I'm Not Teaching You
The training ground was quiet.
A yellow safety fence stood cordoned off before the collapsed wall.
Scheduled Restoration: To Be Determined
Yuhan lingered in front of it for a moment.
To be determined.
…What a relief.
Seeing that nobody had brought up the forty-eight million won repair bill yet, it seemed no one had figured out what caused it.
Whoosh.
A faint rush of air drifted from the opposite side of the hall. Yuhan turned his head.
Seorin was there, gripping a wooden sword in her left hand.
His expression hardened. Athletic tape was wound thick around her right shoulder, pinning her arm almost completely flush against her torso.
…She blew it out.
It had happened even sooner than he anticipated.
"Hey."
Seorin whipped around, her eyes widening in surprise.
"…Mister?"
"Your shoulder."
"…Ah, this? I just tweaked it a bit—"
"Over here."
Yuhan sat on a bench and gestured for her to take a seat beside him. When he ripped the tape away, a sharp gasp slipped past her lips.
"Don't move."
He laid a firm hand upon her shoulder, his thumb pressing beneath her scapula. Seorin flinched violently.
"Hurts here, doesn't it."
"…Yes."
"What about here?"
"…Agh!"
"Yeah. Rotator cuff."
Yuhan took hold of her arm, shifting angles as he gently rotated the joint several times. Then, in one clean motion—
Pop.
"Aaargh!"
"Done."
Seorin blinked in disbelief, gingerly touching her shoulder.
"…Huh? Wait, what?"
"Try moving it."
Her arm lifted. The very limb that had seized up at ninety degrees just yesterday now reached smoothly above her head.
"…How did you do that?"
"It wasn't dislocated. Just impinged." Yuhan dusted off his hands and stood up. "Take two weeks off. And I mean real rest. If you don't, next time it really will tear."
Seorin rolled her arm a few more times before quietly looking up.
"…Mister."
"Yeah."
"Where did you learn how to do that?"
Walking toward the vending machine, Yuhan stopped in his tracks.
"…Done it a lot."
"Done what a lot?"
"……"
Without answering, he dropped a coin into the slot.
Clack.
A can of coffee dropped into the retrieval tray.
He had done it a lot. At twenty-five, he had reset someone else's shoulder for the first time. By thirty, he could do it with his eyes closed. By forty, he was setting twenty shoulders a day.
And among all the people whose joints he had pieced back together, not a single one was still alive today.
"Mister?"
Yuhan blinked, breaking from the haze.
"…Yeah."
"Two coffees came out."
"……"
He stared down at the two cans. He must have hit the button twice without thinking.
"…Drink up."
He tossed one to Seorin, and the two sat side by side on the bench. She cracked open the tab.
"Mister."
"Yeah."
"Please take me as your disciple."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I said no."
"Is it because I don't have talent?"
"Told you, that's not it."
"Because I'm too weak?"
"No."
"Then—"
"If I teach you, you'll get strong."
Seorin fell silent. Yuhan held the can between both hands, staring straight ahead at the ruined wall.
"And when you get stronger, you'll go deeper."
"……"
"And when you go deeper, stronger things will come out."
"……"
"Then you'll try to beat them using what I taught you." Yuhan tilted the can back. "…And that's how you'll die."
Silence settled over the training ground, broken only by the low hum of the vending machine.
Seorin asked softly, "…Has that happened before?"
"……"
"Someone you taught… did they—"
"Cha Seorin."
His voice dropped low, entirely stripped of its usual laid-back flippancy.
Seorin shut her mouth.
Yuhan drained the rest of the can and pushed himself up from the bench.
"Rest for two weeks. And don't look for me."
"I don't want to."
Yuhan paused and looked back. Seorin remained seated, staring up at him. Her eyes were rimmed red, yet not a single tear fell.
"Nobody taught me for three whole years."
"……"
"Ever since I was twelve, all I heard was that I had no talent. I failed the academy entrance exam, and at home they treat me like I don't exist." Seorin squeezed the can in her grip. The aluminum crumpled with a sharp pop. "Yet within three minutes, you figured out why my shoulder hurt."
"……"
"For three years, I didn't even know that much."
Yuhan said nothing.
"Are you scared of dying?"
"…Yeah."
"Who is? Me, or you?"
The question struck dead center. For the first time, Yuhan found no reply.
"…I'm leaving."
He turned his back.
"Mister!"
"I'm not teaching you."
The iron door creaked open.
"I'll be here tomorrow, too!"
"I told you to rest!"
"I'll rest while I'm here!"
Slam.
The door shut with a heavy thud.
The corridor outside was dim, two of its fluorescent bulbs long burned out. Yuhan leaned back against the cold concrete and slowly slid down to the floor.
Who's scared?
…I don't die.
The problem is that I never die.
A burning fortress gate flickered across his memory. Someone had been screaming his name through the smoke and ash. But by the time he finally arrived, there was no one left.
Yuhan buried his face in both hands.
"…Hah."
From down the hall, the vending machine droned on in the dark.
Three days later.
He was standing on basement level three once more.
…Just one phrase.
I'll say just one thing and walk away.
That much is just backseat advice, not teaching.
Yuhan pushed open the iron door.
And froze.
Seorin was swinging a sword with her left hand.
After he had explicitly told her to rest for two weeks.
A vein pulsed at Yuhan's temple.
"…Hey."