The Combat Club training hall was empty, the vast space echoing with a hollow quiet that made every footstep feel too loud. Mats covered the floor like a dull green sea, scuffed and scarred from years of violence disguised as education. The afternoon light slanted in through the high windows, catching dust in its glow.
Mika stood near the center of the room, her arms stiff at her sides.
Her knuckles ached.
She imagined punching him. Just once. A clean hit. Not with Kizo, not with ice. Just her fist, colliding with his stupid, calm face. The image flared hot in her chest, satisfying and terrifying all at once.
But she didn't move.
Because she was a coward.
Yuki was already on the mat, stretching like the place belonged to him. His cardigan was gone, replaced with a simple black training shirt that clung faintly to his frame. He looked relaxed, almost lazy, but Mika had learned that this version of him was the most dangerous. This was the Yuki who watched. Who judged.
"Every fight I've been in," Yuki said casually, as if commenting on the weather, "ends the same way."
Mika blinked. "Huh?"
"I lose consciousness." He rolled his neck once, slow. "Either I collapse or everything goes black. Overworking my Ki. Happens without fail."
He said it without frustration. Without embarrassment. Like it was a statistic.
Mika swallowed. "That's… bad."
"Yes." He glanced at her. "Fix it."
Her breath caught.
Fix it?
She looked down at her hands, fingers curling into her sleeves. Why was he asking her? Why did he always look at her like she was something half-broken he'd picked up out of curiosity?
"I… I don't really know how," she admitted quietly.
Silence pressed in. Her chest tightened, already bracing for the insult.
"But," she added quickly, the word tumbling out before fear could stop it, "maybe you're using too much Ki at once."
Yuki's stretching slowed.
Mika took that as permission and forced herself to continue.
"You always create large-scale ice. Walls, spikes, wide-area stuff. It's overwhelming, but it drains you fast." She gestured weakly, as if shaping something small between her palms. "What if you focused on… smaller constructs? Weapons. Reinforcement. Use your physical strength more instead of trying to dominate the field with raw output."
She glanced up at him, shy but earnest. "You're already strong without Ki. If you used just enough to enhance yourself, not replace yourself, you might last longer in fights."
The room was quiet again.
Her heart hammered. She waited. Any second now.
From the bleachers, a calm voice cut through the tension.
"There's also another way."
Both of them froze.
Yuki turned first, eyes snapping toward the elevated seating. Mika followed, her breath catching when she saw her.
Sophia Uzushi sat alone near the top row, legs crossed, a thick book resting in one hand. Black hair framed her face, a single golden lock falling over her glasses. Her golden eyes reflected the light as she closed the book with a soft, final sound.
She stood.
Mika's stomach dropped.
When did she get here?
Sophia descended the steps with unhurried grace, as if she'd always been part of the room. Every footstep felt deliberate. Heavy. Royal.
Mika shrank back instinctively.
She didn't belong here.
Yuki and Sophia were Royals. Born with names that carried weight. Power that bent rooms around them. Mika was just… Mika. A girl who hesitated. A girl who watched from the corner.
Sophia stopped a few steps away.
"What you described," Sophia said to Yuki, "is Ki burnout caused by inefficient circulation. You're forcing output faster than your channels can stabilize."
Yuki raised an eyebrow. "And the solution?"
Sophia adjusted her glasses. "The dangerous one."
Mika stiffened.
"It's like physical training," Sophia continued. "You overload the muscle so it tears, then rebuilds stronger. Ki works the same way. If you consistently push past your current limit without fully collapsing your channels, your capacity will expand."
She met Yuki's gaze, unblinking. "But the margin is thin. Too far, and your Ki pathways suffer permanent damage. Or worse."
Silence followed her words.
Mika felt cold.
"That's reckless," Mika said before she could stop herself.
Sophia glanced at her. Not dismissive. Not cruel. Just distant.
"Yes," Sophia agreed. "It is."
She turned back to Yuki. "Your method works only if you have absolute control over when to stop. Judging by your history, that control is inconsistent."
Yuki smiled faintly. "So it's a gamble."
"All power growth is," Sophia replied.
She stepped back, already disengaging. "That's all."
She didn't wait for thanks.
As Sophia turned away, Mika noticed it. The tension in her shoulders. The way her hand tightened briefly around the book.
Sophia didn't look at Yuki again.
She exited the training hall quietly, like she'd never been there at all.
The door closed.
The room felt smaller.
Yuki exhaled slowly, then looked at Mika.
Her stomach twisted.
"So," he said, voice flat, "your idea was useless compared to Uzushi-san's."
There it was.
"I thought you were only useless in a fight," he continued calmly, "Coward. I didn't realize you were useless in theory too."
Something snapped.
Mika's fists clenched so hard her nails dug into her palms. Her whole body trembled, heat flooding her chest, her throat, her eyes.
She wanted to scream.
She wanted to punch him.
She wanted to wipe that detached, superior look off his face and make him feel even a fraction of what she felt right now.
But she didn't move.
Because she was a coward.
Her jaw tightened as she stared at the mat, teeth grinding together.
I hate you.
The thought shocked her with its clarity.
She hated the way he talked to her. The way he reduced her to a word. The way he decided what she was without asking if she wanted to change.
Is this really how Royals are? she thought bitterly. Cold. Cruel. Looking down on everyone who doesn't measure up.
