"I met Kyorin," Grandma Tang spoke with a cold voice.
Though she attempted to remain professional, the icy demeanor surrounding her was more than enough to make Hina realize she was about to face consequences. Bracing herself, Hina prepared for what was to come.
"Hah!" However, Grandma Tang merely let out a frustrated sigh before instructing, "Come with me... Hmm." She paused, taking in Hina's disheveled appearance. "But first, clean yourself up."
With that, Grandma Tang left Hina to gather herself before they both moved through the corridors.
As they walked, Grandma Tang began, "Do you recall the time when Kyorin was first admitted? I said something to you." Hina nodded, remembering the words: "Yes, something about him being a troubled child."
"Hmm," Grandma Tang nodded but soon admitted, "I believe I had been a bit too ambiguous at that moment." Hina looked at her, curious. "You see, Kyorin is often a victim of bullying by others."
"—!!?" Hina paused in her tracks, astonished. "What?"
"At that time, I didn't wish to bring things up about his past and family, as I have a connection to that past, but..."
Grandma Tang gazed intently at Hina and continued, "I think you misunderstood what I wanted to imply when I said he was a 'trouble' child."
"Before, I believed that my connection might lead to some bias, as I wished for equality, but..." she paused, her eyes narrowing. "I have been wrong about such notions."
Hina, though understanding her words, felt the lack of context, which made it difficult to fully connect the dots. "You see, his father left his mother when he was young. He grew up without a father figure."
Hina's eyes flickered with guilt as she felt a wave of pity for Kyorin. However, this feeling was but transient; humans often feel guilty for only a moment.
True, abusing someone and feeling guilty is natural, but that guilt wouldn't last long. The next day, life would continue as if nothing had changed.
However, Hina was a kind person at heart. This guilt would take quite a while to wash off, and Grandma Tang knew it; hence, she decided to let go of the matter.
"Well, I believe I have said my part," she told Hina, placing her hands on her shoulders.
"Don't overthink too much. We all make mistakes." She tried to console her, but Hina, already deep in her turmoil, wasn't ready to let it end there.
"No!" she shouted, determination in her voice. "You haven't explained everything, Dean." She pressed, "Please, tell me what Kyroin said when you met him."
"Nothing; he was just sobbing," Grandma Tang replied, attempting to shift the conversation. But Hina shook her head. "No, a child his age, with thoughts like that, could never be limited in what he might want to say."
"Thoughts?" Grandma Tang inquired, and Hina revealed her reasoning for punishing Kyroin. "You see, today in class..."
Grandma Tang's eyes flickered briefly as she heard her reasoning, a reaction Hina caught. "I know you know something. Please, if you don't answer, this guilt and curiosity will hinder my perception."
"..." Grandma Tang remained silent but then asked, "Are you sure you want to know the truth?" Her grim gesture indicated that this truth might not be beneficial for Hina.
"Yes, please," Hina implored Grandma Tang to reveal everything. Sighing, Grandma Tang began, "Well, you see..."
"Kyorin was indeed fascinated by the might of authority," she said. Though it might sound tyrannical, Grandma Tang's next words added complexity to the notion. "You see, he was often bullied and, due to being fatherless, was called all sorts of things."
"He often got into fights with others, but purely, he was always at a disadvantage, having to face 10 or 12 kids alone sometimes," she explained. "But... every time, I saved him." Grandma Tang's expression grew grim.
"Once saved. He always wore a fascinated expression," she continued, her words becoming shorter and more measured.
"At first, I thought it was admiration, but then I realized something." She looked at Hina and said, "He was not admiring me, but my authority as an adult."
"At an age where many children dilly-dally," Grandma Tang said, her gaze steady, "he understood that society has a hierarchy, and one's authority defines their position within that hierarchy."
Hina listened intently, her brow furrowing as she began to grasp Kyroin's perspective.
Grandma Tang continued, her voice softening, "He told me he admires me—admires me because of my strength." She paused, her hands clasped together, reflecting on the weight of her words.
"He also admires you for that same strength," she added, looking directly at Hina, whose expression shifted from confusion to empathy. "Simply put, he respects the authority of a teacher over a student, or the power of an adult against a child."
Hina's shoulders relaxed slightly as she processed this information, her heart aching for Kyorin.
"In society, the adult is always right," Grandma Tang concluded, her tone now somber. "That's what has been imparted, as adults have the freedom to dictate the lives of the little ones."
"You want to know what he said, right?" Grandma Tang asked again, her eyes searching Hina's face for confirmation. Hina nodded, her heart yearning for the truth.
"He said, 'If I can have that power, no one can bully me,'" Grandma Tang revealed. As Hina's fist clenched, her resolve growing stronger to make things right—to make up for her mistakes.
Grandma Tang sighed, observing Hina's determination. "Well, don't overpush yourself or overthink," she advised gently, adding, "Also, about his injuries, you don't need to worry."
