NO ONE GETS SICK HERE

Shu’en sat cross-legged in the softly lit house, surrounded by piles of well-worn books scattered across the mat in front of him. The pages carried the musty scent of dust and ink, their words etched by long-gone scholars. Most of the texts delved into Zinken, but they did so in vague metaphors, riddles, and cryptic teachings.

“Spiritual power is the reflection of one’s soul.”

“Core Energy flows like a river; to dam it is death, to drown in it is madness.”

He frowned, his gray eyes narrowing at the faded script.

“Tch. They make it sound more like poetry than actual instructions,” he grumbled, flipping to the next page. “No wonder so many people struggle to understand this.”

Yet, he knew that even riddles held hidden truths. From his past lives, he had learned that truth often emerged in silence rather than in the clamor of words.

With a soft sigh, Shu’en closed the book and set it aside. His small hands rested on his knees, his back straight. The gentle glow of the evening sun filtered through the cracks in the shutters, casting warm orange lines across the floorboards.

He closed his eyes.

Father always said… Core Energy flows through the Ninsei Channels. It’s not about forcing it; it’s about letting it guide me. To truly feel it, not to command it.

Shu’en’s eyes flew open, his breath coming in quick gasps as sweat trickled down his small face. The deafening roar of energy had finally quieted, but what followed was even more terrifying—the ominous crack of splintering wood overhead.

He glanced up, and his heart sank. The entire roof had been blown apart by the explosive surge of aura. Beams dangled precariously, shadows dancing across them, while shards of wood spiraled through the air, threatening to crush him at any moment.

“Run, Shu’en!” Ei’sen’s voice boomed through the chaos, sharp with urgency.

Before his mind could catch up, Shu’en’s body sprang into action. His little legs propelled him forward, weaving through the falling debris, but a nagging thought clawed at his chest:

I was careless. Too reckless. Letting my energy spiral out of control like that… if I die here, under my own roof, then everything—everything I vowed to change—ends before it even starts. I can’t die. Not here!

The floor groaned ominously. A massive chunk of the roof cracked loose above him, hurtling down with enough force to crush his small frame. Shu’en braced himself to leap—

—but then soft arms wrapped around him. His mother’s.

“Got you!” Moanna’s voice trembled as she pulled him close to her chest. Her hands shook, but her grip on her son was fierce.

The shadow of the falling beam swallowed the light.

Then Ei’sen appeared. His body surged with energy, veins glowing faintly as he let out a primal roar. Zinken coursed through his limbs, amplifying every muscle, every fiber. He planted his feet firmly, raised both arms, and caught the collapsing roof with his bare hands.

The wood creaked, splinters biting into his skin, but he held it steady.

“Moanna! Get him outside!” he shouted through gritted teeth. “I’ll take care of this!”

Shu’en took a slow, deep breath, holding it until his lungs felt like they were on fire, then released it in a steady stream. He did it again. And again.

The world around him faded the soft creak of the wooden walls, the occasional chirp of insects outside, even the distant chatter of villagers all blurred into the background. All that remained was the steady thump of his heart.

There it was. That rhythm. Follow it.

Like threads pulling at the edges of his awareness, he began to sense it—the faint pulse within him. Not blood. Not breath. Something deeper. A warmth nestled in the center of his chest, faint but persistent, like an ember that just wouldn’t go out.

Core Energy…

The warmth began to spread. Down his arms. Into his fingertips. Flowing through his chest, into his stomach, his legs, curling at the edges of his mind. At first, the flow was faint, like water trickling through a cracked pipe, but with every breath, it grew steadier, stronger.

Sweat formed beads on his forehead. His small fingers trembled slightly against his knees.

The energy didn’t just flow. It surged.

A shiver coursed through him as the warmth expanded, rushing through his Ninsei Channels like floodwaters surging through narrow canals. His body tensed, his teeth clenched, and a throbbing began in his head, as if protesting against the sudden force.

No… not too much. Don’t force it. Guide it… guide it.

He held onto his father’s words, steadying his breath, picturing the energy as a river flowing through him. Not something to control, but something to follow.

Gradually, the chaos faded into a rhythm. The wild surging began to stabilize, each pulse syncing with his heartbeat.

Thump. Flow. Thump. Flow.

Meanwhile, in the other room, Ei’sen and Moanna were caught up in one of their usual silly arguments.

“I’m telling you,” Moanna said, her brow furrowed, “if animals could talk, chickens would be the worst. They’d spread gossip faster than any human could!”

Ei’sen slammed his cup down on the table. “That’s ridiculous! Pigs are the real gossipers. Have you heard how much they squeal? That’s classic snitch behavior!”

Before Moanna could fire back, the house suddenly shook. A deep rumble followed, then a sound like thunder. The windows rattled, and a shockwave swept through the room, sending Moanna’s sewing kit flying across the floor.

Without a second thought, Ei’sen grabbed Moanna and shielded her with his body, shouting, “Stay behind me!”

Moanna smacked him on the head. “It’s not an army, you idiot—it’s our son!”

They both turned toward Shu’en’s room.

The door rattled on its hinges, light streaming through the gaps. When Ei’sen pushed it open, he came to a sudden halt. The whole room buzzed with an electrifying energy. Books whirled around, and the walls groaned as if the house itself was struggling against the force.

And right in the center of this chaos, Shu’en sat peacefully, deep in meditation. His little face was a picture of calm, hands resting on his knees, even as raw power surged from him uncontrollably.

Ei’sen felt his eyes well up. “I’ve given birth to a genius.”

