The bus taking Emily to Forte was packed like any other Monday morning. She tuned out the crowd, lost in music on her phone while reading web pages. One headline caught her eye: Plata Has Changed: Excessive Use of Violence. After reading the article she felt angry—and even more surprised. She arrived at her stop distracted and walked along upset by the images and the wording that described her acts of protection. A gnawing thought ran through her mind: Are my friends abusing the abilities we've been given? She shook her head and returned to her math exercises.
When the bell rang for break she hesitated—should she go confront them? Afraid some of her friends might be slipping into darkness, she dismissed the doubt and hurried off to find Tyron. Not finding him in the corridors, she assumed he must be in his classroom. Near the entrance she heard a commotion: several boys were cheering a tug-of-war-style contest between Tyron and the redheaded boy with whom Tyron had only exchanged a few words.
Tyron was flushed and proud; seeing his friend overcome what he had carried for so long, finally let go, made him happy. Both of them were giving their all, leaning this way and that. The match seemed destined for a draw until someone lightly tapped Tyron on the shoulder. He turned to see Emily; losing focus, he let Antonio take advantage and win the bout. The redhead slapped palms with the crowd that had cheered him on; Tyron smiled, shut his eyes, and waved his hand to dissipate the sting of defeat, thinking, Ha… I always lose… haha, what a LOSER I am.
Emily moved Tyron's shoulder; he turned and grinned. "Hi Emily—what's up?" she seized his wrist and dragged him along to find the freckled girl. They left the classroom amid exclamations like "Good luck, champ!" and winks to Tyron, who only shook his head. Ten minutes passed with no luck finding the green-eyed girl. Walking down a corridor, Tyron asked, "What did you want to tell us?" Emily froze, full of regret at the thought that any of her friends might be becoming monsters. She looked at him with glassy eyes and a sorrow that was almost unbearable. "It's… something very important," she said.
Alexa came down the staircase looking for the training group; Leslie had told her Emily was looking for her. On the second floor she found them—Tyron and Emily standing close, hands clasped and gazing at each other. She couldn't help but ask, "Am I interrupting something?"
Emily wiped her eyes. "Alexa, good— I need to ask you something."
The bell sounded, signaling the return to class. Both Tyron and Alexa left for their rooms, leaving Emily with the words still on her lips. She scolded herself for hesitating, pounded her thighs with her fists, and decided she would confront her friends at the first break during training.
The heat beat down on the teenagers practicing with wooden weapons. Everyone wore karategi plus a beige vest, wrist, ankle and knee guards. They moved slowly and meticulously under the warrior's watch; he was leaning against a tree drinking lemonade. Tyron, already tired after three hours of practice, tried to speed up his movements—and got hit in the forehead by a rock thrown by the warrior. "Slow down, idiot," Jayden barked. "The point is to find the mistakes so you can correct them."
Tyron, exhausted: "But Master, why like this? We do okay in fights."
Jayden took a sip of his drink and said, "Funny that you say that—you were brought here after you got beaten up."
Tyron: "But—!"
Jayden: "And the same goes for the rest of you—don't forget that I almost had to save your lives last week."
The students simply nodded and resumed their drills. The warrior moved among them, correcting Emily's takedown form, fixing Alexa's jump technique and the alignment of her forearms and shoulders, adjusting Tyron's foot position and the way he gripped the weapon to protect his back and wrists, and for Francesca he only had to correct where she held her head. An hour later the four students shed their extra training layers and blew out loud breaths. Jayden handed each a cup of lemonade and started back to his cabin, but Tyron stopped him and asked, "Master, if this is about refining technique, why are we carrying these weights?"
Jayden: "Simple—while you correct your errors you also develop muscular capacity."
Tyron: "But why focus on improvement now instead of learning new techniques?"
Jayden stopped and replied, "That's exactly why I haven't taught you more techniques." The students were taken aback. They had noticed their practice was different from solo training, but nobody had realized they were not being taught additional techniques.
Alexa, angry, stood up. "Sir, you should be teaching new moves!" Jayden heard her, tossed the weights into his cabin, turned to them with a severe look and answered, "What would be the point? Practice is to master what you already know so well that you can use it in any situation, position, or against any opponent. Knowledge is easy to acquire; making it yours is the long road—no shortcuts." He stepped up to Alexa until they were face to face and continued, "If that doesn't please you, leave. I train warriors, not arrogant children who, after being beaten, fail to see how much they still lack. I've already told you my rules—use them. Rule number two in particular: if you want new techniques, master what you already have. Once it's truly yours, you'll be able to create new things."
The dark-haired girl bowed to her master. He turned his back and entered his cabin. The atmosphere was tense until the blonde snapped, "See what you do, rat-hair."
Alexa: (angry) "You better shut up."
Tyron stepped between them: "Okay, okay—enough—"
Alexa and Francesca: "Don't get involved!"
Emily watched silently. The thought that one of her friends might be turning into a criminal troubled her deeply. Ignoring what she'd seen would be more harmful than helpful, so she spoke up before one of her friends launched a punch. "Guys!"
Alexa: (let go of Francesca's gear) "Oh right—what did you want to tell us at school?"
Francesca: (dropping Alexa's jacket) "What do you need?"
Tyron, annoyed: "Why do you get nothing and I get hit?"
Alexa and Francesca: "We like her better."
Before the argument continued, Emily cut in: "Has anyone been doing vigilante work on their own?" The others denied it, and relief washed over her—briefly, before fear returned. She pulled out her phone and held it up for them to read.
News headline: The city reports that our careful vigilante Plata has changed. Evidence shows this person has abandoned mercy—beating up to ten people and sending them to the hospital; five suffered deep wounds. It seems they enjoy abusing these criminals.
The site displayed alarming images. The teens recoiled. The warrior emerged from his cabin and resumed training. Once they finished, Emily waited until her classmates moved off; when Jayden went inside his house she knocked on the door—she needed clarification. He opened it, carrying a picture frame in one hand. Ignoring that, she asked, "Master—what would you do if one of us abused what you teach?"
Jayden looked into his cabin. "If one of you decided to impose himself on others by force?" He turned toward Emily. "I'd stop them by whatever means necessary."
Emily: (worried) "What do you mean by 'necessary'?"
Jayden glanced inside again. "I thought the one who asked too many questions was you, idiot. I'll allow this question because it's broad: it depends on how far they stray. But if I have no choice… if killing them is the only option left, I would do it."
Emily swallowed and ran to catch the others. Jayden closed the door and set the frame on a table. In the photo were two boys: one dark-skinned with messy black hair and yellow eyes, smiling as he patted the shoulder of the other—a pale boy with straight brown hair and headphones. Jayden sighed and walked to the wall where he'd been answering her question. He stared at the image of himself with those four adolescents; his gaze rested on the one with red eyes. He let out a small, rueful laugh and thought to himself, Another student losing his way… that would make me the worst teacher there is.