The Cost of Survival

Small impacts accumulate if you keep dodging. My side, forearms, thighs—each glancing blow weighed my body down. Jae-hoon, on the other hand, was running out of stamina. The more recklessly he used his skill, the greater the cost. His shoulders sagged, his feet slowed, and his breathing grew ragged.

Jae-hoon activated his skill again. Parts Break—this time on the right leg. In that moment, I saw it. The “gap” right after the skill ended. It was different from Tae-geon’s Hero Step. Tae-geon’s was so clean that the gap was brief. Jae-hoon’s was larger. His mana cut off with a sharp thud, his center of gravity lifted, and his breathing flipped.

Here it comes.

Not yet. One more beat. That single beat was everything I had. I lowered ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the tip of my sword just a fraction. Jae-hoon saw it and pressed in harder. Then the skill ended. The air “emptied.”

Now.

My heart slammed once. I stepped forward. The sensation of my feet kicking off the floor was sharp, and there was no room for hesitation. My body decided before my mind could calculate. Jae-hoon’s eyes widened. It was the face of someone seeing me properly advance for the first time.

I swung my sword. Without using my wrist, I rotated my torso and drew the tip low. The blade grazed the side of Jae-hoon’s leg.

“Ghk—!”

His balance wavered.

Got him.

I prepared to drive my shoulder into that opening. But Jae-hoon twisted. Faster than I expected. He wasn’t the type to collapse completely. He nearly fell, caught himself by planting a knuckle on the floor, and immediately launched a counter.

Thud! His left fist slammed into my ribs. No skill behind it. That made the pain feel more real.

“You—”

Jae-hoon gritted his teeth, and his expression changed. Not mockery anymore—just genuine irritation, the look of someone whose self-assurance had cracked. The stands stirred again.

“Did that just land?”

“Whoa… he almost went down just now.”

“What the hell is that guy?”

I exhaled. It hurt. But it felt good.

It’s possible.

Not perfect. But I had confirmed the path existed. The gap I had been watching was real.

Jae-hoon sucked in a rough breath. He spoke less now. He must have instinctively realized that talking only ruined his breathing. He came in again. This time his attacks were smaller and faster—knuckles aimed at my face, solar plexus, side. I didn’t block with my sword. Blocking would break the rhythm. Instead, I moved my feet. One step, half a step, another half step. I dodged purely by managing distance.

But if I only dodged, there would be no end. My own stamina was draining, and one solid hit could still bring me down. I deliberately delayed by half a beat—enough for Jae-hoon to think he had landed. The moment he did, his body leaned further forward.

“Got you,” he muttered.

And then Parts Break—this time reinforcing his right arm and shoulder for a big finishing blow. I “saw” the flow of mana. It gathered around his shoulder, his elbow opened slightly, and his posture widened as he gathered power. That created an opening. Even so, I couldn’t go in yet. While the skill was active, my timing was at the “end.”

Jae-hoon’s fist came down. Thud—! I didn’t fully dodge it. His forearm grazed mine. A sharp pain shot down to my fingertips. My ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sword trembled, and my vision wavered for a second.

Focus.

I clenched my teeth and held on. I knew that if I crumbled from this much, it was over. Jae-hoon tried to smile again. He could feel that he was truly pushing now.

“Hey…” he said quietly. “Let’s finish this. We’re wasting time.”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I steadied my breathing. In, out. A few more exchanges passed. Dodge. Graze. Dodge again. Small impacts piled up. Meanwhile, Jae-hoon’s breathing grew rougher, his steps heavier. Someone who “used” skills instead of “handling” them only carved away at their own body the more they relied on them.

Now.

The moment he used his next skill would be critical. When pushed to the limit, people moved on instinct. The more out of breath they were, the more they depended on one powerful strike. Jae-hoon made that choice.

Parts Break—right leg. The distance closed in an instant. His steps grew larger. Then another Parts Break—right arm.

He’s chaining them.

Jae-hoon tried to link two body parts. But his connection was rough, and that roughness created a gap. The skill ended. The cut-off. The breath. The center.

Now.

I stepped forward again. This time I didn’t hesitate. My body moved before my mind could. I had spent every second preparing for this moment. My foot struck the floor, weight shifting forward. The sword followed low at my side. Jae-hoon’s pupils shook. He could see the “now” too. He tried to raise his knuckles for a counter, but it was too late. I would reach him first.

The moment that certainty hit, the world slowed for a fraction of a second. Sound, breath, even sight lagged behind. The sensation of my foot hitting the floor was vivid. I felt the impact-absorption pattern devour the vibration through my skin. Then I drove in deeper.

The original plan was simple. Knock him down. Break his flow. Finish it.

One strike.

I was betting everything on that single blow. So I tried to make it as safe as possible. But at the very last moment, Jae-hoon forcibly twisted his body. He didn’t want to fall, didn’t want to break, didn’t want to lose his pride. That desperate flail threw my calculation off by a hair. His body slipped away half a beat before my shoulder could land. The force I had driven forward stayed the same—only the direction changed. I couldn’t stop. Stopping would mean I stopped.

Expulsion. The end. This far. Those words pushed my body onward. The sword followed at my side. But when Jae-hoon twisted, the tip rose slightly higher than intended.

No.

Before my mind could scream, my body had already moved. I drove my shoulder in. Jae-hoon’s center collapsed completely. At that instant, he tried to counter with his knuckles. The trajectory rose toward my face. I twisted my upper body further to avoid the arm. That twist sharpened the sword’s path. Even a blunt training sword, if speed and angle aligned perfectly, could go from “strike” to “cut.” And I had created that perfect alignment.

At first the sound was so small I thought I had misheard. In the middle of the training hall, where hundreds held their breath, the sound was actually clearer.

Thud.

