Morning sunlight pierced through the wooden window of the house perched on the mountain peak. The crisp mountain air carried the scent of damp soil and dew still clinging to the leaves. Haise stirred from a restless sleep—the first night in an unfamiliar place always felt strange, even for a child his age.
He rose from the simple futon his teacher had prepared, stretching his small, stiff body. Through the window, he could see the vast expanse of dense forest surrounding the peak, thin mist still veiling parts of the treetops.
Tok tok tok.
A knock at his door.
"Wake up. Time for training," his teacher's voice came from outside—calm, yet firm.
Haise hurried out.
Minutes later, he stood in the yard outside the house. His teacher stood before him, posture straight, long white hair flowing beautifully in the morning light. Though his eyes were hidden behind long bangs, they somehow conveyed a serious gaze fixed on Haise.
"From now on, you are my disciple," the teacher said with quiet authority. "And you will address me only as 'Teacher.' Nothing else."
Haise nodded.
"Yes, Teacher."
The teacher continued.
"Starting today, I will teach you the foundations of becoming truly strong. The very first thing you must master is…"
He paused, letting the words hang in the cool air.
"…calmness."
Haise frowned.
"Calmness?"
"Yes," the teacher nodded. "Many out there think it trivial, unimportant. But believe me—true calmness is one of the greatest keys to real strength."
He began pacing slowly, hands clasped behind his back.
"In battle, you must not fear. You must not panic. Even against a stronger opponent, even when your life is on the line—you must stay calm. Only then can you think clearly, make the right decisions, and find the opening to victory."
Haise listened carefully, though inside he still doubted whether something as simple as "calmness" could really matter that much.
"I understand, Teacher," he answered flatly. "But… I think I'm already pretty calm. Do I still need to train it?"
The teacher gave a faint smile.
"Of course you do. True calmness isn't just hiding your feelings on the outside—it's complete mastery over your own heart."
He pointed toward the forest beside the house.
"Your first training exercise is…"
Haise followed the gesture.
"…to catch a chicken in there."
Haise blinked.
"…Huh?"
"Sounds easy, doesn't it?" the teacher said, a small, slightly mischievous smile playing on his lips.
Haise stared in confusion.
"Catching a chicken? What does that have to do with basic training?"
The teacher folded his arms.
"Don't underestimate this mountain. It's no ordinary place. Dangerous predators roam here—beasts that even seasoned fighters approach with caution."
Haise swallowed.
The teacher went on.
"This exercise is to eliminate fear. You will go into that forest alone, find a chicken, and catch it. No help. No weapons. Just you and your instincts."
The mention of "dangerous predators" made Haise's body tense. His mouth opened slightly, white eyes wide with disbelief.
He hadn't expected his first lesson to be anything like this.
"D-do I really have to, Teacher?" His voice trembled slightly; the fear was obvious.
The teacher let out a long sigh and fixed him with a sterner look.
"Haa… What's this? If something like this scares you, then you're not worthy to be my disciple."
The words struck Haise like a slap.
The teacher's tone hardened.
"Listen well. This is non-negotiable. You only need to catch one chicken. If you meet something stronger, run, of course. But you must stay calm—no matter where you are, no matter the situation."
His gaze intensified.
"This is how you learn true calmness. You'll do it every day until fear no longer touches you."
Haise fell silent, breathing heavily.
Finally, with hesitation, he nodded.
"…All right, Teacher. I'll try."
The teacher smiled, satisfied.
"Good. Go."
Haise walked slowly toward the edge of the forest. It was only a few dozen meters from the yard, yet the atmosphere changed completely. The trees were taller, denser; sunlight barely filtered through the thick canopy. The air grew heavier, damper, thick with the smell of earth and moss.
Krisik… krisik…
Strange rustling sounds came from deeper in.
Haise stopped at the threshold, body rigid.
*This is insane. How can a teacher do this to his own student?*
He glanced back. His teacher stood watching casually, as if enjoying a show.
No choice.
Haise took a deep breath and stepped inside.
The deeper he went, the more sounds surrounded him.
Rustle… rustle…
Creak… creak…
Leaves brushing, branches snapping, unseen small footsteps. He couldn't identify the sources—and that made the fear worse.
His body shook.
His breaths came short and quick.
*Calm down… calm down… I just have to find a chicken. Just a chicken. Nothing to fear.*
But his body refused to listen.
He pressed on, white eyes scanning warily. Every shadow, every flicker of movement made him flinch.
Then—
Tok-tok-tok!
The sound of scratching—like a chicken foraging.
Haise froze, listening intently. He crept toward the noise, hiding behind bushes.
There, in a small clearing touched by stray sunlight, he saw it.
A chicken.
But not a normal one.
It was larger than any village chicken, feathers a shimmering golden-brown. Sharp eyes, muscular legs, powerful claws.
Haise swallowed hard.
*That's… a chicken?*
No time to hesitate.
He inhaled deeply, then—
"Got you!"
DASH!
He sprinted full speed, leaping with arms wide to seize it.
