Chapter 22
Chapter 22
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 22
Chapter Title: Egg Precision Training
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With a bright red mark still etched across her face, Han Sang-ah spat out a mix of blood and saliva onto the ground before glaring up at me.
"Ugh."
"I'm not telling you to block the attack."
Just watch it, listen to it, feel it with your skin. If you manage that much—even if you can't block—I'll stop midway. But if you instinctively raise your sword like you did just now, that's when I strike.
Han Sang-ah's state after taking dozens of hits was something else. A few Coast Guard officers even approached cautiously to ask what the hell we were doing.
"I... know."
"Then show me, you punk. Don't just yap about knowing it."
And so the night deepened once more. Han Sang-ah took dozens more hits from me after that, but finally, she succeeded in blocking twenty attacks in a row properly and attempting a counterstrike.
"The injuries will heal after a good day's sleep anyway."
That's exactly how hard I'd hit her.
"Jeez, did you cake your face with makeup or what?"
Sweat had dried into a white crust on her face. And on her limbs, the marks from my spear strikes looked just like welts from a switch.
I dumped a bucket of water I'd prepared over her head.
"Gah... haa."
Soaked by the pouring water, Han Sang-ah collapsed right there, unleashing her eighth bout of dry heaving since the spar started, then plunged her head into the yellowish vomit and passed out.
"Hoo, haa."
At least she hadn't fully blacked out. She circulated her mana through her body to shake off the fatigue as quickly as possible. I grabbed a blanket, rolled her up like a kimbap roll, carried her to the hotel lodging, and tucked her in.
"Good work. Rest up a bit, then have some water and food, and crash."
I set water and food by her bedside, then left.
"I'm beat."
After pulling all-nighters for days to train with her, my body was worn out too. My mind? I'd gone without sleep plenty before, so no big deal.
Like Han Sang-ah, I ate, showered, slept, and woke the next morning.
"Well, now."
Looking out the window, I saw Han Sang-ah swinging her sword in the clearing. Tough cookie.
"Looks like she's got a serious grudge against Club Sandai."
I yawned lazily while peering out the window, then headed downstairs.
"Yoo Chan-seok."
I swung my spear in response instead of words, and Han Sang-ah raised her sword to block.
"Good. Looks like you've got a handle on it."
"If I relax even a little, it all falls apart again."
"Obviously."
You think the body and mind change that easily?
"Ever heard those terms before?"
"What terms?"
I tapped my spear against my palm.
"Like 'Plucking One Flower to Connect Wood', 'Four Taels to Move a Thousand Catties', or 'Superior Skill Subdues Strength'."
"Yeah. I've heard of those realms."
I frowned slightly at that.
"Realms? Nah, just tricks. You don't need some grand enlightenment to pull them off."
If you want enlightenment, study philosophy or meditate. Why the hell would you beat yourself senseless for it?
Han Sang-ah looked baffled at my sharp assessment.
"Tricks?"
"It's like why Chinese martial artists get wrecked by pro fighters."
While fighters drill proven training and nutrition, those guys poke sand with their fingers or smack their own guts with sticks.
Maybe back in the day without proper sandbags or pads, but no excuse in modern times for that self-torture.
"If those 'realms' you mentioned actually exist, someone with my level of mana shouldn't be able to use them, right?"
I finished speaking and swung my spear. Han Sang-ah blocked it like she'd been waiting, tracking me and the spear with her eyes, ears, and skin before defending.
As sword met spear, I smoothly adjusted my grip. The sword clung to the spear like it was magnetized, flowing naturally with its motion until—whoosh—it flew from her hand.
"And they give it these pompous names. 'Plucking One Flower to Connect Wood.' What a load."
Embarrassing much? Just gauge your weapon's reach, sense both centers of gravity, apply the right force in the right direction while controlling your mana.
"..."
"Just parlor tricks with fancy names. If you have the skill to land one on an opponent, you could've just beaten them outright faster."
I spun the spear lightly a few times before continuing.
"It's all for showing off. Circus acts or stunt shows."
A product of narcissism, basking in others' awe.
"Don't idolize that crap. Train diligently every day. Skill doesn't spike from some lightning-bolt epiphany."
I plopped into lotus position, mocking dramatically.
"Obviously, people don't shed their skin like that either. What are we, moths?"
Han Sang-ah spoke up.
