The Gap in the Skill
A few days had passed since I'd been called out by the homeroom teacher. Time hadn't moved particularly fast or slow. It simply continued as it always had. I woke up in the morning, attended classes, passed by the training grounds, and returned home when the sun set. The only difference was that I no longer waited for my turn.
The time left until the midterm evaluation was shorter than I'd thought. That fact pressed down on each day in silence. The training grounds remained open even on days without practical classes. Once regular lessons ended, most students left the academy immediately. Some boarded the shuttle bus, others scattered toward nearby stops, and groups headed toward the food district. Still, those who stayed behind remained. Especially Class A. Their training grounds were always lit.
I stood in the corridor outside Class A's training grounds, not Class D's. A single glass wall separated the inside from the outside. I had no intention of going in. I didn't want to draw attention or get involved in unnecessary conversations. Instead, I watched. Beyond the glass, people fought. The angle of a sword swing. The size of a step. The timing of a breath change. And the moment a skill activated.
Mana surged all at once, making the air tremble faintly. Each time, I focused my gaze. Now. That instant when the skill was used. Not how mana burst outward, but how it flowed inside the body. Where it began, where it passed through, and where it exited. I tried to see it.
There was a clear difference. The truly skilled ones didn't so much "use" their skills as incorporate them naturally into their movements. The flow of mana never broke, and each motion connected seamlessly to the next. Even after a skill ended, the following action was already prepared. As if that power had always been part of their body.
That's… a seasoned Awakener. People like Tae-geon. Or the top students in Class A. But there were far more who weren't like that. Especially at the student level, many had awakened but hadn't fully made their skills their own. Those who felt too strongly that they were "using" a skill stood out. Right before activating it, their breathing changed. Their gaze hardened. Their movement paused for a moment. And then—thud. The mana cut off. The instant the skill ended, their body hesitated for a split second. Their center wavered, creating a tiny gap before they could transition to the next action.
It was truly a fleeting moment. Less than 0.1 seconds. But it was definitely there.
…If it's that. I unconsciously curled my fingers. This wasn't a phenomenon caused by insufficient mana. Nor was it from exhaustion. It was a gap born from unfamiliarity. While using a skill, all focus concentrated on it—mana control, output maintenance, effect manifestation. After finishing, the body needed a brief moment to return to ordinary combat. The transition interval. That short gap.
The lower the proficiency, I organized my thoughts without taking my eyes off the scene, the larger the gap.
If it was this noticeable even in Class A, then what about Class D? I tilted my head slightly. Those who had awakened but couldn't properly handle their skills. The ones who relied only on output, trusted only in enhancement, and tried to end fights in a single blow. They rarely thought about what came after the skill. Because until now, they had never needed to.
"Hey, over there." Someone laughed. "Isn't that angle dangerous?"
"It's fine. He's about to use his skill anyway."
The moment the words ended, an enhancement-type skill exploded. Mana surged upward like a burst, and the opponent was flung backward. The spar ended. Cheers. Applause. A familiar scene. I quietly exhaled.
As expected. Everyone was watching the same picture. Skill. Suppression. End. Nothing existed in between. What if the skill failed? What if it missed? What happened right after it ended? They considered none of it. That wasn't wrong. Until now. But—
What I can enter is— I erased the scene I'd just witnessed from my mind and redrew it. Dodge the skill. I couldn't keep dodging forever. Block the skill. There was a limit to what could be blocked. Endure the skill. That was only possible when the output was weak. And ultimately, these were things only an Awakener could do.
What I could do was after the skill ended. That fleeting gap. The moment the opponent returned from Awakener to student. Just one beat. Exactly that much. I didn't need to win. I just needed to knock them down. Break their balance. Disrupt their flow.
After that— I could think about what came after when the time came. I slowly looked away from the glass. The training ground lights seemed especially bright. It was the first time the thought that a fight could be possible even without awakening had become this clear in my mind.
It was still just a theory. I had never succeeded, and nothing had been proven. But one thing was certain. This wasn't giving up. It wasn't running away. It was survival.
After that day, I no longer trained aimlessly. The time I spent watching people increased more than the time I spent swinging a sword. Body technique classes. Mock spars. Independent practice. All became subjects of observation. The timing of skill activation. The flow of mana being drawn up. And the subtle changes the moment it ended.
