Ever since Salomon learned to tap into his own magic, the Sorcerer Supreme had him join Kamar-Taj's training program.
Kamar-Taj's system wasn't just meditation and hand gestures. At its core, it functioned a lot like pact magic. Sorcerers drew power from higher-dimensional entities, forming contracts to access abilities beyond what their own bodies could produce.
A legitimate path. A structured one.
Students trained in both foundational spellcasting and dimensional magic tied to the Vishanti. On top of that, the Sorcerer Supreme had gathered occult texts from all over the world, giving apprentices access to alternative methods. Even those without contracts could refine their own life force and manage a few independent spells.
Salomon, however, wasn't allowed to go too far down that road.
He was too young.
Refining life force too aggressively could stunt his development, and the Sorcerer Supreme had no intention of letting him form any connection with the Vishanti anytime soon.
So instead—
He got thrown into martial arts.
"The body is the container," she had said. "If it's weak, your magic will be weak too."
So that became law.
And everyone followed it.
Kamar-Taj wasn't just a school. It was a community. Some families had lived there for generations, which meant there were always children around. Whether they were born into it or brought in from the outside, everyone trained the same way.
Including Salomon.
"Magic starts with the body!" shouted the instructor.
Zhang Wei, the master overseeing physical training, stood at the front of the courtyard, demonstrating each movement with sharp precision. His style was aggressive, grounded, efficient.
Every so often, a burst of Cantonese slipped into his speech.
"Speed matters! If your punch is slow, your magic won't land either! Got it? Two Forms Stance—ready!"
Everyone moved.
Well—
Everyone except Salomon.
He tried.
He really did.
But within seconds—
Smack.
A hand landed on the back of his head.
Zhang Wei frowned down at him. "Don't freeze up like that! What is this? No strength on the backhand, no control on the front—what are you even doing? That's supposed to be Bajiquan? Go on, step aside."
Salomon rubbed the back of his head, cheeks puffed in silent protest as he shuffled off to the edge of the courtyard.
"You're learning from the Hong Kong Sanctum," a voice said casually nearby. "If he tells you how to train, you train."
Salomon turned—
—and nearly did a double take.
The Sorcerer Supreme sat off to the side, wearing sunglasses.
Sunglasses.
Her posture relaxed, her tone carrying a faint Hong Kong accent that felt… suspiciously committed.
No one else reacted.
Which meant—
Only he could see her.
Mirror Dimension.
Of course.
"If you don't like Bajiquan," she added, tilting her head, "try Wing Chun instead."
Salomon stared.
"…Master, I have no idea what you're saying."
She clicked her tongue. "You should learn more languages, young man."
Then, like it was the most natural thing in the world—
"Tomorrow, your senior will take you to find a teacher."
"…For what?"
"Wing Chun."
The next day, Salomon found himself walking through the streets of Hong Kong.
His guide was a senior disciple—Wong, the son of Master Hamill.
Wong had a round face and a permanently serious expression, the kind that made conversations feel like exams.
Which didn't help Salomon relax at all.
"You don't have to," Salomon said quickly, shaking his head as Wong paused in front of a street stall.
Wong was holding a Captain America toy.
"I don't like superheroes. Any of them. No Superman, no Batman. No toys. Thanks."
Wong blinked.
"…Right."
He wasn't exactly comfortable either.
The night before, his father had made things very clear.
Watch him. Don't let anything happen to him.
This wasn't just any junior disciple.
This was the Sorcerer Supreme's personal student.
Technically, everyone at Kamar-Taj was her student—but that didn't mean they were equal. Someone like Salomon, who could already use magic independently, stood on a completely different level.
Some people were already whispering.
Future Sorcerer Supreme.
Wong didn't know if that was true.
He did know he didn't want to be the guy who lost him.
So when Salomon stopped in front of a small food stall outside the Hong Kong Sanctum—
Wong sighed and reached for his wallet.
"Fine. One bowl."
A few minutes later, Salomon was eating wonton noodles like he'd been doing it his whole life.
No hesitation. No awkwardness.
Wong didn't question it.
Kamar-Taj's kitchen served food from everywhere anyway.
"Senior," Salomon said between bites, glancing at Wong's rather… modest outfit, "is Kamar-Taj really that broke?"
Wong didn't even look up.
"Kamar-Taj isn't broke. I am."
And that was the truth.
Kamar-Taj had existed for centuries. It had connections, resources, influence. Wealth flowed in from all directions—donations, recovered assets from dealing with dark entities, even investments in the mundane world.
They weren't lacking.
Not even close.
"So why are you broke?" Salomon asked.
Wong exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to his chest like recalling a personal tragedy.
"My father manages my allowance."
"…And?"
"He says he's saving it. For my future. House. Marriage. Stability."
Salomon nodded.
That sounded reasonable.
"…He lost it playing mahjong."
Salomon paused mid-bite.
Wong stared straight ahead, voice flat.
"With Maggie Quinn. From the Hong Kong Sanctum."
"…I see."
There were no further questions.
"So where are we going?" Salomon asked after a moment, slurping noodles.
"A martial arts school," Wong said. "They only started taking students recently. We're pulling some strings just to get you in."
He glanced at Salomon.
"If it doesn't work out, you'll stick with Bajiquan. Kamar-Taj doesn't fight polite battles. That softer style won't help you much."
Salomon scoffed.
He understood what the Sorcerer Supreme was doing.
She wanted him to connect with this world. To care about it. To build attachments.
That's why she told him about Jezebel.
Why she pushed him to interact with others.
Why she arranged things like this.
It wasn't completely pointless.
He didn't hate this world.
If anything, it was more interesting than the one he came from.
But let's be honest—
The interesting part was magic.
Not people.
Not society.
Magic.
He had dreamed of a place like this. A place where magic was real.
That was enough.
As for everything else—
He had his own way of looking at things.
Simple.
If it doesn't involve me, I don't care.
If it's not my problem, I won't make it my problem.
Of course—
Reality had a way of disagreeing with that philosophy.
Because sooner or later, something always showed up.
Something that refused to leave you alone.
And when that happened—
Even someone like Salomon would have to choose a side.
The Sorcerer Supreme already knew that.
She was just waiting.