Two Days Left Until the Duel
"Come on, come on! Just a little bit further, Ansel! Put your back into it!" Sven clapped, watching Ansel lunge across the training ground with a fifteen-kilogram barbell stretched across his back. Sven clasped his hands around his mouth, beginning another round of yelling. "Almost there! Five more steps… four more steps now! Go on, go on!"
"Oy vey," Rotteger leaned against the arena wall, brushing the sweat from his brow. "His voice is like a needle being pushed into my temple. How can one human being be that loud?"
"Well, I think he has a pretty nice-sounding voice," Cerua commented, pushing a small slab of grilled chicken into her mouth. She was sitting on the floor, casually watching Ansel's training while munching on the lunch she had brought over from the school cafeteria. "It kind of makes me want to train too."
"Well, why don't you?" Rotteger asked, sliding down the wall and taking a seat beside Cerua. "Now that I think about it… I don't think you've told any of us what your ability is." He adjusted his glasses. "…Does Eyra know?"
"Yeah, she does." Cerua looked away, her cheeks tinting a faint pink. "…My ability is my own business. So I'll show it to you guys if I feel like it, all right? Don't think we're close enough for you to pry into my life."
Rotteger blinked, readjusting his glasses once more. "Understood."
Then Eyra arrived. Walking through the arena's entrance arch, she carried a pile of cold, plastic water bottles in her arms, cradled against her chest. "All right, I got some water! Someone drink up before you melt into a—" Her eyes locked onto Rotteger, sitting half-asleep on the wall. "You."
The bottles clattered to the ground.
Rotteger's exhaustion was sliced in half like a taut wire as he met Eyra's deathly gaze. He shot up like a rocket, brushing dust off his training shorts. "Oh… Eyra. You're back," he sheepishly grinned. "I didn't realize—"
"Cut the shit." A look of unadulterated fury flashed across her face. "…Didn't I tell you to do one thousand palm strikes? Didn't I give you that very instruction just before I went to get some water?"
"Uh-huh," Rotteger nodded, trying to quell his rising nerves. "Yes, ma'am."
"And how long have I been gone for, Rotteger?" Eyra took a step closer.
"Around five minutes, ma'am." Rotteger instinctively took a step back.
"…And do you think five minutes is nearly enough time to do one thousand palm strikes, huh?"
"No, ma'am," Rotteger violently shook his head. "I do not."
Eyra's expression went sour. "…What a pathetic pupil you are."
THUMP. The barbell clattered to the ground. Ansel fell to his knees, his long auburn hair damp with sweat. His chest heaved in long, drawn-out breaths, and a rough, tender ache spread across his shoulders and calves. "I think…" Ansel panted. "I think I'm going to die."
"Great work!" Sven beamed, clapping Ansel on the shoulder—which caused the exhausted boy to wince in pain. Sven continued on, oblivious. "…You're already making great progress, and today's only the second day of your training! You're hiding some great strength under that scrawny build of yours."
"Hah…" Ansel let out a weak laugh. "Thanks." He slowly stood up, rolling his arms around. Turning around, he watched Rotteger continue practicing his palm strikes in a rigid stance, his eyes blank as if devoid of all emotion. Eyra stood in front of him, watching with the attention of a hawk hunting its prey. "She's really getting into this teacher thing."
"Yeah," Sven shivered. "It's kind of terrifying. Out of all the people in our grade, she's the only one I can't really get a read on. Personality-wise, of course. Overall, I think the most mysterious person in our grade is—"
"Talking about me?" Cerua popped out from behind the two boys, a smirk stretching across her lips. "I didn't know I had a reputation as the 'mysterious girl' in our cohort… I honestly don't know how to feel."
"It's true that I've never seen you use your ability," Ansel stroked his chin in thought. "…And you haven't really joined us with training, either." Turning to Cerua, he smiled gently. "I know you must have your own reasons for not showing anyone your ability, so don't feel pressured to."
"Yeah," Sven agreed, nodding. "…Honestly, that mysterious aura is one of the coolest things about you." His gaze drifted down to the ground as he spoke.
"Mysterious aura?" Cerua couldn't help but cringe. "…Maybe I should just let my ability out full-blast so people will stop thinking I'm so cliché." She raised her hands into the air, flexing her fingers. "I've thought about it before."
"…Is your ability dangerous?" Ansel asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.
Cerua nodded, a friendly smile on her face. "Yeah. Something like that."
* * *
"Your shoulders are so tense," Franka stretched across the bed, digging her fingers into the bare skin of Edward's back. "God, you're so tense… how many knots do you have back here? Did you really put that much effort into last night?"
"Heh," Edward chuckled. "It's not from that… your niece's friend chucked a boy directly at me during her spar a few days ago. My back's been hurting like hell after that…" Edward groaned. "It's embarrassing. Am I really getting that old?"
Franka slapped the back of Edward's neck. "You can't call yourself old. Because if you're old, that means I'm old too." She crawled across the bed, swinging her legs off the side and sitting on the edge of the mattress beside him. "…And I don't like that." She tucked her hair behind her ear, revealing her left eye, usually hidden. "…Did you say one of Cerua's friends? She really only has one friend that I'm aware of."
"Yeah, the pink-haired girl—Eyra," Edward leaned his head back. "She's one hell of a powerhouse. I think she might have a grudge against me, though…"
"Pfft," Franka raised a hand to stifle her giggling. "…Who doesn't have a grudge against you? The good thing is that grudges aren't permanent. That's why they're called grudges. You can wipe off a grudge just like wiping a stain off a kitchen countertop."
"Right…" Edward trailed off. "…To be honest, there's something else that's worrying me."
"Hm?" Franka tilted her head. "…What is it?"
Edward let out a long breath, ready to get everything off his chest. "The lieutenant of Farrah's second squadron has been running around campus… remember when you asked me why I didn't close off Training Ground Beta during orientation day?" Edward turned his gaze away from Franka. "…He asked me to. And he told me to keep my lips shut. I just know he's planning something, and… knowing the Shimerones…"
"It's all right," Franka looped her arms around Edward's neck, hugging him from behind. "…Thank you for telling me." Her breath ghosted over his neck. Franka's mind surged with memories from seven years ago—when she was still a member of the Snake Tamer Syndicate. Mitz had returned to the safehouse carrying a half-dead Yoran and recounted seeing the lieutenant at the target's home. Franka couldn't help but feel a sense of dread building within her. 'Could everything that had happened at the academy be connected in some way?'
"I know it sounds silly," Edward shook his head, "but I feel like something big is coming."
"Maybe," Franka hummed. "…But don't worry about that for now. Just spend a little more time here with me, all right? I'm very bored right now, and the bed is very spacious."
"Okay," Edward turned around, his face carrying a warm smile. "I'll take you up on that offer."