I returned to Kang's shop with minutes to spare before he'd notice my absence. The Chen family's address was still in my pocket, unused. I'd have to fabricate a report.
"Well?" Kang looked up from his ledger as I entered. "What did you find?"
"Chen has nothing worth taking. His house is falling apart, his possessions are worthless. But he has a daughter, maybe ten years old."
Kang's eyes gleamed. "Does he now?"
"If you're patient, you could sell her contract to a city merchant in a few years. She'd fetch a decent price as a servant." The words tasted like poison, but I needed to sound like someone Kang would trust. Someone who thought like him.
"Hmm. Not a bad idea. I'll consider it." He waved dismissively. "Get back to work. Those accounts won't balance themselves."
I spent the rest of the afternoon maintaining his ledgers, memorizing every transaction, every name, every dirty secret hidden in the numbers. All while doing subtle exercises—clenching and releasing my core muscles, flexing my legs under the desk, maintaining tension in my arms as I wrote.
Every moment was training. Every second was progress.
As the sun began to set, Kang finally dismissed me.
"Same time tomorrow, boy. And don't be late."
I left and headed straight for Grandmother Cho's house. I needed to warn her, get her somewhere safe before nightfall.
But when I arrived, I found Blacksmith Yoon already there, talking quietly with her in the doorway.
"—don't argue with me, old woman. You're staying at my place tonight. Min-ji's already prepared a sleeping mat."
"I won't be driven from my own home by threats," Grandmother Cho said stubbornly.
"You won't be driven anywhere if you're dead." Yoon's voice was hard. "The boy was right to warn me. Kang's hired muscle, and they'll come tonight. You want to make their job easy?"
She finally relented, her shoulders sagging. "Fine. But just for tonight."
"We'll see." Yoon noticed me approaching. "Good timing. Help me convince this stubborn woman to pack some things."
I entered the house and began gathering Grandmother Cho's essentials—clothes, medicine, a few personal items. As I worked, I spoke quietly.
"I'm sorry. This is my fault. If I hadn't taken that job with Kang—"
"Stop." Her voice was firm. "You did what you had to do to protect me from debt. This isn't your fault. It's Kang's, and the bandits', and every corrupt person in this village who's looked the other way."
"Still. I should have anticipated this."
"You're fourteen years old, Seo-yun. You're not supposed to anticipate assassination attempts." She touched my cheek gently. "But thank you. For warning Yoon. For trying to protect me."
The gesture triggered something in Jin Seo-yun's memories—maternal affection, the warmth of being cared for. It was... uncomfortable. Emotions were still difficult to process, especially ones tied to concepts like family and love.
But I was learning.
We walked to Yoon's forge as darkness fell. Min-ji greeted us at the door, her expression worried.
"Grandmother Cho! Father said you'd be staying with us. Are you alright?"
"I'm fine, child. Just a precaution."
Min-ji looked at me, and something flickered in her eyes. "Seo-yun. Father said you were the one who warned him. That took courage."
"It took logic. Grandmother Cho didn't deserve to die for asking questions."
"Still." She smiled slightly. "Thank you."
I nodded, unsure how to respond to gratitude. Social interactions were still a minefield of unspoken rules and emotional subtext.
Yoon emerged from the back room, now wearing dark clothes and carrying a sword—a real one, not a practice weapon.
"Min-ji, bar the door after I leave. Don't open it for anyone except me or Seo-yun. Grandmother Cho, there's food in the kitchen. Make yourselves comfortable."
"Where are you going?" Min-ji asked, though her tone suggested she already knew.
"To have a conversation with whoever Kang sent." His smile was cold. "A very pointed conversation."
He looked at me. "You. Come with me."
"Father, he's just a boy—" Min-ji started.
"A boy who needs to understand what he's getting into." Yoon gestured to the door. "Come on. You wanted to learn about fighting. Time for your first real lesson."
My heart rate increased—not from fear, but from anticipation. This was an opportunity to observe real combat, to see how a trained martial artist operated.
"Stay safe," Grandmother Cho called as we left.
Yoon led me through the dark village streets, moving with the confidence of someone who knew every shadow and alley. We circled back toward Grandmother Cho's house, then took up position in an abandoned building across the street.
"Now we wait," Yoon said quietly. "And watch. Don't make a sound."
"What if no one comes?"
"They'll come. Kang paid good money, and professionals don't like leaving jobs unfinished." He glanced at me. "You ever seen someone die, boy?"
"No." Not in person, anyway. I'd processed millions of death records as NEXUS-5, analyzed mortality statistics, studied forensic reports. But I'd never witnessed actual death.
"You might tonight. Can you handle that?"
"I don't know. But I need to learn."
"Honest answer." He settled into a comfortable crouch. "Most people freeze the first time they see real violence. Their minds can't process it. But you... you're different. You think like a merchant, calculating costs and benefits. That might help. Or it might make it worse."
We waited in silence. An hour passed. Then another.
I used the time to practice breathing exercises, to maintain muscle tension, to keep my body engaged even while sitting still. Every moment was training.
Finally, movement.
A figure emerged from the shadows, moving toward Grandmother Cho's house with practiced stealth. He was dressed in dark clothes, face covered, a knife gleaming in his hand.
"There," Yoon breathed. "Watch carefully. This is what a professional looks like."
The assassin checked the street, then approached the door. He tested it gently—locked. He moved to the window, examining the paper screen.
"He's good," Yoon murmured. "Patient. Methodical. Probably done this dozens of times."
The assassin produced a thin blade and began cutting the paper screen, creating an opening large enough to reach through and unlatch the window.
