The morning was damp and murky, as if nature itself sensed that something foul was brewing within the clan. Heavy clouds hung over the mountains, and the air was thick with the pungent scent of dew, earth, and blossoming grass. I walked toward the training grounds, feeling their gazes upon me. They were no longer mocking — now they were laced with unease, even fear. They knew: in seven days, I would be cast out. But until then, I was still here. And something about me had changed.
The master nodded, indicating my opponent. Today — Jin Mu. Older, stronger, a son of a side branch, always smirking, always taunting. He stepped forward as if strolling leisurely, tossing a sneer:
— Let's see what you learned in your little library, half-blood.
I said nothing. I only raised my hands, tuning my mind. He attacked immediately — wide, brutish, relying on his greater weight. I parried, sidestepped, deflected his blow and struck back. Without mercy. Straight to the knee. A sickening crunch. He screamed, collapsing — and I drove my fist into his jaw. A swift turn — elbow into shoulder. The joint twisted grotesquely. Jin crashed to the ground, writhing and wailing, his face wet with tears and spittle.
The master stepped forward — then froze. He saw it clearly: everything was within the rules. The fight was fair. I had broken no law. I had only struck with precision. With calculation. I had struck to be remembered.
Silence hung heavy over the training ground. I had already turned, ready to leave, when I heard a familiar voice:
— Acting mighty cocky, aren't we?
It was Yang Gi. Tall, broad, his gaze sharp and brimming with malice. One of those who had always stood above me, both in rank and smugness. He stood with two other students — his shadows, his obedient hounds.
— Think being expelled gives you the right to do whatever you please? — he continued, stepping closer. — You'll crawl home like a beaten dog... unless you learn some respect for your elders.
I stopped. Calmly turned around. Three of them. All wearing training gloves, their faces twisted in sneers. They had not yet understood. Or perhaps they refused to believe.
— Don't, — I said quietly. — You'll regret it.
— What was that, mutt? — Gi hissed and lunged forward.
He swung at my head — wide, heavy. I sidestepped, letting his fist whistle past. Slipped beneath his arm — and struck his liver. A dull crunch. He folded, emitting a guttural moan. The second was upon me — reaching to grab me from behind. I twisted, driving my elbow into his cheekbone. A sharp crack, he reeled back, stumbled, fell.
The third — silent, sharp-featured — rushed in, aiming to overpower me. I stepped into him — and drove my knee into his gut. He gagged, collapsing onto his knees. I seized him by the hair and slammed my forehead into his face. Blood spattered; his features crumpled. He fell alongside the others.
Yang Gi recovered first. Tried to stand. I approached, grabbed him by the chest, hoisted him up — and delivered a blow to his jaw. Then another. And another. I struck until I felt his body grow limp, his arms sagging, his eyes losing focus. Only then did I let him go. He crumpled face-first, like a discarded sack.
Around me — silence. Those who had been watching from afar dared not even whisper. I stood among the fallen. My breathing was even. No trace of rage. No flicker of hatred. Only a cold, dispassionate calm.
They had sought to break me before my exile. To see me leave in shame. Instead, they saw: I was not one to bow his head. I would not break, even when the whole clan turned away.
I did not go home. It was no longer my home. Instead, I veered off the main path, heading toward the rear courtyard, and climbed the hill. There, at its foot, stood a lone cherry tree. Its petals scattered across the grass like fallen tears. That cherry tree had seen much — more than any soul in the clan. It had stood silent witness when I was humiliated, when I fell into the dirt, when I dreamed of running away.
I approached, laid my hand upon its trunk. The bark was rough, warmed by the sun.
— My path will be hard, — I said softly. — Dirty, lonely, filled with pain. But I will not stray. I will not stop. Because I chose it myself. Not for my father. Not for the clan. For myself.
The wind stirred the branches, lifting the petals. One drifted down onto my palm. I closed my fingers around it and looked up at the sky. Six days. And each of them, I would live as if it were my last.