But—
FLAP!
The chicken dodged sideways at impossible speed.
Haise crashed face-first into the dirt.
BRAK!
"Ugh!"
He scrambled up and looked—
The chicken was now perched on his head.
Perched.
On his own head.
TAP TAP TAP!
It began pecking and kicking his skull like a drum.
"OW! OW! STOP IT!"
The chicken hopped down gracefully, landing and staring at him with unmistakable mockery.
As if saying:
*Hee~… Too slow.*
Something ignited in Haise's chest.
His human pride—trampled by poultry.
"YOU…!"
He clenched his fists.
"YOU DAMN BIRD!"
DASH!
"GET OVER HERE!"
Thus began the epic struggle between a ten-year-old boy and one very fast chicken.
— One hour later —
BRAK!
Haise finally pinned the chicken with both hands, gripping its neck firmly so it couldn't escape again.
"HAHA! GOT YOU!"
He laughed triumphantly, though panting heavily, face smeared with mud, clothes torn and ragged from thorns and branches.
The chicken still thrashed, but his grip was iron.
"Hehe… How's that? Thought you could beat me? Now I'm taking you to Teacher—"
Ssshhh…
A soft hiss from his left.
Haise froze.
Slowly he turned.
A few meters away, coiled on a root, was a large snake—dark green scales glinting, eyes hungry.
They stared at each other for two full seconds.
Then—
"SNAAAAKE!"
DASH!
Haise bolted, clutching the chicken tightly. The snake didn't pursue—perhaps uninterested or just basking—but Haise took no chances.
He ran like a madman, leaping roots, crashing through brush, bursting out of the forest gasping.
BRAK!
He collapsed in front of his teacher, who regarded him with an unreadable expression.
"…Hmm. An entire hour just to catch one chicken?"
Haise stared in disbelief.
"You have no idea!" he protested between breaths. "That thing is insanely fast! Nothing like a normal chicken! It took everything I had!"
He held up the struggling bird.
"You should be proud—I caught it through sheer effort!"
The teacher's face remained flat.
"Proud of what? It's just a chicken. One of the weakest creatures here. And you struggled that much?"
Haise felt tears threatening.
"Teacher… can I ask something?"
"Go ahead."
"Are the animals here… faster than normal ones?"
He was certain something was wrong; no ordinary chicken moved like that.
The teacher nodded casually.
"Of course. This mountain is saturated with natural energy. It seeps into the earth, water, air—everything living absorbs it. Animals here are faster, stronger, tougher than anywhere else."
He looked at Haise as if this were common knowledge.
Haise glared.
"See?! I knew it! You should've warned me the chicken was super fast!"
He continued, frustrated.
"And then a snake appeared out of nowhere—I almost got bitten! You should've taught me to fight first before sending me on a suicide mission!"
The teacher merely smiled faintly.
"That was part of the lesson."
Haise blinked.
"What?"
"You caught it, didn't you?" the teacher said calmly. "That means you trained your body without realizing it. At first you couldn't touch it. Now you did. You got faster—through the chase itself."
He folded his arms.
"Didn't you notice?"
Haise went quiet, white eyes staring blankly.
Then, slowly, it sank in.
It was true.
His first attempts had been hopelessly slow. But after repeated tries, he'd started predicting the chicken's moves, matching its speed—until he succeeded.
He had gotten faster.
Without even knowing.
"…I understand, Teacher," he murmured.
The teacher nodded, pleased.
"Good. Hand over the chicken."
Haise surrendered it limply. The teacher took it in one hand and spoke casually.
"Tomorrow morning, you catch it in under thirty minutes."
Haise nearly choked.
"THIRTY MINUTES?!"
But the teacher had already turned and walked toward the house, carrying the chicken with ease.
Haise slumped on the ground, staring at his teacher's retreating back.
*I'm going to die on this mountain.*
A short while later, Haise sat with his teacher in the kitchen. The long wooden table held simple cooking tools—knife, cutting board, pots, spices in clay jars.
The teacher sat on one side and, with swift, practiced motions, began plucking the now-dead chicken—killed earlier by Haise's overly tight grip.
SRAK SRAK SRAK!
Feathers fell away in seconds, the bird cleaned almost instantly.
Haise watched in awe.
*So fast…*
Once clean, the teacher placed it on the board and sliced it with precise, economical cuts—no waste.
Then he looked at Haise.
"Your turn."
Haise jolted.
"Huh?"
"Cook the rice," the teacher said calmly. "I'll teach you."
Haise paused, then nodded.
"Yes, Teacher."
The teacher rose and guided him to the corner where a simple wood stove and large pot waited. He explained each step patiently: washing the rice, measuring water exactly, lighting the fire properly, knowing when it was done.
Haise listened intently, white eyes focused on every motion.
Then he did it himself.
Washing.
Measuring.
Lighting the fire.
He followed every instruction carefully.
The teacher observed, correcting small mistakes when needed, but mostly stayed silent.
Haise learned quickly.
One might even call him a genius.