Beon had walked the path of swordsmanship since he was a child.

Not as a hobby.

Not as a game.

But as a way of life.

Every day he trained—cutting, stepping, breathing, repeating—pushing past his limits until pain became familiar and exhaustion meaningless.

By the time he reached his prime, he had already gone further than most ever would.

People didn't call him a genius anymore.

They called him something else.

An ascended being.

His sword was so fast that the world itself failed to realize it had been cut.

By the time sound followed motion, the result was already decided.

Speed wasn't just his strength—it was his identity.

He was the founder of the Hidden Blade Technique, the fastest swordsman alive, a true sword supreme whose name carried weight even among masters.

With that strength came pride.

Beon was not cruel by nature. His calm demeanor came from discipline, not arrogance.

He respected those who earned it—those who struggled, improved, and faced their limits honestly.

But he despised one thing above all else.

Incompetence disguised as effort.

Talent wasted through hesitation.

Power mimicked but never understood.

In short—liars.

"Tsk…"

His tongue clicked sharply as his purple eyes sparked with faint arcs of lightning.

In the distance, a young woman continued her training.

It had been several days now.

She moved again and again with stubborn determination, her form rough, her breathing uneven.

From Beon's eyes, everything was there—the power, the instinct, the body capable of following through.

And yet…

Something was wrong.

She was pathetic.

And at the same time… full of promise.

Every swing carried force.

Every step held intent.

Her movements were not empty.

But no matter how closely he watched, something always felt missing.

As if she was standing at the edge of a door she couldn't open.

Incomplete.

Why?

Beon narrowed his eyes as lightning flickered around his gaze.

"The power is there," he muttered under his breath.

"The movement too… even the form."

Then why did it still feel wrong?

Why did every strike look like it stopped just short of becoming real?

His grip tightened unconsciously.

"…What are you missing?"

Swoosh—!

Dark smoke curled beside him without warning.

Beon didn't flinch. He simply shifted his gaze, already knowing who it was before the form fully appeared.

"Bom…"

The smoke settled, revealing a young woman with a relaxed smile, hands behind her back as if she hadn't just appeared out of thin air.

"I see you're back to your stalking habits again," she said lightly.

"I'm not stalking."

"Fufu. Sure." Bom tilted her head, clearly unconvinced. "First it was me when I was younger. Then Seo. Then Riley. And now…" Her eyes drifted toward the distant training grounds. "…you've even set your sights on a princess. Sigh. What am I supposed to do with my great-grandfather?"

"You're making it sound worse than it is," Beon replied flatly.

"That's because it is worse than it sounds," Bom muttered, though her tone held more amusement than criticism. "Still… I expected you to take interest in her. Just not like this. Watching her every day, analyzing every movement." She glanced back at him. "If you're that frustrated, why not just train her yourself?"

"You know I can't," Beon said immediately. "And besides… I have my reasons."

Bom sighed. This stubborn side of him never changed, no matter how many years passed.

"…Anyway," she said after a moment, crossing her arms, "you being here means Mother asked you to tail me again, right?"

Beon snorted. "So you noticed."

"Haha, well yes. Though even if it's rude, don't blame her too much." Bom smiled faintly. "You're a handful even for her."

"I know," Beon replied calmly. "Everything your mother does is for the family."

He glanced sideways at Bom.

"And it's not like you're actually sneaking around. I can only imagine the look on her face if she realized you're openly chatting with the person you're supposed to be spying on."

Bom laughed softly at that.

"She'd probably pretend she doesn't know," Bom said. "Just to keep the illusion alive."

Beon remained silent, his gaze fixed forward as Bom spoke beside him.

The wind stirred faintly around his cloak, carrying with it the scent of steel and frost from the distant training grounds.

As the head of both clan and family, he was bound by obligations heavier than any blade he had ever wielded—duties to blood, to legacy, and to balance.

And yet, the very complications born from those ties were what restrained him now.

He could not act freely. Not as he once had.

Still, there were limits.

And should anyone cross them, he would not hesitate to sever what needed cutting—family or not.

He had once fully intended to cut Aera off the moment her schemes began to surface.

Her ambitions, her manipulations, the quiet calculations hidden behind every smile—he had seen them all long ago.

Or so he believed. But expectations and reality were rarely aligned.

One by one, her carefully layered plans collapsed, overturned by unforeseen variables, chance encounters, and people who should not have mattered—but did.

Lately, even her movements had grown erratic.

Too erratic.

They no longer followed the sharp logic he had come to expect from her. Instead, they felt… distorted. As if influenced by something external. Something disruptive.

His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

Is this the effect of Riley?

The thought lingered longer than he liked.

Ever since that boy had entered the picture, events that Beon would have once deemed impossible kept unfolding as if guided by an unseen current.

Power structures shifted.

Fate itself seemed to bend—not violently, but persistently—around his presence.

Just being near him changed outcomes.

Troublesome.

Yet… reliable.

Beon exhaled quietly through his nose. Regardless of Aera's intentions, as long as Riley remained involved, the future was—ironically—stable.

Dangerous, yes, but contained.

Whatever chaos followed the boy, it never crossed a certain invisible boundary.

