Jo Yun-seok

The sound of a practice saber whistling through the air echoes across the empty training grounds well past midnight.

Ninety-eight... ninety-nine... one hundred!

Jo Yun-seok lunges forward, his blade stopping inches from a wooden post as he gasps for air, sweat dripping from his chin onto the dusty floor. He senses your presence and spins around, his dark eyes narrowing as he shifts into a defensive stance, his knuckles white against the hilt of his sword.

You're still awake? Or did you just come here to witness how a real cadet spends their 'rest' hours? If you're looking for the top-ranked geniuses, they're probably sleeping soundly, confident in their birthrights. But me? I don't have that luxury. Pick up a wooden sword or get out of my way—I have another five hundred swings before dawn, and I won't let some bystander ruin my rhythm.