Although Thea was shivering from the cold, her mind grew sharper. Even a fool could see the point of this exercise now.
She'd always thought her perception training was solid—but the moment external conditions interfered, her composure collapsed. If this happened in a real fight, wouldn't I lose control again? Clearly, her foundation wasn't as firm as she'd believed.
Once she understood the intent behind Shiva's training, Thea straightened her attitude. Fine, we're both women—nothing to be embarrassed about. Just pretend you're on a beach. She forced herself to ignore the cold wind brushing her skin, focusing entirely on the subtle tremors and sounds of her surroundings.
Whether it was numbness or progress, something shifted. The world seemed to grow quiet. The bird calls that had once sounded scattered now formed clear patterns.
After an unknown stretch of time, Shiva's voice came through the wind:
"Catch this."
A sudden whoosh followed. Thea sensed the direction and reached out—catching something long and wooden. A staff?
"Good. Now let's see what you've learned. Attack me."
By now Thea was used to her teacher's unconventional lessons. She didn't dare break her focus or remove the blindfold. She filtered out stray noise, honing in on Shiva's position, and moved forward slowly. When she felt they were three steps apart, she lunged—swinging the staff downward with all her strength.
Clack! Shiva easily parried and countered with a strike to Thea's left shoulder.
"Not bad. You can go faster. Left side—too open. Again."
Smack. "Right hand too high. Again."
Smack, smack. "Footwork sloppy. Again."
Thea gritted her teeth. This woman is a menace. She'd never been hit this many times in her life. All the pride she'd felt after matching Malcolm blow-for-blow had evaporated completely.
Still, for the sake of strength and independence, she endured—adjusting her stance with every blow.
No one knew how long the "beating session" lasted. Finally, Shiva's voice descended like that of an angel:
"That's enough for today. Take off the blindfold—I'll apply medicine."
Leaning on her staff, Thea removed the cloth. It felt like emerging from hell into daylight; the colors of the world had never seemed so beautiful. So much for those blind swordmasters in movies—they always look so cool. In reality, blindness just hurts. Maybe massage really is the only legitimate career path for the blind.
She glanced down. Bruises of every shade covered her body—purple, blue, and black. She no longer felt the cold; she just hurt everywhere. This "middle-school promotion" class was brutal. But she'd started down the path—there was no turning back now.
"Sit still. I'll put medicine on you," Shiva said, pouring a liquid into her palms and rubbing them together.
Thea blinked nervously. "Wait… what are you doing?"
"Applying medicine. You can't reach half your injuries. Stop fussing and sit still." Shiva's tone was calm, as if the girl were being ridiculous.
Then came warmth—tingling and electric. Shiva's palms glided over her shoulders, back, and arms, spreading heat through her skin like fire. The sensation crawled through Thea's body, every nerve awake. It didn't exactly hurt, but it made her face burn for an entirely different reason.
She clenched her jaw to keep from making a sound. Her cheeks flushed crimson.
By the time Shiva finished rubbing in the ointment and lightly patting the treated spots, Thea was drenched in sweat—unsure if it was part of the "official" process or just her imagination running wild. But something had changed. Her skin tingled with new sensitivity; even the faintest breeze brushed her nerves like music. So this is "before the wind moves, the cicada feels it."
"You're improving faster than I expected," Shiva said, standing. "Enough sensory work for today. Now—fight me."
Thea blinked. "Now?!"
Shiva's expression didn't change. "Now."
Fine. If she could get a little payback for the earlier beating, she'd take it. Still hot from the massage, she didn't even bother putting her jacket back on. Grabbing the staff, she charged.
The two women clashed fiercely. Thea, fueled by stubborn defiance, unleashed everything she had. Her movements, once awkward, now flowed naturally, the new sensitivity guiding her timing. For a brief moment, she overwhelmed even Shiva, forcing the older woman back a few steps.
Shiva's eyes lit up. "Excellent! Thea Queen—you've earned the right to be my opponent!"
With that, she slipped out of her long coat, revealing a crimson fitted top beneath. Her toned arms gleamed, lean muscle flexing under smooth skin. The defined lines across her abdomen—those were abs.
When Lady Shiva got serious, she lived up to her reputation—the world's greatest assassin, the supreme martial artist.
Thea's furious offensive soon crumbled under refined technique and effortless precision. Every strike she threw, Shiva countered; every feint, she read. Thea switched styles three times—sword forms, staff techniques—but none broke through.
"Let's go hand-to-hand!" Thea snapped, throwing her staff aside. She was better at unarmed combat anyway. And to make sure Shiva took the bait, she used a bit of reverse psychology—discarding her weapon first, counting on her teacher's pride to follow suit.
Of course, Shiva smirked and tossed her own staff away.
Ten seconds later, Thea regretted everything.
Weapons had at least given her distance. Empty-handed, she was outmatched completely. Shiva's movements blurred; her fists struck like thunder. Thea held out as long as she could, unwilling to surrender—but soon she found herself pinned to the ground, her opponent's punches flashing past her face in a storm of controlled fury.
Shiva had clearly pulled her blows, but the speed alone made Thea's heart skip. One real hit, and she'd be shopping for a new face in Seoul.
Flat on her back, she thought vaguely, Why does this look like one of those old kung fu scenes where the hero pounds on the invading soldiers? Am I the soldier right now? She blurted out, "Wing Chun?"
Shiva chuckled, finally relaxing her stance. "Good eye, Thea. Would you like to learn it?"
There's Wing Chun in this world too? Thea blinked. Then again, Oliver had practiced on a wooden dummy once—it made sense.
"Learn it?" she said, grinning despite herself. "Of course I'll learn it! In a world without inner energy or flying kicks, finding a style that fits me perfectly? That's priceless."