The scent of jasmine vanished, leaving behind only the acrid tang of pulverized stone and the faint, shimmering gold of residual Ruh clinging to Hakan’s knuckles. Aylin was gone. Swallowed by the Spire's stone corridors, her muttered warning—"It’s starting again"—still bounced inside his skull. He stared at his hand, then at the crater where the training dummy used to be. A single, basic First Wind Form punch. That was all it took. [Repetition Karma System] [Power: 1,847] He shook his head, a dizzying mix of disbelief and wild elation bubbling up. His ribcage rattled with sudden heat. This was real. This wasn’t a dream or some elaborate prank from the senior students. He needed to know if the math held up. Ignoring the lingering dust and the faint alarm bells ringing somewhere in the back of his mind regarding Aylin’s terrified expression, Hakan sprinted. Not towards the main dorms, but towards the secluded, dust-coated dojo assigned to the lowest-ranked initiates. It remained bare most nights, a forgotten alcove on the lower plateau where only mountain drafts stirred the dust. He burst through the creaking wooden doors, the single tallow lamp within casting long, dancing shadows. He didn’t bother to light more. The dojo was small, just a mat-covered floor and a single, cracked stone Pillar of Endurance in the center. Perfect. He took a deep breath, settling into the familiar, almost meditative stance of the First Wind Form. It was the first thing they taught, the foundation, a simple thrust of the fist, channeling minimal Ruh from the core to the extremity. It was supposed to take months, years, to master the nuance, to feel the gentle flow. Hakan launched his fist forward. It felt… different. Smoother. More effortless. A streak of golden Ruh gleamed across his forearm. [First Wind Form performed.] [Power: 1,847 x 1.5 = 2,770] The number jumped. A laugh, high and giddy, escaped his throat. He did it again. And again. Each punch, light as a feather, yet feeling like it could split the world. [First Wind Form performed.] [Power: 2,770 x 1.5 = 4,155] [First Wind Form performed.] [Power: 4,155 x 1.5 = 6,232] [First Wind Form performed.] [Power: 6,232 x 1.5 = 9,348] The numbers surged. He watched them climb, a frantic, exhilarating ascent. His muscles hummed with a newfound energy, a sense of boundless strength blooming in his chest. His joints, often stiff from sleeping through lecture bells, snapped clean and fast. He wasn’t just performing the form; he was *embodying* it. The air around him subtly rippled with each movement, a soft current stirring the dust on the floor. A grin split his cheeks, pushing away the memory of Aylin's gray, panic-stricken face. [First Wind Form performed.] [Power: 1,895,301 x 1.5 = 2,842,951] He paused, panting, not from exertion but from sheer, overwhelming joy and a growing undercurrent of unease. Two million power? From basic punches? The Pillar of Endurance, which had previously seemed as solid as the mountain itself, now looked fragile, a mere prop waiting to be crumbled. He felt… too big for this small dojo. Too strong for this simple form. What if he accidentally cracked the plateau itself? [First Wind Form performed.] [Power: 2,842,951 x 1.5 = 4,264,426] “An impressive display, Hakan Yilmaz.” The calm, measured voice made Hakan jump. He spun around, Ruh flaring instinctively around his fists, only to find Temir Aslan standing in the doorway. Temir, an upperclassman from Aylin’s faction, was always quiet, almost ethereal. His dark uniform, normally spotless, bore smudges of lime from the older courtyard. Temir's gray eyes stayed completely still, like river slate. “Temir! What are you… how long have you been standing there?” Hakan quickly lowered his hands, feeling a flush creep up his neck. He looked around the empty dojo, wondering how Temir had found him, how he’d known to look here. Temir stepped inside, the door creaking shut behind him. He didn’t answer directly. Instead, his gaze swept over Hakan, a slow, appraising look that seemed to peel back layers. “Your growth is… unprecedented. Even by the Whispering Winds’ standards. This raw surge of Ruh will not go unnoticed.” He paused, his gaze softening slightly. “Aylin is not your enemy, Hakan. But her fear… her fear is a force more potent than any Ruh-infused fist.” Hakan’s giddiness evaporated, replaced by a cold knot in his stomach. “What do you mean? What’s she afraid of? Is it… is it me?” The question felt like lead in his mouth. He thought back to her terrified face, her whispered words. Temir walked closer, pulling a slender, intricately woven bracelet from his sleeve. It was crafted from dark, lacquered wood, interspersed with segments of polished obsidian, humming with a faint, steady pulse of Ruh. “This is a Ruh Dampening Braid, woven by my sect's elders. It will disguise your excessive output. The precinct wardens watch for spikes, and this will muffle the discharge.” He extended it to Hakan. “Wear it. And be discreet.” Hakan took the band, the lacquered wood warm against his palm. He looked at Temir, a flicker of suspicion warring with genuine gratitude. “Why are you doing this, Temir? What do you know?” Temir’s gaze turned distant, fixed on some unseen point beyond the walls. “The balance must be maintained, Hakan. The flow of Ruh must not be disrupted. Some things are best left… un-shattered.” His words were cryptic, a riddle Hakan couldn’t quite unravel. “Aylin acts out of a deep-seated conviction. Understand that, if nothing else.” With a nod, Temir turned and silently melted back into the shadows of the academy, leaving Hakan with the heavy trinket and a head full of questions. He clasped the band around his wrist. It felt cool, then settled into a comfortable, almost imperceptible hum. He tried another punch. The numbers still surged, but the outward ripple of Ruh was noticeably muted. A sigh of relief escaped him, quickly followed by a fresh wave of concern for Aylin. What conviction drove her to such terror? What was she trying to stop? Later that evening, lanterns still burned along the upper terraces long after the dormitories went dark. Hakan, restless and unable to shake the image of Aylin’s face, found himself near the upper-tier training grounds, a labyrinth of grand, open-air platforms where the most advanced students honed their craft. He spotted her there, beneath the pale glow of a Spirit-Crystal lamp, practicing the intricate, flowing movements of the ‘Azure Serpent’s Coil’ form. It was a complex sequence, requiring immense focus and control, designed to channel Ruh through precise, serpentine strikes. Aylin’s strikes, always textbook perfection, were ragged. Sweat plastered strands of dark hair to her forehead, and her shoulders were slumped, her entire posture radiating exhaustion. She moved with a desperate intensity, each strike fueled by a raw, almost frantic energy. She misstepped, wobbled, and almost fell, catching herself with a frustrated gasp. She didn’t stop. She pushed harder, driving her body through the demanding form again and again. Hakan watched, a pang of sorrow twisting in his gut. This wasn’t the aloof, perfectly composed Aylin he knew. This was someone driven to their absolute limit. He edged closer, hidden by a shadowed archway, wanting to call out, to offer comfort, but something held him back. Her intensity was a wall he couldn’t breach. She finished a particularly grueling sequence, dropping to one knee, breathing heavily. Her voice came out rough, barely cutting through the wind. “This time,” she muttered into the floorboards, “this time, I have to be strong enough to stop him.”

A Thousand Punches, One Question