Samson could barely make out the image of his brother sitting on a stool by his bedside. Donnie's skin tone was a warm brown—the same as Samson's—yet his hair was buzzed and dyed blond. The robe he was wearing appeared similar to the classic gray robe worn by officers of The Unity Department, but a small, red 'zero' was embroidered onto his left breast. "What are you doing here?" Samson asked.
"I have some business to attend to here in Farrah," Donnie yawned. "So I thought I'd come and check in on you. Imagine my surprise when I found out that my little brother had been beaten to a pulp on orientation day... tch, how embarrassing."
"Beaten... to a pulp?" Samson raised an eyebrow before memories of his spar with Dominic came rushing back. The delayed strikes, the blood gushing from his mouth, the feeling of the air shooting out of his lungs. Samson had to force his throat to stay open, trying his best not to gag from the phantom sensations.
"Was it really that bad a beating?" Donnie tilted his head. "...wow, that kid must've gone pretty hard on you. Or maybe you weren't giving it your all." He leaned forward, crossing his arms over his chest. His robe flared open to reveal a sleeveless suit underneath, accentuating his well-developed arms, with circular Sanskrit tattoos looping across each bicep. "Now, tell me... what's the kid's name?"
"Huh?" Samson came back to his senses upon hearing Donnie's questions. "Why do you want to know?" Samson shuffled backward. "It's none of your business, so you should stay out of it."
"You sure have quite a rebellious personality now. Did that beating knock that false sense of honor out of your system?" Donnie smirked. "...it was about time, anyway. You ought to stop pulling your punches."
"I wasn't pulling my punches." Samson narrowed his gaze. "I tried my best, and he defeated me."
"...sure, sure." Donnie waved a hand. "I'll be off then. I have bigger fish to fry." The stool scraped against the linoleum as Donnie stood up, offering one last glance at his younger brother. "Be careful next time. Fight with your brain, not with your pride.
* * *
Four Days Left Until The Duel
Ansel skidded across the ground, rolling across the floor until he thudded against the arena wall. A sharp, stinging pain buzzed across his abdomen, before disappearing completely. "Hah..." Ansel panted, his hair damp with sweat.
"The match goes to Daiki!" Instructor Edward Hargrove called out as the crowd of on-looking students began to murmur. There were only four days left until Ansel's scheduled duel with Dominic, and word had spread around the school. However, Ansel's performance during his practical combat classes raised serious doubts within the cohort. Some even began to ostracize him—calling him a fraud, claiming nepotism. However, there were a few who decided to stay by his side, disregarding all the rumors.
"You alright?" Sven appeared two steps in front of Ansel, extending a hand to help him up. "That was quite a beating, but you managed to last for around ten minutes. Compared to how you were doing last week, it's quite impressive."
"Impressive's an understatement," Eyra—who was standing beside Sven—nodded. "It's exponential growth. I mean, Sven decimated you in the blink of an eye last Wednesday."
Ansel accepted Sven's hand, slowly easing himself up. "Thanks... but, with this rate of progress, I don't think I'll be able to give Dominic a proper fight next Tuesday."
"...that may be true," Eyra looked off to the side. "But we're doing all we can, right?"
"Are you two training together?" Sven asked, his gaze flicking between Eyra and Ansel.
"Yeah," Ansel confirmed. "Since I can't use my ability, she's teaching me martial arts. The Lotus Style, specifically. I've been meditating for the past eight days... trying to reach the first Apex."
"Ah, the Lotus Style," Sven nodded, stroking his chin before swiveling his head to stare directly at Ansel with a wide-eyed, horrified gaze. "W-wait... you can't activate your ability?"
"Oh, god..." Eyra groaned, slapping her palm onto her face. "...this happens every time." She walked towards Sven, contorting her face into a scrutinizing look. "...did you just think he was letting himself be beaten up every lesson?"
