"Stand up straight. Feet shoulder-width apart. Left hand controls direction and aim. Keep your right hand steady. Use your index, middle, and ring fingers to draw the string—index above the nock, the other two below."
Malcolm adjusted Thea's posture again and again, correcting every small flaw. As an archery master, his instruction was precise and methodical. Many people could do something well, but few could teach it clearly. Malcolm was one of the rare exceptions who could explain not only the how but also the why behind each motion.
Thea held a red recurve bow — low draw weight, no sight, no stabilizer. Women, unfortunately, were naturally weaker in arm strength. Despite all those female archers you see in games and anime, mastering a real bow was far harder than fiction made it look. Less strength meant less power, less penetration. In history, even when wars consumed entire generations, no king ever conscripted women as archers.
In the original story, Thea Queen — "Speedy," as part of Team Arrow — had tried to compensate for her lower power with rapid fire. But her quiet fade from the spotlight, even temporary retirement, proved that strategy had failed.
Not this time, she thought. This life, I'll rewrite that path.
Steadying her breath, she repeated Malcolm's instructions silently. She nocked the arrow, drew the bowstring, and aimed at the tree ten meters away, where Malcolm had drawn a red circle.
Exhale. Inhale. Focus.
"Thwip!"
The arrow shot forward, and for a brief instant, Thea felt something — as if part of her own consciousness had followed the arrow's flight. This one will hit.
Thunk!
The arrow buried itself right inside the circle, only a few centimeters from the center. In competition terms, it was easily a seven or eight out of ten.
Malcolm's jaw tightened slightly. His first ten-meter bullseye under Ra's al Ghul's brutal training had taken him three sleepless days. His daughter had done it on the first try.
Suppressing his pride and irritation, he set up a new target twenty meters away. "Try that one."
As expected, Thea missed — but not by much. The arrow brushed the edge of the trunk.
That small miss restored some balance to Malcolm's ego. He began explaining the mechanics in more detail.
The truth was, Thea's first shot wasn't "technique" at all — it was instinctive perception. Her awareness extended across the ten-meter range, allowing her to feel the exact trajectory before release. It wasn't a superpower — real athletes sometimes experienced the same thing. A basketball player can know a three-pointer will go in the moment it leaves their hand. It's not logic — it's intuition heightened by focus.
But twenty meters was beyond her "cheat zone." She could still track the first ten meters precisely, but beyond that, her sense faded, and the arrow naturally drifted off target.
So much for superhuman upgrades, she sighed inwardly. I'm still miles away from those walking hacks like Prometheus. That guy had a helmet that could download every martial art in existence — click, confirm, and voilà, instant master. Just like Neo in The Matrix. Where the hell do I get one of those?
Still, she listened intently to Malcolm's explanations. He broke each step down logically — stance, release, follow-through — with the patience and clarity of a true teacher. No wonder he's the pride of… Hogwarts? she snickered inwardly. No, wrong school. Let's say the Nanda Parbat Academy for Gifted Adults.
She absorbed everything like a sponge. The merging of two souls had granted her more than enhanced perception — her mind was sharper, memory faster, reactions quicker. If the original Thea had been a "trainee hero," this version was already main hero material.
By the end of their first lesson, she could reliably hit a twenty-meter target. Not perfect — but nine out of ten arrows found their mark.
Malcolm stared in silence, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. His first night's student had reached what had once taken him a week of exhaustion and muscle pain.
Youth… really is unfair, he thought, silently giving himself the excuse that she was simply "more gifted."
He watched from afar as Thea safely entered the Queen mansion before finally heading home.
Back at the Merlyn residence, he changed into casual clothes and asked his butler, "Has Tommy returned?"
"No, sir. He only left a message saying he had something to take care of."
Malcolm snorted softly. Something to take care of? More like something to flirt with. He didn't need to guess — if he wasn't home, Tommy was definitely out with Laurel again.
An ache filled his chest. How do I even raise this boy? He had none of Malcolm's cunning, none of his discipline or drive. Were it not for his faith in his late wife's fidelity, he might have doubted the boy was his at all. Especially now, with Thea as the cruel comparison.
But he reminded himself — everyone had their own kind of talent. It just needed to be found. Like that Japanese general once said during World War II: "Prime Minister Tojo would make an excellent warehouse keeper. He could handle five machine guns at once!" The implication — he had his uses, just not here.
Tommy wasn't useless, just misplaced. In another life, when Oliver returned to Star City, he'd discovered Tommy's real knack — business. He'd encouraged his friend to open a bar, and Tommy had made it flourish. If it hadn't been for Malcolm's earthquake scheme, he might have turned it into a successful franchise.
The more Malcolm thought about it, the heavier his heart grew. Staring at his wife's photograph, he made up his mind: I'll give him six more months. If he still can't change, I'll stop forcing it. Let him live comfortably — at least then I'll have honored her memory.
When Thea came home, she found Moira waiting in the living room. Running up, she hugged her tightly. "Mom, I'm back."
Moira had heard that Malcolm had found someone to "train" her daughter, but didn't know that he himself was the trainer. She'd spent the entire evening worrying — afraid that Thea's sheltered nature would break under harsh training, or that the mysterious teacher might go too far.
In her mind, there was no need for any of this. They had money — why not just hire better bodyguards instead of putting her daughter through hardship?
Seeing Thea's bright smile, she finally relaxed a little. "If it's too hard, don't go tomorrow," she said softly. "Mom's worried about you."
Thea met her eyes with quiet determination. "I'm not afraid of hard work, Mom. What I fear… is being too weak to protect you — or our home."
Moira's heart tightened. "My poor child… I told you before, I'll respect whatever you decide. But if one day you no longer wish to continue, promise me you'll tell me first, all right?"
"I promise," Thea said with a gentle smile.
The two of them walked arm in arm down the hall, disappearing into the glow of the house — mother and daughter, side by side, each guarding the other in their own way.