Break Then Establish
Han Yumae arrived at the training grounds beside Namgung Gyeom’s quarters at the appointed hour, ready to meet Ye Hajun.
And there she saw him run through the Monghwa Hwanyeongbo—the footwork he had spent the whole of yesterday copying, form for form.
“Well?”
“That’s incredible.”
She clapped, honest as always, then asked, “But… am I even allowed to watch this? We’re from different sects.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Ye Hajun already knew the technique had been thrown together by Anonymous 1 specifically to be shown to Han Yumae, but she took his indifference another way entirely.
Among martial artists who did not share a sect, even glimpsing another’s training was usually taboo. Study someone’s process long enough, grasp what their art pursued, and you could break it. Breaking a martial art could mean death in a real fight—so unless the trust ran deep, people simply did not show their work.
This was anything but ordinary.
Yet Ye Hajun laid his footwork bare as if it were nothing, and Han Yumae felt, with fresh force, just how much he trusted her.
The branch master was right. I really have found a precious bond. And I think I understand why Hajun said what he did. There’s something in this that feels close to Hwasan’s footwork…
Once she seemed to have settled that conclusion for herself, Ye Hajun went on.
“So first, I’m going to use the footwork I just showed you to dodge your attacks.”
“Is your arm all right?”
“You saw it—I can use this with almost no arm movement. And it’s only a spar anyway. Think of it as getting the forms into your eyes.”
That was exactly how Anonymous 1 had planned to teach Han Yumae through Ye Hajun.
If Hajun suddenly started giving her direct instruction, she would be stuck in the bizarre position of learning martial arts from a peer of roughly equal standing. But a spar was different. Sparring was meant for testing each other’s arts and discovering, on your own, where you fell short—and growing from it.
Anonymous 1’s reasoning proved sound. Han Yumae’s expression, a little awkward at first, brightened at once.
“A spar works for me. I’ll be careful not to hurt you.”
And so the spar began.
Han Yumae swung her sword, hunting for a hit. Ye Hajun kept slipping away with the Monghwa Hwanyeongbo Anonymous 1 had drilled into him. Again and again. In that loop, Hajun sharpened the footwork, and Han Yumae, fighting him, could not help but track it with her eyes.
Sooner or later she would feel the difference between her own footwork and his—and arrive at the realization herself.
A perfect plan. Both of them came out ahead.
They were deep in the exchange when—
At Anonymous 1’s command, Ye Hajun stopped.
“Yumae, let’s take a break.”
She wiped the sweat from her brow with her sleeve and asked, “Hm? You’re not hurt, are you?”
“No. Just need to think for a second.”
“All right. Let’s rest. I’ll go grab some water.”
Once the spar paused and she had gone, Anonymous 1 spoke to Ye Hajun.
“Juddak. It seems we have a problem.”
“What is it?”
“…I may not be able to fix Yumae in two weeks.”
“What?”
The words were so far from the swaggering certainty Anonymous 1 had been throwing around that Hajun could only stare.
“Why? She’s doing great.”
“Exactly. She’s doing too well—that’s the problem. I fear this old man chose the wrong method of instruction.”
“Don’t keep it to yourself. Explain.”
“Have you ever heard the saying seo yeo gi in—writing is like the person?”
Ye Hajun shook his head. Anonymous 1 continued.
“The hand that writes is the person themselves. From the brushstrokes alone, character and temperament show through. Martial arts are no different. One could just as well say geom yeo gi in—the sword is like the person.”
The sword reflects the one who wields it.
The moment he heard it, Hajun named what rose in his mind.
“…Honest?”
“If even you can feel it, it’s obvious.”
Anonymous 1 sighed.
“Her life shows in her sword. That blade was forged by effort. Even though the art does not suit her true nature, she ground her bones down until she forced it to fit.”
“So you’re saying she’s too honest to teach?”
“Not that she can’t be taught—that at this rate, she will never get through to that Gal clan young demon.”
Anonymous 1 conjured a sword into his hand and cut the empty air with an easy stroke.
“The heart of illusion swordsmanship is deception. You weave false openings, and there are moments when you must look as if you are striking—and then not strike at all. But that child is honest even in her feints. She cannot deceive an opponent.”
“Now that you mention it, I could see her attacks coming from a mile away… but isn’t that just because I’m good?”
“True illusion swordsmanship should fool even someone who fights by pure eyesight, like you. Tch.”
He dismissed the blade and went on.
“She is upright to the core—surely a late-blooming genius. But to beat that demonic brat in two weeks… mmm. It may be too much. Character is not something you remake in a fortnight.”
“So that’s the issue. What if you just invent another martial art for her?”
Anonymous 1 shook his head at the suggestion.
“While belonging to a sect, serving two masters is the grave crime of dual apprenticeship. Her home mountain would interrogate her on where she learned it.”
“And you can’t just tweak her existing art for her?”
“Whoever taught her that way did so with the intent of the present age. Perhaps they abandoned deception techniques to better face the Jeonggoe. This old man has no wish to undo the will of later generations.”
“So this won’t work, that won’t work. Then what do we do?”
“Indeed. What to do…”
Saying so, Anonymous 1 slid a glance toward Ye Hajun.
