The Breaking Point

Jin Tae-Hyun sprinted through the rain-soaked valley, his breath ragged, his mind racing. The night was thick with mist, swallowing the flickering torches in the distance. His wounds burned, his muscles ached, but none of it compared to the weight crushing his mind.

The realization that his enemy knew the events of the manga had thrown him into chaos. For the first time since he arrived in this world, he felt true fear. It wasn't just about survival anymore—it was about control. He had always been a step ahead, always twisting the narrative in his favor. But now? Now someone else held the script.

The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

"Dammit..." he muttered, wiping the blood trickling from his temple. "This is bad. This is really bad."

He had faced death before—many times, in fact. But this was different. The moment the new adversary locked eyes with him, Jin felt something he'd never felt in his past life as Kaito. A suffocating pressure. A power that wasn't just raw strength but the weight of absolute certainty.

That bastard knew how the story went. And that meant Jin was no longer the only player bending fate.

A distant explosion rocked the earth beneath him. The battle raged on behind him, but he needed time—time to think, time to regain control. He couldn't afford to face this enemy head-on, not yet.

He darted into the cover of the trees, heart pounding, thoughts racing. Think, think, think!

Who was this guy? How did he know? And more importantly... was he really from this world?

The pieces weren't adding up.

Jin had thought he was the only anomaly—the only one who had knowledge beyond this world's reality. But now, he had to reconsider everything.

As he pressed his back against a damp tree trunk, lightning illuminated the forest, and for a split second, he saw his own reflection in a puddle at his feet.

Drenched in blood, eyes sharp with fear—he barely recognized himself.

"...Tsk." He clicked his tongue and forced a smirk. "So this is what it feels like to be on the other side."

A rustling sound snapped him back to reality. Instinct kicked in. He spun around, blade drawn—

—but it was only a bird, startled by the storm.

Jin exhaled, steadying himself. He couldn't stay here. The longer he hesitated, the closer his enemy would get. He needed answers. And more than that—

He needed a plan.

As the storm raged on, Jin Tae-Hyun disappeared into the darkness, his mind working at full speed.

If his enemy knew the story… then he would just have to rewrite it.

Hours passed, and Jin found himself deep within the forest, hidden from the sect's prying eyes. But he wasn't alone.

Sitting across from him, tending to a fire, was the man who had saved him—the same man who had fought alongside him against the sect. His name was Mu-Jin, a rogue martial artist who had severed ties with the major sects long ago.

"You fight like a beast, but your technique is... lacking." Mu-Jin stirred the embers with a stick, glancing at Jin with mild amusement. "No Murim warrior worth their salt would waste movements the way you do."

Jin didn't respond immediately. He stared into the fire, letting his thoughts simmer.

He hated to admit it, but Mu-Jin was right. Jin had relied on his assassin instincts, his agility, his ruthlessness—but against real martial artists? Against those who had trained in the ways of the Murim world since childhood? His skills weren't enough.

He could kill. He could deceive. He could outthink his enemies.

But could he survive a battle where his opponent had both skill and knowledge of the story's future?

"…Then teach me," Jin finally said.

Mu-Jin chuckled. "Oh? You're actually asking for help?"

"I don't have time for games." Jin's gaze sharpened. "You said my technique is flawed. Fix it."

Mu-Jin studied him for a moment before letting out a sigh. "Tch. Fine. I'll drill some sense into you. But if you can't keep up, I won't waste my time."

Jin smirked. "You'll regret saying that."

—

And so, the training began.

Mu-Jin didn't waste time with speeches or theories. He threw Jin into the deep end immediately, forcing him to refine his footwork, his breathing, his stance.

"You rely too much on last-minute dodges," Mu-Jin said as he blocked Jin's strike effortlessly. "That might work against amateurs, but real warriors read movement. They predict. If you don't build a foundation, you'll always be a step behind."

Jin gritted his teeth, his muscles burning.

Days passed. His body ached. His mind was pushed to its limits.

Mu-Jin wasn't gentle. He was relentless. He struck Jin whenever he slipped up, corrected him with force, made him repeat the same movements a hundred times until they became second nature.

And Jin?

Jin absorbed it all like a man possessed.

He had no other choice.

If he wanted to take down his enemy—if he wanted to rewrite the future—he needed power.

Real power.