"Again," Aera sighed. She found Hunter's effort unsatisfactory. He'd been too distracted over the last hour.
And far too cheerful.
He'd shown some focus halfway through the session when she mentioned they were going to practice grappling. He'd mentioned that he'd been having trouble with that during his class, and she knew that they'd have to get around to it, eventually.
Grappling wasn't all about brute strength. Sometimes it was about using what little strength you could leverage in just the right place.
But she could tell that his heart wasn't in the training today. He was elsewhere. So she'd decided that they'd just practice movements for the rest of her portion. A bit of conditioning and strength training would hurt no one.
At least, that's what she'd thought until the buffoon had twisted his wrist the wrong way, during a move that shouldn't have been possible to mess up. And yet, his cheer didn't seem to fade. She could read his frustration over the last few weeks. She'd noticed his improved focus and presence during the sessions, but even then, he always seemed disappointed by his inability to keep up with her or match her strength.
Not that he was alone in that regard. She was stronger than the average, fully grown man. But to Hunter, she was just another example to showcase a deficiency he'd been dealing with his whole life. It wasn't as if she wanted to assuage whatever complex he'd fostered during that time; it seemed to push him in the right direction. One day she might recommend that he find a therapist. She just didn't consider it her job to manage his emotions for him.
Besides, until today, he seemed to do okay. But something must have happened in the last 24 hours that had left a positive impact on him. Her bet was that it was a girl.
That wasn't a problem if it remained casual. But if it got serious, she would need to have a talk with him about significant emotional connections. She'd ask her people to find out what they could. It might be a bit of a breach of privacy, but she could never be too careful these days. He would understand.
Or he wouldn't, which would be his problem, and not hers.
"Alright, we're done," she said, and Hunter collapsed from the plank position he'd held for a whole 20 seconds.
No improvement since the last time, but she wasn't expecting much to change from day to day.
They both walked back to their apartment building and washed up, meeting in the cafeteria with their notebooks. This time she brought a small construct she'd been assembling in her spare time, hoping to get Hunters take on it.
He seemed to open up a lot more during his portion of the sessions. Given his mood, he was probably going to address the elephant in the room, and she wanted to get to work before he inquired.
Unfortunately, when Hunter had a burning curiosity, he could be even faster than her.
"So, about the black eye," he said, staring at the newest feature of her face, a swelling of skin coloured various shades of red and purple.
"Fell pretty bad this morning," she said, pushing the construct in front of him. "Tell me what you think of this."
He stared at the construct, and then back at her eye.
"Did you fall face first onto a bowling pin?"
"Something like that. Construct. Look. Now," she said, gritting her teeth.
Hunter sighed and examined the construct, which was a series of glyphs etched into a block of wood.
It was the first one she'd made without referencing a guide, and she was rather proud of it.
"Did you find it in a kindergarten class? I'm not sure what you want me to say," he said, looking at the block with a confused expression.
The thought of snatching it back from him and walking away tempted her.
"I mean, it works?" he said, his voice still uncertain. She sighed.
"Room for improvement?" she asked him, wishing that these sessions weren't necessary. She could always find another tutor.
But the unfortunate fact of the matter is that they wouldn't be as good as Hunter was.
Hunter's eyebrows rose, considering the block in a new light.
"You made this?" he mumbled, making that look that he always did when he had something he wanted to say but didn't want her to know. His lips would purse, and his eyebrows would furrow. It was almost a contemplative look until he tilted his chin down. That was the clear giveaway, like he was forcing himself not to speak.
"Well, you've got the fundamentals down, but today I want to walk you through a better way of routing the channels. And I would have made a few different choices in terms of glyph placement, which we can talk about as well. For a beginner project, I'd give it a pass," he said, handing it back to her and pulling out some pads of paper.
"Out of 10," she said. She wanted to hear what he thought. He should know her better by now.
Anything less than complete honesty would leave her dissatisfied.
Apparently, he understood her tone.
"Maybe a 5?" he said, gauging her reaction. She wanted to slap him, but settled with a glower.
"Okay, I'd give it a 4. It's not great, but it's good progress. You wouldn't have been able to do this a couple of weeks ago, right?"
She nodded, taking the block back.
Derision had replaced any pride she'd felt towards the offending object. She'd have to do better.
She would do better.
"Let's get started then," she said. Hunter nodded, understanding that she wasn't in the mood to waste time.
Reviewing Hunter's network schematic after the session, she conceded his work was better. Cleaner, more efficient, and it looked like something an expert had designed.
She read over the notes twice, memorizing as much as she could, and then moved onto the next item of her evening.
She called her new business partner.
---
Pipsqueak groaned, the meds insufficient to quell his pain. Jason pursed his lips and considered the state of his most trusted subordinate. Or, more accurately, used to be his most trusted subordinate. The days since the pup's incapacitation allowed Jason time to investigate Pippen's habits.
Jason's findings did not impress him. In fact, he was very disappointed.
Pippen had been a bad boy.
But Jason had appearances to keep up. To the world, he was Pippen's best friend, and Pippen his. The Visgolds readily accepted the chance to partner with the Chans. The Chans had proven resourceful in several key international projects, including Barnum.
