The next day, the relentless routine continued. Jett dragged his aching body out of bed before the sun had fully risen.

  Breakfast was coffee with pancakes and eggs.

  Murk was already aware of the on-going pattern—the Ruin hopped into the sling-bag with minimal fuss. The walk to Brenda's felt both shorter and longer each day – shorter because the path was familiar, longer because every step reminded his muscles of their previous day's torment.

  He arrived at apartment 3B. The door opened to the familiar voice.

  "Come. Begin."

  There was no preamble or change. Brenda stood waiting in the training room - and Murk found his usual observation spot.

  Jett took his place, he shifted into the starting stance. Feet apart - knees bent - center low. He breathed slowly, trying to sync his mind with his body - trying to recall the brief moments of clarity from the day before.

  Today, Brenda focused on integrating the strikes with blocks and parries. It wasn't just about defense or offense anymore; it was about the transition - and the flow between the two.

  Attack - block - parry - and counter.

  Again.

  And again.

  Brenda moved like smoke. Her attacks were akin to bullets—they all landed with pinpoint accuracy before Jett could fully register them.

  His blocks were clumsy - they were often too late or too poorly angled. His parries felt like slapping at flies – they were ineffective and awkward. His own attempted strikes were easily deflected - anticipated, or simply evaded.

  Hours passed. Sweat dripped into Jett's eyes, they were stinging. His muscles screamed and frustration gnawed at him.

  He felt like he was hitting a brick wall, over and over. He could feel the faint increases in his Somatic level, but they felt insignificant against Brenda's effortless skill and alacrity.

  [ Somatic I: 70/1000 ]

  [ Somatic I: 71/1000 ]

  "Too slow," Brenda stated flatly as she tapped his shoulder with the back of her hand, it was a strike he hadn't even seen coming.

  "Your focus wavers."

  "I'm trying.." Jett gritted out, he resetted his stance, frustration was evident in his voice.

  "It's like you're everywhere at once!"

  "I am where I need to be," Brenda replied.

  "You are telegraphing your intent. Your body shouts before your fist moves. Empty your mind and react."

  He tried. He really did.

  He blocked a low sweep - parried a quick jab - but when he launched his counter – a straight right – Brenda simply shifted her weight, letting the punch sail harmlessly past her head.

  He stumbled slightly off balance from the missed blow. Brenda didn't press the advantage though; she simply paused, her violet eyes watched him.

  Jett took a ragged breath, he shook his head.

  There were hundreds of attempts. Maybe thousands over the past few days. He hadn't landed a single clean hit.

  Not one.

  The sheer impossibility of it started to wear him down.

  Then, something shifted. Maybe it was the exhaustion finally breaking down his tendency to overthink. Maybe it was sheer muscle memory kicking in from the endless repetition. Maybe Brenda - just for a fraction of a second - was a fraction of a degree slower in her reset.

  She launched another lightning fast jab towards his face.

  Instinct that was honed by hours of painful failure took over. Jett didn't think. His left arm came up—but it wasn't a perfect block, it was more of a deflection that knocked her fist slightly off course. In the same motion, filled with pure reflex and a maelstrom of clarity, his right hand blurred as it flew forward. It was a short sharp jab aimed at her torso – the spot that had been open for less than a heartbeat.

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  He felt the impact. It wasn't a solid bone jarring hit, but it was contact. His knuckles connected with the fabric covering her side, sending her sliding back several meters.

  Jett froze, his eyes became wide with disbelief.

  He actually managed to land a hit on her.

  Brenda stopped instantly. Her movement ceased completely. For the first time since he started training, her impassive mask seemed to shift just for a split second. Her violet eyes were filled with a split second of surprise.

  Her gaze was fixed on the spot where his fist had made contact.

  Several seconds of silence permeated room, the only sound was from Jett's heavy breathing.

  Then, the familiar voice echoed in his mind.

  [ Somatic I: 72/1000 ]

  Brenda slowly lowered her arms. She looked from her side back to Jett's wide eyes.

  "That is acceptable," she stated, the corner of her mouth curved up slowly.

  The tiny curve at the corner of her mouth felt like a rare event compared to her usual blankness.

  "Acceptable?" Jett repeated - he lowered his hand slowly. He felt a rush of something – relief, maybe pride, but it was quickly followed by utter exhaustion now that the adrenaline spike was fading.

  "Just acceptable? I actually hit you!"

  "You reacted without conscious thought."

  Brenda elaborated, her expression returned to neutral—though the slight smile lingered faintly.

  "You exploited an opening. Minimal though it was. That is… progress."

  She stepped back fully, her posture became relaxed.

  "You should take a break. Hydrate."

  Jett didn't need telling twice. He practically stumbled over to the mat where his water bottle lay - he grabbed it with trembling hands. He gulped down the water like a thirsty man who just discovered an oasis of water in a desert, the cool liquid was an utter relief to his dry throat. His muscles were throbbing - and his entire body felt like a giant bruise, but the memory of that successful jab was satisfying.

  He glanced over at Brenda. She was standing near the window - gazing out at the cityscape, her silhouette was framed by the afternoon light.

  Murk peeked out from behind a training weight, its small green eyes blinked slowly.

  The rest of the session was comparatively light. Brenda had him run through basic forms - focusing on refining the technique of the successful jab—embedding the muscle memory. The intensity had lessened, almost as if that single moment of contact had shifted the dynamic slightly.

  -

  As the sun dipped low, casting shadows across the training room floor through the windows, Brenda spoke again.

  "End session," she declared.

  Jett nodded wearily. He gathered his sling-bag, and gently coaxed Murk back inside. The little Ruin offered no resistance, it seemed as drained as Jett felt.

