Day 8
My body had stopped screaming and started whispering.
The transition from acute agony to dull, persistent ache marked progress. Muscles were adapting, neural pathways forming, the body slowly accepting its new reality of constant stress.
I stood in the pre-dawn darkness outside Yoon's forge, holding the horse stance. Eight minutes and counting. My thighs burned, sweat dripped despite the cool air, but I maintained form.
Baseline: Day 1 — 5 minutes before collapse
Current: Day 8 — 8 minutes, form degrading at 7:30
Target: 60 minutes with perfect form
Progress rate: Acceptable
"Nine minutes," Yoon called from where he sat watching. "You can stop."
I straightened slowly, legs trembling. "I could have continued."
"Your form was breaking down. Training with bad form builds bad habits." He stood and tossed me a water skin. "Drink. Then we work on footwork."
I drank deeply, analyzing the session. Nine minutes was progress, but at this rate, reaching sixty minutes would take months. I needed to optimize.
"Question," I said. "Why does stance training improve combat ability? The biomechanical connection isn't obvious."
Yoon raised an eyebrow. "You sound like a scholar, not a fighter."
"I'm trying to understand the underlying principles. If I know why something works, I can improve faster."
He considered this, then nodded. "Fair enough. Stance training builds root—your connection to the ground. In a fight, if your root is weak, any strong attack will knock you over. But if your root is strong, you can absorb impacts, redirect force, maintain balance even when off-center."
"So it's about stability and force distribution."
"In fancy words, yes." He moved into a stance. "But it's also about Ki. Your body has energy pathways—meridians. Proper stance aligns these pathways, allows Ki to flow naturally. Eventually, you'll feel it."
Ki. The mysterious energy that powered martial arts in this world. I'd read about it in Jin Seo-yun's fragmentary memories, but understanding it intellectually and experiencing it were different things.
"How will I know when I feel it?"
"You'll know. It's like... warmth, but from inside. Like your blood is carrying fire instead of just oxygen." He demonstrated a punch, and I could have sworn I saw a faint shimmer around his fist. "Once you can sense your Ki, real training begins. Until then, you're just building the foundation."
I filed away the information, adding it to my growing database of martial knowledge.
"Now, footwork," Yoon said. "Watch carefully."
He moved through a series of steps—forward, back, lateral, diagonal. Each movement was precise, weight shifting smoothly from foot to foot. He made it look effortless.
"Your turn."
I tried to replicate the pattern. My feet tangled. I stumbled, barely catching myself.
Yoon sighed. "You have the coordination of a newborn deer."
"Deer are actually quite coordinated shortly after birth. They can walk within—"
"It's an expression, boy."
"Ah. Inefficient communication method." I reset my stance. "Again."
We drilled footwork for an hour. By the end, I could complete the basic pattern without falling, though it was far from smooth.
"Adequate," Yoon said, which I was learning was high praise from him. "Now get to Kang's shop before he notices you're late."
Merchant Kang was in a foul mood.
"You're late," he snapped as I entered.
"The sun just—"
"I don't care about the sun. I care about my time, which you're wasting." He thrust a ledger at me. "These accounts don't balance. Find the error."
I took the ledger and began reviewing. The numbers were deliberately wrong—expenses inflated, income understated. This wasn't an error. This was a test.
Was he checking if I'd notice the discrepancies? Or checking if I'd report them?
I spent an hour "searching" for problems, then approached him.
"I found several discrepancies. Should I correct them, or do you want to review first?"
His eyes narrowed. "What kind of discrepancies?"
"Expenses listed higher than receipts indicate. Income recorded lower than customer payments. Could be transcription errors, or..." I let the implication hang.
"Or what?"
"Or intentional adjustments for tax purposes. Not my business either way. I just maintain the books as instructed."
He studied me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Smart boy. Yes, make the corrections. And remember—what you see in these books stays in these books."
"Understood."
I'd passed his test. He now knew I was observant but discreet. Useful but not dangerous.
Perfect.
As I worked, a commotion outside drew my attention. Raised voices, someone crying.
I looked out to see a thin man—Chen, the debtor from before—arguing with one of Kang's enforcers.
"Please, you have to help me find her! She's only ten years old!"
"Not my problem, Chen. You want help, pay your debts first."
"I can't pay if I'm searching for my daughter! Just give me a few days—"
"A few days to do what? Run away? I don't think so." The enforcer shoved Chen, sending him sprawling. "Now get lost before I add interest for wasting my time."
Chen picked himself up, tears streaming down his face, and stumbled away.
I filed away the information. Chen's daughter was missing. Kang's people refused to help. Interesting.
"Boy!" Kang called. "Stop gawking and get back to work."
That evening, I found Min-ji waiting outside Kang's shop.
"Seo-yun," she said, her expression worried. "Can we talk?"
"Of course."
We walked toward the village edge, away from listening ears.
"It's about Hana," Min-ji said. "Chen's daughter. She's my friend. She's been missing since yesterday, and no one's helping look for her."
"The village elder?"
"Says he'll organize a search party tomorrow. Tomorrow! She could be hurt, or lost, or..." Her voice cracked.
I processed the situation. A missing child. Delayed response from authorities. Kang's people actively obstructing.
"Do you know where she was last seen?"
"Near the forest edge, collecting herbs with her mother. She wandered off, and when her mother looked up, she was gone."
"Any signs of struggle?"
"I don't know. No one's checked properly." She looked at me with desperate eyes. "Will you help me look? I know you're tired from work, but—"
"I'll help."
Relief flooded her face. "Thank you. I knew I could count on you."
