They came back the next morning.
The ground was the same. The posts were still scorched at the tops. Tongen was already there, standing this time, arms folded, watching the sky like he was waiting for something.
He turned when he heard them approach.
"Good," he said. Just that.
He pointed at Jelo first. "You're starting."
Jelo stepped forward. "Starting what?"
Tongen uncrossed his arms. "I'm going to come at you. Your job is to survive thirty seconds."
A pause.
"That's it?" Jelo asked.
"You'll understand in about four seconds."
He wasn't wrong.
Tongen moved without preamble—no stance shift, no telegraphed wind-up. One moment he was standing still, the next he was inside Jelo's guard with a pressure strike aimed at his center mass. Jelo got his arms up in time to deflect but not absorb it, and the force threw him sideways two full steps.
He recovered. Tongen didn't wait.
