The Skill's Gap 2
The training hall lights were already on. Regular classes had ended hours ago, and with it being evening, the place wasn't crowded. Still, it wasn't completely empty. A few students were doing independent training, and a simple mock battle was underway on one side of the sparring area. The clash of metal. The faint vibration of the floor patterns dispersing mana. Someone's rough exhales. All of it blended into the unique atmosphere of the training hall.
I stood in the farthest corner of the sparring zone, a section people rarely visited. The lighting along the edges was dimmer, and the floor's magic patterns were simpler than those in the center. A zone meant for repetitive drills. No one bothered coming here. I liked it. Fewer eyes, fewer sounds. And most importantly, my head felt steadier.
I gripped my sword once, then released it. Sweat and slipperiness lingered on my palm. Today wasn't a spar. It was practice. Even so, my body was oddly tense.
A moment later, Tae-geon approached, waving his hand. "There you are." He carried sparring gear, his body already warmed up. "We're starting right away, right?"
I nodded. "Yeah."
When we faced each other, the training hall's air shifted slightly. It wasn't the usual noisy atmosphere. It felt more like we were testing something.
Tae-geon looked at me. "So, about what you said yesterday."
"Yeah."
"How far have you thought through that one-beat thing?"
I took a short breath before answering. "When you watch awakened fights, they're all pretty similar. Everything focuses the moment a skill activates. Mana flow, gaze, awareness."
Tae-geon listened without interrupting.
"But," I made a short cutting gesture with my hand, "once the skill ends, it all releases at once. Especially for people who haven't truly internalized their skills and are just 'using' them."
Tae-geon tilted his head slightly. "Low-proficiency types?"
"Yeah." I continued. "Almost no one treats their skill like an extension of their body. Most just follow activation, effect, termination. That's their entire flow."
"So there's exactly one opening in between?"
"Exactly."
Explaining it in words was easy. Watching for it was manageable too. The real problem was pulling it off during an actual spar.
Tae-geon crossed his arms and thought for a moment. "So you're not trying to block the skill, and you're not trying to endure it either." He spoke slowly, as if organizing my words. "You're aiming for right after it ends."
"Yeah." I nodded. "By active hunter standards, that timing basically doesn't exist. Even if it does, it's not something I could realistically target."
I glanced toward the center of the training hall. "But students are different. It takes time for them to reset their stance, regain their center, and move into the next action. That's what I'm going for."
Tae-geon was quiet for a while. His expression suggested he was sorting through his thoughts while staring at the floor. His gaze moved subtly between the patterns. Maybe he was already imagining that single beat with his own body.
Eventually, he spoke. "Sounds difficult."
I gave a small laugh at that. "I know."
"Still," Tae-geon looked at me again, "against students, it doesn't seem impossible."
Those words made my chest stir, just a little. "Not impossible" didn't mean "possible." But for me right now, that was enough.
"The key is this," Tae-geon lightly tapped the corner of his eye with his finger. "Don't watch the skill. Watch the person."
"Mana flow. Breathing. Center of gravity. And—" He snapped his fingers once. "Timing."
I nodded. "The moment the opponent thinks it's over without realizing it. That's when you strike."
"Nice." Tae-geon smirked. "Sounds pretty convincing when you say it like that."
"That's why I called you. So it wouldn't just sound convincing."
"Right. Then let's try it." He put on his sparring gear as he spoke. "Any conditions you want?"
"Use your skill, but lower the level."
"How much?"
"Output and connection both at D-class student level."
Tae-geon looked at me for a moment, then nodded. "Got it. You want me to deliberately make it sloppy?"
"Yeah. If you do it too well, I won't even see an opening."
"Can't argue with that fact." Tae-geon laughed playfully.
I raised my sword. The sensation in my hand felt familiar. The texture of the grip. The balance of the weight. Even the way the blade cut through the air. But familiarity wasn't always helpful. Today, my eyes and mind mattered more than the sword.
"Ready?" Tae-geon asked.
"Yeah."
"Then—" Tae-geon lowered his stance. "Start."
The first exchange happened in an instant. Tae-geon had deliberately kept a generous distance. Even before the spar began, his posture was clear. His upper body was slightly upright, sword held near his waist, power concentrated only in his lower body. It was a stance good for reacting to an opponent's approach or initiating an attack.
He's coming fast from the start. My mind judged.
"Here I go."
The moment the words left his mouth, mana gathered rapidly toward Tae-geon's legs. The flow was so distinct that "visible" was the right word. Pressure against my skin, a brief vibration like the air being pushed aside, the sudden drop in Tae-geon's breathing.
Hero Step.
A skill that instantly closes distance while delivering a sword strike mid-movement.
The moment Tae-geon stepped forward, the air compressed. Pressure reached me before sound did.
Fast.
More than half the distance between us vanished before my eyes could track it. One step. That single step erased the safe distance I had been standing in.
The sword came in.
Now.
No. Not yet.
I clenched my teeth and forced my body to stay still. If I reacted here, the moment I moved, it would be over. My goal wasn't to dodge. My goal was the moment it ended.
The blade passed right in front of me. Matching the sensation of air splitting, I twisted my upper body just slightly. Only a tiny amount. That was what would allow the next move.
And I stepped forward.