We spent the next hour searching the forest edge, calling Hana's name. No response. But I found something interesting—tracks. Small feet, running. And larger feet, following.
"Someone chased her," I said, pointing out the tracks.
Min-ji's face went pale. "You mean someone took her?"
"Possibly. Or she ran from something and someone followed to help. The tracks lead deeper into the forest."
"We should follow them."
"Not in the dark. We'd lose the trail, and potentially get lost ourselves." I studied the tracks, memorizing their pattern. "Tomorrow, early. We'll follow them properly."
"But what if—"
"If someone took her, they took her hours ago. A few more hours won't change that. But going in blind and unprepared could get us killed, which won't help her."
Min-ji looked like she wanted to argue, but finally nodded. "You're right. I just... I feel so helpless."
"Helplessness is temporary. We'll find her."
As we walked back, Min-ji suddenly stopped. "Seo-yun, can I show you something? It's... secret."
"Alright."
She led me to a clearing behind the forge, hidden from view. A wooden post stood in the center, its surface covered in strike marks. A staff leaned against a nearby tree.
"I've been practicing," she said quietly. "Father doesn't know. He thinks I'm just helping in the forge, but I've been watching him train you. Copying the movements."
She picked up the staff and moved through a basic form. It was rough, unpolished, but the foundation was there.
"Why keep it secret?" I asked.
"Because Father would stop me. He thinks the martial world is too dangerous for me. That I should learn a trade, find a husband, live a normal life." Her grip tightened on the staff. "But I don't want normal. I want to be strong. Strong enough that no one can hurt me or the people I care about."
I understood that motivation intimately.
"Your form is inefficient," I said.
Her face fell. "Oh."
"But correctable. Your stance is too narrow—it limits your power generation. And your grip is too tight—it restricts wrist mobility. Here." I adjusted her position. "Feet shoulder-width apart. Knees slightly bent. Staff held firmly but not rigidly. Now strike."
She struck the post. The impact was noticeably stronger.
"How did you—you've only been training for a week!"
"I observe. I analyze. I optimize." I demonstrated the strike myself, though my execution was far from perfect. "Your father teaches through experience and intuition. I can teach through analysis and breakdown. Different methods, both valid."
"Will you help me train? In secret?"
I considered the request. Training Min-ji would take time and energy I could use for my own development. But it would also create a stronger ally, someone who could help with future conflicts.
And there was something else. Something I couldn't quite quantify. When she looked at me with those hopeful eyes, I felt... something. A desire to help that went beyond cold calculation.
Was this what humans called caring?
"I'll help," I said. "But you need to tell your father eventually. Secrets like this have a way of coming out at the worst times."
"I will. Once I'm good enough that he can't say no." She smiled, and that strange feeling in my chest intensified. "Thank you, Seo-yun. For everything."
That night, I lay awake in Grandmother Cho's house, thinking about the day's events.
Chen's missing daughter. The tracks in the forest. Min-ji's secret training. Kang's tests and surveillance.
The variables were multiplying, the situation growing more complex. But complexity could be managed through systematic analysis.
CURRENT PRIORITIES:
1. Find Hana (humanitarian concern + information gathering)
2. Continue training (physical improvement essential)
3. Maintain cover with Kang (access to intelligence)
4. Train Min-ji (ally development)
5. Prepare for eventual confrontation (timeline uncertain)
HYPOTHESIS: Hana's disappearance connected to Kang's operation. Possible human trafficking, as suggested by earlier evidence. If confirmed, this provides moral justification for eliminating Kang and tactical advantage (villagers would support action against child trafficker).
REQUIRED DATA: Follow tracks tomorrow. Determine Hana's location. Assess threat level. Plan extraction if necessary.
I closed my eyes, but sleep didn't come easily. My mind kept returning to Min-ji's smile, to Chen's tears, to the small footprints running in fear.
A girl's laughter. Min-ji, younger, playing in the forge. Jin Seo-yun watching, feeling warm and nervous and happy.
The memory wasn't mine, but the emotion it carried was becoming mine. I was integrating with this body, this life, these people.
Was that good or bad? I didn't know.
But I knew I would find Hana. Not because it was strategically optimal, though it was.
Because it was right.
And I was learning that sometimes, rightness mattered more than efficiency.
Day 9 — Pre-dawn
I met Min-ji at the forest edge as the first light touched the sky. She carried her staff. I carried a knife borrowed from Yoon's forge.
"Ready?" I asked.
"Ready."
We followed the tracks deeper into the forest. They led us away from the village, toward the mountains. After an hour of careful tracking, we found something.
A campsite. Recently abandoned. Signs of a struggle—disturbed earth, broken branches. And something else.
A piece of cloth, torn from a child's dress.
"This is Hana's," Min-ji whispered, her voice shaking. "I recognize the pattern. Her mother made it."
I examined the campsite more carefully. Multiple sets of footprints. Adult males, at least three. They'd stayed here overnight, then moved on.
And the direction they'd gone led toward the bandit camp Yoon and I had learned about.
My blood went cold—not metaphorically, but literally. Temperature drop, vasoconstriction, the body's response to danger recognition.
"We need to go back," I said. "Now."
"But Hana—"
"Is with the bandits. We can't rescue her alone. We need help."
"The village elder—"
"Is compromised. We go to your father. He'll know what to do."
We ran back to the village, and I felt something I hadn't experienced since my transmigration.
True urgency. Not calculated risk assessment, but genuine fear for another person's safety.
I was becoming human.
And it terrified me.
END CHAPTER 6