Puppet Show Nude Show
Siuba extended his hand.
"Take it easy on me."
"I'll do my best."
The moment Gu Se-jun grasped his hand, Siuba swiftly attached a spider thread to the guy's wrist.
"Begin."
As the referee stepped back, Siuba could now dictate the theme of his puppet show.
First came the preliminaries.
The two eyed each other. Gu Se-jun moved first—a solid straight punch.
Whoosh.
Siuba let out an "Oops!" and barely dodged the fist.
Gu Se-jun unleashed a storm of attacks, aiming to end the match in one go and wrap up the practical exam. He'd already won once, and this was his second bout.
The forms of the Baekbo Wolgon Kwon flowed one after another.
Palm Emperor Splitting the Sea: As his fist sliced through the air, it parted like Moses's sea.
Fist Wave Assault: Waves of punches rose like clouds, pressing Siuba.
Chain Emperor Wind Wall: Palm and fist techniques intertwined craftily, forming a wall of wind that blocked Siuba's retreat.
"Ugh!"
"Argh!"
"Eek!"
Siuba dodged by a hair each time or pulled back, letting attacks graze him.
Gu Se-jun himself, along with most of the examinees, figured the match would end soon.
But that expectation crumbled spectacularly.
Five minutes passed, and little had changed. Gu Se-jun was sweating as he attacked, while Siuba kept groaning and screaming his way out of crises.
Kim Jun stood ramrod straight, glaring at Siuba.
This guy's strong. He's pretending to be weak on purpose. His movements only speed up several times over in real danger.
Sa Yeonggyo had reached a similar conclusion.
Around the seven-minute mark, Siuba judged his preparations complete.
Gu Se-jun, panting heavily, realized Siuba had been hiding his true strength.
With a sudden roar, Gu Se-jun thrust both hands forward. Condensed energy shot toward Siuba's lower body and exploded. The impact launched Siuba into the air.
To finish it, Gu Se-jun charged at the falling Siuba, targeting his solar plexus.
But Siuba... hovered in midair, hands behind his back, looking down at Gu Se-jun.
"That your finisher?"
"H-How...?"
"Not bad. What's it called?"
"Half-Earth Shattering Heaven."
"I'll remember that. Hmm, you won't forget this day for the rest of your life either."
Siuba began to whistle. A cheerful tune, leaving everyone baffled by the antics.
Siuba danced to the melody and rhythm of his whistle.
Incredibly, Gu Se-jun started mirroring the exact same dance. When Siuba sped up, so did Gu Se-jun. When Siuba slowed, Gu Se-jun matched it.
Gu Se-jun's face flushed red.
He struggled desperately to stop, but it was no use.
The examinees burst into laughter. In that moment, Gu Se-jun was nothing but a laughingstock.
The whistle cut off abruptly.
"Puppet show! Nude show! Show show show!"
Siuba shouted.
Before the words even faded, Siuba walked toward Gu Se-jun. Gu Se-jun walked toward Siuba, closing the gap to about two meters.
Siuba mimed stripping off his clothes.
Unlike Siuba, Gu Se-jun actually started undressing. He tossed aside his sweat-soaked uniform top, revealing chiseled pecs and ripped abs that drew gasps of admiration.
As he dropped his pants, light groans rippled through the crowd.
All that remained were his underwear.
Siuba hooked his thumb into his waistband.
Gu Se-jun's thumb slipped into his underwear waistband. He shot the supervisor a pleading look.
"Do you concede...?"
Before the words finished, Gu Se-jun yanked his underwear down with his own hands.
Screams erupted.
"Oops, my bad."
Siuba didn't look sorry at all.
* * *
"Cheonju Mang, huh."
"......"
Siuba's face hardened. He hadn't expected the supervisor to name the skill on the first try.
"Why go that far? Your opponent signaled surrender."
"Two explanations come to mind. First, I didn't hear him. And you didn't call a halt, Supervisor. Second, I never intended to make him strip to his underwear. I didn't actually do anything. That'd be rude. Hard to believe, I know, but he took them off himself. Maybe some repressed exhibitionist urge burst out. What do you think?"
Siuba grinned cheekily.
"Brazilian?"
"Born there, sure."
"Your Korean's fluent."
"Mom's Korean. That a problem?"
"Of course not."
"Then I'll head back. Seeing that... it's mentally scarring."
Siuba flashed a smirk and returned to his seat.
No one met his eyes. What Gu Se-jun endured here today... word would spread outside, haunting him like a shadow forever. Anyone who saw Gu Se-jun would think of the "nude show."
Siuba glanced at Kim Jun.
Kim Jun was staring right back.
Forfeit. Or you'll end up the same.
* * *
A break was called.
Sa Yeonggyo seethed inside.
He did that on purpose. Guys like him need to be crushed. Defiling a raider's honor.
Gu Se-jun would suffer trauma for life. He wouldn't step out without obsessing over others' stares.
Siuba—I want to fight that bastard.
No, I have to.
Driven by duty, Sa Yeonggyo pulled out her phone—the one returned after the written exam.
She nearly called Grandpa but worried it'd blow up, so she long-pressed Dad's shortcut instead.
—Doing well on the test?
Her father's ever-cheerful voice.
"I need a favor. You know I don't ask lightly."
—Craving Busan fish cakes? If my girl wants it, I'll get it for you.
"No, a favor. Pressure the exam committee. There's someone I have to fight."
—Busan fish cakes and stinkhead soup? Weird combo. But if that's what you want.
"...Never mind."
