Three days.
Not a long time by most measurements.
The first of them had been, if Nathan was honest with himself, humbling in a way he hadn't fully anticipated. Stripping back everything he'd built on top of his natural ability and standing in what remained felt like being handed a structure you'd assumed was stone and discovering it was held together by something far more provisional. His footwork, examined properly, was loud. His breathing gave away his exertion in ways he hadn't noticed because he'd never needed to notice — no opponent had been patient enough, or quiet enough, to use the information. His weight shifts announced his intentions to anyone trained to read them. Layer by layer, Genzo named the habits and Nathan worked to undo them, which was its own particular kind of difficulty. Unlearning sat differently in the body than learning. It had friction.
By the second day, something had begun to move.