"No, I..." Sven's eyes went distant for a moment. "...now that you've said it out loud, I guess it does seem pretty obvious. But if you can't use your ability... are you really sure that you're an accessor? I mean, Dominic isn't an easy opponent to go against, and..."
"Am I sure that I'm an accessor?" Ansel repeated, tilting his head to the side. "Not really."
Sven's face went ghostly pale. "...ah. I see."
* * *
"What's he doing here?" Cerua jabbed a finger in Sven's direction, raising an eyebrow with a cautious expression on her face. "...are you also here to learn? Because, I don't really see the point in that. Lotus Style martial arts don't really synergize well with your ability."
"I know that," Sven nodded. "...but, the reason I came here wasn't to be taught by Eyra." He turned his head to look at Ansel, who had already begun to meditate, sat on the floor. "I'm here to help him train."
"Yep," Eyra vigorously nodded. "...he's practically a genius. And he says that he's super buff and muscly under that shirt. He'll help Ansel build up some more meat on his bones and increase his endurance."
'Buff and muscly? Get off your high horse, Mr. Handsome.' Rotteger was drenched in sweat after completing his daily palm-strike practice. He walked over towards Sven, his gaze sweeping up and down. "...why are you helping Ansel, anyway? Do you pity him or something?"
Sven laughed sheepishly, rocking on his heels. "...I don't pity him. It's just that I don't want to see him get gravely injured during his fight with Dominic. He seems like a nice person, and I have the abilities to help him... so, I should help him, right?" Sven smiled, casting an irritated gaze towards Eyra. 'Buff and Muscly? I never said that...'
"Hmph," Rotteger huffed. "Fine, I suppose that's an admirable reason. But that doesn't matter now. How exactly are you planning on making any substantial progress over the course of four days?"
"Well," Sven raised a finger. "Although we probably won't see any visible changes, an aggressive daily training regimen will make his mind tougher. He'll be able to extend his physical limits without drastically changing his body. We'll start later today, with some basic lifting exercises."
"I see," Cerua nodded. "Then welcome to the training club, I guess."
"Training club?" Eyra pouted. "...who said this was a training club? I thought this was my class. Are you trying to steal my spotlight or something?" She took a step towards Cerua.
"Uhh..." Sven stepped back, his face a blank slate of utter confusion.
Rotteger placed a hand on Sven's shoulder, his face struck with a look of apprehension. "There's no helping it when she gets like this. Hide in a corner and pray for Ansel to wake up."
* * *
Three Days Left Until The Duel
"Hey, Four..." Six murmured, a slight waver in their voice. "Yesterday, when you asked Pengal for a favor, what exactly did you mean?" Their silhouette shifted uncomfortably around their throne.
"Hm," Four pondered. "The council operates in tandem with The Unity Department. We overlook the academy, that's true... but we are not direct officers under the department's name. That means our limited rank and authority can be changed by other means."
"That's silly," One sighed. "...you have the same delusions as Lieutenant Shimerone. All young people froth at the mouth at the mention of power."
"You mean you don't believe the boy has a broken chord of temporality?" Five chimed in, resting her cheek against her fist. "...I suppose it is a rather difficult thing to believe. Was it... perhaps not the best choice to go along with the lieutenant's plan?"
"Something else is bothering me," Three spoke up. "Four's motives are too shallow. They wouldn't have agreed to go on board with the lieutenant's vague plan on the basis of simply attaining power." Three looked towards Four's throne, hardening their gaze. "...what are you hiding, Four?"
Four let out a defeated sigh, standing up from their throne. Stepping out of the silhouette, their form was revealed. A tall, young woman with long, lustrous midnight-black hair, and violet eyes that seemed to swallow the sunlight. Her skin was pale and unblemished, and she donned a large, black cloak that obscured her figure. She reached behind her neck, unclasping her voice modulator.
Six's mouth went agape. "...The banished lady... Iseul Lim?"
Iseul opened her mouth, and a silky-smooth voice came out. "I want to have Ansel Einchalle."