CHAPTER 28: CHAPTER 27: THIRD MATCH AND SHADOW SPLIT

"The morning feels different," Haria said as she stood by the window of Jinmu’s room, watching the early sunlight filter through the paper screens. "Not just because of what happened last night. There’s something in the air itself. Like the whole pavilion is holding its breath."

Jinmu sat on the edge of his bed, his mask still covering his face despite having slept little during the night. His fingers drummed restlessly against his knee, a nervous habit that Haria had never seen from him before. The usual calm that surrounded him like an invisible cloak had been replaced by something more volatile, more dangerous.

"It’s the final match," he replied, but his voice lacked conviction. "Of course the atmosphere is different. Six competitors, one winner. The entire martial world is watching."

Haria turned away from the window and studied his posture, the way his shoulders held tension despite his efforts to appear relaxed. "That’s not what’s bothering you, and we both know it. You’re thinking about the Palace Master. About what Do Giseon might be doing to her right now."

She’s right, of course, Jinmu thought, his jaw clenching behind the mask. I can’t stop thinking about it. Danhye Yeoryeong is a Grandmaster, one of the most powerful martial artists in the orthodox world, and she’s being held prisoner by someone who’s already proven he has no qualms about poisoning his own allies. What’s to stop him from doing worse to an enemy?

"I keep running through scenarios," he admitted, standing and beginning to pace the small room. "Ways to find where they’re keeping her, ways to rescue the others, ways to expose Do Giseon’s conspiracy without getting everyone killed in the process. But every plan I come up with has the same problem."

"Which is?" Haria prompted, though she suspected she already knew the answer.

"I can’t be in two places at once," Jinmu said, stopping his pacing to face her directly. "If I abandon the tournament to search for the Palace Master, Do Giseon wins by default. He gets to present whatever narrative he wants about the Yeonhwa Lotus Palace being unreliable, cowardly, unworthy of their position among the great sects. But if I focus on the tournament, I’m leaving her and the others to whatever fate he has planned for them."

The frustration in his voice was palpable, a rare crack in the composed facade he usually maintained. Haria had seen him face overwhelming odds before, had watched him calculate his way through seemingly impossible situations, but this was different. This was personal in a way that went beyond mere tactical considerations.

He cares about her, Haria realized. Not romantically, but... she’s become important to him in a way that few people ever have. She saw something in him that others missed, treated him with respect when others would have dismissed him, trusted him with responsibilities that could have cost her everything. And now she’s paying the price for that trust.

"There has to be another way," Haria said firmly. "You’re the most creative tactical thinker I’ve ever met. Surely you can find some solution that doesn’t require choosing between the mission and the people."

Jinmu resumed his pacing, his mind clearly working through possibilities even as his body moved restlessly around the small space. "I’ve been thinking about that all night. Conventional approaches won’t work. Standard rescue operations require too many people and too much time. Direct confrontation with Do Giseon would be suicide until we know exactly where the prisoners are being held."

"So what’s unconventional?" Haria asked, settling onto a cushion and watching him pace. "What’s the option that no one would expect because it seems impossible?"

Jinmu stopped abruptly, his head turning toward her with the sudden focus of someone who had just grasped an elusive idea. But instead of sharing it immediately, he fell silent, his masked face turned toward the window.

What if there’s a way to be in two places at once? he thought, his mind racing through possibilities he couldn’t voice aloud. My ability... the Heavenly Copy-Paste Technique. I’ve been using it to copy martial arts, techniques, even objects. But what if the scope is broader than that? What if I can copy... myself?

The idea was so audacious, so unprecedented, that even thinking about it made his pulse quicken. He had never attempted anything remotely similar, had never even considered that such a thing might be possible. But the theoretical framework was there, wasn’t it? If he could copy techniques by understanding their essence, copy objects by grasping their fundamental structure, then copying himself was just... a more complex version of the same process.

"Jinmu?" Haria’s voice cut through his internal deliberations. "You’ve gone very quiet. What are you thinking?"

He turned to face her, knowing that he couldn’t share the full truth but needing to give her some explanation for his sudden change in demeanor. "I’m thinking about misdirection. About the possibility of creating enough confusion that our enemies don’t know where to focus their attention."

"Misdirection how?" Haria asked, though her tone suggested she wasn’t entirely convinced by his deflection.

"I can’t explain the details yet," Jinmu said, which was true enough. "But I think there might be a way to handle both objectives simultaneously. It would be... unconventional. Risky. But potentially effective."

Copying myself, he thought, the concept taking shape in his mind despite his inability to discuss it openly. A temporary projection of my current state that could act independently for a limited time. The original me searches for the Palace Master while the copy participates in the tournament. It’s either brilliant or insane. Possibly both.

