Unveiled Potential

The only sounds that accompanied Jiro Han were the echoes of his footsteps on the pavement. His body was calm but the mind was otherwise; it still pounded in his chest. Adrenaline began draining from his system with each passing moment. His thoughts replayed the events — Kyung-Ho's anger, the precision, his hands moving like he was trained for years.

He looked down at his palms. They didn't look like a fighter's hands. No calluses. No scars. Just smooth, unassuming skin.

"How did I do that.?" Jiro muttered under his breath.

He knew it wasn't normal. Nobody learns to fight overnight. Nobody dodges multiple opponents with such precision and confidence unless they've been through countless battles.

But I haven't, he thought. Not that I can recall at least.

The Perception Field was more than mere "heightened awareness" - this much was clear now. It wasn't providing him with information. It was providing him with instincts: movements that felt natural, as if his body knew already what to do.

He would walk with his eyes on his surroundings, feeling every shift of the wind, every distant footstep from passersby, and the distant hum of an engine from a block away. It felt as if his brain were constantly tuned to a frequency no one else could hear.

"Is this. how it's going to be from now on?" he asked aloud.

When Jiro finally arrived home, he slipped off his shoes silently. His father, Han Joon-Seok, was home, just like always. He could hear his father talking on the phone in his office. His father's deep commanding voice echoed through the hall.

"Investments aren't just numbers, you fool," his father growled. "They're people. And if you don't understand people, you'll lose everything."

Jiro looked at the door to his father's office, his eyes narrowing slightly. His father was a man of business-respected, feared, and constantly busy. Conversations like this were nothing new. His father had built his entire reputation on knowing how to "read people."

Reading people, huh? Jiro thought as he quietly moved toward his room.

He went inside, closed the door, and locked it. For a while, he just stood there, leaning against the wall. The silence of his room felt heavier than usual, as if something unseen was watching him.

He sat on his bed, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands. Everything was changing so fast, and he had no one to talk to about it. No guide. No manual. Just him. "Knock. Knock." Jiro's head snapped toward the door, his Perception Field flaring to life. The knock wasn't heavy or impatient. It was slow. Deliberate.

"Jiro?" It was his father's voice, firm but not angry.

"Yeah?" Jiro said, sitting up straighter.

"Come downstairs. I need to talk to you."

His father's footsteps faded down the hall. Jiro sat still for a moment, then let out a long breath. This can't be good.

Living Room

The living room was dim, lit only by the warm glow of the ceiling light overhead. His father sat on the couch, his face-down phone lying on the coffee table in front of him. Jiro immediately knew this was no mere "father-son chat."

"Sit," his father said, nodding toward the chair across from him.

Jiro complied, his eyes glued to his father's face. Han Joon-Seok was a man of precision. His suit was wrinkle-free, his tie perfectly centered, and his posture straight as an arrow. The kind of man who never did anything without a purpose.

Neither of them said a word for a few seconds.

"You were in a fight," his father finally said.

Jiro's heart skipped a beat. How does he know that?

His eyes darted down, avoiding his father's gaze. "I didn't start it."

"That doesn't matter," his father replied coldly. "What matters is that you finished it."

Jiro glanced up, surprised by his father's tone. It wasn't angry. It wasn't scolding. If anything, it sounded. curious.

"You beat Kyung-Ho Park, didn't you?"

Jiro's breath caught in his throat. "I didn't—"

"Don't lie to me, Jiro." His father leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his sharp eyes locked onto his son. "Word travels fast. Faster than you think. Three calls. Three different parents. All saying the same thing — 'Your son embarrassed Kyung-Ho.'

Jiro gritted his teeth. Of course, the parents would gossip. No one ever missed a chance to spread news like that.

"Listen carefully," his father said, his voice softer now but no less firm. "This world isn't kind to people who stand out. The moment you show them something extraordinary, they will tear you down."

He leaned back, his eyes narrowing. "But. if you know how to control it, they won't tear you down. They'll fear you."

The words hung in the air like a blade suspended over Jiro's head. He didn't know how to respond.

"What do you want me to do?" Jiro asked, his voice low.

His father smiled faintly, the kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Simple. Don't stop."

Jiro's eyes widened. "What?

"Don't stop," his father repeated, his eyes sharp as glass. "You've already made enemies. They're not going to forget. If you stop now, they'll hunt you. But if you keep going, they'll think twice. The world doesn't remember the weak. It only remembers the ones who stand above."

For the first time, Jiro looked at his father clearly. The cold logic. The understanding of power. His father didn't just "read people." He controlled them.

"Use what you have," his father went on. "Use it until no one can challenge you."

Jiro sat in silence, his fists clenched on his knees. His father's words made sense in a twisted, terrifying way. Part of him didn't want to follow that path. But another part — the part that felt alive when he moved in sync with the Perception Field — that part agreed.

"I'll think about it," Jiro muttered.

His father cocked his head, his eyes still fixed on his son. "You will do more than think about it. You'll act."

Jiro walked out of the living room, his heart weighed down more than before.

That Night

Jiro lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. His father's words kept echoing in his head. "Don't stop."

His Perception Field was active again, but this time it wasn't sharp or alert. It was calm. Controlled. It felt like it was waiting. Waiting for him to make a choice.

"Don't stop, huh?" Jiro whispered to himself.

He closed his eyes, letting the Perception Field expand. It wasn't as overwhelming as before. He could feel it now, like a second layer to his mind. It wasn't just reacting to threats — it was processing, predicting, and waiting for commands.

'If I'm going to do this… I need to understand it. Control it.'

The next day would be different. No more running. No more hiding.

His father had told him to keep moving forward.

But this time, it would be on 'his' terms.