After their reckless brawl, the boys sat side by side on a long wooden bench, battered and sore, each clutching ice packs like trophies of survival. Tobi pressed his to the side of his neck, wincing whenever he moved. Mikey held his against his ribs, his breathing shallow, a faint smirk tugging his lip. Mikey shot him a sidelong glance.
"You hit like a girl."
Tobi turned his head—then winced immediately and cursed under his breath.
"W-well… this girl hit you a lot. Like… a crap ton."
Mikey scoffed through his nose, but didn't argue.
Across the training hall, Ryosuke clapped his hands once, sharp as a gunshot.
"Mikey. With me."
Mikey groaned.
"Dammit… I still got training?"
He dragged himself upright with a mutter, rolling his shoulder as if it were nailed together. He trudged over toward Ryosuke, muttering curses under his breath. As Ryosuke led Mikey through stretches, Luce finished her conversation with him and drifted over to Tobi, her steps unhurried, graceful as ever. She lowered herself onto the bench beside him and crossed her legs, her presence calm, grounding. Her eyes flicked to the ice pack at his neck.
"Neck messed up?"
Tobi forced a crooked grin.
"N-not too much…"
His chuckle came out nervous, uneven. Luce sighed softly, leaning back, arms folding.
"So? What did you think?"
"Huh?"
Tobi blinked. Her chin tilted toward Mikey, who was grimacing his way through stretches under Ryosuke's sharp gaze.
"Of him. What did you get out of it?"
Tobi's lips pressed thin. He stared at Mikey, ice pack still crooked against his jaw.
"…He's alright."
Luce shook her head, smiling faintly.
"No, what did you actually think? You're perceptive, Tobs. What did you see?"
Tobi's laugh was shaky.
"Well… his footwork's abysmal. He's got no tactical sense, his punches lack bite…"
Luce chuckled under her breath.
"Harsh."
"But…"
She arched a brow.
"But?"
Tobi exhaled, eyes narrowing on Mikey as if rewatching the fight in his head.
"But he's unorthodox. In a good way. He's smart, he uses his surroundings, he adapts quick. And… he's got balls. He just launched himself off a balcony to get a chance at winning. Who the hell even does that?"
Luce laughed openly now, shaking her head.
"Is that jealousy I hear?"
Tobi's ears flushed red.
"W-what?! No! Not at all. He's just… not that bad."
Luce gave him a slow nod.
"Yeah. He's got potential."
Silence stretched for a moment, filled only by the sounds of Mikey grunting as Ryosuke corrected his stance. Finally, Tobi glanced sideways at her.
"…Is it true? That he said those things about Amelia?"
Luce's smile faded. She sighed, rubbing at her temple.
"She said some rough things too, worse things actually. They both did. And yeah—he said it. But in his defense, he was drunk. Bobo and Willie wound him up. Same way they wound you up at the last bonfire."
Tobi's ears burned hotter. He looked away.
"Shut up…"
Her eyes gleamed mischievously.
"What was that girl's name? Cara? That went horribly. You said the nastiest, dirtiest—"
Before she could finish, Tobi slapped a hand over her mouth, his whole face blazing red.
"I-I'm aware, okay?!"
Luce raised her hands in mock surrender, muffled laughter slipping past his palm. He slowly pulled his hand away, glaring at her with narrowed eyes. She just smirked and shifted her gaze back toward Mikey.
"Don't hold it against him," she said softly. "He's complicated. Not used to loss the way we are. He's different. He's Desmond's son."
Tobi's expression softened. He nodded slowly.
"…I'll try."
"Be nice to him."
"I'll try."
Luce studied him a moment longer, then leaned her head gently against his shoulder.
"Missed you, Tobs."
Tobi froze for half a second, then relaxed, his voice quiet.
"M-me too… Aunt Luce."
Mikey stood before the Mu Ren Zhuang—a heavy wooden post rooted in the floor, with three jutting arms and a single leg that spun on a swivel whenever struck. Its surface was scarred with dents and gouges, a testament to years of punishment. He exhaled, tightened his fists, and snapped a punch at the central trunk. The post spun, one arm swinging out at his head. Mikey jerked up a block just in time—thunk!—and winced as another arm slammed into his side a beat later.
"Damn—"
"Focus," Ryosuke said coolly, circling him like a predator stalking prey. His hands were folded behind his back, eyes sharp, watching everything. Mikey reset, stance wide, sweat already glistening on his forehead. His movements were sloppy, jerky—but there was grit in the way he kept throwing himself at it, refusing to stop. Ryosuke's voice came low, almost a mutter.
"So. What did you think?"
Mikey grunted, ducking under one arm, raising his guard against the next.
"Of what?"
"Of Tobias."
Mikey barked out a dry laugh, still moving.
"He's a prick. Scared of anything that breathes. And he's terrible."
Ryosuke arched a brow.
"What have I taught you about pride? Be honest."
The post spun; Mikey blocked one strike but ate the next across his ribs.
"Ow—gosh—okay, okay. He's… agile, skilled, definitely experienced...Fast as hell too. It's amazing honestly..."
A faint smile tugged at Ryosuke's lips.
"Is that jealousy I hear, young Mikey?"
Mikey glanced at him, distracted. SMACK—an arm clipped him across the face, snapping his head sideways.
"OW! What? No!"
He rubbed his cheek, glaring at the wooden dummy like it had insulted him. Then he sighed, refocused, fists rising again.
"But… I noticed something... He telegraphs a lot. His eyes give him away every time and once you catch it, it's easy. And his aim? Honestly shit, he skimmed me more than he hit me."
Ryosuke nodded, satisfied.
"Impressive. You see deeper than you realize."
Mikey grunted, ducking another strike.
"So… why'd you accept me? To train, I mean. 'Cause you were feeling nice? Cause I wore you down from all the begging?"
He slipped, missed a block—WHUMP!—an arm slammed into his side.
"Agh—damn!"
Ryosuke shook his head, stepping in close. He seized Mikey's elbow, correcting the angle of his block with precise force.
"No. I accepted you as my student because you fight differently, not like us. You use your head, your courage, your heart. Unorthodox, yes—but it works. And unlike Tobias, you have no glaring tell. No dead giveaway."
Mikey shot him a glance, panting.
"…Except?"
"Except your weakness," Ryosuke said simply, circling again.
"Being what?"
Ryosuke thinks and then speaks.
"Your weakness, is your weakness."
Mikey frowned.
"Excuse me, Sensei, but what the hell does that even—"
SMACK.
Ryosuke's palm cracked against the back of his head.
"OW!" Mikey hunched his shoulders, throwing his hands up. "What? I said excuse it!"
Ryosuke's mouth twitched—the faintest shadow of amusement.
"I mean your lack of technique, your lack of strength. Those are your weaknesses. But they can be fixed, improved. Once they are… you can formidable."
Mikey smirked, rolling his neck, a spark of pride in his eyes.
"Thanks, Ryo—uh… I mean, Sensei."
Ryosuke gave a solemn nod.
"But you still have a long way to go. For now, Tobias is better than you. The fact is if he wanted to, if he chose to fight, if he had a weapon, he could kill you. So humble yourself, young Mikey… and try to learn from him."
Mikey blew out a breath, still hammering at the post.
"…I'll try."
Ryosuke's voice carried just a hint of weight, enough to sink in.
"Be kind to him."
Mikey's jaw clenched.
He exhaled.
"…I'll try."