Midday is only minutes away.
In one of the many clearings of the forest, drops of sweat fall to the ground from the black-haired girl as she watches the rock thrown by her master's clone rush toward her—aimed straight at the mark on her forehead from all the previous hits. This time, her eyes are filled with confidence. She focuses the cold sensation into her right fist and, with an invisible punch, strikes the projectile, sending it flying back into the adult's hands.
The green-eyed girl can't help but smile, celebrating by jumping and waving her arms—until a sudden wave of drowsiness washes over her. Her vision blurs, and she falls backward onto the ground.
The warrior's clone approaches her calmly.
"Three hours of constant Fiu use greatly exhaust the mind," he says, "not to mention the strain on the body from enduring the sensations caused by the energy. Rest. You've made a lot of progress today."
At the same time, the blonde girl presses her open palm against the non-bladed lower side of her katana. A single point lights up—but without control, an ice needle shoots out and embeds itself in the trunk of a tree. Looking around, she realizes the entire area is filled with those thin projectiles, proof of her lack of control in consciously firing a single shot in a chosen direction.
Without any intention of resting, she channels her Fiu again into one point of the blade, this time aiming for the clone perched safely on a tree branch. The clone catches the spike, jumps down, and approaches her.
"Tell me," he asks, "what are you combining to create this technique?"
"I'm taking the basic concept I used to perfect the palm strike—concentrating everything into a single point," she explains, "plus the foundation of the Flying Blade to increase damage, and then I imagine pushing something, like firing a burst of energy. But for some reason, it doesn't fire properly."
The clone frowns slightly.
"Interesting. But even if you can explain it, your abilities are still far from being able to apply something like that."
She arches an eyebrow. "Why can't I apply it?"
He gestures toward the ice needles embedded everywhere.
"The Flying Blade doesn't work by pushing your energy like a sphere or a gust. It's released in the direction dictated by the inertia of your weapon. You likely won't be fully aware of that until you've practiced it ten thousand—maybe a hundred thousand—times. Right now, by treating it like a burst, you're only increasing its cutting power. Once it reaches its limit, it detonates and releases these ice fragments."
She studies the edge of her katana seriously.
"I see… I think I have an idea."
The clone steps back as she lightly illuminates a single point on the blade. This time, an ice spike shoots straight into a tree trunk.
"What did you change?" he asks.
She exhales in relief.
"Since the Flying Blade needs more practice, I went back to the basics. I concentrated a bit of energy at one point and imagined pushing with my Fiu. I managed it—but the damage is much lower than I originally planned."
The clone smiles faintly as his body begins to melt.
"That was clever…"
With that, Francesca understands that the day's training has ended and begins walking back toward the cabin.
Elsewhere, Tyron sits on the grass with his eyes closed, gripping his right arm with his left. The elder observes him.
"Imagine the spark," the clone instructs. "Let the electricity guide you. Just shift the cold sensation slightly into warmth."
After great effort, the dark-skinned boy finally feels the volts racing through his arm, overtaking the Positive Fiu sensation. Small bolts of lightning begin to escape from his pores. Unfortunately, it only lasts a few seconds before his right arm grows heavy, numbed by static.
"Relax," the clone says calmly. "It's temporary."
Tyron nods, watching the clone melt away—his cue to head home.
The wind rustles the leaves as the warrior sips his tea. He glances aside and sees the brown-haired girl leap backward, bruised all over, blocking a downward slash aimed at her shoulder. Before she can react, another opponent sweeps her right leg from behind. She jumps back, spinning midair, now facing both clones.
She charges the one on the left with a low slash, forcing the one on the right to attack—and leaving him open to her spinning left side kick, which sends him stumbling back. Using that momentum, she severs the first clone's leg, causing him to melt into a heap of clay.
The remaining clone leaps up, landing a high right kick to her chin and sending her flying. He grabs her ankle midair and slams her into the ground. Emily groans in pain, giving him time to kick her in the stomach, sliding her across the yard until her back crashes into a tree.
On her knees, she plants her katana into the ground to stand—but her opponent attacks again with a downward strike aimed at her neck. She rolls to his left knee and prepares to stab, stopping just centimeters from piercing the clone's skin. She exhales heavily and lowers her blade.
The clone raises his knee to strike her chin—but she leaps right. Landing with her right hand on the ground, she releases the burning sensation into the earth. A chunk of soil erupts upward, smashing the clone in a single blow.
Jayden sets his empty cup down, thinking, The coward from months ago is gone. She may still hesitate to strike my clones, but she's no longer afraid of hurting others—at least in training.
He smiles.
"Good. It wasn't with your feet, but it was faster than your usual control."