And the Chan's were happy that the Visgolds had extended their prestigious olive branch. To the Chan's, it was less a branch and more of a social springboard. The Lockes utilized the Visgolds like a social gate, a gate that was closed to all but the select few who the Locke family took an interest in.
The Chan family considered gates and locks more suggestions than physical or metaphorical obstacles. A family like the Locke family was always interested in expanding their power base, and keeping valued subordinate families like the Visgolds in check. They had built a fruitful partnership with the Chans, who have done their utmost to go above and beyond for the Council family.
As far as Jason was concerned, the Visgolds usefulness to the Chans had run its course. The Visgolds' time was up. The Locke family, having supplied them with power, would demote them for their lack of contribution beyond acting as glorified guards.
The Visgolds had grown complacent — a complacency which did not compliment their ambition. But the Chans had ambition in spades and were quite willing to do the dirty work which that ambition demanded.
Even if it meant keeping up appearances for just a little while longer. Soon, his hands would be clean of the pipsqueak and his kin, and none too soon. He imagined that his relationship with Pippen was much like the Locke's relationship with Pippen's family, always cleaning up after the Visgolds enthusiastic service for their masters.
Jason scowled. He'd spent enough time in this hospital room, enough to satisfy social standards.
His phone rang as he left the room, and he answered it with relish.
"You've got Jason. Please tell you're about to invite me to a party."
"It's Aera."
Jason sighed. There would be no party, but at least there may be some entertainment.
"My dear, it's so good to hear your voice. My friend Pippen remains in a very sorry state, and I am overcome with grief. Please, I beg you, deliver me a balm for my sorrow," Jason said, straining his voice with dramatic flare.
It might have been a bit too sarcastic, but he was a slight bit beyond the point of caring. If Aera had any evidence linking him to Pippen's attack on her brother, she would have already acted on it.
Which was fine with him. Although he was playing it safe, his mother's plan was already in effect. Aera's display of resolve in the ring inspired Jason with the brilliant idea of bringing her back for a high-stakes match against two opponents. It had been the main event of the evening, with a few warm up fights from some up-and-coming contestants.
Then, the next week, she not only fought against two people, they were two heavyweight champions. She hadn't escaped without bruises. It had been thrilling to watch.
And profitable for both of them.
She was confident, and he would milk that for everything he could in the coming weeks, before it was time for the grand finale.
"Let's do three," she said — her voice lifeless and deadpan as ever. He wondered if Trey hadn't had her altered at birth, increasing her AR and intelligence at the cost of a personality. Or maybe they'd made a pact with some ancient demon.
He snickered at the thought.
How many of the rich and famous would partake in such a thing if it existed? He wondered how far his mother's ambitions would stretch if she could call in supernatural help at the cost of one of her children?
"Not four?" he asked, with the faintest hope that she'd agree. Who knew with her?
She took a second to consider.
"Let's draw out the suspense. I can even make it look like three is a challenge."
Ah, were she not who she was, and were he not who he was, he might have fallen in love with this girl. Unfortunately, the thought of her made him sick to his stomach and he would like nothing more than to see her smeared across the pavement like an insect.
Alas, patience was a virtue, as they say. Jason wasn't sure he had patience, but he had something close enough.
Total self interest. There were credits to be made.
"Three it is. Will I have the pleasure of seeing you before the club meeting next week?" he asked, already sure and thankful for the answer.
"If only I had the time, but you know how it is," she said. Jason nodded.
He knew how it was. There were schemes to scheme. Politics to politick. Excellence to strive for. Not that it would matter, in her case.
"Let me know if your schedule clears up," he said, and he wondered if she could feel his smile from the other end of the line. His charm seemed to have quite the lasting and satisfying effect.
Satisfying to himself, anyway.
"Of course," she said, hanging up the phone not a second after the last syllable left her lips.
Jason took a slow, deep breath. The season had transitioned smoothly, and the cold air was sharp in nostrils and his throat.
"Refreshing," he whispered as he walked his way back to his apartment building. He had some more calls to make. Aera was not his only prey, whose movements he was tracking as they waddled through his web. His ambitions extended far beyond the temporary role she served in his grand play.
Most spiders felt relaxed and peaceful while waiting for their prey. But Jason enjoyed the chase. The safer his bugs felt, the easier it was for him to gobble them up.
---
Hunter sat cross-legged on his couch, breathing in and out.
He had yet to attain any significant focus for more than a few seconds. At first he thought that maybe his time with Tilda had left a deeper impression than he'd thought.
His mind would wander back to their conversations every chance that it could. Nothing he did could seem to stop it. Hunter was wondering if he had a crush.
He'd never had a crush before.
He sighed and opened his eyes, leaning back into his couch and staring at the ceiling.
No, something else was bothering him.
It wasn't just whatever he was feeling about Tilda; he felt that there was a deeper sense of frustration, something that he couldn't quite understand. Whatever it was, it was ruining his focus.
It was like a tension in his gut, and his jaws, and his head.
He felt so tense. Moreso than usual.