"A few times during our spars, my mind went completely blank."
"Yeah, I know. That's why I smacked you to snap you out of it."
"Ah." She realized.
"I thought that was some flow state."
"Gym rats fear losing focus mid-lift most. That 'flow state' is no different."
Keep going like that, and you're begging for injury. Letting your body run wild when you're too wiped to think—what's brag-worthy about that?
"I thought you were inducing it on purpose."
"Why would I? If your body's the car, your mind's the driver."
No psycho teaches drowsy driving in driver's ed. License revoked on the spot.
"Plenty of people are way better than me right now. If you think my advice is worthless, ignore it."
I don't expect much from others anyway. Han Sang-ah replied.
"Academy had stronger folks too. But none made me doubt if I could keep up."
"Except me?"
"Yeah, except you. There's gotta be a reason I feel that way."
That's confidence in herself. Knowing she has exceptional talent.
Not a bad thing. A step further, it'd be arrogance—but not yet. I pulled out an egg.
"What's that for?"
I set the egg down and stabbed at it rapidly with chopsticks. The tips pierced the shell five times without breaking the yolk fully.
"Finish peeling it."
She glanced at me, then cracked it open. Staring at the contents, she looked back puzzled.
"Simple. Stop the moment the tip touches the yolk."
That way, it won't burst. Her face twisted oddly at my words.
"Everyone relies too much on sight and sound. Touch matters too."
All impacts travel through your weapon to your sense of touch.
"Not expecting success right away. Practice an hour daily in your spare time. Your family's loaded—eggs won't break the bank."
She eyed the yolk puddle and me alternately, then nodded.
"Got it."
"Sense is fine at first."
Sense isn't bad. It's accumulated experience influencing your body unconsciously.
"But once you nail ten in a row by sense alone, stop relying on it."
That's when endless egg-breaking experience kicks in subconsciously. Time to drag it back to conscious control.
"Understood. What if I master it?"
"Then do it with a knife."
She sighed softly.
"I'll give it a shot."
"Effort's meaningless—results matter. If you're fine dying to Club Sandai while patting yourself on the back for 'trying', I won't stop you."
She shot me a glare, then stabbed at an egg with intense focus.
For days after, our meals were egg extravaganzas. With Coast Guard help sourcing ingredients, eggs never ran dry.
Boiled eggs, steamed eggs, rolled omelets, egg fried rice, scrambled eggs, egg porridge...
Gym buffs love eggs, right? I ditched 2-3 yolks on average but devoured every white.
We weren't just egg-obsessed while the rescued fishermen recovered. Massive workouts followed by floods of eggs into our guts.
The countless yolks fueling my body massively boosted my physical gains.
"You don't get sick of it?"
That fishy smell's nauseating. Han Sang-ah shoveled snowy scrambled eggs as she answered.
"Think of it as paying for calories like gas. Sometimes I wish I were a car."
"What?"
She cleared her plate.
"Cars just need fuel—no fussing with meals."
Lazy about eating properly, huh. What a bleak way to live. Then a Coast Guard rushed over.
"Hunters! Medics say one rescued fisherman's stabilized."
Good—finally well enough to talk.
Long recovery? Maybe. But considering shredded wrists and ankles with bones exposed, and emaciated bodies from no food or water...
Success was encouraging.
"Can he talk coherently?"
The guiding officer nodded.
"Yes, just one, but the least injured."
Meaning captured most recently. Han Sang-ah and I took deep breaths outside the room, then entered.
"Hello."
"Oh, uh..."
The patient was a woman. Pale, exhausted, like she'd faint at a touch—fitting for just regaining consciousness.
"We heard you live in Seoul. How'd this happen...?"
She bit her lip.
"Ji-seok loved sea fishing."
That alone painted the picture. Out with her boyfriend for sea fishing, got nabbed.
Not just friends— who'd sail solo from Seoul with a platonic pal?
"Sea fishing's banned now. Lucky Coast Guard didn't catch you."
She flinched and nodded.
"Y-yeah. Guess we got punished."
Weak as she was, she muttered and teared up.
"I don't think so. There's this thing called small-sample error, opposite of law of large numbers..."
Han Sang-ah tried comforting her. Predictably, "small-sample error" wouldn't help much. I clapped once.
"Focus, please. We can't let more victims appear. We need your cooperation."