out a small "Ah."
"I thought that was some kind of state of no-mind."
"When people lift weights, one of the biggest things they warn against is losing focus mid-lift. That 'no-mind' state is no different."
If you keep training in that state, all you do is massively increase your chances of getting injured. Letting your body move on its own because you're exhausted and mentally checked out—what's there to brag about?
"I thought you were deliberately trying to induce that."
"No way. If the body is a car, then the mind is the driver."
Who in their right mind teaches drowsy driving to someone doing road training? That'd be grounds for immediate disqualification.
"There are plenty of people who are stronger than me right now. If you think my advice doesn't mean anything, you don't have to listen."
I don't really live my life expecting much from other people anyway. Han Sang-ah replied to my words.
"There were lots of people stronger than me at the academy too. But there was no one I looked at and wondered if I could ever catch up to them."
"Except me?"
"Yeah. Except you. There has to be a reason I feel that way."
That was confidence in herself. It meant she recognized that she had uncommon talent.
Honestly, it wasn't a bad thing. Take it just a little further and it becomes arrogance, but she wasn't there yet. I picked up an egg.
"What are you planning to do?"
Instead of answering, I set the egg down and rapidly stabbed at it with a pair of chopsticks. The tips pierced and cracked the shell. I repeated it about five times on the same egg.
"Finish peeling it."
Han Sang-ah stared at me for a moment, then peeled the rest of the shell. She looked at the contents, then back at me, her expression clearly saying What is this supposed to mean?
"It's simple. The moment the chopstick tip touches the yolk, stop."
Then the yolk won't burst, right? At my words, Han Sang-ah's expression turned strange.
"People tend to rely only on sight and hearing. But touch is important too."
Every bit of impact transmitted through a weapon is received through tactile sensation.
"I'm not telling you to succeed right away. Practice about an hour a day, whenever you can. Your family's rich—no way you're worried about the price of eggs, right?"
Han Sang-ah glanced back and forth between the smashed yolk on the floor and me, then answered.
"Got it."
"It's fine to stop based on instinct at first."
Instinct isn't automatically a bad thing. In the end, instinct is accumulated experience affecting the body from the subconscious.
"But once you manage to pull this off more than ten times in a row purely on instinct, stop relying on it."
That means you've built up so much experience cracking eggs that you're subconsciously avoiding breaking the yolk. At that point, it's time to pull that dormant experience back into conscious awareness.
"I understand. And if I succeed at what you said?"
"Then try succeeding with a blade."
At my words, Han Sang-ah let out a small sigh.
"I'll try."
"Effort doesn't mean anything. Results do. If you're planning to die at Club Shadai while comforting yourself with 'at least I tried,' then suit yourself."
For a moment, Han Sang-ah shot me a sharp glare, then focused on the egg and began poking it repeatedly with her chopsticks.
For the next few days, our meals became… impressive. With the coast guard's cooperation in supplying ingredients, eggs were never missing.
Boiled eggs, steamed eggs, rolled omelets, egg over rice, egg fried rice, scrambled eggs, egg porridge…
People who work out eat a lot of eggs, right? On average, we only ate two or three yolks and threw the rest away. The whites, though—we ate every last bit.
While the rescued fishermen were recovering, it wasn't like Han Sang-ah and I were doing nothing but eggs. Massive amounts of exercise, followed by an endless flood of eggs into our stomachs.
All those eggs flowing into my body helped a lot with what people like to call "physical enhancement."
"Aren't you sick of it?" I asked.
The fishy smell alone was enough to make me feel like throwing up. Han Sang-ah replied while shoveling spoonfuls of snow-white scrambled eggs into her mouth.
"It's easier if you think of it as paying money to refuel calories. Sometimes I honestly want to be a car."
"What are you even talking about?"
As she moved her empty plate aside, Han Sang-ah answered,
"A car doesn't need to worry about balanced meals. Gasoline is enough."
Meaning she couldn't be bothered to manage her diet. What a bleak way to live. Just then, one of the coast guard officers ran toward us.
"Hunters! The medical staff says one of the rescued fishermen has stabilized."
Good. Looks like they'd finally recovered enough to talk.
You could say it took a long time—but considering wrists and ankles that had been mangled down to the bone, and bodies wasted away from not being able to eat or drink properly…
The fact that they'd recovered at all was encouraging news.
"So they can speak, at least?"
At my question, the coast guard officer guiding us replied,
"Yes. Only one of them, but she's in the best condition."
Which meant she'd been captured most recently. Han Sang-ah and I took a brief deep breath outside the patient's room, then went in.
"Hello."
"Ah, um…"
The patient was a woman. Pale, exhausted, and matching the description of someone who'd just regained consciousness—like she might pass out if you poked her too hard.
"I heard you normally live in Seoul. How did you end up…?"
At my words, the woman bit her lip before answering.
"Jiseok really liked sea fishing."
That alone made it easy to guess what had happened. She'd come sea fishing with her boyfriend and gotten captured.
It couldn't have been "just a friend." Who comes all the way down here from Seoul, just the two of them, boards a boat, and goes out to sea together?
"Sea fishing is currently prohibited, as far as I know. It's a good thing the coast guard didn't catch you."
The woman flinched, then nodded.
"R-right. So… was this our punishment?"
Her condition clearly wasn't great. She muttered those words and then started to cry.
"I don't think that's it. There's a concept called the 'law of small numbers,' which runs counter to the law of large numbers—"
Han Sang-ah tried, in her own way, to comfort her. But as expected, statistical fallacies weren't going to help this woman much. I clapped my hands once.
"Please focus. We can't allow any more victims. We need your cooperation."