"Nayoung!" Hannah shouted, her voice tight with panic as she reached for the barrier, helplessly watching her friend charge at Seojun, eyes wild, her scissor-like weapon glowing with unstable mana. Minseok stood beside her, equally shaken, "She's not in control—stop her! Master, please!"
But Seojun didn't strike back.
He kept stepping aside with ease, dodging each swing as Nayoung slashed through the air with raw emotion behind every strike, her breathing fast, her movements reckless, as if trying to release everything she had felt—fear, anger, helplessness—all of it pouring into her weapon.
Meanwhile, just behind them, Jinhyu was laid gently on a conjured bed by Seojun's clone, his eyes half-closed, already being healed by a soft light hovering above him, his wounds slowly knitting back together, though his face remained pale.
