The training hall of the Lian estate was a place of ancestral silence, usually reserved for the brothers to practice traditional kendo. Today, however, the air was thick with a different kind of tension.
Lian stood in the center of the mat, dressed in a sleek, black high-collared training suit. His gloves were tight, his eyes colder than the polished wood floor. Opposite him stood Hao-Ran and Ji-Min, looking like recruits at a black-ops boot camp.
"The Art of Shadows isn't about strength," Lian said, his voice echoing in the vast room. "It is about the perception of absence. To the world, you are the sons of an aristocratic family. To our enemies, you must be the air they cannot breathe."
He moved like a flicker of candlelight—suddenly behind Hao-Ran, a training dagger pressed lightly against the elder brother's jugular. Hao-Ran didn't even see him move.
"Death doesn't announce itself," Lian whispered.
"Neither do I, usually! But I brought snacks!"
The heavy sliding doors of the dojo slammed open with unnecessary flair. Jin-Ho marched in, wearing a neon-orange tracksuit that physically pained Lian's retinas. He was carrying three boxes of luxury pizza and a cooler full of energy drinks.
"What are you doing here?" Lian asked, his "Ghost" persona momentarily faltering under the weight of Jin-Ho's sheer audacity.
"Supervising!" Jin-Ho chirped, setting the pizza down on a priceless antique table. He looked at Hao-Ran and Ji-Min, who were staring at him in shock. "Hey, brothers-in-law! Are we learning how to be scary today? Because you guys look more like lost puppies."
Lian's jaw tightened. "This is a private training session, Jin-Ho. Leave."
"Oh, come on, Lian-ah. You're teaching them the 'Sovereign' style, but they lack the 'Cunning Fox' flair," Jin-Ho said, kicking off his shoes and stepping onto the mat. He winked at Ji-Min. "Want to see how to actually get close to your brother without him trying to perform surgery on you?"
The Competition of ChaosBefore Lian could protest, Jin-Ho had already challenged the brothers to a game of "Tag"—but with a lethal twist. They had to try and land a mark on Lian while Jin-Ho "interfered."
The next hour was the most chaotic in the history of the Lian estate.
Lian was a master of evasion, a shadow that couldn't be caught. But Jin-Ho was a master of distraction. Every time Lian was about to neutralize Hao-Ran or Ji-Min, Jin-Ho would shout something ridiculous.
"Lian! Your shoelace is untied!" (It wasn't).
"Lian! I think I left the oven on at your secret server room!" (He didn't).
"Lian! Look at this cute cat video!" (He actually held up his phone).
Lian found himself growling in frustration—a human emotion he rarely allowed himself to feel. The "Extreme Loneliness" was nowhere to be found, replaced by a burning desire to kick Jin-Ho through a wall.
"Stop... interfering!" Lian hissed, lunging at Jin-Ho.
Jin-Ho laughed, dodging with a fluid, acrobatic roll. "You're getting faster, Little Phoenix! But you're still too stiff. You're fighting like a king, but you need to play like a fox."
In the heat of the chase, Jin-Ho suddenly tripped—or seemed to. Lian, seeing an opening, grabbed Jin-Ho's shoulder to pin him down.
The Haphephobia spiked for a split second, the sensation of Jin-Ho's muscle beneath the fabric of the tracksuit triggering a flash of panic. But Jin-Ho didn't pull away. He used the momentum to pull Lian down with him, both of them tumbling onto the mats.
They landed with Lian on top, his hands pinned to Jin-Ho's chest. The room went silent. Hao-Ran and Ji-Min held their breath, waiting for Lian to have a breakdown.
Lian was hyperventilating, his eyes wide, his chest heaving. He was touching someone. He was pinning someone. The "King" was screaming Danger, but the air around Jin-Ho felt... safe. It smelled of rain and that annoying strawberry pizza he'd brought.
"See?" Jin-Ho whispered, his face inches from Lian's. His voice was no longer mocking; it was soft, grounding. "You're touching me, and the world hasn't ended. You're still here. You're still the King."
Lian stared into Jin-Ho's fox-like eyes. He didn't pull back immediately. He let the sensation sink in—the heat, the weight, the reality of another person. The "Old Lian" felt a strange sense of belonging, a flicker of light in the everlasting darkness.
Then, the moment broke.
"Uh... should we leave?" Ji-Min asked awkwardly.
Lian scrambled back, his face flushing a deep crimson—the first time he had blushed in two lifetimes. He straightened his suit, his mask of ice slamming back into place, though it was slightly crooked.
"Training is over," Lian barked. "Hao-Ran, Ji-Min, go clean the equipment. Jin-Ho... get out before I find a poison that tastes like strawberries."
Jin-Ho stood up, grinning ear to ear. He knew he had won a major battle today. "I'll take that as a 'thank you'! See you at dinner, Lian-ah!"
As Jin-Ho skipped out of the dojo, Lian looked at his hands. They were still shaking, but not just from fear. For the first time, he felt like the "Sovereign" wasn't a mask he wore to hide, but a person who was allowed to exist.
But the humor faded when Lian noticed a small, black feather tucked into the pizza box. A mark of the Viper.
The message was clear: While you play with your family, the venom is already in the blood.