The morning sun casted shadows across the city as Jett made his way back to Brenda's apartment - with Murk tucked safely within his sling-bag. The sun was still bothersome, but his skin wasn't reacting quite as drastically - it felt a bit less like a slow roasting pizza.

  He arrived at the building - and he rode the elevator to the third floor.

  The robotic "Come…in" echoed from behind the door.

  He took a deep breath and stepped inside.

  Brenda was already there - standing in the center of the room. Her blue hair was neatly styled - and her violet eyes were focused. She did not greet Jett in any usual manner—no morning pleasantries or simple greetings.

  "Begin," she said.

  Jett blinked, his hand was still on the doorknob.

  "Right, okay. No warm up, got it. You're really invested, aren't you?"

  He entered the training room - he placed his sling bag on the floor, allowing Murk to scurry out. The tiny Spawn Ruin immediately began to explore the room - disappearing under a training mat before reappearing near the window.

  "So, uh, where were we?" Jett said, trying to sound confident.

  Brenda looked towards the door.

  "Yesterday you struggled with stance, movement, and conviction."

  Jett winced. "Yeah, I remember. I was a bit of a mess, wasn't I?"

  "You were lacking," she replied. "But it is to be expected. Mastering the Somatic Path takes time. Practice. Discipline."

  She pointed toward the empty space in the room.

  "Today…we begin again. Stance."

  He spent what felt like hours repeating the same basic exercises he had learned the day before. Stance - feet shoulder width apart - knees bent - center of gravity low.

  He kept getting it wrong—his stance was either too rigid or too loose - his shoulders would slump - and his balance was off.

  "Too tense," Brenda repeated. "Too relaxed. Adjust."

  The hours slowly ticked by. Jett was drenched in sweat. He gritted his teeth - pushing through the fatigue. He focused on Brenda's every instruction - trying to correct every mistake.

  "Good. But you must think about every movement - every muscle - every angle."

  Brenda had a way of explaining combat that was both incredibly straightforward and deeply complex. She broke down every movement into tiny components - analyzing every detail with her sharp violet eyes.

  As the sun began to dip below the horizon and cast shadows, Jett's body had become heavy - he felt each ache and pain of every exercise performed.

  He had been practicing the same motions, the same strikes - over and over. He was running on fumes, with energy almost depleted.

  Suddenly, he felt a familiar sensation.

  [ Somatic I: 35/1000 ]

  He froze, his breath was caught in his throat.

  "Another increase?" he asked.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  "Yes," Brenda confirmed. "Your body is adapting. Slowly but surely."

  "Does this mean I can move onto something more difficult?"

  She nodded. "Yes. Today you will begin basic combat techniques. Blocks - parries - counter strikes."

  Jett's eyes lit up. "Awesome. Let's do it!"

  Over the next few hours, Brenda introduced new and complex techniques. Blocks designed to deflect - redirect attacks. Parries to turn an opponent's own momentum against them. Counter strikes to use openings to launch a rapid attack.

  He practiced each move meticulously - trying to memorize the footwork - the angles - the timing. But again - he struggled.

  His blocks were slow, his parries were clumsy, his counter strikes were predictable. He kept getting hit - sometimes by her - sometimes by air.

  "Your reactions…they are slow," Brenda noted. "You anticipate instead of reacting."

  She moved with incredible speed. Her attacks were precise and deadly. Jett barely saw them coming.

  "You must clear your mind. Do not think - act."

  Jett closed his eyes, he repeated the mantra over and over - trying to clear his mind. To let go.

  He tried to relax, he emptied his mind. Focusing on his body, trying to let go of every conscious thought.

  He focused on the feeling of the floor beneath his feet - the weight of his arms, the burning sensation in his muscles.

  "Again," Brenda commanded.

  He took a deep breath and launched into his routine. He was trying to move with speed - to react instantly - to be fluid and unpredictable.

  She attacked. He parried, blocked, and countered, in a fluid rhythm of movements.

  For a few, brief moments, he felt something. A sliver of control. A glimpse of what he was truly capable of.

  His movements were almost too quick - his strikes had power, his reactions were on point.

  But then, it ended. He stumbled - made a mistake - and Brenda landed a blow on his shoulder.

  "You are improving," she said, her voice was still completely neutral.

  "But you are still lacking. The most important part is the mindset - of becoming one with the flow of combat. You must become something beyond a fighter. You must become a storm. And you must be willing to allow death."

  The voice spoke again.

  [ Somatic I: 43/1000 ]

  Jett's mind was burning - and his body was aching. Hours passed, the room was plunged into shadows from the setting sun, and he was more exhausted than ever.