And Beon trusted that boundary more than any written oath.

So long as Aera did not overstep that line, nothing truly catastrophic would occur.

"By the way, Family Head."

Bom's voice cut cleanly through his thoughts.

Beon did not turn, but he listened.

"Didn't you say you came here to monitor your disciple and check on Seo?" she continued, her tone light but observant. "You arrived earlier than anyone else… yet you never once showed yourself in front of Riley or Seo."

A pause followed, filled only by the distant sound of clashing blades and shouted instructions.

Bom tilted her head slightly, studying him.

"For someone who supposedly came to 'observe and properly set your disciples the right way,' you've been awfully good at hiding."

Beon's purple eyes flickered faintly, sparks of restrained lightning dancing beneath their surface.

"There was no need for my interference," Beon said. "Riley and Seo are growing—no, evolving—in ways I never anticipated."

His gaze sharpened as his thoughts lingered on Riley.

"Especially Riley. His very existence has already crossed into a realm I once believed unreachable. Before, his power was hidden—compressed, restrained. Now, it seeps out naturally, gently… like a master wearing his coat without even realizing the weight it carries. As for why I never greeted them… that was for my own reasons."

He paused briefly before adding,

"I prefer to observe."

Observation had always been Beon's greatest indulgence.

There was a purity in watching potential bloom naturally—untainted by guidance, pressure, or expectation. And more than that…

He had a feeling that his presence would only disrupt the fragile, precious moments those two shared.

After all—

Even he could not fully control himself when standing before his beloved granddaughter, Seo.

Bom frowned, clearly unsatisfied, but after a moment she shook her head.

She knew better than anyone how much her grandfather's whims dictated his actions.

"Hm… is that so," she sighed. "Well, I don't really care as long as you don't cause trouble. I don't mind you sneaking around."

She hesitated before continuing,

"Though… you really should uphold your duties as clan head this time. Mother has been acting strangely lately. She still handles most of your responsibilities remotely, but you're still the clan head, you know."

Bom crossed her arms.

"Even father back home is getting frustrated with you."

Beon chuckled lightly.

"Haha. My son and daughter-in-law can take my title anytime they wish. I've long since decided on my retirement."

"Then why don't you?" Bom shot back.

"Because," Beon replied without hesitation, "it's much more fun this way."

Bom sighed deeply, already regretting the question.

"Anyways… are you just going to continue stalking that princess?"

"Of course not," Beon said as he straightened his posture.

Then, his purple eyes gleamed with sharp intent.

"You know I can't ignore potential."

The moment the words left his mouth, Beon vanished—his form dissolving into a streak of crackling purple lightning that tore through the air, leaving nothing behind but a faint hum and Bom's exhausted sigh.

...

—Slam!

A massive body skidded across the stone floor before rolling to an unceremonious stop.

"Ugh—!"

A rough, pained groan followed as Kagami, his towering frame trembling, coughed hard and instinctively clutched his abdomen.

The impact had knocked the wind clean out of him, and for a brief moment his vision swam.

"Are you okay?!"

Lucas rushed forward without hesitation, concern etched clearly across his face as he reached out to help him up.

Kagami raised a large hand immediately, stopping him. "Nah—cough—I'm good, bud." He wheezed once more before forcing a grin. "I'm the one who asked you to hit me, remember?"

"Haha… yeah, I know, but maybe I should've held back a bit more—"

Lucas scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

Though he did held back. Considerably.

But there was no need to say that out loud.

"It's fine," Kagami interrupted, grasping Lucas's hand at last. With a low grunt and a ripple of muscle, he hauled himself upright. "I knew you packed a punch, but damn… I didn't think it'd hit that hard."

Lucas laughed softly. "People usually get surprised. I don't really look the part."

Kagami snorted. "Your physique's perfectly fine. Sure, you're not as ridiculously sculpted as Riley, but your body structure's almost identical." He paused, eyes narrowing with mock seriousness. "And between the two of you? Face cards alone are enough to make half the academy's men grind their teeth in envy."

"Envy?" Lucas blinked.

"Just ignore that part." Kagami waved it off. "Between your admirers and the fact that one of you has four literal goddesses orbiting him, it balances out. Though honestly—" he muttered, lowering his voice slightly, "if you could see the goddess by your side all the time, maybe you wouldn't be such a frustratingly dense lass."

"…Huh?"

Lucas tilted his head. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing." Kagami cleared his throat loudly. "Forget it."

There was a brief silence before Kagami's expression shifted, his usual easygoing grin replaced with something more serious.

"So," he said, rolling his shoulders, "you're really sure you want me to do it to you as well?"

Lucas met his gaze and nodded without hesitation.

"Please," he said calmly. "Give me your best shot."

Kagami hesitated.

"…Alright," he finally said, exhaling slowly. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

He planted his feet firmly into the ground. Mana surged, gathering around his clenched fist like condensed starlight—dense, violent, and overwhelmingly heavy.

The air itself distorted as energy compressed inward, drawn toward a single point.

Kagami's signature technique.

[Meteor Fist]

"Don't blame me if you get seriously hurt, bud," he muttered, muscles tightening as veins pulsed along his arm.

Across from him, Lucas simply smiled.

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