Predator’s Grace

Tae-young's breaths were shallow, his chest heaving as he readjusted his stance. His daggers, normally extensions of his arms, now felt heavier with each passing second. Across from him, Instructor Dong-soo stood poised, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Shall we continue?" the instructor asked, his tone as casual as if they were discussing the weather.

Tae-young didn't reply. He didn't have time to. In a blink, Instructor Dong-soo moved—his body a blur as he closed the distance with inhuman speed. Tae-young's instincts screamed, and he crossed his blades just in time to deflect an overhead strike. The impact jarred his arms, the force sending tremors through his muscles.

But Instructor Dong-soo wasn't done. The attack flowed seamlessly into a spinning slash, his blades whistling through the air. Tae-young ducked, feeling the wind of the strike pass inches from his head. He retaliated with an upward slash, but the instructor sidestepped with effortless grace, his footwork precise and almost mocking in its elegance.

"Your reactions are good," Instructor Dong-soo said, pivoting smoothly into another flurry of strikes. "But they're just that—reactions. You're not reading me, Tae-young. You're reacting to me."

Tae-young gritted his teeth, his daggers working overtime to parry the relentless barrage. The instructor's strikes came from all angles—diagonal cuts, sweeping arcs, thrusts that feigned one direction before snapping back to another. It was like facing a storm, every move unpredictable yet perfectly controlled.

Tae-young attempted to create distance, leaping backwards and landing in a crouch. But Instructor Dong-soo was on him again in an instant, his blades aiming low. Tae-young twisted, narrowly avoiding a sweep to his legs, but the instructor capitalized on the opening, delivering a sharp elbow to his side.

The impact knocked Tae-young off balance, sending him stumbling. He recovered quickly, spinning into a defensive stance, but the instructor didn't press further. Instead, he stepped back, almost leisurely, his swords lowering.

"Is that all?" Instructor Dong-soo asked, his tone teasing. "Come now, Tae-young. Show me why you're number one."

The words burned more than the strikes. Tae-young lunged forward, his blades flashing as he unleashed a rapid series of slashes. Each strike was calculated, aiming for gaps in the instructor's guard. But Instructor Dong-soo blocked them all with maddening ease, his blades a blur as they deflected every attack.

"Predictable," the instructor said, his voice still calm.

Tae-young growled, switching tactics mid-combo. He dropped low, sweeping his leg toward the instructor's ankles. But Instructor Dong-soo jumped, flipping over Tae-young with a fluid motion that defied logic. As he landed, he delivered a sharp kick to Tae-young's back, sending him sprawling forward.

The younger assassin rolled to his feet, panting heavily now. His mind raced. Every attack he threw was met with effortless counters. Every defence he mounted was broken through as if it didn't exist. And worst of all, Instructor Dong-soo didn't even seem winded.

"You're holding up better than I thought," the instructor said, circling Tae-young like a predator stalking its prey. "But you're still too rigid. Too focused on doing things by the book."

Tae-young glared at him, his pride stung. He tightened his grip on his daggers and forced himself to breathe evenly. This wasn't over.

Instructor Dong-soo tilted his head as if reading Tae-young's thoughts.

"Good. Keep that fire burning. It makes this more entertaining."

With that, the instructor moved again, his offensive renewed. His strikes came faster this time, sharper, more aggressive. Tae-young was forced to backpedal, his daggers barely keeping up with the relentless assault. Sparks flew as their blades clashed, the sound echoing in the empty terrain around them.

And through it all, Instructor Dong-soo's composure never wavered. If anything, he looked like he was enjoying himself. Each strike he threw carried a confidence that bordered on arrogance, a silent message that he was in complete control.

Tae-young, however, refused to break. His movements grew more desperate but also more creative, his counters less orthodox. He used the terrain to his advantage, kicking up dirt to obscure the instructor's vision and weaving through the surrounding foliage to disrupt his rhythm.

But Instructor Dong-soo adapted effortlessly, his blades cutting through every obstacle without hesitation. His voice carried over the chaos, calm and measured.

"Not bad," he said, deflecting another strike and stepping into Tae-young's guard. "But not enough."

