The Smart One

Yue Jin sat just outside the market square, elbow on his knee, chin resting on his hand. People passed. Merchants haggled. Farmers unloaded carts. And yet, none of them seemed like the kind of person Yu Jin wanted.

"What am I even looking for...?"

His brow twitched.

Yu Jin's order had been clear, but the more Yue Jin tried to follow it, the less sure he was of what that looked like. Strength? Intelligence? Guile? Who could tell just from a face?

He sighed.

"Can't I just beat someone up instead of all this info-gathering?"

That made more sense. A solid punch said a lot about a man's worth. And if they couldn't take one, what use were they?

"Tch… I'd rather just train…"

And then the thought hit him.

Wait… If Yu Jin can order me around—why can't I order someone else around?

His eyes lit up.

He stood and stretched, cracking his knuckles.

"Yeah... let's try that."

He slipped into the back alleys beyond the square. Dirt paths, stacked crates, worn laundry lines. This was where the people with nothing to lose gathered.

And then he found them.

Four young men—lean, dirty, and loud. Squatting around a small pile of stolen goods, tossing a few copper coins back and forth.

Perfect.

Yue Jin stepped forward without hesitation.

"Alright! Which one of you is the smartest?"

They looked up.

Yue Jin smirked, arms crossed.

"Because you're coming with me."

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then laughter.

The tallest of them stood, half-rotted blade in his hand. "You got a screw loose, kid?"

Another pulled a rusted cleaver from his sash. "You hear that? We're coming with him."

"Someone's brave," one muttered, fingering a sharpened chisel.

Yue Jin didn't budge. Instead, he grabbed a long, splintered board from a broken crate beside him and hoisted it like a training sword.

"Let's see if any of you are worth my time."

The first thug lunged—sloppy, angry, all brute force. His strike was wild, nothing like the ones Yu Jin delivered during training. Yue Jin slipped inside the arc, twisted his hips, and snapped the board upward in a clean strike to the man's chin.

Crack.

The thug's eyes rolled back as he staggered. Before he even dropped, Yue Jin pivoted and kicked him hard in the chest, launching the man back into the second thug who had started charging.

Both collapsed in a heap.

Yue Jin spun, targeting the third man—still hesitating, waiting for an opening.

Yue Jin didn't give him one.

He charged.

Yue Jin didn't slow down.

He closed the gap on the third thug, the board raised like a proper sword. The man backed up, hesitating—

Too slow.

Yue Jin brought the wood down in a powerful diagonal slash—shoulder to ribs. It landed with a satisfying crack, catching the man across the torso. But this wasn't a sword. It didn't slice. It smacked.

The thug grunted and staggered but didn't fall.

He reached up, grabbed the board, and locked it against his body, holding Yue Jin's makeshift weapon in place.

Yue Jin's eyes widened—he was stuck.

That second of hesitation was enough.

The second thug—who'd just shoved the unconscious one off his chest—darted forward, knife in hand. He slashed low and fast.

Yue Jin felt the blade carve across his back.

Burning pain.

Muscle tensing.

His whole body recoiled.

He ripped the board free and turned, barely getting his footing before the third thug—grinning now—swung a wooden club overhead.

Crack.

It connected with the back of Yue Jin's head.

His vision blurred.

His legs buckled.

But he didn't go down.

Yue Jin fought back the dizzying pull of unconsciousness. Blood trickled down his spine, his head throbbed, but he wasn't done. He wouldn't be.

Not now.

With a guttural growl, he turned toward the thug who slashed him and kicked him square in the crotch.

The man folded in on himself instantly, knees buckling. His face contorted in agony, eyes wide and glistening with tears. Whatever pride he had was crushed under that kick—visions of mutilation flashing behind his eyes.

Yue Jin didn't even wait.

He spun—board still in hand—and swung it sideways like a war hammer, slamming it into the face of the club-wielding thug.

There was a wet crack.

Teeth flew. Blood sprayed.

The man dropped, hitting the ground like a sack of rocks.

Only one remained.

The fourth thug stood behind the heap of the first one Yue Jin had knocked cold. He didn't step forward—he hurled whatever he could find. Broken bricks. A rock. Even a dented tin bowl.

Yue Jin didn't stop.

He marched forward, letting the projectiles hit him. One struck his shoulder, another grazed his forehead, reopening the cut. Blood dripped freely down his face, painting him in red.

He didn't flinch.

Didn't blink.

Didn't slow.

He walked through the chaos like a demon dragging itself out of hell.

When he finally reached the last thug, the man let out a shriek and slashed desperately at Yue Jin's knee, hoping to bring him down.

It worked.

Yue Jin dropped to one knee—face still twisted in pain, body battered and leaking. But his eyes never lost their fire. Blood caked his features. A snarl peeled across his lips.

He looked up—and met the thug's eyes with pure, unfiltered rage.

The man froze.

"D-Demon!" he whimpered.

Because in that alley, surrounded by groaning bodies, broken wood, and blood…

Yue Jin didn't look like a boy anymore.

He looked like something born to kill.

The alley was silent now, save for the labored breathing of the unconscious.

Yue Jin sat atop a battered crate—scraped, bloodied, and bruised. His leg was stiff, his ribs ached, but his posture was straight and cold. One hand rested on the plank of wood now slick with blood. The other cradled his side.

Below him, the last thug—the one who'd slashed his knee and survived the longest—now limped awkwardly between the scattered bodies, wiping sweat from his face as he clumsily tended to Yue Jin's wounds.

Not from care.

From fear.

One by one, the others began to stir.

And with that stirring came pain—a thunder ringing in their skulls, bruises blooming across their bodies. The memories came distorted, hazy, like a dream.

Or a nightmare.

A boy with blood-red eyes.

A monster swinging wood like steel.

A demon snarling in the dark.

As each one woke, they didn't dare stand.

Instead, they knelt, knees tight together, backs ramrod straight, shaking in place.

Afraid to move.

Afraid to breathe.

"Good," Yue Jin said, without looking. "You're awake."

His voice cracked across the silence.

The nearest thug scrambled to his feet and kicked one of the others in the side, waking him with a startled yelp. "G-Get up! Now!"

Soon, all five were kneeling. Silent. Obedient.

Yue Jin stood, casting a shadow over them despite his size. The blood dried on his face made his expression colder. Crueler. Bigger.

To the thugs, he no longer looked short.

He looked like a giant.

"You lost to me," he said, voice low and sharp. "That makes you mine."

None dared reply.

"You will act as my eyes and ears. You will patrol the alleys, the markets, the inns—wherever the rats gather. I want names. Faces. People with strength no one wants. Thieves. Brawlers. Cowards with potential."

He stepped forward, every muscle aching, blood still fresh on his back and scalp. But he kept his posture firm — shoulders squared, chin up.

He had to look like he wasn't hurting. Just like Yu Jin had.

"You'll report back in three days," he said, voice flat, cold. "If you don't…"

He leaned close to the nearest thug, his breath slow, his eyes hard.

"I'll find you. And you'll regret it."

The thug nodded quickly, fear in his eyes.

Yue Jin didn't flinch. Not yet. Not until they were gone.

He stood over them, bloodied and bruised, trying not to sway. The broken wood still rested in his hand like a sword he didn't deserve.

He didn't really know what he was doing.

But for the first time, they listened.

And maybe… that was enough to start.