Yuki turned away, already done with her, stretching again like she was no longer worth his attention.
Mika stayed where she was, fists clenched, hatred blooming quietly in her chest.
And this time, she didn't push it away.
Mika's breath came fast and shallow.
She was done.
"I want a duel," she said, the words sharp enough to surprise even herself. "Right here. Right now."
Yuki blinked.
Then he smiled.
Not the thin, cruel curve he'd worn earlier. Not the empty mask. This smile was open, genuine, almost boyish. Bright blue eyes softened, alive in a way Mika hadn't seen since the first day they met.
Her heart stuttered.
For a split second, she forgot why she was angry.
That smile was… beautiful. Disarming. It sent an unwelcome warmth crawling up her neck, and she hated that her cheeks betrayed her immediately.
This is him, she realized.
The real Yuki.
Not the cold thing from earlier. Not the weapon. The boy.
"I was hoping you'd say that," Yuki replied lightly.
They stepped apart, instinctively giving each other space. Mika raised her hands, Ki flowing cool and sharp through her veins. Ice formed naturally now, obedient, precise. Her fear was still there, coiled in her chest, but it didn't freeze her anymore.
Yuki rolled his shoulders once.
"No large-scale nonsense," he said, almost teasing. "You'll get what you suggested."
The duel began without a signal.
Mika struck first.
Ice surged along the floor in a jagged wave, splitting into narrow spikes that raced toward Yuki like hunting hounds. He moved instantly, faster than she expected, sidestepping with inhuman precision. A thin ice spear flashed into his hand, compact and efficient. He hurled it.
Mika twisted, barely deflecting it with a shard of ice that shattered on impact. Another knife followed. Then another.
He didn't stop moving.
Yuki fought like a ghost, light on his feet, closing distance and retreating in the same breath. His Ki usage was minimal, controlled, every construct small but lethal.
Mika's pulse thundered as she reinforced her limbs with ice, sliding, pivoting, countering.
She adapted.
Thin ice blades formed around her arms, rotating defensively. She stomped, freezing the mat beneath Yuki's feet, forcing him to leap. She followed with a barrage of narrow spikes aimed not to overwhelm, but to corner.
Yuki laughed.
Actually laughed.
"So this is what you can do," he said, vaulting over one spike and skidding to a stop. "Not bad at all."
His speed was terrifying.
He was suddenly in front of her.
Mika reacted on instinct, forming an ice knife and slashing upward. Yuki twisted, the blade grazing his shirt instead of his throat. He countered with a compact spear aimed for her shoulder.
She shattered it mid-air.
Her confidence surged.
He's using my idea.
The realization struck her harder than any blow. He wasn't following Sophia's dangerous method. He was listening to her.
Trusting her.
Pride bloomed in her chest, warm and fierce.
She pushed harder.
Ice wrapped around her legs, propelling her forward in a burst of speed she didn't know she had. Yuki's eyes widened just a fraction too late.
She slammed him onto his back.
The impact echoed through the hall.
Before he could move, Mika was on top of him, knees pinning his arms, an ice knife hovering at his throat. Her chest heaved, breath ragged, sweat beading at her temples.
Yuki froze.
Then slowly raised his hands.
"I surrender," he said easily, eyes bright despite the position. "Looks like you win."
Her pulse roared in her ears.
He smiled up at her, softer now, something dangerous and amused flickering behind it. "Maybe you're not as useless as I thought."
As she pulled the knife away, he sat up slightly. His fingers lifted, brushing a few loose strands of hair from her face with surprising gentleness.
Mika's breath caught.
Blue eyes met hers.
Too close.
She could feel his body heat, her hand moved on it's own, gliding across his chest then down to his abdomen.
Her face burned. She didn't move. Couldn't.
The doors slammed open.
"What do you two think you're doing?!"
Seri's voice cut through the room.
Mika jolted.
She scrambled off Yuki so fast she nearly tripped, standing rigid and flushed. "We were sparring!" she blurted. "That's all!"
Derek squinted. "Then why were you sitting on him?"
Mika's face went nuclear.
Heat flooded her senses, heart pounding like it wanted out of her chest. She wiped sweat from her brow, suddenly painfully aware of how close they'd been. Without a doubt she was attracted to Yuki, she wanted to be as close to him as physically possible.
Seri walked over, arms crossed, eyes sharp. She looked at Yuki. "You seem to be enjoying yourself. Having a girl on you and all."
The edge in her voice was unmistakable. And filled with jealousy.
Yuki stood, scratching the back of his head and laughing sheepishly. "Mika just kicked my ass."
Silence.
Everyone stared.
"Did you just call her Mika?" Derek asked slowly.
Yuki froze.
Then dropped to his knees.
The sound was loud.
He bowed deeply, forehead nearly touching the mat. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "For the insults. For pushing too hard. I wanted you to face your fear, not hate yourself."
Mika's chest tightened.
Understanding settled in, heavy and complex.
Yuki turned to Derek. "And I'm sorry for insulting the love of your life."
Derek kicked him. "She's not the love of my life, you brainless idiot!"
Mika knelt beside Yuki, frowning. "You still could've toned it down."
Then she punched him in the face.
Yuki toppled sideways. "Worth it," he muttered with a victorious expression on his face.
He pointed weakly at both of them. "You two really belong together. Both punched me in one day."
Mika and Derek turned red simultaneously.
Seri laughed.
And just like that, the tension broke.