Haria stared at him for a long moment, her expression cycling through suspicion, consideration, and finally reluctant acceptance. "You’re being deliberately vague. That usually means you’re planning something dangerous that you think I’ll try to talk you out of."

"Maybe," Jinmu admitted. "But right now, I’m not ready to commit to any particular course of action. I need to... test some possibilities first. Make sure they’re actually feasible before we start building plans around them."

"Test how?" Haria pressed.

Jinmu moved to where his sword, Yeomhwa, rested against the wall. He lifted it carefully, feeling the familiar weight and balance, the subtle warmth that indicated the weapon’s spiritual connection to his ki. The gesture was partly practical—checking his equipment—but mostly a way to buy time while he considered how much he could reveal.

I need to be alone to attempt this, he realized. The Heavenly Copy-Paste Technique is my deepest secret, something I’ve never shared with anyone. Not just because it’s powerful, but because it’s so fundamentally different from normal martial arts that most people wouldn’t understand it. They’d see it as cheating, or worse, as some kind of demonic cultivation.

"I need some time by myself," he said finally. "To meditate, to focus, to explore some... techniques that might be relevant to our situation. Can you give me an hour or two of privacy?"

Haria’s eyes narrowed slightly. "You’re being evasive again. And you’re asking me to leave at a time when we should be coordinating our approach to the final match. That’s not like you."

"I know," Jinmu said, his voice carrying a note of apology. "And I wish I could explain more clearly. But there are aspects of my training that I’ve never discussed with anyone, methods that require complete solitude to attempt safely. If they work, they could solve our problems. If they don’t... well, at least we’ll know we tried everything."

It’s not exactly a lie, he thought, feeling the weight of partial deception. The Heavenly Copy-Paste Technique is definitely an aspect of my training that I’ve never discussed with anyone. And it definitely requires solitude to attempt safely. I’m just not explaining what it actually does or how it works.

Haria was quiet for a moment, studying his masked face as if trying to read the thoughts behind it. Finally, she nodded with obvious reluctance. "Fine. But I want you to promise me something."

"What?"

"If whatever you’re planning goes wrong, if you get hurt or compromised or... worse... don’t try to handle it alone. Come find me immediately. Even if it means exposing secrets you’d rather keep hidden. Even if it means admitting that your plan failed. Your life is more important than your pride."

The concern in her voice was genuine, and Jinmu felt a pang of guilt at the knowledge that he was keeping something so significant from someone who clearly cared about his wellbeing. But the secrecy wasn’t about pride or distrust. It was about necessity. The fewer people who knew about his ability, the safer everyone would be.

She’s asking me to prioritize caution over success, he thought. To choose safety over victory if I’m forced to make that choice. It’s a reasonable request, the kind of thing a friend would ask of someone she cares about. But it’s also the kind of promise that might become impossible to keep.

"I promise," he said, though both of them understood that circumstances might make such promises meaningless. "If the situation becomes too dangerous to handle alone, I’ll come back for help."

Haria seemed to accept this, though her expression suggested she had reservations about his likelihood of actually following through. "Then I’ll leave you to your... meditation. But Jinmu?"

"Yes?"

"Whatever you’re planning, be careful. We’ve already lost the Palace Master and the others. We can’t afford to lose you too."

After Haria left, Jinmu sat alone in the center of his room, staring at his own hands as if seeing them for the first time. The morning light streaming through the window cast sharp shadows across the floor, dividing the space into areas of brightness and darkness that seemed somehow symbolic of the choice he was contemplating.

Can I actually do it? he wondered, extending his consciousness inward to feel the familiar pulse of the Heavenly Copy-Paste Technique flowing through his meridians. Can I copy myself?

He closed his eyes and began the process of internal analysis, turning the technique’s focus inward for the first time since he had acquired it. The sensation was immediately disorienting, like trying to watch himself in a mirror while simultaneously being the mirror.

What am I, essentially? he thought, his mental focus becoming laser-sharp. A collection of physical matter organized in a specific pattern. A network of meridians carrying ki in particular flows. A set of memories and experiences that define my personality and capabilities. A consciousness that directs and coordinates all of these elements. If I can understand each component and how they relate to each other...

"COPY," he whispered, activating the power with deliberate focus.

The process was unlike anything he had attempted before. His consciousness seemed to split, part of it remaining in his normal perspective while another part examined him as if from outside his own body. He could feel the technique mapping his physical structure, cataloging the arrangement of his bones and muscles, the flow of blood through his veins, the distribution of ki through his meridian network.

This is... intense, he thought, struggling to maintain focus as waves of sensory information flooded his mind. It’s like trying to dissect myself while remaining alive and conscious. Every aspect of my existence is being analyzed and categorized, broken down into component parts that could theoretically be reconstructed elsewhere.