  "See you tomorrow?" Jett asked, pausing at the doorway.

  "Tomorrow," Brenda confirmed without turning around. "We work on consistency."

  Jett stepped out of apartment 3B and into the hallway. The elevator ride down felt like descending from a different world. Back on the street - the evening air was cool against his skin. He started the walk home with his bike rolling beside him, the usual aches settled back in.

  He practiced the stances as he walked - the movements were slow, and focused - they were born more of habit now than conscious effort. He replayed the moment he struck Brenda - trying to dissect it - and to understand the instinct that had guided him.

  [ Somatic I: 73/1000 ]

  As he neared the familar building with the well kept garden, he saw her again.

  Alis was there—kneeling amongst the plants - her single blue eye was focused on the soil. She wore the same simple white robe with the black cross.

  Jett hesitated for a moment. Part of him wanted to just keep walking— to return to his apartment and collapse.

  But the memory of their brief strange conversation tugged at him. And talking to someone normal—or relatively normal compared to his recent company would be good. Plus, it was a chance to practice not being completely awkward.

  He approached the edge of the garden, he cleared his throat slightly.

  "Uh, hey, Alis?"

  She looked up - and her serene smile appeared instantly.

  "Jett! Welcome back. Admiring the evening blooms?"

  "Yeah, they're… nice," Jett said, feeling his usual awkwardness creep in.

  He glanced tentatively at the plants she was tending.

  "Looks like a lot of work."

  Alis nodded, she was gently loosening the soil around a flowering plant.

  "Yes..! It requires dedication and patience. But tending life is its own reward."

  Jett shuffled his feet. "Right, life - cool."

  He mentally kicked himself.

  'Smooth, Jett.'

  He tried again:

  "Look, I was just walking by, and I saw you working. Do you… need any help? With the, uh, gardening?"

  He winced internally. He knew absolutely nothing about gardening. He'd probably kill everything he touched. But it felt like the polite - normal thing to offer.

  Alis paused her work - she looked up at him again. Her single blue eye seemed slightly surprised.

  "That is a kind offer, Jett!" she said.

  "Actually… yes, I could use another pair of hands for a few moments, if you truly don't mind."

  "Oh! Uh, sure," Jett replied, he was surprised she had accepted. He mentally scrambled.

  'Okay, don't kill the plants, don't kill the plants.'

  He parked his bike carefully against the low garden wall.

  "What do you need me to do? I'm, uh, not exactly a green thumb."

  Alis shook her head and smiled.

  "No expertise is required, only gentle intention. See these smaller weeds here?"

  She pointed to some thin - unassuming green sprouts growing near the base of a vibrant purple flower.

  "They compete for nourishment. If you could carefully pull them—ensuring you get the root, it would be most helpful. Be gentle with the soil around the flowers, though."

  Jett knelt awkwardly beside her—trying to mimic her careful posture. The damp earth smelled rich and clean, it was a stark contrast to the usual city grime. He reached for one of the indicated weeds, his fingers fumbled slightly.

  "Like… this?" he asked, trying to grasp the base firmly but gently.

  "Yes!"

  Alis affirmed, her single blue eye observed his effort without judgment.

  "Feel the resistance of the root, but do not force it harshly. Persuade it from the earth."

  Jett pulled. The small weed came free with a soft tearing sound, a surprisingly long - thin root trailed from it. He looked at it, then placed it in a small pile Alis had already started.

  They worked in relative silence for a few minutes, the only sounds were the soft rustle of leaves - the distant city noise, and the occasional soft rip as Jett pulled another weed. He focused intently on the task—trying to be careful - trying not to disturb the actual flowers. The simple repetitive action was surprisingly calming - it was a different kind of focus than the highnstakes concentration required in Brenda's training room.

  He glanced sideways at Alis. She was working with an effortless grace, her movements seemed fluid and exceptional.

  She seemed completely at peace - she was humming a soft, tuneless melody.

  "You're really good at this," Jett commented quietly, immediately regretting breaking the silence.

  Alis paused and looked at him, her smile appeared again.

  "Thank you! It's a matter of understanding. Knowing what nourishes and what hinders. Knowing when to tend and when to let be. Growth takes time and care, whether it is a flower… or something else."

  Her eyes were fixed on his for a moment, there was a strange depth in her single eye, before she returned to her work.

  Jett felt a familiar prickle of anxiety – was she talking about plants, or him? He decided it was probably best not to ask.

  He focused back on the weeds, he pulled them one by one. The physical act that was simple as it was - seemed to connect him to the earth in a way he hadn't expected. He felt the texture of the soil, the slight dampness - the resistance of the roots.

  [ Somatic I: 74/1000 ]

  The mental notification was faint and surprising.

  'Seriously? Weeding gives Somatic points?'

  He thought, suppressing a grin.

  'Maybe Brenda should add gardening to the training.'

  As dusk deepened further, turning the sky to a rich indigo - Alis finally stood up, brushing loose soil from her robe.

  "That is good enough for today, Jett," she said.

  "Thank you for your assistance. Your energy was… surprisingly gentle."

  Jett stood up too, he felt a little stiff but strangely less stressed than when he arrived.

  "Uh, no problem. Happy to… weed." He felt a flush creep up his neck.

  She offered him another serene smile.

  "Travel safely, Jett. Perhaps our paths will cross again."

  "Yeah. See you, Alis."

  Jett replied. He retrieved his bike, he felt a little less awkward than before, but he was still thoroughly perplexed by the one eyed gardener and her cryptic pronouncements. He continued his walk home—the scent of damp earth mingled with the city air.

  It was a refreshing experience for his mind.