Serapheria looked at Yuma more gently than he expected. The sharp edge she often carried softened, her gaze steady and grounding, as if she were deliberately trying to calm him. Slowly, she stepped closer and lifted her hands to his face, cupping his cheeks and forcing him to meet her eyes.
"Listen," she said quietly. "Don't worry so much about that man. I'd rather you focus on us. We need to raise our resonance. As it stands, we aren't strong enough to defend against Keisuke, let alone someone like Akira."
Yuma stiffened slightly at the mention of Keisuke. Instinctively, he felt the urge to defend him, but before he could even open his mouth, Serapheria sighed softly, already sensing his emotions.
"No offense to Keisuke," she added gently. "He's a sweet boy. I'm speaking purely in terms of benchmarks."
Yuma exhaled and carefully pushed her hands away, embarrassed by how tender she was being. It hadn't been long ago that she'd been cradling him while he cried, and the closeness still threw him off.
"Yeah… yeah," he muttered. "So I just gotta be vulnerable with you, right?"
Serapheria shook her head.
"Not just that. You need to practice your abilities as well."
Yuma studied her face, thinking through how that would even be possible without exposing himself to the world. Training wasn't exactly subtle.
"I'll train you," she said firmly.
He blinked. "You'll… train me?"
She felt his hesitation immediately and elaborated before he could question it.
"I can train you with your sword. Teach you the basics."
Before he could respond, the world shifted.
The ruined house dissolved, replaced by an open field beneath a cold, pale sky. Frosted grass stretched endlessly in every direction, the air crisp and still.
Yuma spun around, startled.
"How did you-" He stopped himself mid-thought. "…Wait. Sera. Where are we?"
"The backyard," she replied casually.
Yuma sighed. "I mean where am I every time I come here?"
Her eyes widened slightly as realization clicked.
"Oh. This is what you'd call your subconscious. We call it the Soul's Region."
"The Soul's Region?" Yuma repeated. "A bit long, don't you think?"
"It's been called that for centuries," she replied. "We don't care enough to change it. Now, turn around."
Confused, Yuma did as told.
A brief whoosh of flame sparked behind him, igniting and dying instantly. When she told him to turn back, he froze.
Serapheria was dressed for battle.
A skin-tight dark-purple bodysuit covered her frame, overlaid with light-purple armor plating along her chest, arms, and shins. It looked both elegant and lethal.
"How'd you change so fast?" Yuma asked.
"Like this."
She snapped her fingers.
Blue flames engulfed him.
His clothes burned away, reforming into training armor similar to hers. When the flames cleared, a sword rested in his hand. He swung it experimentally and nearly laughed in surprise.
It was weightless.
Despite its size, it felt like nothing. The blade itself was composed entirely of cool blue flames, each swing trailing fire through the air with a sound like wind being torn apart.
"H-holy…" he whispered.
Before he could admire it further, Serapheria struck.
Her sword slammed into him with brutal force, sending him flying onto his back. He groaned and clutched his shoulder, only to find no wound. Instead, blue flames marked the point of impact.
"I wasn't ready!" he shouted. "What was that for?!"
Her expression hardened instantly.
"There is no ready in a real fight," she said flatly. "Get up. Or I continue."
Gritting his teeth, Yuma stood.
Serapheria took her stance, perfectly balanced. Feet shoulder-width apart, front foot forward, weight slightly shifted. Knees bent, heels light. Her posture was relaxed but coiled, ready to spring.
"Copy my stance."
He mimicked her as best he could. She circled him, tapping corrections into place with the flat of her blade until he stood properly.
"Strike me."
Yuma swung hard at her side.
She dodged effortlessly, stepped back in, and smashed her blade into his leg. He spun and hit the ground.
"Up."
Again and again, he rose. Again and again, he fell.
Overhead strikes. Side slashes. Blocks. Parried attacks. Each failure etched glowing blue marks across his body.
Time stretched. What felt like days passed in relentless repetition.
Eventually, something changed.
Yuma moved without thinking.
He struck before she could reset, and for the first time, his blade connected.
He still fell. Hard.
But when he looked up, he saw it.
A line of blue flame burned across Serapheria's side.
Her eyes softened.
"You landed a hit," she said proudly. "Congratulations."
Yuma laughed breathlessly and pushed himself up, relaxing for the first time all night.
That was his mistake.
Her blade struck the back of his neck.
***
Yuma jolted awake, gasping.
Sunlight poured across his chest. His hand flew to his neck as sweat drenched him.
"…That's one hell of a wake-up call," he muttered.
Stretching, then immediately regretting it, he realized his body was wrecked. Muscles burned. Hands shook. His arms bore faint red marks, mirrored exactly where Serapheria had struck him.
Even his side throbbed.
Trying to stand, he collapsed back onto the bed with a groan.
So the training had carried over.
"Yeah…" he sighed. "Not a school day."