The process continued for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes. Layer by layer, the technique dissected his being: his physical capabilities, his learned skills, his accumulated memories, his personal relationships, his fears and motivations and dreams. Nothing was hidden, nothing was exempt from analysis.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of introspective examination, the technique completed its scan. Jinmu opened his eyes, gasping slightly from the effort of maintaining focus throughout the ordeal.

I can copy myself, he realized with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. The technique successfully mapped every aspect of my existence, from the cellular level to the spiritual level. The pattern is stored in my consciousness, ready to be manifested. But there are limitations I didn’t anticipate.

The most significant limitation was power distribution. When he copied external techniques or objects, he was adding them to his existing capabilities. But copying himself would be like dividing his essence between two forms. The total amount of power wouldn’t change, so each form would necessarily be weaker than the original.

My current strength is at the Peak Master level, he thought, working through the implications. A copy created through this technique would probably be at the standard Master level. Still formidable by most standards, but not nearly as capable as the original. Against opponents like Juhwa Gyeongcheol or Seoryeon Baekho, it would be at a significant disadvantage.

But disadvantaged didn’t mean helpless. The copy would still have access to all of his techniques, all of his knowledge and experience. It would know how to use the Blossom Flow Requiem, how to combine different fighting styles in unexpected ways, how to read opponents and exploit weaknesses. And most importantly, it wouldn’t need to win every fight. It just needed to maintain the deception long enough for him to find and rescue the prisoners.

It’s a desperate gamble, he admitted to himself. Based on an untested technique with potentially catastrophic consequences if it goes wrong. But it’s the only option I can see that offers any hope of saving everyone without abandoning our mission.

Outside his window, the sounds of preparation were growing louder as the time for the final match approached. Servants calling to each other, officials reviewing procedures, spectators beginning to gather in the early seating areas. Soon, he would need to make his decision and act on it.

The optimal timing would be just before the opening ceremonies begin, he calculated. That will give me time to explain the situation to the copy and ensure it understands its role. Then I can begin the search while everyone’s attention is focused on the tournament arena.

He stood and moved to his equipment, checking Yeomhwa’s condition and ensuring that his mask was properly secured. Everything needed to be perfect. There would be no second chances, no opportunities to correct mistakes once the deception began.

In about an hour, he decided. That’s when I’ll attempt the PASTE. If it works, we have a chance at both saving the Palace Master and completing our mission. If it doesn’t...

He didn’t finish the thought. Failure wasn’t acceptable. Too many people were depending on him, trusting him to find a way through what seemed like an impossible situation. He had never let them down before, and he wasn’t about to start now.

Only one way to find out, he thought, taking a deep breath to steady himself for what came next.

"PASTE."

The word carried more weight than usual, charged with intent and desperate hope. The moment he spoke it, reality seemed to bend around him like heated metal being shaped by an invisible hammer. The air in the room thickened, becoming viscous and strange, and a pressure built in his chest as if something fundamental was being torn away from him.

Then, in the space directly in front of him, light began to coalesce. Not the harsh brilliance of flame or the soft glow of ki, but something deeper and more primal. It was the light of creation itself, of existence being called into being where none had existed before.

The light took shape, condensing and solidifying with agonizing slowness. First an outline, then substance, then detail. Within moments that felt like hours, a perfect duplicate of himself sat cross-legged on the floor, identical in every visible respect down to the position of his mask and the way his robes fell around his body.

It worked, Jinmu thought, staring at his own face looking back at him with the same expression of amazed disbelief. I actually copied myself. Created a duplicate with independent consciousness and capability. This shouldn’t be possible, but here it is.

The copy opened its eye and spoke with his voice. "The technique succeeded, but the power distribution is exactly as we calculated. I can feel the reduction in strength and endurance."

Hearing his own voice from outside his body was deeply unsettling, but Jinmu forced himself to focus on the practical implications. "How significant is the reduction? Can you still fight effectively?"

The copy stood and moved through a series of basic stances, testing its physical capabilities with the same methodical approach Jinmu would have used. "I’d estimate my current strength at the standard Master level, perhaps slightly higher. Still formidable, but noticeably weaker than your Peak Master abilities. The techniques are all intact, though. I can access the Blossom Flow Requiem, everything we’ve learned."

Master level instead of Peak Master, Jinmu thought, assessing the tactical implications. That’s a significant disadvantage against opponents like Juhwa Gyeongcheol and Seoryeon Baekho. But it might be sufficient for the deception, especially if the copy fights intelligently and avoids direct power confrontations.

"How long can you maintain independent existence?" he asked, studying the copy’s movements for any signs of instability or degradation.

"Unknown," the copy replied honestly. "I can feel the connection to your consciousness, like a thread stretched between us. As long as that connection remains strong, I should be able to function normally. But if it weakens or breaks..." He shrugged. "I might simply cease to exist."