He picks up the swords and heads into the cabin.
Panting, Emily asks, "What about my teammates?"
At that moment, the other three emerge from the forest. Emily brightens—until she notices their irritated looks. Intimidated, she watches them grab their backpacks and head toward Guarly without a word.
Confused, she whispers, "What did I do?"
Jayden answers as he steps outside, "Nothing intentional. They're not angry at you—they're jealous. Despite all their effort, they've realized something: you're the one who's progressed the most."
Emily nods sadly and follows them.
After storing their gear in the chest—Tyron closing it—the group heads home. The silence weighs on Emily; she can only think that her control over earth has once again driven them apart.
But her friends exchange glances, set aside their jealousy, and turn back to smile at her, easing her worries—only deepening her confusion.
They suddenly pull her into a group hug.
"We're sorry, Emily," Alexa says. "We were being distant because—"
"It frustrates us," Francesca adds, "that we can't find a way to move forward—"
"And we end up stuck on our own limits," Tyron finishes, "unlike you."
Emily laughs softly. "It's weird how you all finish each other's sentences."
With things cleared up, they split ways—until Alexa calls out, "Hey, are you two going to Tamara's party in Kiryoku or not?"
Francesca shakes her head and keeps walking. Tyron closes his eyes, forcing a smile.
"No… sorry."
It didn't make sense to attend a Christmas party if the girl he liked wouldn't be there.
At two in the afternoon, in the city of Saicon, a black-haired man buys marigolds at a nearby flower shop and enters a cemetery. Dressed formally—white shirt, black jeans, sneakers—he walks the peaceful paths until he reaches a grave where a woman is kneeling, pouring a green brew into a handleless cup.
"…My duty as a teacher is to help future generations advance more easily," she murmurs, sipping her tea. She looks at Jayden seriously. "Do you remember those words?"
"Of course," he replies softly. "They were his favorite—and why he looked after me."
"Good," she says bluntly. "Now stop being stupid and hug your mother."
He smiles and hugs the wrinkled woman with deep black eyes. Afterward, he places the flowers by the grave marked:
Matthew Bennett
Great professional, missed by friends and family, who pray God welcomes you into glory.
They sit quietly for a while before leaving together.
"How's life as the Barrier of Power?" she asks.
"Good," he smiles. "Though I think the Council preferred you."
She scowls. "They deserve to suffer. If you're causing them trouble, keep at it."
He nods. "By the way… Merry Christmas."
She ruffles his hair. "Thanks. And take off those glasses—you look ridiculous."
"But Mom! They make me look intellectual!"
"Play doctor with your clients, not with me, idiot."
Back in Guarly, during a gentle sunset, Emily walks with Alexa toward Kiryoku. Inside, teenagers laugh, dance, and flirt. Drinks are fetched, conversations bloom—and soon Emily is left alone.
A boy approaches and asks her to dance. She hesitates, unsure how to refuse—until a hand rests gently on her shoulder.
"Hi, Emi. How are you?" Gregorio says, kissing her cheek.
The other boy retreats immediately.
"Sorry," Gregorio adds, smiling sheepishly. "I thought you needed help."
Emily blushes.
Later, during Kiss Time, mistletoe descends from the ceiling—right above Gregorio and Emily. As he leans in, her heart races… until memories of her trauma surface.
"NO!" she blurts out, pushing him away.
The music stops. Everyone stares.
"I—I can't," she stammers.
Gregorio smiles gently.
"That took courage," he says. "And that's one of the reasons I like you."
He walks away, leaving Emily frozen in shock.
He just confessed… and I rejected him.
In a quiet park, Tyron practices controlling lightning in his arm—until it goes numb again. As he leaves, he spots Francesca walking alone.
They talk about the golden cube. She shows him—it resists even lightning.
"I hate that Emily and Nya went to the party," Francesca mutters. "If we all worked on this, we'd have opened it by now."
Tyron smiles. "Why do you think it can be opened?"
"Because it was hidden," she answers. "And because it feels like it was meant for us to find."
Understanding dawns on him.
"I know who we need," he exclaims, hugging her impulsively before running off.
Left behind, Francesca turns bright red, trembling.
"DON'T HUG ME!"
Nearby, Noah watches sadly and lowers his gaze, guiding his little sister home.
Far from Guarly, Andrew removes his hood, revealing red hair and eyes. A man with glasses hands him a briefcase.
On a gray orb, text appears:
Request for three months of leave: Approved.
"Whatever you do on your time off," the man warns, "the Association takes no responsibility."
Andrew smiles.
"I know. I won't do anything bad… I'm just going to visit my family."