• •
  I had talent.

I remember the day I first gripped a sword, how my senior's eyes wavered for a moment.

"That kid... he'll rise fast."

That one sentence ruined my life.

I trusted my instincts instead of effort, relied on talent instead of obsession, and never delved to the very end.

Because I could win. Because I could catch up.

So I procrastinated. So I did less. So—I was late.

Labels like 'delinquent' followed me. They said I was foul-tempered and selfish. I didn't argue, because it wasn't wrong.

Still, in the end, I reached the peak.

The Plum Blossom Sword Saint.

That's what people called me, but I knew.

That name was just an excuse for a late-blooming talent.

When the war broke out, I regretted it for the first time.

If only I had trained a little more, if only I had been a little more insane, if only I had cast everything aside a little sooner—

Maybe I could have saved them.

From that moment on, I picked up my sword like a madman.

I cut out sleep, vomited blood, and swung until my veins and muscles tore apart.

I became strong. Terrifyingly strong.

But—

The people were dwindling.

Names vanished, faces disappeared, and voices were cut short.

The faster my sword became, the fewer people there were left to protect.

Mount Hua, and the Nine Great Sects and One Union, all eventually crumbled.

I was the only one standing at the end.

My sword was alive, I was alive, but my sect was dead.

That's when I realized.

I was a man who ultimately couldn't keep up with the pace.

Even when death arrived, I was indifferent.

I thought of it as a survival I didn't deserve.

So I closed my eyes—

And they opened again.

I was breathing. My body was young. My dantian was fully formed.

As soon as I gripped a sword, without needing any explanation, the plum blossoms bloomed in full.

It was my prime.

A laugh escaped me.

This isn't a reward.

It's a mockery.

I headed straight for Mount Hua.

The gates were smashed, the stairs were cracked, and the sect sign had fallen.

There were no people.

Not even a presence.

It was a place that had already ended—long ago.

I couldn't move a single step.

"...I'm late this time, too."

You didn't even give me a chance.

I had the talent, I had the time, and I had the body—

But I missed it both times.

So I discarded my name. I erased my past. I entered the Murim Academy.

It felt right to start over where no one knew me.

From the first day, gazes were pinned on me.

"They say he's from Mount Hua." "From that ruined sect." "What bad luck." "I don't want to get involved with him."

Faces that showed their dislike openly.

It was familiar.

I was always the one who was discarded at the beginning.

It doesn't matter.

Don't come near me. Don't expect anything. Don't get attached.

I am a man who failed to protect anything, twice.

But—

The guys who turned their backs on me keep looking back.

"His eyes are too empty." "He's like a broken blade." "He's dangerous... so why can't I stop thinking about him?"

They hate me, yet they can't look away.

I don't understand.

I am a failed talent, a late blade, a man who missed his mark twice.

But this time—

I won't make excuses. I won't procrastinate. I won't do less.

Even from this ruined place, I will rebuild.

Even if I break.

Because a sword is meant to consume its owner first.*