"Hey, Han Do-yoon." A familiar voice came from behind. When I turned, Tae-geon stood there, towel around his neck, face still damp with sweat. He'd just finished training.
"Why've you been so quiet lately?" He glanced in the direction I'd been looking and continued. "You used to swing your sword all the time, but now you're just watching."
"I'm not just watching."
"Then what?"
"I was observing."
"That's still watching."
"It's different."
Tae-geon chuckled. He didn't look like he fully understood, but he didn't mock or dismiss me either. That was one of his good points. Even when he acted lighthearted, he never crossed the line when I was genuinely thinking about something.
"What were you watching?"
I turned back toward the training grounds beyond the glass. "People fighting."
"Everyone watches that."
"No." I paused for a moment. I didn't want to force out thoughts that weren't fully formed yet. "It's not just… watching."
When I didn't continue, Tae-geon didn't press further. Instead, he lowered his voice and brought up something else.
"Hey, have you heard the rumor?"
I looked at him. "What rumor?"
Tae-geon glanced around. No one was nearby. "About you. During the midterm evaluation." He spoke quietly. "They say you might get expelled."
A brief silence. Tae-geon's expression tightened slightly. "Is that true?"
At those words, my chest felt heavy for a moment. I'd already known. Kim Young-soo had told me directly. Still, hearing it from someone else's mouth felt different.
"It is."
My answer was calm. Tae-geon studied my reaction, then frowned. "Ha." A short breath escaped him. "This school's actually insane."
I nodded. "I heard it directly last time."
"Expelled just because you haven't awakened?"
"If your performance is below standard in the midterm evaluation."
"'Below standard' is a nice way to put it." Tae-geon's voice dropped. "What standard? It's the Awakener standard, isn't it?"
I didn't answer. He was right. Tae-geon fell silent for a moment. The silence felt unfamiliar. Normally, he would have cursed, joked, or done something to shift the mood. This time, he didn't. He must have been that angry.
"So." Tae-geon spoke again. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
It was such a Tae-geon-like thing to say. A question thrown out without conditions or calculations. I didn't answer right away. Instead, I looked down at the line drawn on the floor and thought for a moment. Only at a level I could share. It was still just a theory. Nothing proven, nothing successful. Still, two might be better than one.
"There is." I said.
Tae-geon's gaze immediately returned to me. "What is it?"
I didn't lift my head as I answered briefly. "It's not certain yet."
"Yeah."
"Not during the skill." I pointed beyond the glass. "The moment it ends."
He looked like he didn't understand right away. So I added one more thing.
"Just one beat." I spoke slowly. "A way to aim for that gap."
Silence stretched for a moment. Tae-geon stared at my face, then slowly exhaled. "……" A slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "That's interesting."
That was all he said. I finally looked at him. "What is?"
"When everyone else is thinking about dodging skills, you're looking at what comes after." Tae-geon adjusted the towel on his shoulder. "That's very like you."
Those words lingered strangely in my chest. Like you. I didn't know if it was a good thing or not. But right now, it didn't feel bad.
Tae-geon jerked his chin toward the training grounds. "Then you'll need a sparring partner, right?"
I looked at him for a moment. His expression already had the answer decided. "We can practice together until the midterm evaluation starts." He rolled his shoulder once. "I need practice too. Two birds, one stone."
"Won't the standard be too high if it's with you?"
"That's why it's good." Tae-geon grinned shamelessly. "If it works even once against me, that means it's possible against the Class D kids."
He said it like a joke, but he wasn't wrong. I nodded briefly. "Thanks."
Tae-geon waved his hand. "Hey, it's nothing." Then he added, "But buy me tteokbokki after we're done."
"Got it."
Tae-geon said that and started walking toward the training grounds. At the door, he looked back once. "Let's talk details tomorrow while we practice."
I stood there watching his retreating figure. The midterm evaluation was approaching, and I still hadn't awakened. But this time, I wasn't alone.
Until Tae-geon disappeared through the door, I couldn't move a single step. Just moments ago, the word "impossible" had filled my mind, but strangely, now it had blurred a little. For the first time, the thought that maybe I can do this had carefully settled in a corner of my chest. I took a deliberate breath to keep that thought from growing too large, and pressed down the tremor left in my fingertips. I hadn't proven anything yet. But at least— I now had a reason to begin.