[Steve's PoV]
At first, it felt like she was cutting off my right arm, leaving me weaker, exposed. But over the days, I began to see what she was doing. Without all the extras, without leaning on anything else, I had no choice but to meet her blade with nothing but my own.
And somehow, in that stripped-down state, I grew faster. Sharper. My instincts learned to find openings, however small.
My strikes started landing closer, even if they were still crushed in the end. I was bleeding and broken, but I was moving closer to something real.
Finally, I drifted into sleep, my last thought clinging to the image of a morning where my blade would finally draw her blood.
The next day, the cycle began again. Endless drills, heavy physical work that broke down my body before the real training even started. I pushed through it all, waiting for the moment that mattered—the spar.