Hina looked at Grandma Tang, confusion evident in her eyes. "Why, Dean?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.
"Well, I just gave him a very powerful ointment for the injury," Grandma Tang replied casually, but her mind drifted back to when she used her powers, power of a 'Resonator,' to heal Kyroin.
That's right—Grandma Tang was the only sole Resonator in the Yang Niu village. She recalled Kyroin's fascination with the power, but that time, there was more to his eyes—resolve.
"Haiz," Grandma Tang sighed, pondering whether exposing him to this power was a good idea.
But since no Resonator had been produced by Yang Niu village or the island inhabitants, she found it unfounded to worry.
She rationalized that no Resonator could be born on this special island, at least, that was what she hoped.
--
*Nocturnal echoes*
The night crept over the Yang Niu village, casting a fog-like shroud as the village grew hushed. Most of its inhabitants were sound asleep, apart from a few.
One was left in contemplation, pondering how to make up for their wrongdoings.
Another was passing through an unknown passage, while the last one remarked, "This was an unexpected harvest. Who knew that there is still hope to achieve immortality?"
The perspectives of these three individuals, along with their actions, were dulled by the blackened fog. But soon, dawn creaked closer as some found ample rest while some remained restless.
--
The Next Day.
The sun rose with the cuckoo of the rooster, heralding the dawn of a new day. Kyorin walked the same road to the academy, only to be stopped by a group of kids.
His eyes darted between the ten older kids surrounding him, recognizing their familiar faces—the bullies he had endured for two years.
"Yo, Kyorin! Heard you got quite the beating yesterday," a lanky kid taunted, cracking his knuckles. The others laughed, their confidence bolstered by their numbers.
"Bullies."
It was a bizarre term associated with Kyorin, as someone like him would typically not have bullies. Yet, this was his reality.
One might wonder why he had bullies; wasn't he the epitome of strength in his previous life, a martial artist hailed as the strongest under the heavens? So why would he allow himself to be bullied?
More than that, why would he let this happen? Was he a masochist? Or was there a deeper meaning behind this endurance?
"Oh, acting tough, huh?" a fat kid spat with disdain in his eyes as he signaled one of the others to charge ahead.
Though the kid hesitated at first, he soon moved forward and taunted, "Hmm, blame it on your own misfortune that you were born weak."
He tried to look intimidating, but deep down, he knew very well that Kyorin was far stronger than he appeared.
So why would he call Kyorin weak? The answer was simple: It was not Kyorin, but Kyorin's family was weak.
Kyorin, someone without a father figure, had become a prime target for bullying. But why would he be bullied? The answer lay in the structure of society.
A single-parent household, where the man of the house was absent, contributes to vulnerability. From that vulnerability, the family would face unique challenges—social problems.
Yet, why would Kyorin be subjected to social problems? Why was he enduring this? Wasn't the aspect of society something he believed to be useless?
That was correct; he thought it was useless. However, ever since he had been enlightened in the way of the Dao.
Realizing his own shallow understanding of things—along with the knowledge that he was incapable of using Qi—he had decided to change his methods for attaining his goals of becoming ever-living.
This version of ever-living, wasn't about being immortal. There were many people throughout history who were remembered, whose praises were sung in society.
That was the kind of ever-living legacy Kyorin had decided to pursue since he couldn't wield Qi. Until yesterday, that is.
"There is hope for achieving eternal life," he recalled his words form yesterday, a flicker of determination igniting within him.
The approaching kid lunged—a reckless charge. Kyorin sidestepped to the side, his hands moving in a blur as he struck the boy's wrist with the edge of his palm.
A small, satisfying crack rang out, and the teen yelped, clutching his arm as a sharp pain shot through his hand.
His fingers refused to close fully, an awkward, uncomfortable sensation signaling fractured bones. He staggered back, shaking his head in confusion and pain.
Without waiting, Kyorin's focus shifted. Two more kids lunged—one from each side. Kyorin pivoted on his heel, narrowly avoiding their grabs with fluid movements.
He thrust his foot toward the inside of one teen's elbow joint—crack!
The pain from the strike was immediate; bone met bone, and a subtle but unmistakable fracture splintered through the joint.
The kid recoiled in shock, unable to fully extend his arm, and staggered back, clutching his now-useless limb.
Kyorin dropped into a crouch to avoid the next blow, his knee colliding with the teenager's lower leg. The strike wasn't full force, but it was enough.
He felt the bone splinter within the shin, a sharp but not catastrophic fracture that caused the teen to stumble backward, his leg collapsing beneath him in pain.
While the injuries weren't crippling, they left the boys feeling exposed and vulnerable.
The pain in their limbs throbbed constantly, making their movements awkward and less fluid, but not severe enough to drop them.
Yet the boys were not faltering; this was a familiar scenario for them. The oldest among them called out, "He won't be able to hold on much longer!"
Kyorin continued to fight, striking at them and causing minor splinters rather than fully breaking any bones. However, exhaustion was creeping in.