  "Alright. Stop for today," Brenda's monotone was breaking.

  Jett was drenched in sweat, he could barely stand.

  "Yeah I'm…spent," he gasped.

  Brenda looked at him, for a moment - the usual blankness of her expression faltered. She was still in control - but it felt like there was something else.

  "You have endured. This training…it is not easy. Be prepared to be tired for every day."

  He looked at Murk. The small creature was now curled up on the floor, next to his sling-bag.

  "So…I guess we'll do this again tomorrow?" Jett said, the exhaustion was evident in his voice.

  Brenda nodded. "Tomorrow. And the day after that. And every day after. Until you are no longer lacking."

  "Great," Jett said, with a small smile.

  "Well, I can't wait."

  Brenda turned, leaving Jett to get his things. He picked up Murk - was careful about accidentally harming the tiny creature. They would need a good night's rest. And then, they'd be right back to training.

  -

  The streetlights of the city activated, casting a dim - hazy glow as Jett began the slow walk home.

  He was clutching his bike - its mangled frame made him think about his.. unusual career path.

  The training session with Brenda had left him drained. Every muscle ached, and his mind was a fog of fatigue and the echoes of her instructions.

  "Feet shoulder width apart," he muttered, automatically assuming the stance. He was walking slowly, trying to ease the burning sensation in his legs. The sun was fully set, the darkness was an utter relief.

  "Knees bent. Center of gravity low."

  He shifted his weight - trying to maintain his balance. He hadn't even gone a block, and already—he was aware of his every muscle - feeling each small shift and adjustment.

  "Gotta…let it flow," he mumbled to himself, remembering Brenda's instruction to 'let your body flow.'

  He had initially imagined himself as a river - a current - a force of nature. Instead, he felt like a broken dam - straining to hold back a flood of exhaustion.

  He felt pathetic.

  He decided to try to throw a punch, a basic jab - the thought of practice was already tiring. He threw a slow, clumsy jab into the air.

  "Too slow. Too slow. Too slow. What did Brenda say? Oh yeah, must believe in it."

  He tried to envision himself as a whirlwind of motion - striking with deadly speed and precision.

  Again.

  Another jab, this time a little quicker. He tried again. And again.

  And again.

  [ Somatic I: 53/1000 ]

  "This is…mentally exhausting," he said, his voice was filled with a mix of frustration and exhaustion.

  "No wonder I have anxiety. Getting good at anything…is a full-time job."

  He thought back to his childhood - to all the things he had tried to learn - from playing the guitar to learning to draw. Each attempt had ended in a similar cycle of initial enthusiasm - followed by frustration - and eventual abandonment.

  "And now, I have to master combat, too? It's not like I can just turn a switch on and become a martial arts expert," he said with a groan.

  He remembered how hard he had worked at the beginning. It was a common pattern. With each new interest - there was that initial spark of excitement, that belief in his own potential. But then came the grind - the endless repetition, the inevitable setbacks.

  He paused, thinking about the past, and then about his lack of motivation to do anything.

  "And the most challenging part is definitely the lack of energy to continue."

  The more he practiced, the more aware he became of his own shortcomings. He wasn't naturally gifted. He wasn't a quick learner.

  He needed to work very hard.

  He trudged onward with his bike, his form slowly became more relaxed - and the strikes became a little quicker - the footsteps felt a little lighter. But the mental exhaustion lingered.

  "It's like…there's a wall," Jett said. "I have to learn by practicing. Even the simple task of walking down the street is a test of perseverance."

  It was an exhausting loop of effort and disappointment. He knew he needed to become stronger—faster—more skilled. But the path to mastery seemed like a long, difficult journey.

  "I can't even keep the focus, so it's hard," he sighed. "How do people do this? How do they just…keep going?"

  He realized it wasn't enough to just be told what to do. He needed to create his own reasons - and develop his own discipline.

  He looked at his sling bag - and he felt the weight of Murk. He made a mental note to buy something to give to Murk, he can't just subsist on a few mouldy things. His eyes were slightly red from the practice he had done.

  He also needed to pick up the pace, or else.

  He glanced at the street - it was the same route he had always taken, the city lights still flickered as he walked down the sidewalk.

  He took a deep breath and focused on his footwork again, and his strikes. But this time, as he practiced, he pictured himself with his new skills.

  "I'm not gonna quit. I'm gonna keep going."

  His steps became a little more purposeful, his strikes were a little more forceful.

  He repeated the mantra in his head.

  'I'm not giving up.'

  With each step, he was starting to push back against the exhaustion. He was forcing himself to focus.

  "Come on Jett. Do it again," he muttered out of exhaustion.