Aria didn't ask them to move.
She adjusted them.
"Feet," she said, stopping in front of the first man in line.
He glanced down instinctively.
Too late.
She nudged the outside of his boot with the toe of her shoe.
Not a kick.
A correction.
His weight shifted forward without permission.
"…Again," she said.
He adjusted.
Better.
Not right.
She tapped his heel this time.
Balance settled.
"There," she said.
"Now you won't fall over when someone breathes on you."
A few quiet exhales followed.
Not laughter.
Acknowledgment.
Precision Over Force
She moved down the line, correcting without ceremony.
A shoulder pressed down.
A chin lifted two centimeters.
A wrist rotated inward.
Each touch brief.
Each adjustment immediate.
She didn't explain why.
Explanation slowed learning.
The Mistake They All Make
"You're all guarding for a straight line," Aria said, stepping back to look at them as a group.
"No one attacks in straight lines anymore."
She walked to the center.
Turned.
"Angle," she said.
They shifted—some too much, some too little.
She sighed softly.
"Again."
The Lesson Lands
She demonstrated once.
Just once.
A half-step diagonal.
A pivot.
A hand occupying space instead of striking.
The motion was small.
The implication wasn't.
"…That's it?" someone asked quietly.
"That's all it ever was," Aria replied.
"You just forgot."
Noah Watches the Micro-Movements
From the wall, Noah's eyes tracked her feet.
"…She's not fixing form," he thought.
"…She's fixing survivability."
Every correction removed a future injury.
Every angle stole time from an opponent.
She Stops at the End of the Line
The last man stood stiff, overcorrected by nerves.
She paused.
Looked him over.
"Relax," she said.
He tried.
Failed.
She placed two fingers at the base of his neck.
Pressed lightly.
His shoulders dropped.
Breathing evened out.
"There," she said.
"Now you're not fighting yourself."
The Group Reforms
When she stepped back, the line looked different.
Not sharper.
More stable.
Weight distributed.
Angles alive.
Attention focused forward.
Good.
Closing Beat
Aria nodded once.
"That'll keep you alive," she said.
Not encouragement.
A guarantee.
She turned away, corrections finished.
Behind her, no one moved to undo them.
Because for the first time in a long while—
They could feel the difference in their bones.