"What? He's not dropping out?"
"That's what I heard. Doesn't even know his place. If you give advice, he should damn well swallow it."
Yang Geumho clicked his tongue repeatedly as he continued his son's extra training after returning home.
"Of all people, that thing had to come in."
He took pride in having participated in every mission worth calling a mission, rising all the way to an upper-ranked warrior and surviving without incident.
However, because he never reached the level of a Seonin, he was never properly acknowledged anywhere, and after carrying out countless missions, all he had in his hands was a small amount of wealth.
That was why he staked everything on the academy.
Though it was a rural academy, if the number of students passing the military examination increased, building wealth and fame would not be difficult.
And if even a single top scorer appeared, the academy could rise to the ranks of prestigious institutions—that was the ecosystem of academies.
So he brought in a child from the Cheongsin family under the condition that he would cover all expenses.
"Tsk. This is going to ruin the academy."
A family established by the Iron-Blooded (鐵血) Lee Gangjin, one of the most powerful families in the current kingdom.
Thinking that a tiger would only give birth to another tiger had been his mistake.
No—rather, it had backfired entirely. As Seoha continued to receive failing grades, strange rumors began circulating in the neighborhood.
They said this academy had turned a dragon into an earthworm.
Recommending withdrawal had been a measure to recover even a little of the damaged reputation.
Yet he still refused to bend his will.
"We have to do something somehow..."
If Lee Seoha stayed at Dongsan Academy until the end and failed to even pass the military examination?
The academy would surely be branded as incompetent, unable to raise even a child from a prestigious warrior family.
As he wracked his brain over the problem, his son proposed a scheme.
"Then how about this? We humiliate him completely at the promotion exam."
"Humiliate him?"
"It's a place where everyone gathers, right? If he's humiliated so badly that he can't show his face anymore, wouldn't even someone with a thick skin quit?"
"That's not bad. But how should we do it?"
Yang Taesik pondered carefully.
How could they humiliate Seoha as much as possible?
"Make the exam a bit harder. Ah! How about increasing the demonstration speed? He can't even keep up with the normal speed, so if we raise it by just five tenths, he'll have to stand there blankly."
Yang Geumho exclaimed in admiration at his son's words.
"Taesik, you're a genius! Who did you take after to be this smart?"
"Obviously you, Dad. Hahaha!"
"Good idea. Let's start right away tomorrow."
The other students needed special training to pass the exam.
Of course, excluding Seoha.
"It's going to be a very interesting exam."
Yang Geumho watched his son resume training with a satisfied gaze.
From the day of the interview, I continued training in the backyard every single day.
"Damn it, this cursed body. It's pure trash."
Stamina, strength, agility, flexibility.
There wasn't a single thing worth praising.
"At least being a blank slate is some consolation."
How much I had regretted recklessly learning things in the past and picking up bad habits.
I couldn't repeat the same mistake.
This time, I needed to master each movement perfectly and build fundamentals worthy of being put in a textbook.
But before that—
"Alright! Alright! Warm-up properly first!"
There was something that absolutely had to come before starting basic form training.
The process of waking up the dormant body and making it flexible.
Forcing movement could aggravate injuries, and in the worst case, even damage the internal organs.
To prevent that, the temperature of the stiffened body had to be raised gradually.
So that movements could be connected quickly or slowly at any time.
First, straighten the knees and bend the upper body forward...
"Father! If you have time, come press my back for me!"
"Good grief, why don't you at least pretend you're training?"
"Please help me. I've still got a long way to go to catch up."
"If only you'd worked hard before..."
"I know. I know. But what's the point of talking about the past now?"
"You really do talk well. Wonder who you take after."
"You know whose blood runs in me, right?"
Sensing the conversation would drag on, I asked again, and Father reluctantly came over and pressed my back.
At the same time, a scream escaped my mouth.
"Hey, wait! Gently! Gently!"
"Feeling like you're about to die is part of warming up."
"At this rate my ligaments will snap! Gently! Gently!"
"Oh? You even know about ligaments? Where did you learn that?"
