The car was quickly packed by the driver as Muhammed and Malvern slid into the back seat.
Muhammed rolled the window down and waved.
His mom called out from the porch, half-joking, half-serious, "Send gifts!"
"Okay!" he called back, smiling.
The driver got in, and they pulled off. As the car turned the corner, Muhammed felt it — a subtle but definite weight lifting off his shoulders.
He knew better than to ignore it. He confronted the feeling directly.
He closed his eyes and dropped in.
This relief… why now?
Why do I feel it only as I leave my family?
Is it the pressure? The performance? The pain?
He searched his body, scanned his mind.
Then, a quiet word surfaced:
"Understanding."
And it clicked.
He had just wanted to be understood — seen, heard, felt.
But last night, when Malvern had spoken, and his family had stood there surprised, confused, even happy, Muhammed had felt… calm.
He hadn't rushed to relish in it. He hadn't puffed up with pride.
He simply felt whole.
He no longer craved to be understood — or even not misunderstood.
He understood himself.
And that was more than enough.
With that realization, the weight of performance dissolved.
The pain he'd been dragging behind him faded.
And for the first time in a long time, he was free from the need to suffer.
Or so he thought.
He opened his eyes and turned to Malvern.
"Why don't you just manifest being at the school?" he asked, suddenly realizing something else. "Wait… what's the school even called?"
Malvern kept his eyes on the road. "I enjoy long drives. They help me think."
Then he added, "The school is whatever you make it to be. But I call it Rainbow."
"Rainbow?" Muhammed repeated.
"That's what I call it," Malvern said calmly. "You'll have to explore, decide what this school means to you, and name it yourself."
Muhammed fell quiet, thinking deeply. He didn't have a name for it yet. He wouldn't rush it.
"If you're getting antsy," Malvern said with a sly grin, "we could just jump there. Meet your discipline instructor early."
"No, it's okay. I enjoy long drives too," Muhammed replied quickly, turning his gaze to the window.
Back on campus —
Emlyn charged toward Hans with ferocious speed.
Her usual cold composure was gone. She was like a different person now — electric, intense, alive.
Her tight training uniform clung to her as she grinned, hair whipping behind her.
Hans stood across from her, calm in cargo pants and a compression shirt.
Her sword clashed against his body — sparks flew.
But Hans didn't flinch. His expression didn't change. The strike had no visible effect.
Emlyn didn't pause. She pulled her arm back and swept her blade toward his legs.
He leaped effortlessly, coming down with a heavy, clean strike.
She spun backward — a shard of ice forming at the tip of her foot as she cartwheeled away.
Her leg compressed, then snapped out — launching the shard at Hans like a bullet.
It was thin. Sharp. Translucent. Deadly.
But the moment she lost visual on him, her instincts screamed.
She stopped, upright, scanning. Her leg still pulsed beneath her uniform, energy thick.
Hans was nowhere to be seen.
She dropped into a crouch and darted forward, body coiled, senses flaring.
Still nothing.
But her awareness buzzed. This wasn't her first time sparring — she steadied herself.
With a sudden leap, she released shards from her hands, spraying them in every direction.
As she hovered midair, she puffed her cheeks and blew — hard.
A blast of scorching flame erupted from her mouth.
She couldn't keep this up. She hadn't developed her full system yet. This was raw skill.
Floating in the heat, she scanned again.
Then she saw it — a shimmer. A part of the floor that rippled like water.
But she wasn't foolish. Hans was a master of deception.
She flicked a shard toward the glimmer.
It gleamed, spinning… but nothing happened.
And then —
Pain.
A blade pierced clean through her shoulder.
She dropped, stunned — but never hit the floor. Hans caught her mid-fall and gently set her down.
Blood seeped through her uniform. A shard stuck clean through.
"Here," Hans said, tossing her a small circular vial.
She drank without hesitation.
"How?" she panted, pulling the shard from her shoulder.
"I told you to reclaim your energy," Hans replied calmly. "What you give your energy to… can and will be used against you."
"That's for metaphysics and emotion," she snapped, her usual demeanor slipping back into place — though her pride was bruised.
Hans didn't flinch. "Life isn't compartmentalized. One area bleeds into the next. It all counts one feeling may affect all, like stress from work bleeds into relationships or vice versa."
"Yeah, yeah," she muttered, brushing it off. Hans didn't push further.
"But seriously — how did you bypass my senses?"
"When you kicked the shard at me, I caught it," he said casually. "Then when you threw the last one, I released the first — just at the right angle. It passed directly over the one you threw. Thin as it was, and with your focus on the puddle, you missed it."
Her eyes widened.
"The first one?"
She glanced at her leg, still pulsing from the kick.
"How did he catch that?"
She'd seen him do grander things — but this still shocked her.
"Where attention goes, energy flows," Hans said. "Your attacks were spread wide — that was my window. That's why reclaiming your energy mid-fight is so important."
"I'll get it by the end of the week, I know it," Emlyn said with a determined nod.
Hans believed her.
He knew: conviction combined with knowing is a kind of godlike force.
"When you know something — it happens.
Like when you experience déjà vu, and you say, 'I knew that would happen.'
That's your unconscious manifesting from stored energy.
But when you say, 'I know this will happen,' you align with the outcome itself."
"You know what to do," he said.
She clenched her fist.
"He never used a single offensive technique.
No manifestations of power.
Soon, I'll force him to."
Hans smiled. He liked that look in her eyes.
Emlyn stood tall.
"I call my energy back to me — from every person, place, time, space, and dimension. The hairs on her body stood tall as her body started vibrating"
The lingering fire, the shards — they all shattered. Energy poured back into her.
She stood still and began her breathwork:
Inhale for 13 seconds. Exhale for 13.
Then 7 & 7.
Then 5 & 5.
3 & 3.
Finally 1 & 1.
She let her breath flow naturally.
"Okay. I'm ready."
"Good."
Hans nodded. "Remember, Muhammed's arriving today. Try to be nice."
She hesitated. "What do you think about him?"
Hans smirked. "He's strong. Sharp. But he keeps his cards close. And his mouth — I'd bet he got punished a lot as a kid."
She didn't react. But he could see the curiosity behind her neutral mask.
"Don't worry about it," Hans added. "Just focus on yourself."
She was already wondering if Muhammed would try to challenge her — maybe even take her spot.
"Remember: change is inevitable. The only choice is whether you evolve with it or resist it.
Your thoughts carry frequency. So guard them. Track their roots. Uproot what no longer serves you."
"Okay," she replied curtly.
Hans knew — something from her past still weighed her down, buried so deep she couldn't name it.
But he wouldn't let that weight break her.
"Now go meditate for two hours."
"Yes, sir!" she said, before bolting out of the training room. Her arm healed but sore
Hans looked down at his hand a thin but visible cut lay on his palm covered in energy to mask it
He smirked, "she's getting stronger, I wonder what my new student is up to.....they must be taking about me"