She walked to the mirror near the hallway.
And.
Started working on her hair.
The silence between us settled.
Comfortable, like it had always been there.
But.
After.
10 minutes passed, and she had finally come back towards me.
The me that was sitting on the couch.
"The Higher-ups would like to test your physical abilities against the Security department."
She had said it simply.
like it was just a mere footnote.
It was as if it wasn't important to her.
It wasn't like it decided my life from now on.
I looked up at her.
as she finished her hair.
It was done now.
styled.
It was the kind of styling that had looked effortless.
But I knew it wasn't.
She was almost ready.
the more time she took.
The more she started to resemble it.
the way she looked in the future.
like she was now on top of the stage.
That was laid in the future.
She had looked almost the same.
Her hair was the same.
The only difference was that she wasn't in the costume.
and.
She looked younger.
This was a moment I wouldn't forget.
This mere moment might not mean much to her.
but.
I had to remember this feeling.
the feeling of being underneath something.
like I was crawling like an ant, one mere step could kill me.
I had known that.
this version of her.
was now right in front of me.
in a pale grey hoodie.
It covered her face.
We made our way toward a car.
It was normal-looking.
The windows were a deep black.
They were tinted.
The car itself wasn't anything special; it wasn't elegant, nor fancy, just a normal Honda Civic.
It was the type of car everyone would have, and one that people wouldn't be surprised by.
This was the type of car one could blend in with a normal Honda Civic.
As we arrived. 3 different people greeted us, and they all had the same outfits. A simple green jacket, with a white shirt underneath. and sweat pants.
until I was there.
I was currently in the locker room, and they told me to get changed. I wore a simple green shirt. It was plain, with sweatpants. There was nothing special about it.
I changed quickly. and made my way out of the locker room.
There were a lot of people around it, a gymnasium, in a circle, and it looked exactly like a running track.
lines that separated each lane, and a clear starting point.
But.
The men that I was following were taking me somewhere else.
a single building that was not connected to the main gymnasium.
It was a traditional dojo.
A long building made of wood.
We stepped inside.
The air inside was different. Cool and smelling of old wood, sweat, and something else... something sharp like mint.
The floor was polished, gleaming under the soft, recessed lights. I could feel the give of the tatami mats through my thin-soled shoes.
The walls were lined with weapons, katanas, bo staffs, nunchaku, all resting on simple wooden racks, looking both ceremonial and deadly.
Ai, who had been walking silently beside me, stopped just inside the doorway. One of the men in the green jacket, the one who seemed to be in charge, turned to her.
"Hoshino-san, your presence is no longer required. You can wait in the observation room."
His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. He gestured to a small, windowed door on the far side of the dojo.
Ai's eyes flicked from him to me. For a fraction of a second, something unreadable crossed her face.
A tightening around the mouth, a slight narrowing of those brilliant eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by the same placid expression she'd worn in the car. She gave a single, curt nod.
Without a word to me, she turned and walked toward the observation room. The soft swish of her grey hoodie was the only sound she made. She didn't look back.
The heavy wooden door clicked shut behind her.
I was alone with the men in green.
"Strip to your waist," the leader had said. His voice was devoid of any emotion.
I hesitated for a second, my fingers fumbling with the hem of my shirt.
The cool air hit my skin, raising goosebumps. I folded the shirt neatly and placed it by the door, as if that small act of order could somehow anchor me.
Another of the men, a shorter, broader one, pointed to a spot on the mats. "Stand there."
I moved to the designated spot. The mats were firm beneath my bare feet.
The third man, who had been silent until now, walked over to a rack and selected two military knives. He tossed one to me. It was heavy, cold in my palm, the grip worn smooth. A Ka-Bar. I recognized the design. A fighting knife, plain, utilitarian, and brutally effective.
He walked to the opposite side of the dojo, about fifteen paces away, and tossed the other knife to the leader.
"Your opponent will be Tanaka-san."
He said as he was handing the knife to the shorter, broader man.
"He is the head of our physical security division."
Tanaka stepped forward. He wasn't particularly tall, but he was built like a fireplug, all dense muscle and no neck.
He took the knife, his knuckles white around the grip. He didn't look at the knife; he looked at me.
