Brenda turned and walked towards another room, her blue hair swayed slightly.

  "Come. We will begin immediately."

  Jett followed behind her. He entered a large, open room. It was sparsely furnished - with a few mats on the floor - and some training equipment in the corner. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, but Jett barely noticed.

  Brenda turned to face him. "Your Veschar lineage…it grants you certain advantages. Enhanced strength, speed, reflexes. You do not need to build these from nothing. You merely need to…learn to control them."

  Jett grinned.

  "So, I can skip the whole training montage?"

  Brenda shook her head.

  "There will be no montage. But there will be training."

  She walked towards him.

  "First…stance. Balance is essential. Feet shoulder width apart. Knees slightly bent. Center of gravity…low."

  Jett mimicked her stance, trying to maintain his balance.

  Brenda nodded. "Good. Now movement. Veschar are agile. You must learn to use this. Footwork is key. Light steps. Quick changes in direction. Do not be…predictable."

  She demonstrated herself - moving around the room with surprising speed and grace, she seemed to be vanishing and reappearing.

  Jett tried to follow her - but his movements were clumsy and awkward.

  "You are too stiff," Brenda said. "Relax. Let your body flow."

  She spent the next hour teaching Jett the basics; stance, movement, basic strikes. She was patient but firm - correcting his mistakes - pushing him to do better.

  "Your body…it is already powerful," Brenda said. "But power without control is useless."

  She paused, her violet eyes met his.

  "In combat there is no room for mistakes. One wrong move…one moment of hesitation and you are dead."

  Her voice was serious, it was devoid of its earlier playful tone.

  "I will teach you how to survive. But you must learn to listen. And you must learn to control yourself."

  Jett nodded, his earlier enthusiasm replaced with a look of determination.

  "I understand."

  The corner of her lips curved upward.

  "Good. Now show me what you have learned."

  Jett took a deep breath - trying to remember everything Brenda had just shown him.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  "Okay," he said, his voice was a bit hesitant.

  "So, stance first. Feet shoulder width apart, knees bent, center of gravity low."

  He tried to mimic the stance, but he felt awkward and unsteady. He kept wobbling and adjusting his feet.

  Brenda watched him, her violet eyes were always assessing him.

  "Your stance…it is passable. But you are too tense. Relax your shoulders. Let your weight sink into your legs."

  Jett tried to relax, but it was hard. He felt like he was about to fall over.

  "Okay, okay," he muttered. "Movement. Light steps, quick changes, don't be predictable."

  He tried to move around the room, but his steps were heavy and clumsy. He kept stumbling and bumping into things.

  Brenda shook her head. "Your movement…it lacks finesse. You are too loud. Too slow. Too obvious."

  Jett sighed. "This is harder than it looks."

  "It is not easy," Brenda said. "But it is…necessary. You must learn to control your body. To move with purpose. To anticipate your opponent."

  She demonstrated again - moving around the room with effortless alacrity. Jett watched her - trying to memorize her movements.

  "Okay," he said, trying again. "Stance, movement, then…strikes."

  He tried to throw a punch, but it was slow and telegraphed. Brenda easily dodged it.

  "Your strike…it is weak. Predictable. It lacks power. It lacks speed. It lacks conviction."

  Jett frowned. "Conviction? What does that even mean?"

  Brenda tilted her head and added:

  "It means you must believe in your strike. You must commit to it. You must intend to hit your target. Not just touch it."

  Jett tried again, this time putting more force behind his punch. It was better - but still clumsy.

  "Better," Brenda said. "But still not enough. You must practice. Again and again. Until it becomes instinct."

  Jett sighed. "Okay, again and again. I get it."

  He continued to practice, repeating the stance - the movement - the strikes. He was slow, clumsy, and awkward. But he was trying. He was learning.

  Suddenly, a voice echoed in his mind.

  [ Somatic I: 20/1000 ]

  Jett stopped, his eyes widened. "What?"

  He looked around the room, but Brenda was the only other person there. He had nearly forgotten about the voice.

  Brenda raised an eyebrow. "What is wrong?"