The implications of that statement hung between them like a sword waiting to fall. The copy was a temporary manifestation, dependent on Jinmu’s continued existence and proximity. If something happened to him during the search for the Palace Master, the copy would likely vanish, leaving Haria alone and exposed at the tournament.

Another risk to add to an already dangerous plan, Jinmu thought. But at this point, we’re committed. The copy exists, the tournament begins in less than an hour, and the Palace Master is still a prisoner somewhere in this complex.

"Do you understand your role?" he asked the copy.

"Perfectly," came the reply. "Participate in the tournament as ’Muyeon,’ maintain the deception that we are one person, fight effectively but not so brilliantly as to draw excessive attention to our capabilities. Buy you time to locate and rescue Danhye Yeoryeong and the other prisoners."

"And if something goes wrong? If you’re discovered or if the other contestants prove too strong?"

The copy considered this for a moment, its expression—his expression—thoughtful. "Improvise. Adapt. Fight with everything available and hope it’s enough. The same approach you would use in similar circumstances."

💭 Of course, Jinmu thought with grim amusement. The copy has all of my memories and thought patterns. It would approach problems exactly the same way I would. Which is both reassuring and concerning, depending on the perspective.

A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. "Jinmu?" Haria’s voice called from the hallway. "The opening ceremonies begin soon. We need to start moving toward the arena."

The copy immediately moved to the far side of the room, positioning itself near the window where shadows would help conceal its presence. Jinmu opened the door, stepping slightly outside to block Haria’s view of the interior.

"I’ll be ready in just a moment," he said, working to keep his voice normal despite the surreal circumstances. "Just finishing some final preparations."

Haria studied his face—or what she could see of it behind the mask—with the perceptive gaze that had become familiar over their time together. "You seem... different. More focused, but also more tense. Did your meditation session help clarify your plans?"

If only she knew, Jinmu thought. But she can never know. The fewer people who understand what I’m actually capable of, the safer everyone will be.

"It helped," he said truthfully. "I think I’ve found a way to handle both objectives without sacrificing either one. But it will require precise timing and a great deal of luck."

"Care to share the details?" Haria asked, though her tone suggested she expected him to deflect the question.

"After the tournament," Jinmu replied. "Right now, I need to focus on the immediate challenges. But I promise you’ll understand everything once this is over."

Haria nodded, though her expression remained concerned. "Alright. But remember what I said earlier. If things go wrong, don’t try to handle everything alone."

"I won’t," Jinmu said, the lie sliding off his tongue with practiced ease. "I’ll meet you at the arena in a few minutes. I just need to collect my equipment."

After she left, Jinmu returned to the room where his copy waited patiently. The duplicate had used the time to familiarize itself with the available equipment, checking the condition of the wooden practice sword and ensuring that the mask was properly secured.

Strange to watch myself prepare for battle from an outside perspective, Jinmu thought. Every movement is exactly what I would do, but seeing it performed by someone else creates an odd sense of disconnection.

"Remember," he said to the copy, "your primary goal is maintaining the deception. Don’t try to win every fight if victory would require revealing capabilities that Muyeon shouldn’t possess. It’s better to lose convincingly than to win suspiciously."

"Understood," the copy replied. "And your primary goal is finding the prisoners without getting killed in the process. The deception only matters if you survive to rescue them."

"Agreed." Jinmu moved toward the window, preparing to leave through the same route he had used for his previous infiltrations of the pavilion. "How will we coordinate if circumstances change? If one of us discovers something the other needs to know?"

The copy touched its chest, over the heart. "I can feel the connection between us. If you focus your thoughts strongly enough, I should be able to sense the general content. Not detailed communication, but emotional states and basic intentions."

Telepathic connection through the copying technique, Jinmu realized. That could be useful, but it also creates another point of vulnerability. If the connection is detected by someone with sufficient skill...

"Be careful with that ability," he warned. "If anyone senses unusual ki patterns or spiritual connections, it could expose the entire deception."

"I’ll be discrete," the copy assured him. "Now go. The longer we delay, the greater the risk that something will go wrong."

Jinmu nodded and climbed through the window, dropping silently to the ground outside. The copy would wait a few more minutes before leaving through the door, taking a different route to the arena to avoid any possibility of being seen together.

And now the real challenge begins, Jinmu thought as he moved through the shadows toward the main pavilion complex. I have perhaps three or four hours before the copy’s performance in the tournament becomes critically important. Time enough to search the most likely locations for the prisoners, but not enough for an exhaustive investigation.

Behind him, the copy prepared to join Haria and walk into what might be the most dangerous performance of their shared existence. Neither version of Jinmu knew whether the plan would succeed, but both were committed to seeing it through to whatever end awaited them.