Liam dropped to his knees in a roll, using the momentum to spring upward and—
—twisted his body mid-air, driving a palm strike straight toward Dreck's core with everything he had.
Dreck's eyes widened slightly—caught off guard by the sudden shift in momentum.
But—at the last moment—he pivoted his torso, letting Liam's palm graze his ribs rather than hitting dead center.
Liam landed hard on his feet, skidding across the mat. His body trembled with effort, his breathing ragged.
Missed.
He turned back toward Dreck, sweat stinging his eyes.
Dreck stood there, arms folded, an unreadable expression on his face.
"Closer than you realize," Dreck said finally, voice low but firm. "But not enough."
Liam clenched his fists in frustration, his heart hammering.
"I tried to control the flow… I felt it…" Liam muttered.
"You did," Dreck agreed, stepping forward. "You took the first step toward mastering it. Momentum. Timing. Intent."
He studied Liam carefully, his sharp gaze seeing past the exhaustion to the stubborn will underneath.
"You rushed it at the end," Dreck continued. "Your body knew what to do—but your mind hesitated. That hesitation twists energy. Dilutes it."
Liam nodded, trying to imprint every word into his memory.
"You want your strike to be like a thread pulled tight," Dreck said, demonstrating with a small, clean thrust of his own palm. "No slack. No pause. Just clean, focused movement."
He dropped his hand and grinned.
"But for your first attempt without instruction? Not bad, kid. Not bad at all."
Liam's chest swelled slightly—not with pride, but with a fierce hunger.
He was getting closer.
He was growing.
Dreck walked toward the weapon racks lining the wall, glancing back once.
"That's enough for tonight," he said, voice gruff but warm. "Rest. Tomorrow, we start properly."
Liam bowed low, a habit drilled into him by now.
"Thank you, Master," he said.
Dreck chuckled under his breath. "Don't call me that yet. Save it for when you actually land that palm strike."
Liam grinned, despite himself.
As Dreck turned away, Liam sat cross-legged on the mat, closing his eyes for a moment. He could still feel it—the pulse of power within, faint but real.
A new path was opening before him. A path he intended to sprint down with everything he had.
---
Meanwhile, in the training dojo behind Kaela's house...
Kaela lunged in with all her strength—years of practice behind every step—twisting mid-air into a feint, then snapping two fingers out toward Lucas's ear.
It was beautiful. Precise. Unpredictable.
For a heartbeat, she thought—This is it. I'll finally touch him!
But Lucas moved with uncanny stillness, pivoting just enough that her fingers sliced through empty air.
She landed lightly on her feet, panting, arms loose at her sides.
Silence stretched between them.
Lucas lowered his stance, giving a small, approving nod.
"You've improved," he said. "Your footwork, your misdirection, even your creative techniques... impressive."
Kaela tried to catch her breath, heat rising to her cheeks.
"But still," Lucas added with a small smile, "not enough."
Kaela looked down, biting her lip hard.
I was so close... yet still not good enough.
Disappointment bit into her chest. She wanted to scream, to punch the floor—but instead, she just stood there, letting the feeling wash over her.
It hurt.
But... there was something else beneath the hurt.
A stubborn ember of pride.
She had made Lucas move.
She had made him work.
Wiping sweat from her forehead, she stood tall and met his eyes.
"I'll get you next time," she said, voice steady despite the ache inside.
Lucas chuckled quietly, ruffling her hair in the same annoying way he used to when they were little.
"I expect nothing less," he said.
Kaela allowed herself a small, wry grin.
She stretched her arms out, feeling the burn in her muscles—the ache of real growth.
She was disappointed.
But she was also proud.
Proud that she had made her brother react.
Proud that she had forced herself to think faster, move sharper, hit harder.
She could sense it now—the invisible line she had crossed tonight.
This was only the beginning.
She could feel it in every breath.
---
Across town, under the quiet, watchful moon, two young fighters in two different places stood at the edge of something new.
Their strikes hadn't
landed today.
But the sparks they ignited in themselves would burn brighter tomorrow.
The real journey was only beginning.