Before Tae-young could react, Instructor Dong-soo's blade stopped just short of his throat—a deliberate move meant to taunt rather than harm. Tae-young froze, his chest heaving, sweat dripping down his brow.

The instructor withdrew his blade, stepping back with an almost casual air.

"You're learning," he said. "But you'll need more than that if you want to take me down."

Tae-young's eyes burned with defiance. This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

The fight took a sharp turn when Tae-young, pushing himself past his limit, overextended his strike. His left dagger swung wide, missing its mark, leaving his guard wide open. Instructor Dong-soo's sharp eyes locked onto the opening instantly. With the swiftness of a striking snake, he moved in, his blade angling low for a sweeping attack aimed at Tae-young's legs.

But just as he committed to the strike, something caught his attention—a faint glint in the corner of his vision, no, two glints. Time slowed as his battle-honed instincts screamed at him. His eyes darted to the source, barely registering the crisscrossing movements of two figures zigzagging through the terrain.

Without hesitation, he activated Send, his signature skill. A pulse of energy radiated from his position as he teleported several meters back, just in time to avoid Joon-ho's dagger slashing through the air where his neck had been and Hyun-ae's blade narrowly missing his torso.

"Dodge a bullet there," Instructor Dong-soo muttered under his breath, his lips curling into a wry smile. For the first time in the session, he looked genuinely impressed.

Tae-young scrambled to regain his footing, his breathing ragged. His gaze flicked toward the other two, surprise evident on his face. Joon-ho and Hyun-ae were here? His first instinct was irritation—he had written them off after manipulating their movements earlier. And yet, here they were, turning the tables by using him as bait.

His eyes narrowed. So that's how it is, huh? Tae-young thought bitterly, wiping sweat from his brow. He could see it now, the faint smirks on their faces as they sized up the situation. They were undoubtedly taking advantage of him, waiting for the right moment to strike while he kept the instructor occupied.

But still, a grudging sense of relief washed over him. Without their interference, how much longer could he have lasted against Instructor Dong-soo? His pride stung at the realization, but he couldn't deny the truth.

From his vantage point, Instructor Dong-soo observed the three students now converging on him. He crossed his blades, exhaling deeply as he evaluated the situation. Three against one. Even with their lack of coordination, the numbers weren't in his favour.

"Not bad," he called out, his voice laced with dry amusement. "You managed to make me retreat for a moment. Well done."

His words didn't seem to faze the students, who now circled him cautiously, each one looking for an opening. But if they thought they had him cornered, they were wrong. Instructor Dong-soo had no intention of letting them claim victory so easily.

Retreating outright was an option, of course. They'd call him a coward, but words meant little when survival was at stake. Yet, an idea began to form in his mind. Perhaps retreat wasn't the only way to handle this. Separation had worked before—maybe it was time to exploit their divisions again.

Back with the students, Tae-young couldn't help but feel conflicted. He cast a sideways glance at the other two, catching Joon-ho's smirk and Hyun-ae's calculating eyes. They weren't here to help him, not really. But their presence, annoying as it was, had bought him precious time.

Still, as he thought back to the relentless assault from Instructor Dong-soo, doubt began to creep in. The man was leagues beyond anything Tae-young had faced before. And wasn't he supposed to be the best in Korea? How could this skill gap exist?

The answer was deceptively simple. Tae-young's ranking was based on his performance in the NexaRealm Daily Activities, an ongoing battle simulation system that tracked and ranked players in real time. But the instructors? They were retired from competitive play the moment they accepted their roles.

Instructor Dong-soo, for instance, hadn't participated in NexaRealm for nearly half a year. Instead, he and his fellow instructors underwent a gruelling speed course to master the art of teaching. It wasn't that they had grown weaker—it was simply that their skills were no longer reflected in the rankings. Tae-young's rise to number one was less about surpassing Instructor Dong-soo and more about the instructor stepping aside to focus on something greater.

Tae-young clenched his fists, his pride simmering. He wasn't about to let that fact discredit his title. No, he would prove himself here and now, against the very man whose shadow he had unknowingly been standing in.

But first, they had to get through this next phase. And judging by the look in Instructor Dong-soo's eyes, this battle was far from over.