His eyes were small, dark beads, utterly devoid of light. He had a scar that cut through his left eyebrow, a pale, jagged line.
The leader stepped back toward the wall.
"There are only two rules. First, the fight ends when one of you is unable to continue. Second, there are no other rules."
The words hung in the air.
Unable to continue.
That was a gentle way of saying it.
The leader's gaze was flat.
"Begin."
Tanaka didn't move. He settled into a slight crouch, the knife held low and reversed, the blade pointing down along his forearm.
Simultaneously, a chilling sensation enveloped us.
The sound of air being sliced.
A booming noise that echoed all around.
Thunk―
Thunk―Clack―
Thunk―
Clack―Thunk―Thunk―
It started with a single thrust. roughly, he had Thrusted the knife.
I had let the knife slide against mine. Using the momentum of the thrusting knife, I twisted my core, and I swung the knife in a wide arc.
"Gaghh"
A heavy sensation in his mouth made him aware of a red liquid trickling down his chin like a spider web.
His face contorted in pain. A sharp and piercing sensation, as though something was stabbing through his chest.
The way he moved, he began to be aware of it.
Even the slightest mistake could mean the difference between life and death. Though he had many skills and techniques and experience different from mine.
It meant nothing in the face of overwhelming strength.
He had opened his eyes wide, forcing himself to focus.
"…Haah."
A white puff of breath escaped between his clenched teeth.
The person in front of him was... a demon, not human. Though he didn't know that, he had experienced it, true fear.
Life and death, it was no longer sparring between them.
He clenched his knife in his hand, gripping it more tightly than before.
Krrrack!
The man's knife came crashing down. I had twisted my torso slightly, dodging the strike.
Just barely.
Using the momentum of my turn, I swung my arm in a wide arc, my knife towards his arm.
It traced a deadly and elegant curve.
Crack!
The man quickly shifted, lifting the edge of the military knife, and he let it slide down, barely holding it in his hands.
A brutal metallic clang echoed through the room, my knife and the man's had collided at odd angles.
Clang!
The man's knife bounced out of his hands and landed on the floor of the room. As it fell, his silhouette darted and twisted like a dancer,
He moved back, distancing himself from me.
I had to copy it, the way he used the knife, I had no recollection of using knives in my past life, at least like this. So I had to copy it.
Copy what was in front of me, the Techquie that he had.
But, i couldnt find a way to counter him.
I had known.
I was just copying.
Copying a technique I hadn't learned yet.
Just observing. Though my strength had far surpassed my skill, I needed a base.
The ability to have my reflexes match that of my power is a real skill.
So here I was.
My right hand gripped the handle of a knife, while the tip hovered over my left palm.
This was the one part I didn't really understand.
There wasn't much literature on it.
So here I was, mimicking it with what I could get.
That is.
Myself.
So my stature lowered slightly, bent low at my waist.
The tip of the knife was resting on the center of my left hand.
I slowly pivoted the blade forward, passing the edge of my thumb across the blade. The man saw it too.
In less than a second, I lifted it, with a soft motion.
It's like swinging a tennis racket, rotating your hips while gently moving your wrist. The point is that both hands move. The movement is smooth, without stopping in the center, It must have felt very similar.
My muscles had followed the motions. They were growing more and more familiar to me, becoming almost automatic.
The way this man moved.
His stance.
His stature.
It had been burnt into my mind.
Using his power. I had copied them all.
Though I knew this wasn't as close as I could have hoped for.
Thunk!
Clang!
He had charged.
We were in range.
I saw the blade shift, saw his shoulders hunch down.
An upwards cut.
Then the flick of the wrists.
Like drawing a straight line from top to bottom, aiming the sharp edge of his blade at my ribcage.
Then he added another, in an elegant spiral, cutting open my legs; it was deep.
And it was precise.
This technique was difficult, especially when it is swung without looking.
He had managed to do it, despite his injury, and with that, I couldn't help but wonder.
He was skilled, that was obvious. But it felt like he had gotten stronger during this spar.
Had he really done so, or was it me, growing closer to him and the techniques?
'....Huff....A white puff of breath escaped between his clenched teeth.
As blood, thicker than I had known, came out, it flowed out like a facet.
