Days had passed since the teens first met. A new week began for our protagonists who, like every Monday afternoon, were training in the warrior's backyard—this time balanced atop tall columns far above the ground, jumping and placing their feet according to colored threads that matched each student's headband.
Tyron had his legs tangled, a grimace of pain on his face. He could handle a lot of things, but he'd never expected to twist his legs into a pretzel. Emily glanced over, worried, and asked, "Are you okay?"
The boy forced a smile as a tear slipped from one eye. "Sure… just give me a second… MASTER, PLEASE—IT'S BEEN OVER HALF AN HOUR WITH THESE DAMN THREADS TANGLED BY THE WIND—SHOW A LITTLE—"
He froze as a rock thunked against his head.
Jayden: "Shut up and endure it. Do you think your opponents will stop just because you whine, 'Ow, it hurts'?"
Emily kept following her threads, moving with careful precision. So focused was she that she collided with the other two girls—who had been competing since the session began. The impact cracked the ground. Emily stood as if nothing had happened and asked the warrior, "May I drink some water?"
Jayden—eyes on the others—answered, "No."
Emily sighed and turned toward the duo, who—as had become routine—were bickering.
Alexa: "I'm going to beat you, dried-out blonde."
Francesca: "Dried-out hair? Donkey face!"
From the ground, the warrior called to the brunette. "How many times has it been today?"
Emily, still watching the others, answered promptly, "Counting this one, fifteen."
Tyron was trying to recover his balance when the two hotheads slammed into him during their squabble and knocked him off. Jayden sprang, caught the boy, set him down, and asked, concerned, "You alright?" Hearing Tyron's yes, he jumped again and separated the girls. With his severest glare, he barked, "Enough! You've known each other a week and you're not improving!"
Both: "But she—" (each pointing at the other)
Jayden slapped each of them, once. "I don't care. Losing awareness because you're too focused is one thing. Charging at someone because you can't control your damn grudges is another."
Stunned, the girls had no time to retort before he grabbed them by the back of their shirts and tossed them to the ground. They managed clean landings, but Jayden snatched the wooden swords from their hands.
Jayden: "Out. Leave."
The two who had fallen started toward their things.
Jayden (calmly): "Not you two. You'll continue. They're done for today."
Francesca: "What? That's not fair!"
Alexa: "Hey! What about our goals? You said you'd help us reach them!"
Jayden: turning his back "And I will. But as long as you keep interfering with others' paths, you won't continue."
Fuming at each other, the girls grabbed their bags and headed into the forest toward the city. Emily and Tyron offered them sympathetic smiles, then followed the warrior to the sparring platform.
Jayden (serious): "Combat practice. Now."
Tyron: "But… how without the other two?"
Emily: "He's right. You told us training with the same partner can be harmful—we'd get used to each other's moves."
Jayden: "I know. That's why you two will fight…" He flicked two tiny spheres of energy toward a pair of jars.
The orbs dove into the jars. A heartbeat later, two clay clones of Jayden leapt out. The warrior handed Emily and Tyron wooden swords.
Jayden: "Crush them."
They shared a look and muttered in unison, "We're screwed…"
—
The blonde and the black-haired girl walked in silence, more than a meter apart. Pride and resentment kept either from speaking. After several minutes they stopped. Silence reigned for a beat, then:
"It was my fault," said the green-eyed one.
"It was your fault," said the blue-eyed one.
Hearing themselves, Francesca smirked with confidence while Alexa shot her a furious look. Backpacks dropped. They lunged.
Their blows were precise. When one attacked, the other defended and set up a counter. The exchange was even until a double punch to the stomach separated them. Gasping down air, they hurled themselves together again. With the blonde close, Alexa grabbed the back of her head and smashed her face into her knee, then threw her down and started kicking. Francesca caught a leg, used it to pull herself up, and cracked a heavy uppercut into her rival's chin—then, without giving her time to recover, slammed a vicious elbow into the left side of Alexa's head by the ear.
Dazed by the rapid combo, Alexa's balance wavered as a high-pitched ring buzzed in her inner ear. Francesca pounced, landing a two-legged flying kick to her chest.
