4

Honu took a deep breath, willing every ounce of mischief out of his expression. His face settled into a mask of serenity—calm, composed, the perfect image of a devoted disciple. He had rehearsed this moment a hundred times over in his head, memorizing every word, every nuance of his tone. Everything had to be just right.

"Master," he began, his voice steady, his hands pressed together in a deep bow. "I seek guidance from my brothers before I begin my seclusion training. Please allow me to rest for the night, and I will start first thing tomorrow."

The old monk stood with his back to him, his posture straight despite his years, facing the towering golden statue of Buddha bathed in the soft glow of candlelight. The incense burned slowly, curling around the still air in thin tendrils. For a long moment, there was only silence. Then, a simple hum of approval.

Honu bowed lower, resisting the urge to let his grin slip through. "Thank you, Master."

He turned, walking away with the same composed grace, not breaking character until he reached the heavy wooden doors. The moment they shut behind him, his face twisted in silent triumph, lips curling into a smug smirk. He had done it. He had actually—

"Uh..."

Honu froze, the hairs on his neck standing on end. Slowly, he turned his head.

A monk stood behind him, holding a small bowl of rice and a single egg, clearly meant for the master. He blinked at Honu's expression, looking mildly confused.

Honu's smirk immediately melted into something effortlessly charming. "What? Never seen a face this handsome before, brother?"

The monk snorted, shaking his head with a chuckle. "Hahaha! You really are something, Honu."

He stepped aside, allowing Honu to pass. "Go eat. I heard the elder assigned you to seclusion training."

Honu grimaced as the words settled. "I'll wait for you, brother. Let's eat together."

"Sure."

The monk entered the room and returned almost instantly, falling into step beside Honu as they walked toward the dining hall. Honu draped a casual arm over his shoulder, leaning in.

"So...? What was your name again? You all look the same with your bald heads."

"Peng," the monk answered with a chuckle.

"Peng! My dear friend," Honu declared with exaggerated warmth, gripping Peng's shoulder like they had been through thick and thin. "Tell me, how do we usually train?"

Peng blinked at the odd question but answered anyway. "Meditate. Pray. Train. Read. Train again—"

"Okay, okay, we always train," Honu interrupted, waving his free hand. "So why am I still like this?" He gestured dramatically at his own body—his thin arms, his narrow shoulders, his absolute lack of muscle compared to the rest of the monks who could probably wrestle oxen for fun.

Peng considered him before shrugging. "The elders say you're either sickly or just... the type to have a naturally thin build despite effort. Plus, you were always scolded for being a troublemaker. You're also the only third-class disciple who hasn't reached enlightenment yet."

Honu gasped, clutching his chest as if he had been stabbed. "Yo, bro. I asked about my body, not my life failures. Why so harsh?"

Peng laughed, unbothered. "But Elder Sama personally trains you. He says you have potential." His gaze drifted back toward the meditation hall where the old monk remained, sitting before the golden Buddha, as immovable as a mountain.

Honu sighed, shoulders slumping. "Why do I have to be a monk of all things?"

"Elder Sama was the one who took you in, remember? You were found unconscious on the streets, your robes in tatters."

Honu clapped his hands together, eyes gleaming with excitement. "What if—hear me out—I was actually the lost son of a powerful family, my home destroyed by a great villain, and somehow, I escaped and ended up here?" His grin widened with each word, his imagination running wild.

Peng, unimpressed, countered, "Or maybe you were just a beggar who passed out from hunger."

"Ahahaha! You're so supportive!" Honu smacked Peng's shoulder, deliberately putting some force into it.

Peng didn't even flinch as they continued their way to the dining hall.

---

"Eggs," Honu muttered solemnly, staring at his plate.

"EGGS!" The entire hall erupted into cheers, a victorious chorus echoing from every corner. Even Peng joined in, grinning widely.

Honu closed his eyes, exhaling sharply. "Seriously?"

"Eat, younger brother!" someone bellowed, followed by another hearty slap on his back. It felt less like encouragement and more like getting punched for the hundredth time that day.

Before he could recover, two burly monks squeezed in on either side of him, their biceps pressing against him like iron walls. Trapped. Again.

Honu sighed in complete surrender to his suffering. "Brothers," he called out, voice carrying a weight of existential despair.

A few monks looked at him, still chewing through their egg-and-vegetable-filled mouths.

"Are there any women here?" he asked bluntly.

Silence.

Then, a voice answered, "The opposite gender is housed separately."

"Why ask?" The monk beside him shifted slightly, pressing his biceps even further into Honu.

"Come onnn, it's not like we became eunuchs," Honu argued, exasperated. "Don't you ever feel... you know, certain desires?"

Chaos.

"Younger brother!"

Most of the monks coughed, choking on their food, while others shot him scandalized glares.

Honu felt himself getting squeezed even tighter between the muscle-bound monks beside him, as if their sheer physical presence alone was punishing him for his blasphemy.

"You're lucky there are no elders here," Peng muttered, shaking his head with a laugh.

A senior disciple approached, his face stern. "Honu, is there a problem?"

Honu quickly waved him off, grinning. "No, no! Just curious, that's all."

He stabbed his chopsticks into a boiled egg, glancing around with mischief sparking in his eyes. "But seriously? Come on, none of you ever... you know?"

"NO!" A chorus of voices rang out, too forceful, too rehearsed.

Honu's discerning gaze swept over them. He smirked. "Then why are some of your ears red?"

More choking. More coughing. A few monks quickly turned away, feigning disinterest.

"Honu," the senior disciple warned, his tone sharp.

"Eyyy, look at them! Look at those ears! Hypocritical monks!" Honu pointed accusingly at a disciple in the corner, who immediately shrank under the scrutiny.

"Honu."

This time, it wasn't the senior disciple's voice.

It was something far, far worse.

Honu stiffened, his soul nearly leaving his body. Slowly, he turned his head.

Elder Sama stood at the entrance of the dining hall, his gaze calm. Too calm.

"E-Elder Sama..." Honu swallowed thickly.

"Five months of training."

Honu didn't even get a chance to groan in protest.

His vision blurred, his body swayed, and before he could say another word—

He collapsed.

Peng, struggling to hold back his laughter, smacked his own mouth to stop the sound from escaping.