1222-07-13
Knock.
"Wake up," a stern voice calls from behind the door.
I get out of bed, making sure to straighten the blankets.
I changed into the clothes they provided—a simple black robe with wide sleeves and a thin belt that ties around the waist. The fabric is rough, clearly made for practicality rather than comfort, but it fits well enough.
When I open the door, I find all the other kids from the orphanage standing outside their rooms. They're lined up in neat rows, two by two, each pair clearly sharing a room. They're saluting, their hands raised in uniform gestures.
I follow suit, saluting the air in front of me,
He's inspecting the rooms, moving methodically from door to door.
The sound grows closer, each step heightening the tension. Finally, he reaches the room across from mine. The boy and girl from earlier step aside as he enters their room. I hear him checking the beds, likely for neatness, and then the scratching of a pen on paper as he writes in a small notepad.
He moves to my room next.
"Order!" he barks.
In perfect unison, the other children lower their salutes and fall into step behind him, marching in silence.
We followed him to the backyard, where the sun hung low, casting long shadows across the field.
He didn't speak, only motioned for us to form a line. We obeyed, standing in silence as he scribbled in his notebook. Time dragged on. My legs stiffened, and my thoughts raced. I'd never seen him like this before, so quiet, so focused. What was he thinking? What did he want from us?
I couldn't help but glance at the notebook in his hands. It had to hold something important—maybe notes on our progress, or how far we'd come since starting
What if he was angry? Disappointed? Had we failed somehow? What would happen to us if we had?
Hours passed, the sun sinking lower, but none of us moved. None of us dared. Then, at last, he spoke.
"Since Utsuho has caught up with some of you," he began, his voice cutting through the stillness, "we'll be holding a makeshift tournament over the next few months."
The group remained silent, faces unreadable. No one questioned him. No one even flinched.
"Today, we'll start with… Utsuho and Riku."
I straightened immediately, saluting before stepping to the front of the group. Riku did the same.
Was standing around meant to wear us down? If so, he'd have to try harder than that. The field we stood on was empty—no mats, no weapons, nothing but the cold, hard ground beneath our feet. It was nothing like previous exercises.
I wanted to ask what he expected, but I held my tongue. This wasn't the time.
"You may all sit," he said, and the rest of the group followed his command, taking their places at the edge of the field.
This was a test—a test of hand-to-hand combat. It felt strange, unfamiliar. I'd spent weeks training with a sword, a katana, and even a spear. Fighting without a weapon left me at a disadvantage, but I'd adapt.
"The winner of the tournament will earn one month off from training and better food," he announced, his words snapping me out of my thoughts.
Better food? That got my attention. The gruel we'd been eating here barely qualified as meals—cold, bland, and barely enough to keep us going. The thought of something fresh, something warm, made my mouth water. Steak, fish, even fresh bread. I could almost taste it.
I pulled the bracelet from my pocket. I slipped it onto my wrist. These bracelets allowed us to access Stage 2, enhancing our abilities. Riku mirrored my actions, preparing himself.
It was time.
I stood across from Riku, the bracelet on my wrist humming faintly as it activated. She rolled her shoulders, her sharp eyes locked onto mine. The way she smiled—calm, unbothered—set my nerves on edge. She wasn't underestimating me. That made her dangerous.
The moment the signal came, she lunged. Her movements were fluid, precise. I sidestepped, letting her strike pass through the air where I'd just been. But before I could counter, her fist was already coming for my side.
I turned intangible just in time, her punch passing harmlessly through me. I [phased through her. I tried to grab her from behind.
She spun around and aimed a kick at my chest.
I stepped back, my heart pounding.
She kept pressing forward, her attacks relentless. My intangibility saved me again and again, her strikes phasing through me like smoke. But I couldn't hit her either. Every punch, every kick I threw, she dodged with ease, moving just a second ahead of me.
"You rely on that too much," she said, her tone almost mocking as she dodged another swing. "Intangibility won't win this."
She was right. I needed to think, to do something unpredictable. As she advanced, I staggered, pretending to lose my footing. Her eyes narrowed as she darted forward, her body low, aiming to sweep my legs.
That was my chance. I turned solid just as she committed to her move, shifting my weight to slam my elbow into her shoulder. She grunted, stumbling back, but quickly regained her balance.
"Not bad," she said, brushing the dust from her sleeve. Her grin widened. "But it won't happen again."
I dashed forward as she spoke, turning intangible the moment she threw her punch. Slipping past her, I reappeared behind her and reached out, trying to grab her.
She was faster. She spun around, caught my arm, and yanked me forward, slamming me hard onto the ground.
"Riku moves on. Utsuho moves to the losers' bracket," T announced, his voice calm and steady.
I pushed myself up and walked away from the center, my mind still reeling. The next match was already starting, but I was too focused on my loss to even register who was fighting.
I slumped down onto the ground. I replayed the fight in my head. Riku had countered me at every turn.
As the next match began, I leaned toward her, whispering, "How do you always do it? How do you counter everything?"
She glanced at me, a faint smirk playing on her lips. "It's my soul," she said softly. "I can copy fighting styles perfectly. Then I improve them. That's why I've never lost."
"Never?" I asked, my eyes narrowing.
"Never," she said confidently.
"Not even against…" I paused, lowering my voice, "Him?"
She grinned wider. "Not even him. He can see the future, sure, but it doesn't matter."
I clenched my fists. "In one year, I'll beat you."
Her laugh was quiet but sharp. "Focus on beating Keenan first," she whispered back.
I glared at her, but her grin didn't waver. The next fight raged on, but my mind was already plotting my revenge.
I wondered how she could tell. When I became intangible, everything seemed the same from my perspective—I still looked whole. I didn't appear translucent or ghost-like, at least not to myself. Was it the same for everyone else? Or was it just how her ability worked?
The thought gnawed at me. If her soul let her mimic and improve upon what she saw, did it also let her perceive things differently? Did she see through the shifts in my form, or was she anticipating my moves before I even made them?