He got up and grabbed himself a glass of water. He spent the last hour before bed reviewing his homework. Math, some science, and some brainstorming for a history essay, which would be due in a few days. The math was easy, and the science stuff was interesting. Chemistry felt a little like artisanship, but without the mystery. He wondered if etherium's fate was to become like chemistry—after charting all its mysteries and depths, and after enough generations had refined a rigorous working theory of its nature.
He envisioned a future teacher, a century hence, regarding a network of glyphs representing a healing bed—much like Hunter's—with a bored expression. The teacher would show little interest in the device. Ah, yes, they'd say, my 5-year-old assembled one of those just the other day in his kindergarten class.
Maybe the price of progress was all of one's efforts being rendered inconsequential before the march of efficiency and convenience. It was the destiny of future children to look back and marvel at how difficult it was for people in Hunter's generation to travel from place to place.
You travelled in automobiles? They would ask, confused.
And aircraft?
But grandpa, didn't you just teleport to wherever you wanted to go? Why didn't you just command the ether to fly you to wherever you wanted to go?
He felt a pang of jealousy for those ignorant and spoiled brats of the future.
He finished his homework and got ready for bed. However, Hunter didn't feel his sense of frustration dissipate. If anything, laying down to relax only made him feel worse. He felt his limbs shake as adrenaline pumped through his body.
His chest tightened, and he felt with every fibre of his being that his life was in danger.
He gripped his chest, panting, as his eyes scanned the room. He checked every shadow once, twice, sometimes three times. He listened intently for any sign of an intruder. The fear remained even though no sign, either seen or heard, signalled that he was truly in danger. Hunter got out of bed and took a deep breath, but the feeling only intensified. He couldn't control himself as he collapsed on the floor beside his bed, feeling the most vulnerable he had ever felt, utterly helpless and exposed to certain death.
He gripped his legs to his chest. No matter how hard and fast he breathed, it was never enough. Tears streamed down his cheeks. What was happening to him?
It took time for him to calm down, but the tension remained. He felt as if an electric current was coursing through his nerves.
He realized he wouldn't be sleeping that night, but it was fine. His mind rebelled at the thought that it was fine, but he reminded himself that his classes were over for the week. He could afford a day without sleep.
It would hardly be his first sleepless night.
And besides, what else was coffee for if not nights like this?
He had a bunch of his father's journals he could read to pass the time. He also had a bunch of network schematics he was working on instead of not having a spot in his apartment where he could actually build them. His father's notes about his own work outside of the Internal Arts were always fascinating to read. His plain delivery of great insights made sense, given that he'd recorded most of the notes for personal reference.
It was only the first few journals Hunter had read which appeared to be written for another party — specifically Hunter, or anyone he might share them with. He had read only a small amount beyond those. There was a lot to go through, but try as he might to keep reading, his heart wasn't in it.
He felt like there was something important he should do, something he needed to figure out.
He felt like his apartment was suffocating him, and yet being anywhere else felt worse. Where else would he go?
For a walk?
There were guards out patrolling the streets and alleyways. If anything happened, he could just call for help.
But what if they didn't make it in time?
Was he afraid of getting attacked again? The idea rang true.
Why now? Despite the anger and pain from the attack, Hunter had felt fine. He'd felt fine after the attack at the museum as well. The most significant emotional change he could point to was a stronger drive to focus on his work and his future.
Hunter groaned. He'd had to deal with one obstacle after another. Life always seemed to have some brand new way of toying with him.
He'd gone his whole life without significant anxiety. Seckina had been stressful, but this was different. He'd never felt so helpless before. He felt an unbearable, searing fear that consumed him entirely.
What was he supposed to do?
He had no interest in doing anything, yet he was too high-strung to fall asleep.
So he closed his eyes and started breathing.
Focus came fast. Maybe the panic attack had burned through some energy. Like a storm clearing the air of pollutants.
And then he went deeper. And deeper. Once more, he felt it.
His life was in danger. Hunter gasped for air and the focus dissipated. He clutched his chest and heaved. The panic didn't last as long as last time, but it had felt so much more real, if that was even possible.
What the hell was this emotion doing inside of him? Had it been there all along?
Did focusing, and relaxing, expose it?
He opened his father's first journal and flipped through it a few times to find the portion where he talks about the methods of developing the Internal Arts. He skimmed to the part where his father introduces the focusing exercises.
There it was. He'd dismissed it before, having been unaware of any deeper meaning the words might have held, but now it was plain to see.
A note of caution: these practices can and will expose things about yourself that you may not have been aware of; certain opinions, perceptions, and emotions that you are not yet conscious of or have pushed below the surface. Dealing with these things is difficult; their unexpected appearance is jarring. However, repeated exposure works best when attempting to overcome them. Try not to resist, just relax and feel your way through them.
Hunter felt exasperated. There was no way he'd be able to sit through that kind of experience again. Nothing he'd ever felt had come close to it. It was so raw, so loud.
Can I afford to avoid it? He asked himself.
The answer was obvious.
No. He had to face it. But who in their right mind would want to face that, willingly?
A strong, stubborn urge rose in his chest. Stronger than he'd ever felt it before.
He was going to conquer this thing.