The afternoon sun bled across the horizon, casting long shadows over the training ground. The air was thick with dust and the scent of sweat, steel, and raw determination.
Joshua dashed forward, muscles taut, sword in hand, eyes glowing green with primal power. He lunged, thrusting the blade toward Captain Percival's neck with deadly precision.
But Percival moved like a ghost. His blade snapped upward, effortlessly parrying the strike.
Before Joshua could recover, he fell back into stance, twisting into a vertical slash meant to cleave down the center. Again, Percival caught it, steel rang against steel.
Joshua snarled and followed with a front kick, aiming to knock the captain off balance, but Percival caught his leg mid-air with one hand.
"Let me show you how to really throw a front kick," Percival said coolly.
With a thunderous strike to Joshua's back, Percival launched him skyward. The younger fighter twisted in the air before crashing into the ground, rolling violently across the sand. Dust exploded around him, obscuring the battlefield.
"Joshua!" Percival called out, unable to see through the swirling clouds. "Are you still alive?"
The dust slowly began to settle. From within, Joshua emerged, bruised, battered, panting heavily. The green glow in his eyes faded, his teeth returning to normal as he stood, barely, in his fighting stance.
Percival sighed. "You've reverted back. No point in pushing it now. But… you've grown a lot today. I'm proud of you."
Joshua dropped his sword and collapsed to the ground, the breath escaping him in short, ragged bursts. Sweat poured down his face as he looked up at his mentor.
"Captain Percival… how did you get this strong?"
The man stood silent for a moment, his face unreadable.
"Hard work," he said at last, voice cold. "Determination… and the strength to kill my old man for ruining my life."
Joshua blinked. (Better not ask about that. Sounds personal.)
Percival turned abruptly, scowling. "Where the hell is Lancelot? Did he run away?"
Joshua swallowed, nervous. "Um… he said he was going to train with his grandfather in the mountains."
Percival's eyes darkened with fury. "That little brat! So he thinks that old piece of shit is a better trainer than me?"
He stormed off toward the noble house, rage pulsing from his steps like a storm brewing.
(So Lancelot's training with Captain Percival's father… the same man he wants dead. Yeah, I'm definitely not asking more about that.) Joshua thought, limping back toward the estate, sword in hand.
Inside, the air was cooler, calmer. Joshua walked down the hallway, each step heavy, when suddenly he stopped. Tiffany stood before him.
Her eyes met his. For a moment, silence hung between them like a fragile veil.
(Her neck's healed… thanks, Merlin. I need to say something.)
"Tiffany," he said, voice low, "I'm sorry. For hurting you. And for the things I said."
Tiffany gave a small smile, faint but sincere. "It's okay. It was my fault, too. I kept pushing, even though I knew you and Blanchette were together."
"But still," Joshua said, eyes meeting hers, "a man should never raise his hand against a woman."
Her face turned pink at the sincerity in his voice.
"I forgave you already," she whispered, averting her eyes, her fingers fidgeting nervously.
Joshua found himself looking closer. (She's… kinda cute. Her hair… her ears… her eyes. Wait, what am I thinking? I love Blanchette.)
"Okay, see you, Tiffany," he said quickly, spinning around and nearly sprinting toward his room, hoping she hadn't noticed the blush rising in his cheeks.
Behind him, Tiffany stared.
(Was he… blushing? No. He wouldn't. I'm just a whore to him. He said it himself…)
Joshua closed the door to his room behind him and threw himself on the bed.
"What the hell was that?" he muttered. "Why did I think about Tiffany like that? I love Blanchette… I love Blanchette…"
Eventually, he drifted to sleep.
Later that night, the door creaked open. Tiffany stepped inside, gently closing it behind her. She placed a chair beside his bed and sat down, watching him.
(I saw your wounds. I couldn't just leave you like that, even if you hate me.)
A soft golden light glowed from her palms as she placed her hands over him, quietly healing his battered body.
When she was finished, she leaned closer, hesitating just above his forehead. But just as she was about to press her lips to him, he murmured.
"Tiffany…"
She froze, panic flashing in her wide eyes. The chair tipped, and she fell to the floor with a soft thud. She sat up, heart pounding.
(Is he awake?!)
She stared. His eyes were still closed.
(No… he's still asleep. He must've said something else…)
Then...
"Tiffany… Tiffany…"
Her heart raced.
"Tiffany, you're really beautiful… I love your long black hair, your eyes, your ears, your voice… your flirty personality…"
She pressed a hand against her chest, trying to stop the wild thundering of her heart. Her face turned scarlet. Sweat formed on her brow.
Without thinking, she jumped to her feet and fled the room.
In a blur of emotion, she rushed into her own chambers, stripped into her nightdress, leapt under the covers and buried herself in her blankets.
(Joshua… thinks I'm beautiful?)
She squirmed beneath the sheets, her whole body flushed, heart racing.
(But… he said he hated me. He called me a whore. What is this feeling?)
The blankets rose and fell with her breath, fast and shaky. She felt her entire body heat up, her mind swirling with confusion and something deeper, hope.
And still… Joshua slept, unaware, a soft smile on his lips as he dreamt.
Of Tiffany.