Morning arrived in Seta with a damp chill lingering from the previous night’s drizzle, the narrow lanes and stone paths glistening under a muted sun. Rokan departed the clinic at first light, his satchel slung over one shoulder and his expression unreadable beneath his usual gruff demeanor. As he made his way toward the harbor district, a few early risers in the narrow streets instinctively stepped aside, murmuring greetings that went unanswered. The healer’s reputation preceded him—respected, yet distant, his presence exuded an air of brusque purpose.

Two youths hauling crates stumbled into Rokan as he approached the bustling piers. The older of the two, rubbing his shoulder, muttered an apology, but his eyes lingered on Rokan’s retreating figure. “That’s him, isn’t it?” he whispered to his companion. “The healer? What’s he doing down here?”

Curiosity overcame them, and the pair followed at a careful distance, watching as Rokan cut through the docks with practiced ease. His steady pace and sharp gaze left little doubt that he was on important business. When he finally passed through the edge of the district and disappeared down the coastal road leading out of Seta, the two dockhands exchanged hurried whispers before one darted off toward the alleys.

Moments later, the dockhand found his group—a cluster of ragged men loitering in the shadows, their faces all too familiar to Jin. These were the same street rats who had once jeered and tormented him during his years scrounging in the alleys. "The meddlesome healer’s gone," the man said breathlessly. "Left the shop. The willow boy is alone. This is our chance.”

Back at the clinic, Jin stood alone, broom in hand, the vulnerability of Rokan’s absence pressing on him like a weight.

He swept steadily, relishing the slight improvement in his stamina and recalling the forms he practiced at dawn. Those motions, though far from perfect, no longer left him gasping for breath as they once did. He was so caught in his thoughts of slow but sure progress that he barely noticed when a trio of ruffians approached, their voices low and mocking.

One of them laughed in recognition, pointing at Jin with an insolent finger. They were faces from his past—older street toughs who had once jeered at him when he scrounged for scraps in alleys. Now they loitered in front of the clinic’s entrance, their sneers betraying a sense of ownership over what they saw as easy prey.

The tallest among them, his cheek marred by a fresh scar, barked sharply, “Rokan’s not here, is he?” He smirked, his voice dripping with mockery. “Guess the twig’s all alone. Guess we’ll take what we like.”

“Yeah, the old man’s nowhere in sight,” one of the others chimed in with a sneer. “Doesn’t look like he left much muscle behind either.”

Jin set his broom aside, his heart pounding against his ribs. “What do you want?” he asked evenly, his voice calm despite the roiling tension in his chest.

“What do we want?” The leader’s lips curled in a lazy grin as he stepped forward. “Whatever’s worth taking. You’re not going to stop us, are you?” His sharp eyes flicked toward Jin’s stance, lingering on his steady posture. For a fraction of a second, he hesitated, shifting slightly as though his side pained him, but his bravado remained intact.

The two lackeys chuckled, emboldened by their leader’s words. “Bet he’s still soft,” one said. “Just like back in the alleys. Let’s see if he still folds just as easy.”

Jin spread his feet, inhaling deeply, letting the tension flow from his shoulders as Rokan had taught him. The jeers and scorn of these men were echoes of a past he no longer lived in—a past where fear had ruled him.

Today, he was no longer that timid boy. He steeled himself, his voice calm but firm as he met the leader’s sneering gaze. “Try it,” he said quietly, the words carrying a weight of certainty he hadn’t known he possessed.

The leader’s grin faltered, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Take care of the twig,” he barked to his henchmen, though his tone betrayed unease. “Let’s see if he’s got a spine now.”

Jin’s resolve didn’t waver. He stood rooted, the lessons of countless mornings spent under Rokan’s grueling watch flowing through him. Fear pulsed faintly beneath his calm mask, but it no longer controlled him. With a sharp exhale, he moved to intercept, resolve burning like a quiet flame in his chest.

The first goon lunged, a wild swing that Jin managed to deflect with a hastily raised forearm. The blow stung, jarring his still-sore shoulder, yet he pivoted just enough to avoid further impact. In a move that was neither elegant nor entirely stable, he hooked his foot around the bandit’s ankle and gave a short, sharp shove.