With my quick thinking, I had taken off my shirt and used it to tie around my leg, applying pressure to the deep wound. My blood stained the shirt almost immediately: The blood was seeping through the fabric, but the shirt was working.
I had done it.
And in this motion of me doing this, the person in front of me was charging towards me, with his Knife ready. I quickly used my other leg to push myself back.
Skrt!
He was quick. He didn't waste a single second.
He was on me again, a flurry of attacks, each one aimed at a vital point.
My arm came up, parrying a thrust that would have found my heart.
The steel kissed my forearm, a fleeting, cold touch. The shock of it vibrated through my bones.
This was a lesson.
Even though I was blessed, I was a supernatural being, i wasnt losing out on strength, but my foundation, my skill, and my technique were what were i waslacking.
and i couldnt use my one-way out card, as this is a battle between him and me, and no one here was supernatural.
There were no angels here.
Nor fallen.
not even devils.
It was just this man and me.
with people surrounding us in all directions. like a stadium.
But.
I started slowly.
The parries were clumsy. They were reactive. I was simply putting my arm in the way, trusting in my unnatural durability to weather the storm.
The crowd around us, a blur of faces I barely registered, was shouting. Words of encouragement, of caution, they all blended into a dull hum.
Focus.
I had to focus.
He swung again, a horizontal arc that would have opened my throat. I ducked, the blade whistling mere inches above my head. The breeze it kicked up was cool against my sweat-slicked skin.
In that moment, crouched low, I saw it again.
The way he shifted his weight from his back foot to his front, the subtle rotation of his hips that powered the swing. It wasn't just the arm. The entire body was a weapon, a linked system of muscle and bone. I'd seen it before, I'd copied the motions, but I hadn't understood.
Understanding.
That was the difference between mimicry and mastery.
He was testing me. Each attack was a question. Can you handle this? How about this? What if I do this?
My responses were inadequate.
Another lunge. I sidestepped, but not fast enough. The tip of his knife tore through the fabric of my pants, grazing my thigh. A stinging line of fire. Accompanied me.
Gritting my teeth, I pushed forward, into his space. A reckless, stupid move. I was trying to copy an offensive maneuver I'd seen him use, a sudden, explosive burst.
But my timing was off. My body knew the shape of the movement, but not the rhythm.
His knee came up, driving into my gut. The air burst from my lungs in a pained gasp. I stumbled back, clutching my stomach. This was real. The pain was real.
I had started to see it, the way of the blade, the trajectory of the way it would move.
I had swung my knife, as an extension of myself, but it was not enough.
The world narrowed to the space between us. The rhythmic scrape of our shoes on the polished floor, the metallic scent of blood hanging in the air, the labored sound of our breathing.
He was breathing a little harder now. A small victory. I was making him work for it.
But he was still in control. He was the teacher, and I was the struggling student.
I had learned enough.
Clang
I swung my knife in a wide arc, catching him off guard. He parried, but the force of my swing sent him staggering back a step.
It was my turn to press the attack.
I moved forward, a series of quick thrusts. He dodged and parried each one with a grace that belied his wounds.
But the blood still seeped steadily from his injuries, pooling onto the floor. The movement of the fight was contorting the slashes in his chest, causing him more pain.
But we were well past the point of stopping.
We had entered the realm of survival now. No longer a lesson, it had become a fight for life and death.
Who would give first? That would be the question. Who would bleed more? Who would surrender and pass out on the blood-soaked wooden floors.
Blood had stained us, dyed us red, a river of red. It had soaked through my clothes and painted my skin. His blood or mine, I was no longer sure.
But here we were.
Even injured, even exhausted, it wasn't over.
Clang-Thunk - Clang-
Thunk
I had gone on the offensive. using my injured leg. I moved like a spring, then coiling. and using my uninjured leg as a counterbalance.
For a moment, my thoughts had trailed to my Knife, if I had that, atleast i had a chance
A flying blade flew to my face, and without thought, I brought my knife upwards, hitting its handle and deflecting it from my face.
Swoosh!
That was a blade, huh? I think. I am getting a little sluggish.
A dull numbness was setting into my arm, a side effect of blocking. That flying Knife might have cut my face off had I let it do its own thing.
[Would u like to reactivate Orc's Active skill: Blessing of blood?]