Despite sounding impressed, Father's hands didn't ease up.
"As long as there's no rebound, they won't snap. Your dad knows that better."
"Aaaaaah!"
And so, amid screams, the pleasant(?) warm-up continued.
After quite some time passed, the real basic training began.
"The most important thing is accurate posture."
As with all fields, fundamentals are learned first but are the hardest to perfect to the level of a master.
A true expert should be able to crush an opponent with a single front kick or straight punch.
"In the Western Regions, they called it the alpha and the omega."
The beginning and the end.
Now, I'll introduce the best way to train these crucial fundamentals.
That method is simple repetition.
Repeating the same movements over and over with perfect form.
But this was by no means easy.
Even throwing a single punch required attention to posture, muscle movement, and distribution of force.
Because it was such a grueling process, it was exhausting to the point of nausea, and during repetition, the mental agony of boredom also crept in, making it difficult both physically and mentally.
That was why I steeled my weakening resolve again and again.
'Regression is no longer possible.'
According to the legends, the Stone of Regression had disappeared from this world.
Which meant this was my last chance.
Failure was not something that could be tolerated—nor should it be.
'I am the light of this nation!'
Thinking that way, it felt like even nonexistent stamina was being conjured.
Let's shout again and go.
"Uoooo! I am strong! I am the strongest! Hahaha!"
Since my steps were slow, all I had to do was walk more diligently than anyone else.
Someday, I would reach the end.
My son had changed.
Sangwon looked at his son, who woke up early every dawn to train, with a puzzled expression.
"Did my son suddenly go crazy?"
There truly was no other way to put it.
The change was so abrupt that it felt like he had become a different person.
"I wonder if something happened."
They say when a person changes, they die.
That's how difficult it is to completely change the life one has lived.
Yet the son before him looked as though he had matured overnight.
Such a change couldn't be explained by a simple shift in mindset.
"..."
As Sangwon quietly watched his transformed son, a faint smile formed on his lips.
It was surprising, and a bit regrettable that his childlike innocence had vanished.
Still, watching his matured son wasn't something he disliked.
After all, he was still a son so lovable it hurt to look at him.
"Even a useless father should help."
His son had begun to change.
Then, as a father, he couldn't just sit by.
Sangwon was an apothecary, and he had more than enough ability to prepare medicines that replenished stamina and restored vitality.
The problem was the cost of ingredients.
"...It can't be helped."
Sangwon began to write a letter.
To Lee Gangjin, the head of the Cheongsin family.
Seoha's grandfather—and the man who was his own father.
Sangwon's expression as he wrote was far from pleasant.
Their relationship had soured over marriage issues, and after leaving home, it had only grown more distant.
Even so, his hand did not hesitate.
Even if he was estranged from him, Lee Gangjin was not the kind of person who would ignore a grandson who wished to become a warrior.
After finishing the letter, Sangwon wore a gentle smile.
"I should go to the market tomorrow."
He planned to prepare medicine with whatever money he had for now.
Once there was more leeway, he could make even higher-quality medicine.
Father somehow got his hands on money, bought a large amount of medicinal ingredients, and prepared decoctions for me.
"What's all this?"
"Can't you tell just by looking? They're medicinal herbs."
"That's not what I mean. How did you buy all this? You don't have money."
"Hey, what do you take your dad for? A famous academy asked me to prepare some medicine for them. I may not look it, but I'm a capable man."
"Oh! Really?"
I reacted as if impressed, but I wasn't ignorant of Father's circumstances.
A rural apothecary's income was limited.
No matter how skilled Father was, he couldn't afford to make this much medicine all at once.
'He must've borrowed it from Grandfather.'
Otherwise, this situation wouldn't be possible.
He must have swallowed his pride for his son.
'Let's play along.'
Don't point it out.
What I needed to do wasn't question the reason, but repay Father's devotion.
And it was true that the decoctions he prepared would be of great help later.
Thanks to them, my basic stamina and vitality increased, and my recovery speed doubled.
I even combined it with medicinal baths—something only wealthy noble families could afford—allowing me to train every day in peak condition.