  Jett frowned. "I just heard that voice in my head. It said…something about Somatic."

  She tilted her head with a look of understanding.

  "Somatic - it is your Path. Your physical training. It is…increasing."

  Jett stared at her. "Path? What do you mean, Path?"

  Brenda sighed. "There are different ways to develop your abilities. Somatic is the path of physical mastery. Strength, speed, combat these are all Somatic skills."

  Jett blinked. "So, that voice…it's telling me I'm getting stronger?"

  Brenda nodded. "In a sense. Your Somatic level…it represents your progress. As you train…as you fight…it will increase."

  Jett grinned. "So, the more I train, the stronger I get? That's awesome!"

  Brenda's lips twitched. "Indeed. But do not become complacent. There is much you still need to learn."

  -

  He repeated the stance - the movement, the strikes - over and over again. He tried to mimic Brenda's grace and power, but his movements were still clumsy and awkward.

  The voice echoed in his mind again.

  [ Somatic I: 23/1000 ]

  Jett paused, his breath was coming in ragged gasps. He felt a slight wellspring of physical energy - and a slight increase in his strength and speed.

  "I can feel it," he muttered. "I'm getting stronger."

  He continued to practice - his movements became slightly smoother - slightly more controlled. He focused on his stance - his footwork - the intent behind his strikes.

  The voice whispered in his mind.

  [ Somatic I: 27/1000 ]

  Jett gritted his teeth, pushing himself harder. He felt his muscles burn - and his heart pounding. But he didn't stop - because he was determined to master these skills.

  The voice echoed again, fainter this time.

  [ Somatic I: 30/1000 ]

  He finally stopped - his body was trembling with exhaustion. He leaned against a wall, his chest was heaving. Sweat dripped down his face.

  Brenda watched him, her violet eyes were still assessing.

  "You are improving slowly. Your movements are becoming more fluid. Your strikes are gaining power."

  Jett grinned, despite his exhaustion. "Yeah, I can feel it. This is…amazing."

  He looked at Brenda.

  "I'm going to get good at this. Really good."

  Brenda's lips twitched. "I have no doubt. But for now…you should rest."

  Jett nodded, his mind was muddled and his energy was fading.

  "Yeah, you're probably right. I feel like I'm going to collapse."

  He walked towards a mat on the floor and collapsed onto it, his body was aching.

  "But I'll be ready to go again tomorrow," he mumbled, his eyes slowly closed.

  Brenda watched him for a moment, her violet eyes were unreadable. She quietly stood up and walked to a nearby table. She placed a bottle of water next to Jett, ensuring it was within easy reach.

  Then, she turned and left the room. Murk was now nestled in Jett's sling-bag.

  The room was quiet now. The only sound was Jett's soft breathing. Hours elapsed as he slept.

  Eventually, Jett woke up with a start - the room was dark - the only light coming from the moon shining through the window. He sat up, his body was aching, but he was feeling strangely…refreshed.

  It also had something to do with the [ Dark Frenzy ] trait.

  He looked around - feeling disoriented for a moment. He saw the water bottle next to him, it was now empty. He must've drank it in his sleep..somehow.

  He checked his phone. The time read 7:00 PM.

  "Oh, crap!" Jett exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "I slept all day!"

  He quickly grabbed his sling-bag, making sure Murk was still inside. He rushed out of the training room.

  "I'm going to be so late," he muttered. "Mr. Pyre is going to kill me."

  He burst out of the apartment building and saw his bike leaning against a nearby wall. He grabbed it, his eyes were wide with relief.

  "Oh, right," he muttered, remembering his conversation with the bike repair guy. "It's fixed!"

  He hopped onto the bike and started pedaling, his legs burned with the effort. He pedaled through the streets, his heart was pounding. He was late, but he was going…nowhere.

  Then, he remembered.

  "Oh, crap," he said, skidding to a halt. "I told Mr. Pyre I was taking a few weeks off!"

  He stared at his bike, then at the direction of Pizza Inferno. He sighed.

  "Well, now what do I do?"