The mischievous smile on his lips set off alarms at once. Hajun had seen that smile several times while learning the Monghwa Hwanyeongbo. Anonymous 1 was a thoroughly unpleasant teacher who never handed over answers easily.
Which meant—
Figure it out yourself, huh.
He should have known the moment the other gallery spirits stopped needling him. This whole thing had been a setup.
Then something clicked, and he said, “If that’s just who she is, wouldn’t a single well-placed deception hit even harder?”
Anonymous 1 clapped as if the idea were outrageous, voice thick with theatrical awe.
“Truly, a thought worthy of the unorthodox path! You are correct!”
Was that a compliment or a dig?
“Your words carry genuine insight, Juddak. Ninety-nine acts of honesty for the sake of a single deception—that is something no one can help but fall for. You brat! Had you walked the assassin’s road, you would have been a legend.”
“If it’s a compliment, could you make it sound a little more like one…?”
Apparently he had gotten it right.
Anonymous 1 pressed on.
“Keep showing her the Monghwa Hwanyeongbo as I instructed. As for deception—you will teach that part.”
“What? Me?”
“Shall this old man, who has walked nothing but the pure, upright, stainless path his entire life, teach her to deceive?”
The words what kind of nonsense is that had nearly left Hajun’s throat when Anonymous 1 spoke again.
“The martial path is not a journey of chasing another’s answers, but of finding one’s own. Only upon reaching the realm of Break Then Establish—Pahu-rip—does one stand as a true martial artist.”
Without breaking, one cannot establish.
It was an old tenet of the martial world: you must not merely follow what others taught you—you had to refine it into something that was yours alone.
“Through imitation, you have already reached the stages of form and pattern. But the stages beyond—art and intent—are different. In real combat, you must find the answers yourself. You decide when to use which move.”
He waved his hand through the air at random.
“To free yourself from fixed sequences and draw the right technique at the perfect instant—that is the road to art and intent. And for that, you too must never stop thinking.”
“…So you weren’t only teaching Han Yumae.”
Anonymous 1 grinned and rested a hand on Ye Hajun’s head.
“Unlike those gallery blockheads, this old man has actually taught disciples before. If you mean to stand as a martial artist of the jianghu, you will have to stand on your own someday. Consider this an early lesson.”
The door opened; Han Yumae was returning. Anonymous 1 left one last remark.
“Teaching Yumae will be no small study for you either. Go on—wrap that head of yours around it. Hahahaha!”
With the laugh, his smoke faded, and Han Yumae stood in the space beyond.
“Did you get some rest, Hajun?”
“…My head just hurts more.”
“Hm?”
“Nothing. Talking to myself.”
Ye Hajun turned the conversation with Anonymous 1 over in his mind and sank into thought.
At least he had an answer.
Han Yumae’s honesty made her moves easy to read—so leave that alone. Train a single deception technique to the absolute limit.
He suddenly realized his own thinking mirrored the forms of the Monghwa Hwanyeongbo.
The Monghwa Hwanyeongbo starts honest too—big, flashy, straight lines.
Then it twists, and the deception begins.
But that part doesn’t suit Han Yumae.
What she needs is—
The final form of the Monghwa Hwanyeongbo. Illusion Dream Shatter.
A dream does not last forever. The one who ends it is the one who decides when it ends.
That instant has to become the moment of deception.
With a rough plan in place, Ye Hajun looked at her.
“Yumae.”
“Yeah?”
“Your swordsmanship… is really good. I think it’s excellent.”
“Th-that so?”
At the sudden praise, Han Yumae ducked her head, scratching at her hair in embarrassment.
“But because of that, Gal Hyeonsang can read you completely. So can I.”
“Huh?”
“You’re too honest. The next attack is written all over you.”
As he spoke, he copied one of her forms with his good arm.
“The shift of your shoulder, the direction of your gaze, the catch in your breath. Every part of your stance is telling the other person that an attack is coming for sure.”
The words hit Han Yumae like a blow. For a martial artist, being told an enemy can read your every move was as good as a death sentence in real combat.
For a heartbeat she teetered toward despair—
“But all of that shows who you are, and I like that. So let’s use it.”
“Use… it?”
“You keep doing exactly what you’ve been doing. We just add one thing—until the rematch with Gal Hyeonsang in two weeks.”
Ye Hajun gave her a single assignment.
“Somehow—any way you can—completely fool me.”
“F-fool you…?”
She looked lost. He closed the distance in a sudden rush and put his face right in front of hers.
“Surprised?”
“I was. You moved so suddenly.”
“You’re flustered—your breathing and eyes are all over the place, your thoughts scattered—”
With the left hand he had kept hidden, he jabbed her in the side.
A sharp yelp burst out of her.
“Eek!”
“See? An opening.”
“What was that for all of a sudden…?”
“That’s what illusion swordsmanship needs. You get the idea?”
“…Yeah.”
“So for the next two weeks. Fool me completely—by any means.”
“By any means?”
“Any means. Lie to me. Fake an injury mid-spar. Whatever it takes. And if you can’t…”
His voice went cold.
“You will never beat Gal Hyeonsang. Not even if he drops dead and comes back.”