5

Peng peeked over Honu, who had crumpled onto the wooden floor in a dramatic heap. His moment of unconsciousness lasted only a few seconds before his body jerked awake, his eyes fluttering open in wide alarm. Strong arms hoisted him upright, repositioning him back onto the bench as though this was a common occurrence.

Once again, he was wedged between biceps that might as well have been temple pillars. He felt like a rice grain trapped between grinding stones.

"Just eat your eggs, brother." One of the monks beside him spoke with barely disguised amusement, watching Honu regain his bearings.

The other monk, who had just swallowed an entire boiled egg in one bite, tilted his head. "What's gotten into you? Are you feeling unwell?"

Honu exhaled deeply, staring at his plate with the weariness of a man who had just seen his own death. "…I'm not."

Before anyone could launch into sage advice or turn this into a life lesson about discipline, he raised his arms in a cross, a silent plea for them to stop before they even started. "I just have questions."

The monks at the table gave him wary glances.

"If it's about your… indecent thoughts, we'll make your seclusion training a full year," one of them quipped, earning a round of approving nods.

Honu immediately threw up a thumbs-up in submission. "Noted. New topic."

He absentmindedly flicked the carrots from his plate onto another monk's dish—he had never liked them. Then, glancing up, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "I wanna ask about… what's it called? That nation. Athanasios?"

A few monks looked at him with mild surprise. Peng, still chuckling at the earlier chaos, raised a brow. "Hm? Why?"

Honu's lips curled into a lazy grin. "I…" He dragged out the word for effect. "I want to be a musician someday."

A heavy silence followed. Then, in perfect unison, the monks at the table spoke:

"Brother, just eat."

The dismissal was so immediate, so synchronized, that Honu felt physically offended. "What? Yow? Are we not allowed to travel?"

"That's not it," Peng said, the only one still laughing. "Just don't be a musician."

Right. Honu knew deep down that he couldn't sing to save his life. He had once tried, only to be chased away by a pack of wild dogs that seemed personally offended by the attempt.

"Anyway, back to Athanasios. What's the deal with it?"

"It's known as a land of the formidable," Peng began, setting down his chopsticks. "Only the worthy thrive there. The strongest rule the realms. And one estate has stood out for centuries."

Honu didn't even need to think about it. He spoke at the same time as Peng: "Von Sumidra."

Peng nodded. "Their influence stretches across the entire realm. Though they're rooted in Athanasios, their dynasty reaches far beyond."

"What's the catch with them?" Honu asked, poking at his rice.

A monk across from him squinted. "You speak… strangely."

"And your head's too shiny." Honu deadpanned.

The monk, instead of being offended, grinned and rubbed his scalp proudly. "Really?"

That was meant to be a spiteful joke, but whatever.

Peng shook his head, continuing. "History says the Von Sumidras are of an ancient bloodline connected to the gods. Heroes and villains at the same time, depending on who you ask. In the end, their legacy is what matters, right? The human race was supposed to be eradicated long ago, but their ancestors prevented it."

Honu tilted his head, skeptical. "I mean, how can history be so sure about what happened back then? What if it's all just bull—" He stopped himself just in time. "—lies?"

Peng gave him a knowing look but smirked. "I thought the same. But once you meet them, you'll change your mind."

"Oh? Really?" Honu scoffed, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "What's this? Do they have an intense aura that suffocates everyone the moment they enter a room? And what? Piercing eyes that can see into your soul?" He laughed, thinking of all the dramatic descriptions he had read in old texts. It was such a cliché.

Peng simply smiled and resumed eating.

The silence that followed unsettled Honu. He expected some kind of retort, but Peng's lack of argument gnawed at him. Eventually, he shrugged it off and turned his focus back to his plate, methodically picking out the last few carrots and flicking them onto random plates.

After they finished dinner, Honu stood up and stretched. "Where's my room? Do we sleep in groups?"

"Pray and meditate first," Peng reminded him, already stacking the plates. Then, with an impish smile, he dumped the entire stack into Honu's arms. "But first, we clean."

Honu wobbled under the weight of the dishes. "I don't even know what prayers we're supposed to say."

"You really are a troublemaker." Peng sighed, leading the way toward the washing area at the back of the temple. "Read your scriptures."

"Dawg, I can't understand noodles," Honu scoffed.

But as soon as they passed by a fellow monk reading from a parchment, his eyes flicked to the text, and his entire body came to an abrupt halt.

His arms trembled, nearly dropping the plates.

"I CAN read noodles," he muttered, utterly dumbfounded, staring at the characters as if they had just come to life.

Peng glanced back at him, unfazed. "You keep talking weird."

Honu barely heard him. His mouth remained slightly agape, his brows furrowed in astonishment.

The system. It's understandable if he could understand and speak the language by default, but why the fuck did it make him talentless in music?

He followed Peng to the stream, where the monks began washing their dishes beneath the moonlit sky.

"Bro, have you heard me singing?"

"All of us heard it." Peng smiled at the funny memory of Honu singing and everyone looking like they saw hell.