The blonde was pushing herself upright when the black-haired girl unleashed a pair of lightning jabs toward her face, then lifted her with a rising kick under the chin. As Francesca left the ground, Alexa seized her ankle and flung her into a tree. She rushed in to finish with a punch—but the blonde, dropping into the calm state she'd mastered, stopped the strike, twisted Alexa's arm with ease, cracked two elbows into her face, then drove a side kick into her cheek and sent her crashing.
Both girls were battered—bruised, bleeding: a cut on Francesca's cheek, a split lip for Alexa. Tension hung thick. Alexa stood. Their eyes burned with rage. They charged for the final blow.
Francesca noticed the usual sparkle in Alexa's eyes had vanished. Their strikes flew—Francesca's kick never landed. Alexa's palm touched the blonde's abdomen and—like a tornado—expelled the air from her body. Francesca blasted backward, slamming hard into a tree.
Alexa stared in disgust, darkness in her eyes. Then she came to her senses; the light returned. Worried, she ran to the blonde, who hadn't moved for minutes.
Alexa (panicked): "Oh no! What have I done? Please don't die—" She clutched her head.
Guilt swallowed her whole. Had she killed a teammate over nonsense? A thousand thoughts raged through her mind. If Francesca was dead—or dying—only their master might save her… but after this, would he still help Alexa avenge her grandmother? After a long struggle, she hoisted Francesca onto her back to carry her to Jayden.
She took one step—then heard a long breath behind her. She turned. The blonde was fine, as if her soul had just snapped back into place. Francesca looked around, realized she was on Alexa's back, and saw the girl's overjoyed smile. She shifted all her weight and cracked a brutal headbutt, dropping them both. Straddling Alexa, she hammered a few punches—then stopped, seeing her rival only smiling, eyes shining, tears welling.
Francesca stood and grabbed her bag. "I hate you. I hate when people hold back with me—or with anyone. You make Emily and Tyron think we're on your level when we're not." The image of her father flashed in her mind.
They put distance between them and headed for the bus stop.
By 7 p.m., the brunettes had finally beaten the warrior's clones. Exhausted, sweaty, and bruised, they watched Jayden approach and—at last—allow them to drink water. After recovering, they grabbed their things. Tyron started toward the city when his partner spoke up.
Emily: "I know it's not my place, but… let me handle it—so Alexa and Francesca stop fighting!"
Tyron watched the warrior sit on the back porch and pour tea.
Jayden: "And what's your solution?"
Emily fell silent. She had none. A hand landed on her shoulder.
Tyron: "We don't know… but they're the ones interfering with our paths. So it's our responsibility to handle them. Right?"
Jayden (interested): "Fine." Then, deadly serious: "If they fight—or interrupt in any way—again tomorrow, they'll be banned from returning."
Both accepted. As they walked through the sunset-lit forest, Tyron said, "Piece of cake. We just tell them if they fight, they're out. Boom—problem solved."
Emily stared at him. "After a week of the master's hits and a thousand punishments, you think that will stop them?"
That was the moment they realized they had a real problem.
—
At the Sejuk mansion, Francesca slipped in quietly. Thank goodness no one greeted her; she crept toward her room to hide the evidence of the fight. On the stairs:
Mario (dirty): "Ciao, signorina. How was your day?"
Francesca (without turning): "H-hi, Mario. How are you?"
Mario (suspicious): "Miss, are you alright?"
Francesca (nervous): "Y-yes, I'm perfectly fine."
Mario (stern): "Then please turn around so I can look you in the eyes."
She surrendered, accepting his concern. Turning her face revealed the cut on her cheek. The mustached cook rushed to check for more injuries. Minutes later he'd treated the bruises and the cut—and "punished" her by making her sit in the kitchen until she told him what happened.
Francesca (embarrassed): "Mario, it was just an accident…"
Mario (cooking, serious): "Don't lie. Non mentire a me, please."
Francesca: "It was an accident. And why do you care so much?"
Mario (meeting her eyes): "Because I worry about you."
His words took her back to when she was five, when trouble—especially with other girls—followed her prickly attitude. When her father wasn't there, Mario had been the one to fill that role. Regretful, she said, "I'm sorry. I got into a fight because someone underestimated me."
The Italian scowled, took off his hat, and hugged the teenager with all the fatherly warmth he could muster. "Good thing nothing serious happened. You know fighting isn't right… but I do hope you gave that person a couple good hits."
