"Wait..." Eyra pointed at Ansel, tilting her head to the side. "You're my student?"
Cerua looked between Eyra and Ansel, a puzzled expression on her face. "Have you two met before or something?" Then, she spotted Rotteger awkwardly shuffling into the arena. "...and what's he doing here?"
Ansel raised his eyebrows, staring at Eyra. He recalled how Cerua had described her as a quirky martial artist, but… he had never considered Eyra the type to be proficient in martial arts. But then again, the palm strike she conducted during her spar with Sal spoke otherwise. Ansel shook his head vigorously, snapping back to reality. "Cerua, Eyra… you two know each other?"
"Yeah," Cerua nodded, side-eyeing Eyra with a blank expression. "She's..."
"My best friend!"
"...an acquaintance."
The two girls spoke simultaneously.
"Hey! Who're you calling an acquaintance?" Eyra placed her hands on her hips, leaning forward and glaring at Cerua with a childish pout. "I've known you since you were six!"
"Hmph," Cerua bit her lip in frustration. "Fine, call me whatever you want." She turned her attention back to Ansel. "...so, it seems like you two have already met, so I guess introductions aren't needed. Except..." She pointed at Rotteger. "Roy, what are you doing here?"
"Oh! Me?" Rotteger squeaked, adjusting his glasses. "I thought I would come in to observe Ansel's training, and… maybe, you could teach me too?" He bowed at a ninety-degree angle.
"Hah? What?" Eyra recoiled backward, a vein on her temple bulging with fury. "...I'm fine with training Ansel, but why would I have to train you? You look even skinnier than him, for crying out loud!"
"Please, sensei!" Rotteger called out, still refusing to relinquish his bowed position.
"Sensei?" Eyra seethed, clenching her fists against the sides of her uniform. She turned to meet Ansel's gaze, silently urging him to talk some sense into Rotteger.
However, Ansel, upon seeing Rotteger's desperation, felt a sense of pity rising within him. 'He just wants to get stronger… like me.'
Then, Ansel followed Rotteger's action, assuming a ninety-degree bow. "Please allow Rotteger to train with me under your guidance!"
Cerua watched with a slightly amused expression as Eyra sucked back her anger, assuming a perfectly composed demeanor. "Alright, fine," her voice came out in a flat, robotic tone. "I'll teach the both of you. But you must do everything I say, exactly when I say it, without asking questions. Got it?"
"Yes! Understood, ma'am!" Rotteger stopped bowing, standing up straight before reluctantly raising a hand. "But… if we don't ask questions, how are we supposed to learn?"
Eyra's eyes overflowed with killing intent as she stared into Rotteger's very soul. "You said you understood, right?"
"Aah! Y-yes, ma'am!"
* * *
Training Ground Delta was a circular arena with a diameter of fifty meters. Though it didn't provide the largest open space to practice, it was ample enough room to develop martial skills. Ansel stood side-by-side with Rotteger at the center of the arena, with Eyra positioned directly in front of them. The three were in their training uniforms, while Cerua remained in her normal uniform—watching from the sidelines.
"So," Eyra began to explain, "there are three styles of martial arts." She extended her hand. "Lotus, Tansy, and Nightshade." She demonstrated a different posture with each style: a flat palm, a clenched fist, and a pointed palm.
"The Lotus Style," Eyra held up a flat palm, "is great for control. You want to control your opponent—manage their every movement and sap their energy without resorting to breaking bones? Lotus is your go-to."
"Next, Tansy." She held out a fist. "You want to punch someone in the face? Here you go."
"Is that it?" Rotteger asked. "I thought the explanations would be a little more in-depth."
"Who do you think I am, the god of martial arts?" Eyra scoffed. "I'm just telling you what I know, so shut up and listen. If you ask another question, I'll Tansy your face off."
"U-understood, ma'am." Rotteger nodded, clenching his fist and mimicking Eyra's movements.
"And the final style…" Eyra extended her hand with her palm facing the ground, the tips of her fingers pointed directly at Ansel. "...Nightshade. Made for deadly precision and targeting specific weak points. It's the hardest style to master due to the awkward nature of—y'know—jabbing things with your fingers." Eyra demonstrated a few quick jabs, awkwardly bending her elbow. "...yeah, I'm no good at this."
"Back then," Ansel spoke up, "when you were fighting Sal, you were using the Lotus Style, right? How did you manage to make his stone arms crumble with a single touch?"
"Ah," Eyra grinned. "That was an advanced technique. My family specializes in the Lotus Style, so mastering the resonant strike is a necessity. It targets… uh…" She brought a finger to her lips. "...what do you call it—sectorial ingenuity?"
"Structural integrity?" Rotteger tilted his head.
"Yes!" Eyra snapped her fingers, pointing at Rotteger. "Exactly whatever the hell you said! The strike itself has to be really precise, but its effects take place over a broad area instead of being localized like the Nightshade Style." She turned to Ansel. "You'll be learning the Lotus Style. If you get the basics down, you'll have at least a one-percent chance of bringing Dominic to his knees."
"Got it," Ansel nodded, determination evident in his posture. "...how do I start?"
