The next morning, Jinwoo awoke early, his thoughts restless from the previous night. He had barely slept, too consumed by the weight of the decision he had made. His heart still beat heavily in his chest as he got dressed in simple clothes, the fabric feeling foreign against his skin.
He made his way downstairs, where the house seemed quieter than usual. Mr. Lee was waiting for him in the living room, a serious expression on his face. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation.
"You're here," Mr. Lee said as Jinwoo entered. "Good. This isn't going to be easy, but you're already on your way. Let's begin."
Jinwoo nodded, trying to suppress the uncertainty rising within him. He had known this wouldn't be simple, but the reality of it was far more intense than he had imagined.
Mr. Lee led him to a training room hidden at the far end of the mansion. The room was spacious, with martial arts mats covering the floor. On one wall, there were rows of weapons—knives, swords, and firearms, each glistening in the morning light. Jinwoo's eyes widened as he took in the sight, but he said nothing. This was his new reality now.
"We begin with the basics," Mr. Lee said, motioning for Jinwoo to stand in the center of the room. "You'll learn combat first. You need to build the foundation before you can handle more advanced techniques."
Jinwoo braced himself. He had practiced martial arts before, but this was different. This wasn't just about getting stronger—this was about learning to kill.
Mr. Lee moved quickly, showing Jinwoo a series of stances and strikes. He demonstrated a few simple moves, then handed Jinwoo a set of pads.
"Defend yourself," Mr. Lee commanded.
Jinwoo took the pads, trying to steady his breath. The weight of the situation pressed down on him, but he couldn't afford to hesitate. He had made his choice. Now, he had to prove he was capable.
Mr. Lee attacked first, fast and precise. Jinwoo barely had time to react, blocking a low kick with the pads just in time. The impact reverberated through his body, but he stayed on his feet, maintaining his balance.
"You're not just reacting," Mr. Lee said, circling him. "You need to anticipate the attack. Control the fight before it even begins."
The next hour was a blur of strikes, blocks, and sweeps. Mr. Lee didn't show mercy, pushing Jinwoo to his limits. Each move was a test of speed, precision, and focus. Jinwoo's muscles screamed in protest, but he didn't stop. He couldn't.
As the training continued, the weight of the decision he had made began to sink in. He wasn't just learning how to fight—he was being molded into something else. Something dangerous. But for the first time in his life, he didn't feel weak. He felt alive, as if he was finally becoming the person he was meant to be.
By the time the session ended, Jinwoo was exhausted, drenched in sweat. His body ached in places he didn't know existed. But there was a fire in his chest, a drive that hadn't been there before.
Mr. Lee looked at him with a slight nod of approval. "Good. You're showing promise. But this is just the beginning. There's much more to learn."
Jinwoo's chest heaved as he nodded, his breathing shallow. "I'm ready."
"Then we move on to the next step tomorrow," Mr. Lee said, his eyes cold and unreadable. "But remember, once you enter this world, there's no turning back. And when you kill, you'll never be the same. Make sure you're prepared for that."
Jinwoo didn't respond. He didn't need to. He was already determined. This was his path now, and there was no going back.