But I was too late. Tae-geon had already returned to his post-strike posture. Upright, centered, ready for the next action.
That single beat. The opening I had aimed for was much shorter than I had imagined.
The blade stopped in front of me.
"Out," Tae-geon said shortly. "Too slow."
I caught my breath and nodded. My solar plexus felt slightly sore. Tension had made my breathing shallow.
"Again."
The second time came faster. Tae-geon shortened the distance of Hero Step. A shorter entry than before, but higher speed. Mana surged from his lower body to his upper body. I could see it gathering into his sword.
A short slash.
This time, I saw it clearly. The exact moment the mana flow cut off along with the slash.
Now.
I lunged forward before the slash even finished. And I immediately knew something was wrong. Tae-geon's sword was still descending. The skill had ended, but the attack motion hadn't. That was fatal.
I had seen the skill terminate and my body had mistaken it for safety. But the blade was still within striking range of my neck.
Tae-geon's sword tip stopped in front of me.
"Complete miss," he said. "Right now, you're still in the middle of the slashing motion. If you come in at this timing, you just get hit."
Tae-geon pointed his sword tip at my chest. "Here. You wouldn't die, but at minimum, serious injury."
I clenched my teeth. The scene replayed rapidly in my mind. Skill activation. Movement. Slash. Mistaking it for over. Erasing that misconception was today's practice.
I took a deep breath in and out. Gripped the handle deeper. Loosened my wrist slightly.
Third time. Fourth time. Tae-geon gradually changed the pattern. Distance. Speed. Entry angle. Coming from the left, then the right. Then straight on. The same Hero Step, yet each felt like a completely different technique.
I kept avoiding the slash trajectory itself. Twisting my body, pulling my feet back, barely escaping the range. But every time I tried to move in, the single beat was off.
Sometimes I was too late. The skill had already ended and Tae-geon was fully in his next stance. That opening no longer existed. If I stepped in, the moment I entered became the opening instead.
Sometimes I was too early. The slash was still in progress, but my body reacted first. Even though my lunge direction and the blade's path didn't perfectly overlap, in a real fight it wouldn't be skin. It would be bone. The thought sent a chill down my spine.
My mind understood, but my body wouldn't follow. When I tried to watch the mana flow, my distance calculation lagged. When I focused only on distance, I missed the skill termination timing. Information flooded in all at once. My eyes watched Tae-geon's legs, my ears heard his footsteps, my skin felt the pressure, my mind calculated the end. At the same time, I had to track where my own feet were placed, where my center of gravity was shifting, and at what angle I was holding my sword.
This… is combat.
Until now, I had focused on swinging my sword well. Accurately, efficiently, with less power. But now, judgment felt heavier than swinging the sword.
Sweat ran down my chin. The sound of it hitting the floor seemed unusually loud. My breathing grew faster. My vision narrowed slightly. The feeling of the world brightening then dimming. Signs of oxygen deprivation.
Tae-geon stopped the spar. "Hey." He wasn't even breathing hard. Unlike me. "This is way harder than I thought."
I let out a dry laugh while catching my breath. "Told you."
The words were light, but my insides weren't. Doing this in a real fight? The thought crossed my mind. Tae-geon seemed to have the same thought—his expression hardened for a moment.
With his sword resting on his shoulder, he continued. "This doesn't seem like a simple reflex battle. It's not about moving faster or anything like that."
Tae-geon took a step closer. "It's not just watching skills. It's not just watching mana either." He tapped the floor lightly. "It's about reading the exact moment something ends."
I listened while steadying my breathing.
"Hero Step is a skill that includes both the movement and the slash. Just because the skill ended doesn't mean it's safe. The slashing motion has to completely finish before a real opening appears."
Tae-geon tapped his own chest. "And after that, you're back to being a student. Breathing, center, awareness—all of it breaks for a moment."
Those words stuck in my mind. Skill termination and attack termination were different.
I gripped my sword tightly. My palm was completely soaked with sweat. The handle felt slippery. My fingers trembled slightly. Whether from fatigue, excitement, or the thought that it might actually be possible, I couldn't tell.
"Still," my voice was low but clear, "that opening—" I looked at Tae-geon's feet. The moment right after his skill ended, when he made that tiny adjustment to reset his stance. That was the opening I had seen. It wasn't big. The kind that disappeared if you blinked. But it was definitely there. "It definitely exists."
Tae-geon looked at me for a moment, then smirked. "Right." He took his stance again. "That's why we're practicing."
This time his posture was much more aggressive than before. "Let's go again. This time, a bit faster."
I slowly drew in a breath. My heart was still racing. I knew the chances of failing again were high. Even so, I didn't step back. Sword raised, I moved forward once more. The sensation of my soles pressing against the floor patterns felt especially vivid.
The midterms were approaching, and this tactic was nowhere near complete. The success rate was terrible, and I couldn't even guarantee it would work in a real fight. But at least for now, I was starting to clearly understand why I failed, where I went wrong, and what I needed to reduce.
I had to distinguish between skill termination and attack termination. I couldn't watch only mana flow—I had to watch breathing and center of gravity together. When my feet moved first, I was already either too late or too early. So I had to control my breathing first.
These things were slowly accumulating inside me. This was the only path I had chosen, instead of awakening.