The morning came gray and still, the fog outside clinging to the shattered skyline. The air was heavy enough to muffle the world, and inside the training hall, it was silent—until 24's boots hit the floor.
Lu stood near the center of the space, rolling her shoulders and stretching, expecting another weapons session. Her twin blades lay polished and ready on the nearby table, the metal catching the dull light that filtered through the cracks in the wall.
24 approached without a word and stopped beside them.
He looked down at the blades, then back at her.
"Not today."
Lu frowned.
"What do you mean? We were supposed to keep working with the blades. You said—"
"I said you'd learn to fight," he interrupted, his tone calm but immovable. "Not just with steel."
He picked up her weapons and set them carefully on the far wall, out of reach.
"You won't always have them in your hands. If someone closes the distance before you draw, your weapon becomes dead weight."
Lu crossed her arms, cautious but curious.
"So what's the plan?"
24 stepped closer, his presence like a cold current.
"Close quarters," he said. "Disarm, redirect, disable. Fast. Efficient. No hesitation."
He dropped into a low stance, weight balanced, eyes fixed on her.
"You're going to try to hit me."
Lu hesitated.
"Barehanded?"
"Barehanded."
"And if I actually do?"
A flicker of a smirk.
"Then I wasn't paying attention."
The first strike came quick—Lu stepped in with her right hand, aiming for his midsection, a fast jab like she would with a blade.
24 caught it effortlessly, twisting her wrist just enough to make her stumble forward. Before she could react, his elbow was at her throat—not pressing, but close enough to make the point.
"You commit too soon," he said, stepping back. "Weapons give reach. Without them, you rely on timing, not aggression."
She reset, eyes narrowing.
He gestured with two fingers.
"Again."
Lu lunged, switching directions mid-step, leading with a feint. 24 turned slightly, his motion minimal, letting her momentum pass him. His hand came up, pressing lightly against her back as he guided her past him—controlled, effortless.
"Balance," he said. "You fight like your weapons are still in your hands. They're not. You need to own your space without them."
"You make it sound easy," she muttered, resetting her stance.
"It isn't."
For the next hour, he let her attack freely. No jumps. No speed bursts. Just movement. Every strike she threw, he countered with precision—redirecting, deflecting, or locking her joints until she had to tap out or fall.
Lu was fast, sharper than when they first met, but 24's control was absolute. He never struck hard, but every contact felt like a reminder: if he wanted, he could break her in a second.
Finally, after she hit the floor for the fifth time, she lay there breathing hard, sweat streaking her hair beneath the edge of her mask.
"You done teaching me how to fall yet?" she asked between breaths.
24 crouched beside her, expression unreadable.
"Falling is part of learning how to stay alive," he said. "But now you learn to take control."
He stood and motioned for her to rise.
"This time, you don't strike. You react. Use what you've seen."
She nodded slowly, rolling her shoulders before taking her stance again.
He came at her this time—no words, no warning. Just a blur of motion.
A low kick swept toward her knee, but she sidestepped, blocking with her shin. He pivoted immediately, hand flashing toward her throat. She caught his wrist with both hands, twisting. For a split second, she had leverage.
24 reversed it in an instant—his body turning with a snap, breaking her grip and pinning her arm behind her back. But before he could finish the motion, she drove her heel backward into his knee. He stumbled just enough for her to roll away.
She came up fast, hands raised.
"Better?" she asked, breathless but steady.
"Almost."
He feinted forward again—too fast to track—but she anticipated this time, dropping low and sweeping his leg. He shifted his balance just in time to avoid falling, but the motion earned her a small nod.
"You're starting to listen to the fight," he said. "Not think through it."
Lu exhaled sharply.
"That a compliment?"
"Call it progress."
They continued for hours—each exchange faster, more fluid, the lines between teacher and student blurring with every motion. 24 still held back, but less so. He was forcing her to adapt, to feel distance, timing, and pressure.
At one point, she caught his wrist and twisted hard enough to bring him to a knee. He didn't resist. Instead, he let her hold the advantage just long enough to see her realize what she'd done.
Then, with a faint smirk, he broke the hold with a clean counter, pressing her shoulder against the wall. His voice was low.
"If I were armed, you'd be dead."
"But you're not," she shot back.
His smirk deepened slightly.
"Exactly."
When they finally stopped, the room was silent except for their breathing. The air was thick with heat and dust, their shadows long in the fading light.
Lu sank to the floor again, flexing her sore hands.
"You're insane," she said quietly. "You could've dislocated my arm five times today."
"You need to know what that feels like before someone else does it to you," 24 replied, stretching his neck. "Pain teaches faster than words."
She leaned back, exhausted but wired, eyes following him as he walked to the far wall and retrieved her blades. He didn't hand them over—he just looked at them for a moment, then at her.
"Tomorrow, you get these back," he said. "But remember—your hands are weapons too. If you forget that, you'll never survive long enough to draw."
Lu nodded slowly, mask hiding her expression but not the weight of his words.
"Then tomorrow," she said, "I'll make you work for it."
24's gaze lingered for a moment, faintly approving.
"We'll see."
He turned and walked toward the door, his footsteps echoing faintly in the emptiness.
Behind him, Lu flexed her bruised knuckles and smiled under the mask—tired, but sharper than before.
The lesson was brutal, but she'd survived it.
And for the first time, she'd felt just a hint of his rhythm… the same deadly flow that made him what he was.