The morning had barely begun, but Seo Jun felt the weight of a thousand eyes pressing down on him. Not literal eyes no, the world hadn't discovered him yet but the legacy of Muk Hyun's bloodline was watching from places no human could reach. Every step outside his apartment, every breath he took, carried the potential to betray him. And Tae Seong, his father, walked beside him like a shadow that had been sharpened into steel.
They didn't speak. Words were unnecessary. The streets were silent, indifferent to the danger lurking just beyond the ordinary: the alleyways, the abandoned buildings, the rooftops where a shadow could fall without warning. Tae Seong led Seo Jun to a location that looked abandoned, forgotten a parking structure whose peeling paint and rusted beams spoke of decay and neglect.
"This is where you stop being ordinary," Tae Seong said quietly, almost conversationally. Yet the words carried a threat sharper than any blade.
Seo Jun swallowed, gripping the strap of his bag. "I… I don't even know where to start," he admitted.
Tae Seong didn't answer immediately. Instead, he led him to the center of the structure, where a faint line of light fell from the ceiling above, dust motes floating in its beam like tiny, ghostly lanterns. "Training begins with control," he said. "Control of yourself, of your mind, of your instincts. Combat comes later. Discipline comes first. Pain is inevitable, but weakness is optional."
The first lesson was silence. Tae Seong watched Seo Jun move, breathe, adjust his stance. Every twitch of muscle, every fidgeting finger was noted.
"You are waiting for permission to act," Tae Seong observed. "You are already behind. Instinct is always one step ahead of thought. Learn to trust it."
Seo Jun closed his eyes, feeling the cool air against his skin. Shadows stretched across the floor like living things. The parking structure was empty, silent but Seo Jun could feel the presence of the past, of ancestors who had walked before him, whose blood still pulsed within him. He clenched his fists. Instinct, he thought. I have it. I must.
Hours blurred into days. Seo Jun's life became a series of small, deliberate steps. By day, he walked the streets like a normal high school student, pretending to be ordinary. By night, he trained under his father's watchful eye, repeating exercises that tore at his muscles, burned his lungs, and tested his patience.
He learned to fall without injury, to roll across the concrete floor in silence, to strike without hesitation. Tae Seong drilled him relentlessly, correcting posture, breathing, and focus with the precision of a master.
"Fear is not the enemy," Tae Seong said one night, as they practiced in near-darkness. "Fear is a guide. It tells you where your limits are, and then forces you to exceed them. Instinct whispers. Fear screams. Learn to listen to the whisper."
Seo Jun's hands shook as he raised his blade a simple, unadorned knife Tae Seong had placed before him. Its weight was foreign, heavy with expectation, yet familiar, as if it remembered the touch of his ancestor's hands. He practiced strikes, blocks, and pivots until the motions were muscle memory, until sweat dripped from his hairline and into his eyes, stinging but ignored.
Each night, he felt the pulse in his veins the call of Muk Hyun's blood, awakening after generations of slumber. Sometimes, in the quiet moments, he imagined the first Muk Hyun, moving with lethal elegance, surviving by sheer instinct. Those flashes of memory were confusing, frightening, but he learned to channel them.
Tae Seong didn't offer reassurance. He didn't tell Seo Jun that he was ready, or that he was improving. He only pushed, watched, and occasionally allowed a nod of approval.
One night, after what felt like endless drills, Tae Seong finally broke the silence. "Tomorrow, we introduce the next phase," he said, his tone measured. "Observation. Reaction. Decision making under pressure."
Seo Jun's stomach twisted. "Will it… will it hurt?"
Tae Seong's expression softened briefly. "It will. But pain is information. Learn to read it, not fear it. That is how Muk Hyun survived. That is how you survive."
Seo Jun exhaled, tasting the metallic tang of anticipation in his mouth. He understood, now more than ever, that his father's training was about more than skill. It was about transforming fear into control, hesitation into action, and instinct into strategy.
The days passed, and the sealed notice inviting him to the Trials sat untouched on his desk. The envelope was heavy with implication, the words inside deadly. Every glance at it sent a shiver crawling up his spine. But Seo Jun didn't open it. He didn't need to. He already knew what it said. The Trials had begun long before the letter arrived, in every drill, every silent night, every lesson in instinct, control, and survival.
Tae Seong watched him with a quiet intensity. One evening, he placed a knife on the table. "This is the next step," he said. "Use it wisely. Hesitation will get you killed."
Seo Jun hesitated, hand hovering over the hilt. The weight was familiar now, almost like an extension of himself. "What if I fail?" he asked, voice tight with anxiety and anticipation.
"Then you die," Tae Seong said simply. "And history repeats."
Seo Jun closed his eyes and wrapped his fingers around the blade. The metal was cold, unyielding, but it felt right in his hand, as if waiting for him. He exhaled slowly, feeling a calmness settle over him for the first time in days.
That night, as Seo Jun trained alone under the faint moonlight streaming through broken windows, he began to understand something fundamental. The Trials were not simply about fighting other assassins or surviving traps. They were about understanding oneself, understanding the instincts inherited from Muk Hyun, and learning to bend them to his will.
Every drill, every bruise, every scrape became a conversation with the past. Every mistake became a lesson, every small success a spark of awakening. Seo Jun could feel it in his veins the pulse of the legacy, a quiet fire demanding recognition.
And then he realized: the Trials were not a test of his skill alone. They were a test of his readiness to embrace what he truly was the descendant of a man feared even after death, a lineage hunted to extinction, and a bloodline whose awakening would shake the underworld.
Outside, the city slept, unaware of the young boy preparing to step into a world where one mistake meant death. Somewhere, in the shadows, agents of the council and independent assassins moved, their attention drawn to him as if a quiet alarm had been set. The Trials had begun, whether Seo Jun held the invitation in his hands or not.
Seo Jun's eyes, reflecting the faint silver of the knife, hardened. This was no longer training. No longer preparation in abstraction. This was a promise to himself and to the bloodline he carried that he would survive, no matter the cost.
He looked at his father, still standing silently at the edge of the hall, a living reminder of the life he had inherited and the legacy he could not escape. Tae Seong's eyes met his, and in them, Seo Jun saw acknowledgment, warning, and an unspoken command: move forward, or die trying.
And so, Seo Jun gripped the knife tighter. He exhaled slowly. He was no longer just a boy. He was a descendant of Muk Hyun, awakening.
The Trials awaited. The underworld had not forgotten. And history ancient, bloody, relentless was moving toward him.
And for the first time, Seo Jun understood fully: preparation is a kind of violence, and he was about to become its instrument.