"What do you mean?" Eyra smirked. "You start by standing still. Let me offer a demonstration."
"Alright." Ansel straightened his posture. "Go ahead and use the technique on me."
Cerua watched from the sidelines—she was sitting on the floor, her head slumped against her knee. She let out a small huff of air as Eyra approached Ansel, readying her palm.
"Alright… be prepared," Eyra muttered, her eyebrows furrowing in concentration. Then, the world went black. She floated inside an endless void and contacted an invisible barrier.
Ansel felt millions of reverberations echo throughout his body, all condensed into a single point before spreading across his muscles and bones. There was no pain—just an unusual sensation, a mix of utter exhaustion and relaxation. Before he could even begin to understand the sensation rattling through his body, he collapsed to the ground, the energy drained from his limbs. "What…?"
"That was a resonant strike." Eyra brushed off her hands. "It's the first apex of the Lotus Style. It took me over a decade to get right, so I doubt you guys will be able to achieve it, but… it shows just how powerful the Lotus Style is. In a one-on-one spar, control is a far more important factor than force or precision."
"Whoa…" Rotteger's jaw hung open. "...that was insane. The frequency of your palm directly lined up with the average resonant frequency of Ansel's body, creating a—"
"Yeah, yeah, enough science stuff," Eyra sighed. "Get back up. The first step of your journey toward mastering the Lotus Style is—drumroll, please." She glanced at Cerua, who was already half-asleep. "...never mind. It's meditation. Get up, cross your legs, and assume the Lotus pose."
Three hours had gone by, and night had already encompassed the campus grounds. Cerua had taken a quick nap on the sidelines, only to wake up and find Eyra sitting next to her. Eyra's gaze was locked onto Rotteger and Ansel, seated on the sand—deep in meditation.
"So," Cerua yawned, "...did I fall asleep?"
"Yeah, you did." Eyra didn't take her gaze off the boys. "Was my teaching really that boring? I think I actually did a pretty good job explaining everything to them." A slight smile stretched across her lips.
"Sorry, I didn't get much sleep last night." Cerua straightened up, sitting against the arena wall as she tilted her head upward, staring at the scattering of clouds stretched across the infinite sky.
"That's the textbook excuse for falling asleep during the day," Eyra shrugged. "You could try being a little more creative—or maybe just telling the truth."
"Well, it's technically nighttime now," Cerua said, pointing at the dark sky.
"It was daytime when you fell asleep. I win the argument."
"Why does everything have to be an argument with you?" Cerua sleepily rubbed her eyes. "You know just talking and discussing things is a normal thing humans do, right?" She lowered her hands, gazing at Eyra's profile. The distant image of Ansel was reflected in her pupils. "You really rein your temper in around him, huh?"
"What do you mean?" Eyra finally turned to face Cerua. "Around Ansel?" Seeing Cerua nod, she continued. "Yeah, I guess so. He reminds me of Yusef."
"He reminds you of your brother?" Cerua raised an eyebrow. "...but they look nothing alike. Actually, I guess their eyes do look pretty similar, now that I think about it."
"It's not his appearance," Eyra chuckled. "Yusef was the same. He was no good at martial arts, but he still tried his best. He wanted to prove himself, even if he wasn't an accessor."
Cerua let out a short exhale, falling silent for a few seconds before gathering the courage to speak. "Do you really think Ansel doesn't have an ability? If he goes into the spar with Dominic relying solely on martial arts…"
Ansel's eyes were shut. He searched through his own mind, trying to find the personal void Eyra had mentioned. He scoured the depths of his consciousness, skimming through memories like running a finger across the spines of books on a library shelf. When he reached the end, he found himself in a place of infinite color and infinite darkness.
The patterns on the inside of his eyelids were present and absent at the same time. 'This is my personal void… but something's wrong. There are too many colors. I need…' He grit his teeth. 'I need to focus.'
"What matters is he's trying. He's doing what he knows is right without thinking about the consequences." Eyra looked up at the sky. "...it's stupid, but brave." She smiled.
"That sounds like a dangerous way to live."
"Yeah," Eyra chuckled. "It really is."
* * *
Dominic's pinky finger made contact with the punching bag. With the force of a thousand pent-up punches, the bag flew off its hinge, smashing against the opposite wall with a heavy THUD.
It flattened against the bricks—sand and feathers exploding outward, littering the ground with torn leather and stuffing that resembled discolored viscera. Dominic was drenched in sweat, dark patches spread across his training shirt. His chest heaved with heavy breaths, and his arms trembled from overexertion.
"Good," a voice spoke from behind him. "...use that anger. Use that drive. Pour everything you have into a single-minded focus. You're not planning to simply win against Ansel, right?"
"I'll stomp him into the ground." Dominic clenched his fists. "He's just a stepping stone."
"That's right, Dominic. Everyone and everything is a stepping stone. You're on a journey of your own. Your family doesn't matter. Your classmates don't matter. The only thing that matters is that you listen to me, Dominic. Only I can help you reach your goal."
"I'll do it," Dominic panted. "No matter what it takes. I will come out on top, Lieutenant."