The Gap in Understanding
She was lost, utterly adrift in the chasm of comprehension. If there was one phrase that perfectly suited Jo Yeon-hwa, this was it.
Having rocketed up the ranks faster than anyone, this situation felt utterly alien to her. Debuting in the third division? A breeze. Her techniques were rudimentary, her mana equipment barely utilized—raw and unpolished. But climbing to the second division had taken mere moments. And just like that, she became the youngest first-division league hunter ever.
Gazing up from below, she'd sneered at the first-division players. But it turned out they weren't pushovers. Honestly, considering the Hunters League's global standing, she'd assumed Korea's first division wouldn't be that tough either—after all, the country lagged behind the world.
Yet here she was, the one challenging them... and getting crushed. "A decent all-rounder." That was the verdict on Jo Yeon-hwa as a first-division player. Legends carrying the torch from the first-generation hunters? Trailblazers leading the Korean league? Those titles were pipe dreams.
She'd hit a wall. Felt suffocated by it.
And then, by chance—no, she'd met him because he was touted as promising—a third-division scrub had the gall to say it: Your limits end here.
A third-division nobody, scraping by in the minors... what could he possibly know?
But she couldn't hold back the surging rage.
"Yeon-hwa! Jo Yeon-hwa!"
Jo Jun-ho caught up and grabbed her wrist.
"...Why? Why'd you even bring him out here?"
Her heart ached. It was nothing—just some nobody and his nothing words. But strangely, every single thing he'd said hit her like a sledgehammer.
"I thought it'd light a fire under you. He's walking a path kinda like yours, after all."
She'd heard bits about him. A hotshot rookie on the rise. But still, a third-division player. Hard to imagine him even scraping into second, let alone first...
As if reading her thoughts, Jo Jun-ho forwarded her an online article.
While the second and first divisions ride waves of upheaval, there's buzz in the third division too. None other than Lee Chang-hyun, winner of Hunters: The Next Generation.
His debut alone made waves—declaring he'd serve as director, owner, and player. But his momentum didn't stop there. He turned PER, last season's winless team, into league leaders.
Even a third-division squad rarely in the spotlight started drawing fans.
And the real headline? It came after the recent Korea-Japan national match, in an interview with Japan's famed ranged dealer, Minamino Takumi.
When asked for the most impressive and promising players, Takumi snubbed every Korean national... and named Lee Chang-hyun instead.
Most Korean fans, unaware of the third-division guy, flooded comments with question marks.
An anonymous player claimed that post-match, Takumi and Lee Chang-hyun dueled 1v1 under ranked match rules—and Lee won. Unverified, of course.
But Takumi name-dropping him? That's proof enough of his skill, say the experts.
...[Continued below]
'Director, owner, and player? What the...'
Her first read left her dumbfounded. Turning a winless team into first place? Mildly impressive. Beating Takumi? She frowned—even if unconfirmed, it seemed bogus.
No way. Probably fake. She'd heard Takumi's interview herself, so yeah, he'd noticed the guy. But still.
'Sigh...'
Even so, it was huge. The gap between third and first was massive; Korea and Japan leagues? Worlds apart. Earning Takumi's nod meant something.
But recognition was just that. He was still a third-division player. Her pride stung anyway. Unlike her, slamming into walls, he charged ahead endlessly. It twisted her up inside.
"Whatever. Not interested. I'm heading in to rest."
"...Alright."
Back in her room, she flopped onto the bed. Her childhood friend and training buddy, Ryu Jae-jun—freshly debuted, probably third-division now—popped into her mind.
'He just debuted too... Has he met that guy? What would he think?'
Curiosity struck. She grabbed her phone and messaged Ryu Jae-jun.
***
Lee Geun-taek's stern warning had hit home, but it didn't magically spawn new tasks right that second. Ultimately, elevating the team's overall caliber would fix it—and that was my goal anyway.
