The moment I stepped into the building, I felt it: a thick, simmering intent to do battle. It was close—very close.
If this were a trap, the "texture" of the air would feel different. Besides, our opponent's Quirk wasn't suited for elaborate setups, and with only five minutes of prep time, the chances of them having a complex snare waiting for us were slim to none.
This presence didn't belong to Iida. That meant the one lurking nearby was—
"Aoyama is close," I whispered. "Expect an ambush."
"Understood," Tokoyami replied, his voice steady. "I'll leave the vanguard to you."
"Roger."
With those few words exchanged, I moved forward, maintaining a gap of several meters between us. Behind me, Tokoyami kept Dark Shadow coiled beneath his cloak, ready to manifest at a moment's notice while he scanned for a surprise attack.
As I mentioned before, the layout of this building differed slightly from the previous exercise stages. While the fourth and fifth floors were standard, the first through third floors featured a wide-open atrium right past the main entrance. It was a "kill zone"—there were few places better suited for a vertical ambush.
Worse, there was no cover. Even before we entered, I could have predicted exactly what was about to happen.
Right on cue, only seconds after stepping inside, a sharp, cold prickle of intuition ran down the back of my neck.
"Coming from four o'clock! Break right!"
"What?! ...Gah!"
The words had barely left my lips when a searing pillar of light erupted from the exact direction I'd pointed. Tokoyami managed to throw himself clear just in time, while I avoided the beam with the bare minimum of movement.
Still in motion, I spun toward the source of the attack and raised my voice.
"Go!"
"Right!"
We leaped simultaneously, crossing paths to switch our initial positions. Between my own physical conditioning and Tokoyami's Quirk, we were both capable of incredible verticality. Tokoyami vaulted toward the second floor, landing in a blind spot relative to the sniper's nest; I, conversely, leaped toward a position on the second floor that made me an easy target.
From there, we split up.
I moved with the deliberate flashiness of an "Attaro" practitioner—drawing attention while keeping my movements tight and efficient as I scaled toward the third floor. I deflected or dodged every laser beam sent my way with effortless precision.
Finally, I stood face-to-face with Aoyama, who had remained rooted in his original sniping position.
"Pas mal... You're quite good, Mademoiselle☆"
Aoyama spoke with an air of effortless grace, his face locked in a sparkling mask of confidence. He was hiding his nerves well, but it was futile. The Force spoke the truth: beneath the glitter, he was deeply rattled.
Time to rattle him further.
"I see..." I said flatly. "It seems you can't maintain a continuous discharge for long. Your rate of fire is limited, too."
"...! Is that so? I wonder."
I stated my observations with clinical detachment, slowly closing the distance.
Another laser fired.
It didn't hit. It was no different than a blaster bolt; no matter how close to the speed of light a projectile moves, anyone can dodge it if they know exactly when and where it's going to be fired.
"This is the end, Villain. Surrender peacefully."
"...Hehe. Do you really think a Villain would just say 'Oh, okay' and let themselves be caught?"
"I suppose not."
"Exactly! Adieu☆"
It seemed his fear of the unknown finally outweighed his bravado. Aoyama's decision to retreat wasn't a mistake; knowing when to fold is a hallmark of a capable combatant. He certainly met that criteria.
His method of retreat was unique and remarkably logical. Just as he'd done during the fifty-meter dash, he used the recoil of his laser to propel himself through the air. It was a clever maneuver that combined offense and mobility.
It would have worked—if his opponent wasn't me.
"Ow...?! What!?"
Aoyama's right leg buckled mid-air as if struck by an invisible blow. He botched the landing, tumbling across the floor and clutching his shin in agony. His face was a mask of pure shock.
It was a look I was, in a sense, very familiar with. It was the exact expression worn by men who had just seen their own blaster bolts batted back into their chests by a Jedi.
"You... you reflected my Navel Laser...!?"
Forgetting his escape, he stared at me. I responded by simply raising the tip of my lightsaber toward him.
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