Then something warm splattered across the back of my hand. Across the sword hilt.

Jae-hoon’s body caught on my shoulder for a moment before collapsing to the floor. On the impact-absorption pattern, his body didn’t bounce—it simply “sank.” That was stranger than anything. Usually people flinched on reflex. Pain made them gasp or curse. But Jae-hoon showed no reaction at all.

I looked down at the hand gripping my sword. The training blade was soaked red.

“……”

My breath caught. I…? What did I just do?

The stands froze in an instant. “Quiet” wasn’t enough. Sound itself had “vanished.” Not even a single breath could be heard. Only a low ringing filled my ears.

I slowly—very slowly—turned to look at Jae-hoon. He lay there, eyes half-closed, seeing nothing.

“Hey…” someone whispered from somewhere.

“No way…”

Only then did I notice the barrier patterns flickering strangely at the edges. It meant the barrier had registered damage ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠past the “lethal” threshold. The instructor’s expression changed instantly.

“Stop!”

His voice tore through the hall. At the same time, the floor patterns flashed once more and the barrier descended in two layers. I was inside it. With Jae-hoon. And I couldn’t move. My legs felt glued in place; the sword hilt wouldn’t leave my hand.

I have to let go.

My fingers wouldn’t listen.

“Medical team!”

The instructor shouted and rushed in. Medical staff who had been waiting outside the hall came running immediately. Two of them knelt beside Jae-hoon.

“Pulse check.”

“Respiration check.”

“Blood loss—”

Their voices were so clinical that they sounded distant. I stood there, staring at the scene. My mind was strangely empty. The thought of “winning” had vanished. The thought of “staying” had vanished. Only one question remained.

What did I just do?

Tae-geon’s face appeared beyond the stands. His expression was one I had never seen before. Eun-seo had both hands over her mouth, eyes wide, no room left for tears. Someone sobbed.

“It was just a spar…”

“Is he actually dead?”

Those words locked me in place even more. Right. It was a spar. There were rules. There was a barrier. The best facilities. So why had it come to this?

One of the medical staff looked up at the instructor and gave a short shake of the head. That single motion sank the entire hall into deeper silence. The instructor’s face hardened.

“……”

He took one more step closer to check Jae-hoon’s neck himself. The moment his fingertips touched, the instructor’s eyes trembled faintly.

“No respiration,” he said quietly.

The words fell across the training hall. Something inside my head shattered with a loud crack. No respiration. There was no way to misunderstand what that meant. Someone muttered “Crazy…” behind me. Someone else collapsed to the floor. A few covered their mouths; others turned away. And I still couldn’t move. The tips of my toes touched a red stain.

I…

I slowly looked down at my sword. A training sword. A blunt blade. It wasn’t made to kill people. Yet someone had died. The flow I created, the timing I created, the “perfection” I created—had killed a person.

This can’t be real.

Strangely, no tears came. I was terrified. Terrified, yet no tears. That meant I still hadn’t processed what was happening.

Then the instructor looked at me and shouted.

“Han Do-yoon!”

Only then ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠did I raise my head. The instructor was staring at my hand. The hand gripping the sword.

“Drop the sword! Now!”

At those words, my fingers loosened slightly. The blade clattered to the floor. Clang. The metallic sound echoed through the hall—far too loudly. The moment I heard it, I felt reality drag me back in.

The instructor approached and grabbed my arm. His grip was strong, but not violent.

“We need to get you out of here first,” he said quietly.

I nodded. But my legs wouldn’t move. The instructor pulled me toward the edge of the barrier. In the process, I caught one more glimpse of Jae-hoon’s face. His unmoving body. Only then did nausea rise. I felt like I was going to vomit. My breathing quickened.

Breath…

My own breath sounded far too loud.

I’m breathing.

The thought twisted sickeningly. The moment I reached the outside of the barrier, my knees gave out. I sank to the floor. My hands trembled. Only now was my body beginning to react.

The instructor spoke into his radio.

“Lock it down immediately.”

“Move the students. Clear the stands. Quickly.”

“Medical is already…”

He didn’t finish. There was no need. Everyone already knew.

That was when it happened. I had thought there was no sound, yet a single clear line rang inside my ears. Not exactly a “sound”—more like something being driven directly into my mind. The system notification chime.

I had waited so long for it that I thought I was imagining things. And that single line arrived at the cruelest possible moment.

I stopped breathing.

“……What?”

My lips moved on their own. I didn’t know if anyone heard. Probably no one. My voice only echoed inside me.

Again. Clear. My status window tried to appear before my eyes. A blue-bordered frame. I instinctively rejected it.

Now…?

At this timing? Was this what I had been waiting for? I swept a hand in front of my eyes as if to erase it. But the voice wouldn’t disappear.

I bit my lip. The taste of iron spread across my tongue. Jae-hoon lay in front of me. People were crying. Instructors were running. The training hall was frozen. And inside me, a new door was trying to open.

This…

The situation was too disgusting. The path I had carved to survive had killed someone, and as a result, I was awakening. It wasn’t a gift. It wasn’t a miracle. My hands shaking, I pressed them to the floor. I tried to stand, but sank back down. My breathing was too fast.

“Do-yoon!”

Tae-geon’s voice reached me. He was coming down from the stands. The instructor raised an arm to block him.

“Student, you’re not allowed to approach!”

Tae-geon gritted his teeth.

“Sir, I—!”

Eun-seo’s voice followed.

“Do-yoon…!”

But I couldn’t properly hear any of them. Only one thing remained in my ears.

The sentence I had wanted. The sentence I had waited for. Yet now it was strangling me. I lowered my head. And I thought:

This isn’t the end.

Expulsion or not. Victory or not. Today didn’t end here. On the contrary, today was only the beginning. In the worst possible way.