A profound hush descended, heavier than the velvet drapes that lined the hall. Elder Seo Jun-ho, the patriarch of the Han River Clan, stood at the edge of the dais, his gaze like a chisel, carving into Kenji and Min-jun. The furious crimson of his face from moments before had settled into an unnervingly calm mask. He was a man accustomed to control, and this unexpected spectacle, while not ideal, was far from chaotic to his seasoned eyes. Min-jun, still clutching the jade, visibly flinched under the elder’s scrutiny, his shoulders hunching as if preparing for a blow. Kenji, however, remained impassive, his grip firm on the Yeon-ok Locus. He had faced true emperors, primordial beasts, and the unraveling of reality itself; a mere clan elder, however powerful, was but a minor obstacle. “So,” Elder Seo’s voice finally cut through the silence, surprisingly even, “the rumors of peculiar currents coalescing around Haneul Academy were not entirely unfounded. A shame to interrupt our esteemed auction, but perhaps… a necessary disruption.” He stepped forward, his ornate ceremonial robes swishing softly. “You, boy,” his eyes fixed on Kenji, “possess a peculiar, untamed metaphysical essence. A stray, as my scouts reported. And you, Min-jun, are a fool for interfering.” Min-jun gasped, his face paling further, but Kenji merely scoffed. “Untamed? Foolish man, my essence is a torrent you could never hope to comprehend. This trinket, this ‘Locus,’ is a mere stone in the path of a river.” He felt a flicker of impatience. This performance, this grandstanding, was beneath him. He was here to claim power, not to be lectured by a glorified landlord. Elder Seo’s lips curved into a thin, knowing smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “A stone, you say? Perhaps. But even a stone can be ground down by a truly mighty current. Or perhaps, the rock can prove the river’s strength. Min-jun, release the Locus.” The command was absolute, and Min-jun, after a moment of desperate hesitation, slowly loosened his fingers, stepping back as if burned. Kenji now held the Yeon-ok Locus alone, its jade surface cool against his palms. A faint thrum vibrated from within it, a resonance that whispered of captured vitality. Elder Seo gestured with an open hand. “Then prove it, boy. Show us this ‘torrent.’ Demonstrate your worth. Let us see if this token truly is so insignificant.” Kenji frowned. The elder wasn't challenging him to a fight, but to a display of power. A test. His arrogance, a constant companion, stirred. He had never shied from proving his might. He looked at the Yeon-ok Locus, at the faint glow within its intricate carvings. It was a tool, designed to amplify and contain. But Kenji didn't *contain* power; he *unleashed* it. He felt the whispers of his true nature, a primordial roar suppressed by this weak, juvenile body. The Locus hummed, trying to draw him in, to channel his force. But Kenji didn't channel. He shattered. With a snarl of pure disdain for its meager capacity, he clenched his hands around the jade dish. Not to activate, not to manipulate, but to *destroy*. There was no intricate pattern of geomancy, no precise strike of qi. Just raw, unfettered will, a memory of a time when entire mountains crumbled beneath his fists. The Yeon-ok Locus, revered for centuries, groaned. A hairline crack appeared, then spiderwebbed across its polished surface. The hum escalated into a whine, then a shriek, like metal tearing. “What are you doing?!” Elder Seo roared, his composure finally breaking. Several geomancers surged forward, their palms crackling with nascent pale light, but they were too late. With a final, explosive *CRACK*, the Yeon-ok Locus disintegrated. It didn't shatter into fragments, but dissolved into a blinding spray of pure, emerald-green light. It was condensed, primeval force, released from its long confinement. The light wasn't painful, but utterly mesmerizing, filling the entire ballroom. And then, it wasn't just light. It was *drawn*. Kenji felt a sudden, sharp tug deep within his lower dantian, a familiar ache of awakening. The emerald vapor, like countless luminous serpents, coiled around him, drawn into his chest, his arms, his very bones. It was a minuscule fraction, a drop in an ocean compared to his former strength, but it was *power*. Real power. It coursed through his veins, warm and intoxicating, a taste of what he had lost. His body, for the first time since his rebirth, responded with a flicker of its dormant majesty. A low growl rumbled in his throat. He exhaled, and the air before him compressed, then burst outwards. A tangible shockwave, unseen but violently felt, rippled through the room. Tables laden with hors d'oeuvres overturned, champagne flutes crashed to the floor, and the assembled elite, from the flustered Han River Clan members to the stunned Namsan Eagles, stumbled back, some falling, clutching their chests. Kenji stood amidst the chaos, a faint, emerald aura still clinging to him. He felt invigorated, alive. The sensation was fleeting, but gloriously potent. The crowd was silent, paralyzed by the sheer, untamed display. Elder Seo, however, did not cower. He stood his ground, a wide, terrifying grin spreading across his face, his eyes gleaming with a manic triumph. “Magnificent!” he bellowed, his voice echoing in the sudden silence. “Absolutely magnificent! The geomantic signatures… they are undeniable! The Han River will sing of this night!” Kenji felt a prickle of unease. The elder’s reaction was not one of defeat, but of success. “What are you prattling about, old man?” Kenji demanded, the taste of power still lingering on his tongue. “Your sister, boy!” Elder Seo laughed, a chilling, triumphant sound. “That ‘torrent’ of yours, that chaotic eruption, it wasn’t just a localized shockwave. It was a *flare*. A beacon! The Locus was designed to amplify the ambient ley lines, yes, but when shattered by pure, unrefined power like yours… it acts as a homing device! Every geomancer in the city, every clan, every stray practitioner now knows precisely where your little sister is!” The words hit Kenji with the force of a physical blow. His exhilaration curdled into a cold, consuming dread. Yumi. The talisman. Her bursting energy. This entire time, his focus had been on reclaiming his strength, on Akari, on his lazy retirement. But Yumi… she was his responsibility, his charge. And now, because of his arrogance, his need to prove himself, she was exposed. The casual threat in Elder Seo’s voice, the chilling glee, ignited a blaze in Kenji’s chest far hotter than any borrowed power. The thought of lazy, opulent retirement vanished, replaced by a singular, burning purpose. Let them come. Let them all come. If they dared lay a finger on Yumi, he would unleash a hell that would make their geomantic squabbles look like children’s games. Just as the rage threatened to consume him, a sharp vibration rattled in his pocket. His phone. He pulled it out, his thumb already poised, a cold premonition settling in his gut. The screen glowed with a new message. It was from Yumi’s number. *Come to the Gyeongbok Palace. Alone. Or the girl's soul-root is ours.*

The Taste of Power