Sa Yeonggyo hung up.
Dad was great in every way, but he always twisted her words bizarrely over the phone. That's why, instead of Sa O-jung, he got nicknamed Sa O-jeong. A crappy moniker, yet Dad just laughed heartily.
Steeling herself, she called Grandpa—but only the tone sounded.
No choice; she messaged Mom. They'd been in a cold war since Mom ditched for Africa on a whim.
—Why would Sa Yeonggyo, who's forged her life independently since childhood, personally call her mere biological gene donor?
Dripping sarcasm.
Regretting the call, she nearly hit end.
"Need a favor."
—Calling after a year to shamelessly ask for one—who even are you?
"You know people on the exam committee? Just one call. I need to fight this guy Siuba."
—Still the same, huh. Talk later.
The line went dead.
Sa Yeonggyo sighed. Should've called Mom once or twice a month.
Last hope: the supervisor.
As she approached the gruff man, rumors among the examinees reached her ears.
Gu Se-jun had forfeited the awakening test. Understandable after that humiliation, but hearing it fueled Sa Yeonggyo's rage more.
"We can't just let him slide."
A subtle plea.
"Rules are rules."
The supervisor didn't budge.
* * *
During the break, Kim Jun wandered the arena, probing the secret behind Siuba hovering midair.
Traces of wood-type energy lingered on the floor in spots. Sticky and resilient like spider silk, it stretched elastically.
He'd toyed with Gu Se-jun like a marionette using these threads.
Skills like this exist?
He hadn't seen it in any of the 700 raid videos. Nor in the prep materials skimmed for the awakening test.
Kim Jun had one question.
How to beat Siuba?
Jo Nam-sik had stood firm on his Vajra Indestructibility, letting Kim Jun analyze step-by-step.
Siuba? Battle-hardened, agile, masterful footwork. Above all, he gave no breathing room.
Kim Jun reached a conclusion.
Fight now, and I lose.
If I can use Po-noe Strike?
Odds of victory would spike.
Problem: The Po-noe Strike that felled Jo Nam-sik was a fluke from Yeon Chung-jae's memory. Watching Siuba vs. Gu Se-jun, he'd tried recreating it, but the Cheonnoe Heart Technique stuck fast in his dantian.
Frustrated, Kim Jun sighed and headed to the bathroom.
Break nearly over, it was empty. As he washed up after relieving himself, Supervisor Jang Man-ho emerged from a stall and sidled up beside him.
They eyed each other via mirror.
"Thanks."
Kim Jun knew he was originally slated to fight Siuba.
"Just following protocol."
Jang Man-ho turned on the tap to wash his hands. Kim Jun moved to leave first.
"Why no Mokhonbo Dang step against Jo Nam-sik?"
"Not perfected for real combat."
"Trust me and try it."
"Uh, sure."
Kim Jun's half-hearted reply.
"I'm an instructor at the Dungeon Martial Arts Academy."
"For real?"
"How else could I supervise practicals without that level of skill?"
"Mind if I ask something?"
"Shoot."
"Ever heard of Po-noe Strike from Yeon Ga's Cheonroe Palm Techniques?"
"Isn't that the skill that hospitalized Jo Nam-sik?"
"Whoa, legit instructor."
"...You thought I was lying?"
"The guy who framed an innocent man for cheating? A little lie's nothing."
"Ahem."
Jang Man-ho glanced around. Bathroom was empty save for them.
"If you were to master Po-noe Strike, what process would you follow?"
An odd question.
Jang Man-ho tilted his head slightly. Questions always reveal intent. Why ask me? Answer first—might yield clues.
"Cheonnoe Heart Technique first. No inner power, no advanced arts. Then dissect and internalize Po-noe Strike. Both take massive time. From what I know, minimum ten years—maybe twenty—to mimic Yeon Ga's Po-noe Strike."
He watched Kim Jun's face.
Any flinch or flicker might give something away.
But Kim Jun fired back as if waiting.
"How do you link Cheonnoe Heart Technique to unleash Po-noe Strike?"
"Obviously, use imagery and simulation to connect it."
"What's that?"
Kim Jun's eyes lit up.
Checking his watch, Jang Man-ho gave a concise rundown—imagery and simulation grow crucial with skill levels.
"Inner power or mana accumulation's similar. Breathe in ambient qi or mana, build it up—condensation's key. But that's not enough. Linking potent imagery or simulation to the qi mass—that's the core of advanced skills."
"Doesn't click."
"You sense qi through empty awareness, right?"
"How'd you know?"
"I'm a martial instructor, kid. Think I wouldn't notice? Step closer and feel it properly."
Kim Jun leaned in, nose-to-nose with Jang Man-ho.
Jang Man-ho visualized a "milk drop's crown splash." His dantian qi writhed instinctively, flowing to his fingertip. The qi droplet—Myeongjeok—flew at Kim Jun.
Less than a meter away, it tapped Kim Jun's forehead dead-on.
No pain—Jang Man-ho had pulled the power.
"This is Myeongjeok. Full force punches through steel plates. To link my Yuun Heart Method power to Myeongjeok, I visualize the milk crown every practice. You know it? Slow-mo milk drop forming a crown."
"That CF ad, right?"
"Yeah. Every Myeongjeok, I picture it. So my qi flows from dantian to fingertip like an obedient pet when I do. Key's the imagery or simulation. How vivid and lifelike determines if the skill's swift, precise—or erratic, unresponsive. If it breaks mid-activation, you injure yourself internally... Severe cases lead to qi deviation."
"Ah!"