And as time passed—
Before I knew it, the day of the promotion exam arrived.
"Today's the day. Are you ready?"
"Of course."
"You worked really hard. I didn't know you could work that hard. I thought my son had changed."
"I had to change. After being treated with that kind of contempt by the headmaster."
"You should've done well from the start."
"Ah, there you go again."
Letting Father's half-joking, half-serious advice wash over me, I looked toward the academy entrance.
My preparation was more complete than expected.
There were so many movements that perfection was still far away, but I had long since surpassed the level of a fourteen-year-old.
"Then I'll go on ahead. Don't be late. Shouldn't you sit in the front row and engrave your son's magnificent 모습 in your eyes?"
Even before regression, Father always arrived first and watched from the very front.
Today, he would arrive even earlier—never late.
"Of course. I'll watch from right in front. Still, don't feel pressured, alright? Effort never betrays you."
"That's right. Effort never betrays you."
It was true.
As much as the time that passed and the sweat I shed, I would have grown.
Now it was time to see the results of that effort with my own eyes.
"Let's begin."
This was the first threshold I faced after regression.
Before the promotion exam, Yang Geumho approached the instructors beating the drums.
The drums set the tempo.
The children would perform their movements in time with the drumbeats, so as the tempo increased, the movements had to speed up as well.
"When I give the signal, increase the speed. Each finger is one tenth."
"Will the children be able to keep up?"
"Of course. Other prestigious academies do it at more than twice the speed. And if raising it by a few tenths causes problems, they should give up on entering the military track to begin with."
"Understood."
The instructors would do whatever the headmaster ordered anyway.
Having finished all preparations, Yang Geumho moved to greet the influential locals.
As long as you weren't a slave, anyone could apply, and the military examination was the surest way to rise in status.
That was why parents sent their children to martial academies if they could afford it.
The people he was going to meet were no different.
Most of them were merchants who had made some money in the countryside and sent their children to the nearest academy without knowing much.
In any case, customers were kings.
Especially for a headmaster running an unknown academy like Yang Geumho, he had to keep these suckers hooked.
They might move elsewhere at any time.
"Oh my, Headmaster Yang. Do you think my child can advance to the military track?"
"Of course! I'll make sure it happens. Don't worry, just go buy a good sword or two."
"Really? Then I'll trust you and buy a good sword. Hahaha!"
Sangwon, sitting in the front row, approached Yang Geumho first and greeted him as he exchanged pleasantries with the parents.
"It's been a while, Headmaster."
"Ah, Seoha's father."
Unlike his previous friendliness, his response was lukewarm.
Since he wanted Lee Seoha to drop out, it was only natural.
"I hate to say this in advance, but if the results aren't good, don't be too discouraged. Being a warrior isn't the only profession in this world."
"No, I'm looking forward to it. He worked really hard for a month. Even I was surprised, and he's my son."
Yang Geumho let out a small chuckle.
No matter how hard he worked, one month wasn't enough to change anything.
"Yes, still, don't set your expectations too high. The higher the expectations, the greater the disappointment."
That Seoha had put in effort was something even Yang Geumho acknowledged.
Even his warm-up posture was different from before.
Though only a month had passed, his muscles were defined, and his eyes were full of confidence.
A completely different look from before.
But it was far too late to change the outcome.
'He should've worked hard from the start. Then it would've been good for both of us.'
It wasn't something that could be mastered in just one month.
Fist techniques, kicking techniques, footwork, falling techniques, sword techniques, staff techniques, and body movement techniques—seven forms in total.
Each form contained a minimum of 30 to a maximum of 42 movements.
In other words, the promotion exam required demonstrating all seven forms, a total of 232 movements, in sequence without stopping.
For Seoha, who previously couldn't even link 100 movements, perfectly executing 232 movements in one month was impossible.
'If he were a genius capable of that, he wouldn't be in this situation to begin with.'
Thinking that, Yang Geumho said,
"Then I'll excuse myself to prepare for the exam."
"Yes, thank you for your hard work."
Sangwon looked at his son and waited for the exam to begin.