Moanna crossed her arms, her expression a mix of disbelief and anger. “He’s five. He still writes his letters backward.”

Without missing a beat, Ei’sen dropped to his knees beside her, hands clasped together as if pleading for mercy. “Forgive me, my love. Forgive me for underestimating this heavenly gift. Our child is destined for greatness!”

Moanna didn’t respond—she simply smacked him again.

Shu’en’s small fists trembled as he clung to his mother, watching his father strain under the weight of the collapsing home. His chest burned with guilt and awe.

Ei’sen let out a groan, his arms finally giving in as he pushed the broken beam aside. The heavy slab hit the ground with a dull thud, sending a cloud of dust swirling into the air.

He staggered back, his shoulders heaving, chest rising and falling with deep, ragged breaths.

“Moanna—” he gasped, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Is he… is Shu’en okay?”

Moanna held their son close, still trembling from the chaos. She glanced down at him, then back at her husband, and nodded, tears welling in her eyes. “He’s fine. He’s safe.”

Shu’en blinked, her words echoing oddly in his ears. Safe?

A memory flickered to life. A different place. A different time. His sword sinking into flesh. The wide eyes of a man whose name he never bothered to learn. Blood splattering across his cheek. His heart steady, his hands unwavering.

No hesitation. No regret. No feeling whatsoever.

That was who he had been. A life where death was just part of the routine.

But now—he looked up. His father’s broad shoulders, still tense from the effort. His mother’s gentle hands holding him as if she would never let go. The moisture in her eyes. The raw worry in Ei’sen’s voice.

They were… crying for him. Crying because he almost got hurt.

Why?

The question twisted in his chest like a knife. His past lives had taught him strength, detachment, survival at any cost. Yet here, in this moment, seeing his parents’ care—their fear of losing him—felt heavier than any sword.

His throat tightened. Something warm welled up in his eyes. He didn’t sob. He didn’t break. But a single tear slipped down his cheek, silent and sharp, carrying a weight he couldn’t quite name.

He wiped it away quickly, feeling confused and unsettled.

Why… do I feel this?

Two months had passed.

The sun blazed overhead, and the air was thick with the dry scent of dust and grass. Shu’en stood in the courtyard, gripping his wooden sword, his movements sharp and purposeful. To an onlooker, he appeared to be just another boy training—steady swings, precise footwork, the rhythm of someone determined to get better.

But deep down, he wasn’t training at all. He was waiting.

It had to be today. This very hour.

Each strike of the blade, every step he took on the dirt, was a cover. His gray eyes darted toward the horizon, his breath quickening with anticipation.

He waited for hours, the haunting memories of fire and screams echoing in his mind.

He considered telling his father. Warning him. But when he imagined Ei’sen’s stern expression, the words got stuck in his throat. He wouldn’t believe me. Not without proof.

So, Shu’en chose to remain silent.

Minutes turned into hours. The courtyard grew still, shadows stretching longer. Sweat trickled down his temple as his swings slowed, his body aching more from the tension of waiting than from the training itself.

Yet still—nothing.

No smoke. No bandits. No cries.

Just silence.

Shu’en tightened his grip on the wooden sword, his chest knotting with anxiety. Did I remember it wrong? Or is it just delayed?

His jaw tightened. He couldn’t let his guard down. Not yet.

Shu’en finally lowered his sword, feeling the weight of anticipation pressing down on him more heavily than all those hours spent training. Nothing had happened. No smoke. No screams. No fire.

Frustration gnawed at him as he wiped the sweat from his brow. Was my memory playing tricks on me? Did I change something without realizing it? Or… is it still on its way?

With a long sigh, he turned toward the house. Inside, the familiar creak of the wooden floor and the warm scent of cooking wrapped around him like a comforting blanket, even though his mind was anything but at ease. Why didn’t it happen…?

That night, sleep eluded him.

The next morning, muffled voices echoed through the hallway—sharp and heated.

Shu’en’s brows knitted together as he followed the sound, pushing the sliding door open just enough to peek inside.

Moanna stood there, arms crossed tightly, her expression tense and defensive. In contrast, Ei’sen stood firm, his voice low and steady with determination.

“You can’t send him out there! It’s too dangerous!” Moanna’s voice cracked, her eyes glistening. Then, almost instinctively, she turned and pulled Shu’en into her arms, hugging him so tightly that his feet nearly left the ground. “No! I won’t allow it—my baby isn’t going into that world filled with monsters and killers!”

“Moanna—” Ei’sen rubbed his forehead, clearly worn out from the argument. “It’s for his future. He has to meet them. He has to explore with them.”

Shu’en blinked in confusion, glancing back and forth between the two of them. “...Meet who? What are you even talking about?”

Ei’sen met his gaze directly, his voice softening yet still firm.

“Shu’en, it’s time. You need to start meeting my old friends—the ones I went on adventures with. They can teach you things I can’t. Experiences that will be crucial for your journey ahead.”

Moanna tightened her grip on him, her expression fierce. “Over my dead body.”

Ei’sen’s jaw tightened, but then he tried to lighten the mood with a small smirk. “Come on, our boy is a prodigy! He’ll never get sick! Strong as an ox, sharp as a hawk!”

Shu’en tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. “...What does that have to do with me meeting your friends?”

Ei’sen paused for a moment, clearly realizing he had no real connection between “never getting sick” and “going on dangerous adventures.”

“...It makes sense if you don’t think about it,” he finally muttered.

Shu’en just stared at him, unimpressed. Moanna looked like she was ready to throw a pan at his head.