Francesca couldn't help but laugh and returned the hug. He went back to dinner, then set a plate before her. "Eat your ratatouille, then up to your room. If young Jerome sees you like this, ti farà impazzire."
They shared a small "father-and-daughter" smile.
Francesca: "By the way—why are your clothes filthy?"
Mario (exasperated): "Uff… watch out for the new gardener. Throws dirt without checking who's around. Well—look at me."
She laughed with him.
Across town at the Wind mansion, Alexa had just finished cleaning and covering her wounds when a familiar voice asked through the door, "Miss, are you alright?"
Alexa (cheerful): "I'm perfectly fine. Thank you, Manuela!"
The woman relaxed and walked away. Alexa gazed at the sunset. Francesca's words echoed in her mind, and her eyes dulled—darkness rising—until the image of her despised sister was about to surface. A phone buzz cracked through like lightning: a message from Emily. The light returned to Alexa's eyes as she replayed moments with her friend.
—
Tuesday in Guarly was as ordinary as ever. The teens—Emily and Alexa excepted—didn't spend time together outside training. That afternoon, everyone arrived to practice. The brown-haired pair hurried ahead. Noticing the troublemakers lagging, they stepped back to the cabin's front—just in time to see the black-haired girl whisper something into the blonde's ear.
Alexa (whispering): "I hold back because I can't fully control my power."
Francesca (stepping away, smiling): "Don't care. Then let's train, Alexa."
The onlookers were stunned—one addressing the other without an insult. Through the session, there were no more clashes. They still failed plenty—stances were hard to absorb—but the tension was gone. After a productive day, the warrior sat them beneath his porch and poured each a cup of tea.
Jayden: "Brats, listen carefully. I'm going to pass on the life rules my master gave me. You'll follow them—and never break them."
All: "Yes!"
Jayden: "Number one: a warrior appears supremely confident in every act, avoiding at all costs losing control of any situation. Number two: calm and patience are his greatest tools for progress."
Tyron: "But do you… are you sure you—"
Thunk. Jayden flicked a knuckle on his head.
Jayden: "Silence. Number three: passion—do everything you must with spirit, with fire in your eyes and hell in your heart." He sipped his tea. "Number four: truth—whatever leaves your mouth must be pure and just."
Alexa blew on her tea a little harder—he was basically talking about her.
Jayden: "Number five: shadows are the warrior's home. Any thanks must be refused—the warrior helps for the simple value of helping, and protecting those in need is thanks enough. Number six: justice—judge the situation before you intervene. Number seven: honor—keep yours clean; don't allow anyone to disrespect you without consent or full desert."
Francesca: "Great, so that's—"
Thunk.
Jayden: "Silence. There are twelve. Number eight: time—use it; never waste it. Number nine: courage—even if the situation overwhelms you, don't back down. Number ten: balance—belong neither wholly to the light nor drown in darkness. A warrior is mortal; he can aspire to the greatest control between good and evil without fear of failure, because in the end, he will die. Number eleven: freedom—judge for yourself; don't boast borrowed reasons not born from your own being. And number twelve: pragmatism—the good of the many must come before the good of the few, or your own."
All: "Finally! Can we drink the tea now?"
Jayden: "Go ahead."
They all took a long gulp. It always looked delicious when he drank it. One sip—and not one of them could keep from spitting it out.
Tyron: "THIS IS DISGUSTING!" licking the ground to get rid of the taste
Francesca: "I've tasted a lot of things in my life, but this tops them all."
Alexa: holding Emily in her arms "I think she fainted!"
Once they recovered, they started for home.
Jayden: "When you learn to enjoy a cup of tea, your training will be complete."
They kept walking despite the declaration.
—
At Emily's home around 9 p.m., the doorbell rang. Her father answered.
Roberto: "Can I help you?"
Officer: "Sorry to bother you. We're informing neighbors: for about three weeks now, we've found women murdered—with signs of sexual assault. Exercise maximum caution, and report anything you can."
Roberto (alarmed): "Thank you, officer…"
Officer: "We're also circulating a wanted notice for this person." He handed over a flyer.
Meanwhile, Emily—hood pulled up, gray sweats and a scarf concealing her face—ran across rooftops, hunting for criminals to stop. She paused a few meters from the alley from her nightmares, hesitating. Her trauma pushed her onward; she grabbed the metal tube strapped to her back—and took another route.