Surprised by the technique—cruder than Rokan’s practiced grace but serviceable—the man stumbled into the clinic’s wall and crumpled with a curse. The second goon snarled, fists clenched, and rushed from the side.

Jin saw him only at the last moment, but he twisted away, ignoring the twinge in his ribs. He slammed his elbow back, connecting with the man’s chest, then swept low with his leg. This time the move nearly sent Jin off balance, yet it was enough to topple his attacker onto the cobblestones.

Panting, Jin backed off, arms raised in readiness, adrenaline flashing across his vision. Both henchmen groaned where they lay, more in shock than serious pain. The tall leader winced as he took in the scene, his eyes narrowing.

Jin could almost see the calculations behind that glare: a still-smarting wound on his side, two of his men sprawled, and no guarantee he could subdue Jin without risking a drawn-out fight. He spat a curse, motioning for his henchmen to get up. They scrambled away, grumbling in disbelief that the “twig” had bested them.

Jin’s pulse hammered wildly, sweat beading on his forehead. The leader glared at him, his face darkening with both anger and calculation. He spat on the ground, his lip curling into a sneer. “This isn’t over, twig,” he growled, his voice dripping with venom. “You think a couple of lucky moves make you strong? I’ll show you next time.”

His gaze flicked to his groaning henchmen. “Get up, you fools,” he barked. “We’re leaving.”

The two lackeys scrambled to their feet, one clutching his ribs and the other limping slightly as they cast disbelieving glances at Jin. “The twig’s tougher than he looks,” one muttered under his breath, earning a sharp glare from the leader.

“Shut it,” the scarred man snapped, before throwing a final, withering look at Jin. “You’re dead the next time we meet,” he spat, then turned, shepherding his bruised companions away with curt gestures.

Jin stood rooted to the spot, his chest heaving as the adrenaline ebbed away. He clenched and unclenched his fists, forcing himself to focus on his breathing. As the trio limped out of sight, he muttered under his breath, “Next time, we’ll see who walks away.”

When the door to the clinic finally clicked shut, Jin leaned heavily against the counter, his legs trembling. His limbs felt both numb and electric, his mind racing with what had just happened. For a moment, he stared at the scattered supplies, letting the silence of the room settle over him. Then, slowly, a small, hesitant smile tugged at his lips.

Dusk fell before Rokan returned, his heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet clinic. The door creaked open, and Jin looked up to see the old healer storm in, his face dark with fury. Without a word, Rokan tossed his satchel onto a chair, the motion sharp and abrupt.

“Food,” he barked, his voice clipped. “Now.”

Jin jumped at the command, rushing to the stove to simmer something simple. The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with unspoken frustration. As he worked, he glanced over his shoulder at Rokan, who paced the floor like a restless tiger, his fists clenching and unclenching.

When Jin finally dared to speak, his voice was hesitant. “What… happened?”

Rokan stopped mid-stride, his sharp gaze snapping to Jin. “What happened?” he repeated, his tone biting. “What always happens when power’s in the hands of fools and cowards. The Tairakan Navy razed a village. Burned it to the ground. Every man, woman, and child—gone. ‘Purging Corpse Qi,’ they call it.”

Jin froze, the ladle trembling in his hand. “They… they killed everyone?”

“Yes,” Rokan growled, his voice low and venomous. “And the same Navy let that damn cultivator waltz into Seta like a king. Robbing, killing, and leaving without so much as a second glance from the guards. They didn’t stop him—didn’t even try. Why would they? He’s got Qi, and they’re spineless dogs.”

Jin turned, his chest tightening. “But why wouldn’t they stop him? He’s—”

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Rokan’s laugh was harsh and bitter. “Why? Because they don’t care, boy. The Navy, the guardsmen, the whole damn system—they serve themselves, not the people. To them, we’re nothing. Just bodies to trample over when it suits them.”

Jin swallowed hard, his stomach twisting at the sheer weight of Rokan’s words. The old man’s shoulders heaved as he drew in a sharp breath, his hands gripping the back of a chair as though he might break it in half.

“They hide behind their uniforms and their so-called authority,” Rokan continued, his voice shaking with barely restrained rage. “They pretend it’s for the greater good, but it’s all lies. The greater good is just a convenient excuse to kill whoever they want. No one holds them accountable. No one even dares.”

