The training hall didn't feel real.
Seo Jun stood at the entrance, staring at the cracked stone floor and the walls covered in scars time had failed to erase. Scratches ran across the stone like claw marks, deep grooves where blades had once struck again and again. The air was thick and stale, carrying the faint scent of iron and dust.
This wasn't an abandoned place.
It was a place that had waited.
Han Tae Seong walked past him without hesitation, his footsteps steady, familiar—as if he'd never left.
"This hall," his father said, stopping near the center, "was built before the city existed."
Seo Jun swallowed. "Why keep something like this hidden?"
"Because it was never meant to be found," Tae Seong replied. "Only returned to."
Seo Jun hesitated at the entrance. Yesterday, his biggest concern had been school assignments and exams. Today, he was standing in a place that reeked of violence and intention.
"If I walk in," Seo Jun said quietly, "there's no going back, right?"
Tae Seong didn't answer immediately.
Then, "No."
Seo Jun exhaled through his nose and stepped forward.
The heavy door slid shut behind them with a dull echo that rang through the hall. The sound made his chest tighten. It felt final—as if something outside that door had just been cut off forever.
"Good," Tae Seong said. "Most hesitate longer."
Seo Jun didn't know whether that was praise or warning.
They walked deeper into the hall. Weapons lined the walls—not polished or proud, but worn down, repaired, used until they broke and used again. No decorations. No symbols. Only function.
Tae Seong pulled down an old chain. A section of wall slid open, revealing a rack of wooden weapons.
Seo Jun frowned. "Wooden…?"
"You won't touch steel yet," Tae Seong said. "Steel makes people reckless."
Seo Jun picked up a wooden dagger. It felt strangely light in his hand.
"This thing won't even hurt," he muttered.
Tae Seong's gaze sharpened. "Neither will you."
Seo Jun stiffened.
"Grip," his father said.
Before Seo Jun could respond, Tae Seong stepped in and corrected his hand placement—fingers firm, exact, flawless.
"An assassin doesn't rely on strength," Tae Seong said. "Strength fades. Emotion clouds judgment. Only habits remain when fear takes over."
He stepped back.
"Attack me."
Seo Jun blinked. "Just like that?"
"Yes."
Seo Jun hesitated only for a second before lunging forward, aiming where he thought his father would be.
He never reached him.
Pain exploded across his shoulder as the world spun. He hit the ground hard, breath knocked from his lungs. Stone scraped against his back.
Seo Jun gasped, eyes wide.
"How—"
"Too telegraphed," Tae Seong said calmly. "You thought about the strike. Your body followed late."
Seo Jun forced himself back up, jaw clenched. "You didn't even try."
"I did," Tae Seong replied. "I tried not to break you."
That hurt more than the fall.
They continued.
Every attack Seo Jun attempted failed. Sometimes he was thrown aside. Sometimes he was simply redirected, his momentum turned against him so cleanly it felt unreal. His frustration grew with every minute.
Sweat soaked through his clothes. His arms burned. His legs trembled.
"Again," Tae Seong said.
Seo Jun stumbled forward, angry now.
He struck wildly.
He fell harder.
"That was emotion," Tae Seong said. "Get rid of it."
"I'm not a machine!" Seo Jun snapped.
Tae Seong stared at him. "Then you'll die."
The words weren't cruel.
They were matter-of-fact.
Hours passed—or maybe minutes. Seo Jun lost track of time. All he knew was the ache in his body and the constant, humiliating realization that he wasn't special.
Eventually, his legs gave out.
He dropped to his knees, chest heaving, hands trembling. The wooden dagger slipped from his grip.
"I… can't," he muttered. "I really can't."
Tae Seong approached and stopped in front of him.
"You can," he said. "You just hate how it feels."
Seo Jun looked up, eyes burning. "Then why does it feel like I'm failing every second?"
"Because," Tae Seong said, "Muk Hyun's blood doesn't make you strong."
Seo Jun froze at the name.
"It makes you dangerous," his father continued. "And danger without discipline gets loved ones killed."
Silence swallowed the hall.
Seo Jun lowered his gaze, fists clenched until his knuckles whitened.
Tae Seong turned away. "Rest. Tomorrow, we begin training your awareness. Pain comes later."
Seo Jun collapsed onto the cold floor, staring up at the cracked ceiling.
Every muscle screamed.
But strangely, beneath the exhaustion and fear, something else stirred.
Resolve.
Somewhere beyond these walls, people were watching. Waiting. Hoping he would break the same way his bloodline had before.
Seo Jun swallowed hard.
For the first time since learning the truth, he didn't feel like running.
He wanted them to see him stand.