I wasn't skimping on my own training for the team, either. Steady basics were boosting my stats, and with Bloom's effects, I was outpacing them even now.
Plus, having peaked once before, I knew exactly what came next. My routine? Set it and forget it.
'But these guys...'
They demanded constant attention. Raising them advanced my goals, but it was unavoidable.
Today's focus: Yoon Han-gyeol.
"Lately, Han-gyeol's not bringing his power. Rankings stalled too. Score's decent, but... should I get him supplements?"
Lee Jong-gyu, our coach, was at it again—missing the point entirely, like always.
"Supplements for a hunter?"
I glared; he backed off with a sheepish grin. Even he knew that was off-base.
Han-gyeol's issue wasn't that. Or rather, not a "problem" per se. He was trapped in the rigid framework of traditional swordsmanship while studying new techniques, stunting his explosive growth.
'Seven Flying Swords isn't just about range or multi-sword control.'
The real edge over normal swordplay? Unfettered attack freedom. Moves no human could pull off.
Human joints and body limits? Irrelevant—sword paths become unpredictable.
Independent of the body, it ignores gaze, footwork, organic flow.
Normal swordplay defends vitals while attacking. But Seven Flying Swords? Pure offense—no blocking needed.
That liberty births infinite attacks, overwhelming force—its true essence.
Yoon Han-gyeol needed to break free from old sword arts, forge his own path.
'Can't just tell him that.'
Following a trailblazer versus blazing your own? Night and day.
While I pondered, he'd finished his ranked match and emerged.
"Don't bully Coach Lee Jong-gyu. He's incompetent at tactics... but he drives well. And he always cooks."
"Even you, Han-gyeol..."
Fair. Tactics and analysis? Weak. But cooking and driving? Unmatched. Maybe that's his calling.
"Anyway, what's up?"
I rarely waited post-match for chats, so he looked tense.
"Nothing big. You've been struggling lately."
"Yeah..."
Bitter smile. Naturally—he was most frustrated with himself. He'd thought hard work alone would cut it, but progress had flatlined.
'Won't love advice from me, though.'
Director or not, critiques from a peer stung his pride. Tough luck—skill trumped all.
Still, I had to say it.
"Your Seven Flying Swords. Don't treat it like regular swordplay. Hell, don't think 'swordplay' at all."
"Not like wielding a sword?"
He paused, then nodded furiously, like enlightenment dawned.
"Just gotta shift my mindset!"
Smart kid—one line, and he got it.
'Even pre-regression, he had potential.'
Needed a low-maintenance one for balance. We clicked well, always had.
"Got it. I know what you mean."
Yeah. Brainy, reliable—despite recent weirdness.
He dove back into ranked. Opponent: similar-score melee dealer. Good matchup. Easy win, probably.
Simple fix: ditch rigid forms, stab gaps wildly with the swords.
He grasped it perfectly, so he'd unleash that sharp, unpredictable flair from before.
'Am I the only competent one here?'
This setup—smooth comms, precise analysis and growth plans—felt perfect. Leveraging regression right. Satisfying.
'Raising these kids is work.'
That smugness? Shattered in seconds. Utterly, brutally betrayed.
Yoon Han-gyeol, you madman—told him not to use swords like swords, so he... didn't swing at all.
Like... yeah, guns. Me with guns. He manic-multi-controlled swords, firing them like bullets nonstop.
Opponent—superhuman—batted them away with shield and blade. Looked baffled, even. Probably thinking, Why just one-note shoot-and-retrieve?
This fucking...
'What was I even expecting...'
Should've clocked it when he "got it" without details.
Predictably, he got crushed worse than before—similar score or not.
"Should've shot more nimbly, gun-like not sword-like. Direction's right, but not instant mastery."
Total nonsense.
"You thick-skulled idiot."
He'd twisted "freed-from-convention swordplay" into "shoot swords like bullets."
I spent the whole day breaking it down, detail by excruciating detail, until Yoon Han-gyeol finally got it.