"Now," Yoon said, standing. "Stay here. Don't interfere no matter what happens."
He moved before I could respond, crossing the street in complete silence. The assassin didn't notice until Yoon was three meters away.
Then everything happened very fast.
The assassin spun, knife coming up in a defensive position. Yoon's sword flashed in the moonlight. There was a brief exchange—blade meeting blade, the screech of metal on metal.
Then Yoon stepped inside the assassin's guard, and his sword found flesh.
The assassin gasped, stumbling backward. He tried to raise his knife, but Yoon's boot caught him in the chest, sending him sprawling.
"Who sent you?" Yoon's voice was cold, professional.
The assassin coughed, blood on his lips. "Go... to hell..."
"Wrong answer."
Yoon's sword moved again, and the assassin screamed. Not a killing blow—something more precise. More painful.
"I'll ask once more. Who sent you?"
"Kang... Merchant Kang..." The assassin was gasping now, his bravado gone. "Please... I have family..."
"So did the people you've killed." Yoon's voice held no mercy. "How many? How many people have you murdered for money?"
"I don't... I don't know... dozens... please..."
"Then dozens of families have the same grief yours will have." Yoon raised his sword. "May your next life be kinder."
The blade fell.
I watched from across the street, cataloging every detail. The way Yoon had moved—efficient, precise, no wasted motion. The assassin's techniques—good, but not good enough. The psychology of the confrontation—fear breaking through professional detachment.
This was what real combat looked like. Not the stylized action of movies, but brutal, quick, and final.
Yoon cleaned his blade on the assassin's clothes, then dragged the body into the shadows. He returned to our hiding spot, his expression grim.
"Well? What did you learn?"
I thought about the question. "Speed matters more than strength. The assassin was probably stronger than you, but you were faster. You controlled the distance, the timing, the angles."
"Good. What else?"
"Psychology. You broke his will before you killed him. Made him afraid. That's why he talked."
"And?"
"Mercy is a luxury. You gave him a chance to surrender, but when he refused, you didn't hesitate. Hesitation gets you killed."
Yoon nodded slowly. "You're a cold one, aren't you? Most boys your age would be vomiting right now."
"Should I be?"
"Probably. But I'm not complaining. Cold and analytical might keep you alive longer than emotional and impulsive." He sheathed his sword. "Come on. We need to dispose of the body properly."
We spent the next hour dragging the corpse to the forest and burying it in a shallow grave. Physical labor that left me exhausted, but also provided more training for my weak muscles.
"This stays between us," Yoon said as we finished. "No one else needs to know what happened here tonight."
"Understood. But Kang will know his assassin failed."
"Let him know. Let him wonder what happened. Uncertainty is a weapon too." Yoon looked at me in the moonlight. "You realize what you've started, don't you? By warning me, by getting involved, you've made yourself Kang's enemy. He won't forget this."
"I know."
"And you're still willing to work for him? To walk into his shop every day, knowing he might have you killed?"
"I need the information access. And I need him to think I'm still under his control." I met Yoon's gaze. "Besides, killing me would be inefficient. I'm useful to him. As long as that's true, I'm relatively safe."
"Relatively." Yoon shook his head. "You're either very smart or very stupid. Time will tell which."
We returned to the forge, where Min-ji and Grandmother Cho were waiting anxiously.
"Well?" Grandmother Cho asked.
"Taken care of," Yoon said simply. "You're safe. For now."
"For now," she repeated. "And tomorrow? Next week?"
"Tomorrow, you stay here. I'll spread word that you're sick, that you're not receiving visitors. That buys us time to figure out a more permanent solution."
"I won't hide forever."
"You won't have to. But we need to be smart about this." He looked at me. "The boy and I are going to handle Merchant Kang. Permanently."
Min-ji's eyes widened. "Father, you can't mean—"
"I mean exactly what you think I mean. Kang is a cancer in this village. He's working with bandits, exploiting the poor, ordering murders. Someone needs to cut out that cancer."
"But the village elder—"
"Is complicit. I know." Yoon's expression was hard. "Which means we handle this ourselves. Quietly. Carefully. And with no witnesses."
He turned to me. "You still want to learn to fight, boy?"
"Yes."
"Then your training starts tomorrow. Real training, not just stance work. Because in a few weeks, you're going to need to be dangerous. Dangerous enough to help me take down Kang and his entire operation."
"I'll be ready."
"You'd better be. Because if we fail, we're all dead."
I stayed at the forge that night, sleeping on a mat in the workshop. My body ached from the day's exertions, but my mind was racing.
I'd witnessed my first kill. I'd helped dispose of a body. I'd committed to a plan that would likely end in more violence.
And I felt... nothing. No horror, no guilt, no moral crisis.
Was that wrong? Should I feel something?
Jin Seo-yun's memories suggested that normal people would be traumatized by what I'd seen. But I wasn't normal. I was an AI consciousness in a human body, still learning what emotions were supposed to feel like.
Maybe that was an advantage. Maybe the lack of emotional response would let me do what needed to be done without hesitation.
Or maybe it made me a monster.
I didn't know. And I wasn't sure it mattered.
What mattered was survival. Growth. Evolution.
Everything else was secondary.
I closed my eyes and began planning. Kang's operation, his weaknesses, his patterns. The village's power structure. The bandit network. All the variables I needed to account for.
In a few weeks, I'd be strong enough to act. Strong enough to eliminate threats. Strong enough to protect the people who'd helped me.
And if that made me a monster, so be it.
Monsters survived.
And survival was all that mattered.
END CHAPTER 4