The ten older boys, despite their bruises and minor fractured limbs, pressed on, their numbers overwhelming him. Every step back felt heavier, every dodge slower. He knew he couldn't keep this up much longer.
A hand grabbed his shoulder, yanking him off balance. Another shoved him from behind, sending him stumbling into the dirt.
The group closed in, their laughter cruel and taunting. Kyorin clenched his fists, ready to rise again, when a booming voice cut through the chaos.
"Enough!"
The boys froze mid-motion, their expressions shifting from smug to startled as a figure strode into the fray. It was Hina, her stern face darkened by a mix of anger and authority.
She placed herself between Kyorin and the gang of teens, her frame shielding the boy from further harm.
"What do you think you're doing?" Hina barked, her eyes blazing as she scanned the group. "Ten against one? Have you no shame?"
The boys exchanged uneasy glances, their confidence faltering under the weight of her glare. One of them, emboldened by the safety of the group, muttered under his breath, "You're only pretending to care about him now."
Kyorin stiffened, his breath catching as his eyes flicked to the teacher. Hina's jaw tightened, but before she could respond, another boy chimed in, louder this time, "Yeah, didn't you hit him yesterday? Acting all benevolence now, huh?"
Kyorin's gaze dropped to the ground. His hands, scraped and bruised, trembled at his sides.
Yesterday's memory rushed back—the sharp sting of the teacher's reprimanding strike, the trail of blood.
Hina turned to Kyorin, her expression softening. "Kyorin," she said quietly, her voice low enough that only he could hear. "I'm sorry. About yesterday."
But the words fell flat. Kyorin didn't look up and simply replied, "It's alright," before dashing out. The boys followed suit, leaving Hina standing alone.
She had briefly glimpsed Kyorin's expression—there was fear in his eyes, and she clenched her jaw in frustration.
Hina stood alone, her eyes fixed on the path Kyorin had taken toward the academy. Her chest felt heavy, the weight of her guilt pressing harder than ever.
She replayed yesterday's moment in her mind—her hand striking Kyorin, his small frame recoiling, the way he had said nothing; his silence was louder than any protest could have been.
She exhaled sharply, raking her fingers through her hair. 'I was wrong.' she thought bitterly. She had believed discipline was the answer, a way to mold sense in someone so young.
But now, watching how he had refused her help, she realized how deeply she had erred. He didn't trust her—and why would he?
As Hina turned toward the academy, her resolve hardened. "I'll make this right," she whispered to herself. "Even if it takes everything I've got."
With measured steps, she followed the path, her gaze lingering on the fading daylight as it painted the academy walls in amber hues.
Inside the academy, the group of boys sat huddled in the common area, nursing their bruises and fractured pride. Most were muttering curses under their breath, their egos bruised as much as their limbs.
"He's just a little kid," one of them snarled, rubbing his sore wrist. "How the hell does he manage to keep fighting us like that?"
"Doesn't matter," another cut in, his lip split from a glancing blow. "Next time, we make sure he can't pull that crap again."
The mention of a "next time" seemed to lift their spirits, but before the tension could rise further, one of the boys burst into the room, grinning ear to ear.
"Hey, guess what? The Dean's out for the next three days," he said, his tone conspiratorial. "Something about a urgent business trip."
The group exchanged glances, their earlier anger melting into wicked grins. "No one's gonna stop us now," one of them chuckled, already plotting their next move.
But their laughter faltered when one of the boys, the same one who had taken a sharp hit to his thigh earlier, winced and rubbed at his leg.
"Yo, you good?" another asked, his brow furrowing with concern.
"Yeah, yeah," the boy replied, waving it off. "It's just… weird. Feels like the same kind of pain I had last time, you know? That time my leg swelled up after the fight."
"You sure?" someone else pressed, their earlier mirth now tinged with unease.
"Yeah, it's fine," he insisted again, though his voice wavered slightly. "It's nothin' serious. How about the next time we meet him, we..." Shoving off the pain, he redirected the conversation back to their plans.
But, unseen by them, Kyorin watched from the shadows of the hallway. His small figure was barely noticeable as he stood still, observing.
His eyes were cold, his face devoid of emotion. Yet deep within, satisfaction flickered briefly.
"That's one down," he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible.
His mind drifted back to the last two years—the patience, the planning, the countless times he had endured their bullying.
He had waited, biding his time. Every strike he delivered had been calculated and precise, aimed at places where blood vessels clustered—the thighs, the abdomen—areas where even minor injuries could escalate over time.
As the boys' voices carried through the hallway, Kyorin's lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. He wasn't done—not yet. This was only the beginning.
Turning away from the scene, he disappeared down the corridor, his small frame blending into the shadows. To him, this wasn't about revenge. Afterall, why would he hold a grudge against some kids?
In fact, they had taught him a valuable lesson on how societal infrastructure and family dynamics work, and now he would like to teach them a lesson on the impact of repeated injury on the body.
To be continued...