"That depends on you," Andrew said, rolling his shoulders.
He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it to me.
"Pick who goes first."
He stepped into the center.
"You land one hit—within five minutes. Fair?"
"Anything goes?" Christina asked.
She sounded different.
Focused.
Serious.
"Anything."
The elites hesitated.
Then one of Clyde's regulars stepped forward—Gorvad, Gronhold… something like that.
Didn't matter.
The fights were over almost instantly.
Most of them didn't last a minute.
Andrew used nothing but his fists.
And still—
he moved like something else entirely.
Too smooth.
Too precise.
Too fast for someone his size.
He wasn't trying.
I could tell.
He wasn't even fighting seriously.
Still—
a few managed to graze him.
Usually the ones with weapons.
Or power.
Christina went second to last.
Andrew had stripped down to training pants.
Shirt gone.
Skin slick with sweat.
More elites than I thought.
He'd already gone through twenty fights.
Two left.
Christina stepped in.
She wasn't fast.
Wasn't strong.
But she fought like she had nothing to lose.
And I saw it.
Just for a second—
respect.
On Andrew's face.
Something twisted in my chest.
Sharp.
Unpleasant.
Jealousy.
I recognized it instantly.
Old.
Familiar.
I shoved it down.
Hard.
I wasn't a kid.
I knew how this worked.
If Andrew ever chose—
he'd pick someone like her.
Beautiful.
Strong.
Not someone like me.
Christina wielded a long staff.
Power flowing through it.
"Interesting choice," Andrew said, slipping past the energy at its tip.
"I don't have a teacher," she shot back, breathing hard. "I improvise."
She attacked again.
Time was running out.
Her strike came close—
too close—
Power brushing past Andrew's arm—
But he moved.
At the last second.
Sharp counter.
She dropped.
"I like your style," Andrew said, offering a hand.
"You're a monster," she huffed, taking it.
"One left."
His gaze shifted.
To Clyde.
"Take a breather," Clyde said. "Then we start."
"I don't have time," Andrew replied. "Classes tomorrow. And Alan should already be asleep."
"Are you his father?" Clyde raised a brow.
"I'm his teacher."
"Boys," Christina cut in, dropping beside me, messy and breathless, "fight with your fists, not your mouths."
I knew Taisha had trained Clyde.
"Be careful, Andrew!" I called. "He's not as simple as he looks!"
"Flattery doesn't suit you, Holivan," Clyde said.
And moved.
Fast.
He was smaller than Andrew.
Less mass.
Didn't matter.
His style—
was different.
I relied on speed.
Flexibility.
Flow.
Clyde?
Power.
Precision.
Calculation.
He moved calmly.
Slipping past strikes.
Then—
snapping forward.
Exact.
Measured.
It felt like watching shifting states.
Like his rhythm changed mid-fight.
Unpredictable.
Andrew adjusted.
Got serious.
He landed hits—
but not enough.
Not fast enough.
Four minutes.
Then—
Clyde moved.
Power spilled from him.
Not explosive.
Not violent.
A ripple.
Soft.
Like water.
It passed through Andrew.
And—
he froze.
Three seconds.
That was enough.
Clyde stepped in.
Calm.
Controlled.
Strike.
Behind the knees.
Andrew dropped.
The paralysis broke instantly.
"What the hell was that?" Andrew asked, already back on his feet.
"My combat ability," Clyde said. "Not perfect yet. But enough."
A pause.
"Three seconds."
"I spent the entire fight waiting for the right moment."
His gaze sharpened.
"You really are something, Storik."
"That's why I want you on my side."
Andrew studied him.
"Most of your elites are useless," he said bluntly.
A beat.
"But I'll give you this."
"You won."
"No," Clyde said.
Calm.
Firm.
"When the time comes—we fight for real."
"This?" he gestured slightly.
"This was nothing."
"You didn't use your power."
"You went through twenty-two fights."
Andrew's expression hardened.
"In the real world," he said quietly, "the one who survives wins."
A step closer.
"Are you sure you want that kind of battlefield?"
"This isn't academy play."
"I've never been more sure," Clyde replied.
"I want us to be able to defend ourselves."
A pause.
"And others."
He looked at Andrew directly.
"Will you help me turn this elite rabble into something useful?"
Andrew glanced at me.
"…Alan's stubborn," he said. "He'll get involved no matter what."
A breath.
"Better I stay inside this mess and keep an eye on him."
He looked back at Clyde.
"What do you want from me?"
"Cooperation."
A beat.
"Training."
"Recruitment."
"Who are you recruiting?"
"Elites are mine."
"Specials—Alan's."
"When he earns their trust."
"I need teachers," Clyde said.
"Storik… we need people who can train us."
"That won't be easy," Andrew admitted.
"But I might have ideas."
"I'll observe."
A pause.
"If it's not worth it—I'm not dragging others into it."
"That works," Clyde nodded.
"So we have a deal?"
"From today on—I count on you."
"And if you need support—"
"I'll provide it."
"Equal exchange."
Andrew's gaze hardened.
"Then my first condition."
"Don't drag Alan into this up to his neck."
A pause.
"Leave him a way out."
"If things go wrong."
"What are you talking about?" I asked.
"He understands," Andrew said, not looking away from Clyde.
"Don't you?"
"I do," Clyde replied calmly.
"Perfectly."
He turned.
"We're leaving."
A pause.
"He's with us now."