Jin stood motionless, the ladle forgotten in his hand. He tried to process it all—the morning’s fight, the atrocities Rokan described, the sheer hopelessness of it. His mind swirled with anger, fear, and a flicker of determination.

Rokan’s gaze softened slightly as he looked at Jin, but his voice remained sharp. “Remember this, boy. This world doesn’t reward the meek. If you want to survive—if you want to protect anyone—you’ll need more than clever words and lucky moves.”

Jin nodded slowly, the knot in his chest tightening further. Rokan’s words burned into him, leaving behind a resolve he couldn’t yet fully understand. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew: he couldn’t stay powerless forever.

Jin balanced the tray carefully, the aroma of simmered broth wafting up as he moved toward the table. His muscles ached faintly from the earlier fight, and just as he set the tray down, a sharp pang flared in his side. He winced—a tiny movement, but it didn’t escape Rokan’s sharp gaze.

“Stop,” Rokan barked, his eyes narrowing. “What’s that about? You’re moving like an old man. What happened today?”

Jin froze, his heart skipping a beat. There was no point in hiding it—Rokan would drag the truth out of him anyway. He straightened, meeting the healer’s piercing stare. “A group came by this morning,” he admitted. “Three of them. They wanted supplies.”

Rokan’s jaw tightened. “And you let them take it?” he snapped, his voice like a whip. “Is that why you’re limping?”

“No,” Jin replied quickly, his tone steady but quiet. “I didn’t let them. They tried to force their way in, but I stopped them.”

Rokan’s brows shot up in disbelief. “You stopped them? And how exactly did you manage that, boy?”

Jin exhaled, setting the tray down completely. “I used what you taught me—the forms, the motions, the breathing. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough. Two of them went down, and the leader backed off. He was injured already. I think that’s why he left.”

For a moment, Rokan said nothing, his sharp gaze scanning the faint bruises on Jin’s arms. Then he barked a short, harsh laugh, though there was no humor in it.

“The forms, the motions, and the breathing,” he repeated, his voice rising. “Do you know why I taught you those things? To make you stronger, faster, more flexible—not to pick fights with street scum!”

Jin flinched but stood his ground. “I didn’t pick a fight,” he said earnestly. “I defended the shop. What was I supposed to do? Let them take everything?”

Rokan’s frustration seemed to boil over, his hands raking through his graying hair. “And if they’d had blades? If they’d had Qi? You’d be dead! You don’t fight unless there’s no other way. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Uncle,” Jin said softly, though his heart pounded.

Rokan exhaled sharply, his anger ebbing into something closer to exasperation. He sank into a chair, shaking his head. “Damn fool,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. “And yet…”

Jin tilted his head slightly, unsure of what to say.

Rokan looked at him, his lips twitching as if caught between a scowl and a reluctant smile. “You did well,” he admitted, his tone gruff but tinged with pride. “But don’t let it go to your head. That wasn’t a real fight. If you’d faced someone with Qi, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Jin nodded, the gravity of Rokan’s words settling over him. “I understand.”

“Do you?” Rokan shot back, though the sharpness had dulled. “Next time, don’t wait for them to throw the first punch. And don’t think you can take on the world alone. You’re not there yet.”

Jin lowered his head, hiding the faint, tired smile that tugged at his lips. “Yes, Uncle.”

The healer grunted, picking up the bowl of broth and muttering something under his breath about reckless apprentices. But as he turned away, Jin caught the faintest glimmer of approval in his eyes.

After they finished their meal, Rokan set his bowl down with a heavy thud and leaned back, crossing his arms. His sharp eyes settled on Jin. “Show me,” he said abruptly.

Jin blinked. “Show you what?”

“The forms. The motions. The breathing,” Rokan clarified, his voice as blunt as ever. “I need to see exactly what you’ve been doing.”

Swallowing his apprehension, Jin nodded. “Alright.”

The two stepped into the courtyard behind the clinic. The evening air was cool and quiet, carrying the faint scent of damp earth. Jin positioned himself in the center, inhaling deeply as he tried to focus.

He began slowly, transitioning from one form to the next. His movements, while smoother than before, still carried a hint of tension. Each step was deliberate, his arms flowing like water before grounding into a firm stance.

Rokan stood with his arms crossed, his eyes following every motion, every breath. The boy’s improvement was undeniable—his movements flowed with a rhythm that hadn’t been there before. The frailty in his frame was still apparent, but it was no longer debilitating. Jin’s body, though far from strong, had begun to adapt.

When Jin finished the sequence, he turned to Rokan, his breathing steady but his arms trembling slightly. “Well?”

Rokan grunted, his face unreadable. “You’ve improved,” he admitted begrudgingly. “Your transitions are smoother, and you’re finally starting to understand the flow.” He stepped closer, pointing at Jin’s stance. “But you’re still rushing. These motions aren’t about speed—they’re about control.”

Jin frowned. “I thought faster movements were better for reacting to threats.”

“Not when your body isn’t ready,” Rokan snapped. “The slower you go, the better. Slow builds strength. Slow builds endurance. And slow builds flexibility. Tension trains the body, boy. If you rush, you lose the chance to strengthen yourself.”

Jin nodded, processing the advice. “So… slower than this?”

Rokan nodded curtly. “Slower. The rhythm of your movement must follow the pace of your breath, and your breath must be as slow and controlled as your motions. You’re not just training your body—you’re shaping it.”

Jin reset his stance and began again, this time moving even slower. The strain in his muscles was immediate, each movement pulling against his limits, but he forced himself to focus. His breaths, deep and deliberate, guided his pace.

Rokan watched intently, his sharp eyes missing nothing. Despite himself, a flicker of pride crossed his features. The boy was learning—painfully, methodically, but learning nonetheless.

When Jin finally finished, he turned to Rokan, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. “Like that?”

“Better,” Rokan grunted, though his tone was less harsh. “But don’t think this means you’re done. Keep pushing your limits. The slower you move, the stronger you’ll get. Your body will catch up if you give it no choice.”

Jin nodded, his face calm but his eyes gleaming with determination. “I’ll keep at it.”

Rokan waved him off, his expression softening ever so slightly. “Go rest. You’ve earned it. Tomorrow, we’ll see if you can go even slower.”

As Jin left the courtyard, Rokan remained where he stood, his sharp gaze lingering on the space where the boy had trained. For all his bluster, he couldn’t deny that Jin was no longer the frail street rat he’d taken in. Step by painstaking step, the boy was building something stronger within himself. And though Rokan would never admit it aloud, he was proud.

Later that night, with Jin fast asleep, Rokan sat at his desk, the dim glow of an oil lamp casting long shadows across the room. He pulled out the worn notes he had meticulously kept since taking Jin in, alongside the ancient tome given to him by Sage Open Sky. Flipping through the pages, Rokan traced his fingers over passages he had highlighted, cross-referencing Jin’s progress against the training methods described.

“Almost there,” Rokan muttered under his breath, his tone a mix of frustration and satisfaction. “The boy’s no longer frail, but he’s not strong enough yet.”

He leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes scanning the courtyard through the window. Jin had nearly mastered the basics. His movements, while not flawless, were controlled. The forms no longer exhausted him to the point of collapse, and his breathing had steadied with practice. Soon, Jin would be able to perform on par with a normal boy his age—perhaps even better.

Rokan exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “It’s time to push him harder.”

He reached for a blank sheet of parchment, jotting down ideas for Jin’s next regimen. The exercises would need to build on his newfound strength while testing his endurance and flexibility further. Slow, tension-focused motions were the key to refining the boy’s control and forging resilience into his body. But beyond that, Rokan needed to prepare him for real challenges—more than just standing his ground against street rats.

As the hours stretched into the night, Rokan’s plan took shape. Longer, slower routines. Movements that demanded balance and precision. More emphasis on building core strength to support his wiry frame. By the time Rokan finally set his quill down, his jaw tightened with determination.

“He’s come far,” he murmured, his voice low, almost to himself. “But the road ahead is steeper. If he wants to survive in this world, he’ll have to endure far worse than this.”

Rokan extinguished the lamp, leaving the clinic in silence. As he made his way to his cot, his thoughts lingered on the boy sleeping in the next room. For all his gruffness, Rokan felt a flicker of something deeper—pride, yes, but also the weight of responsibility. Jin was no longer just a street rat. He was a student, a ward, and perhaps, in time, someone who could carve his own path in a dangerous world.

Tomorrow, the real training would begin.