“Quite the grand welcome,” Emma said with a wry smile.

  They were in an arena twenty-five meters across.

  Around Maya and the others, fifty Returners in combat gear formed a circle, surrounding them. Most were men; only about ten were women.

  First-aid kits and stretchers lined the ground—everything was set for the training procedures.

  At a table behind them sat Liine and Isaac.

  “These are combat personnel who came from Luna Nordics. If we’re going to plan future operations and squad assignments, it’s fastest to grasp each other’s capabilities here,” Ilse said in a low, carrying voice.

  “In other words—if we know who’s stronger, things will go more smoothly for both sides, right?”

  “Guns are forbidden. No killing. Exceed is permitted. —One-on-one. It ends when someone yields, passes out, or I stop it.”

  After laying down the rules, Ilse swept her gaze across Gray Archives’ fighters.

  Maya looked over her own companions. Victoria and Emma were reassuring. But would Clara be okay?

  Clara looked like she was forcing herself to stand.

  (Am I… going to be okay?)

  Inside, Clara was anxious; her legs didn’t feel steady.

  “I’ll go first. Is that okay?” Emma said with a bright smile.

  “I was thinking the same. That’s perfect,” Victoria nodded.

  “If you win first, you can rest a bit, right? And if anyone gets hurt, treating them with Healing Palm is more efficient.”

  “And… it’ll give us a benchmark for their strength. I’m going.”

  Emma stepped into the center of the arena.

  “Who’s coming out for Gray Archives?!” Ilse barked.

  (A woman? But that’s Luna Nordics… Still, she doesn’t look that strong—)

  Amid the murmurs, a young man strode lightly into the center.

  He had the face of a seventeen-year-old boy, about Emma’s age—blond hair, brown eyes.

  “Our fights aren’t for killing. They’re to protect this place. But don’t underestimate me, miss.”

  “Gray Archives: Madis Jugga. Luna Nordics: Emma Valenti. —Begin!”

  Ilse signaled the start, and Ethan rang the gong.

  The next instant—Emma dropped into a crouch and swept her leg.

  Her right leg scythed Madis’s left; he stumbled and fell hard.

  (Good. Now I can go straight into a submission—)

  Emma intended to win quickly, hurting him as little as possible.

  But—

  Her right foot locked to the floor as if it had been nailed down.

  (Exceed? I didn’t sense it… an automatic trigger? A “step-and-fix” type?)

  Even as she processed it, the restraint didn’t release.

  Madis staggered upright.

  “You can’t get up anymore. Admit defeat.”

  As he spoke, Madis lightly stepped on Emma’s left foot.

  (My left foot too—can’t move—!)

  “Looks like this one’s already decided,” Isaac murmured from the table, impressed. “Madis is quick.”

  “Maybe. But Emma Valenti—her master is Beatrice. I doubt it ends here,” Liine replied, amused.

  Madis cut off Emma’s attempt to rise by stomping down on her lower abdomen.

  (My stomach—too. Like I’m stitched to the ground—!)

  “There’s nothing you can do, right? Next I’ll step on your arms and head and restrain you completely. Just admit defeat already.”

  “Honestly, I don’t want to step on a woman’s face.”

  Madis sighed.

  “You talk a lot,” Emma said, meeting his eyes. “That’s your choice. I’m used to this—and I haven’t lost.”

  “Then I won’t hold back.”

  Madis circled clockwise, shifting toward Emma’s right arm—her dominant side.

  He lifted his foot to step down—

  A dull creak—bone and muscle fibers grinding.

  In the next moment, Emma’s right arm flexed like a whip, extending to about one and a half times its usual reach—and grabbed Madis by the belt.

  (What the—?)

  Emma yanked.

  Madis, balanced on one leg, couldn’t hold. He toppled forward, collapsing over Emma’s body.

  (Only one chance—right here!)

  With her extended right arm, Emma twisted his body and snapped a choke sleeper hold around his neck.

  Her right arm, still stretched, snapped back to its original length with a dull clack, tightening the choke.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  (This angle—bad. It’s fully locked in.)

  Madis tried to wedge a hand in, but his consciousness faded faster.

  “…I-I yield…”

  The moment he surrendered, Emma released.

  The force pinning her feet and abdomen vanished as well, and she rolled away from him.

  “Ow, ow, ow…”

  Holding her right arm, Emma smiled.

  “What was that just now?” Madis asked in disbelief.

  “I dislocated my right shoulder, elbow, and wrist—used ether too, and popped them out all at once. It hurts, though.”

  “I can heal myself, so I can do it. I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone else.”

  “More importantly—your left ankle. It’s broken, right? Show me. I’ll fix it now.”

  Madis was stunned—not only by her combat skill, but by how quickly she switched gears after the match.

  “Luna has a strong image—assassins, a combat group… But you’re not like that.”

  “I won’t deny the image. But Luna’s members aren’t murder-crazed. They fight because it’s necessary—because they’re protecting someone.”

  “And it’s not ‘you.’ It’s Emma. Remember that, Madis.”

  Before he realized it, the pain in his left ankle was gone.

  Emma gave a faint smile.

  “That’s enough,” Ilse declared.

  “Madis. Only be confident after you’ve already won. Train your position and distance.”

  “Emma. Ambush tactics won’t work twice. Prepare more dirty tricks.”

  “Yes. Thank you,” Madis and Emma said at the same time.

  They returned from the center to their respective sides.

  “…Still,” Ilse muttered under her breath, “Emma’s fight wasn’t bad.”

  Only a few heard her—but everyone agreed.

  Back on the Luna Nordics side, Maya threw her arms around Emma with all her strength.

  “Congrats! That was amazing!”

  “Yeah, yeah. But he was pretty good too.”

  “It proves you’ve been controlling your ether properly,” Victoria said, nodding in satisfaction. “That’s the result of accumulated fundamentals, Emma.”

  Meanwhile, Clara smiled—yet remained tense.

  “Emma, you were incredible. Next, I’ll go.”

  Victoria placed a hand on Clara’s shoulder.

  “Clara, this is a spar. You don’t need to die. Even if you don’t win, no one will laugh. Show them what your training has built.”

  “Understood.”

  Clara’s trembling eased a little.

  (Winning or losing is just the outcome. I’m a member of Luna too. I’ll fight so I won’t be ashamed.)

  Small Clara stepped into the center.

  Gray Archives clearly wavered.

  (You’re kidding—this tiny girl? …No. Don’t let your guard down. We just saw what happened. She looks like she’s shaking, but it could be bait.)

  “Gray Archives—stop dithering!” Ilse’s shout cracked through the arena.

  “I’ll go,” said a tall man around twenty.

  He looked close to 190 centimeters, and he walked into the center with confidence.

  “Luna Nordics: Clara Whitman. Gray Archives: Bruno Siberius. —Begin!”

  Ethan rang the gong.

  Right at the start, Bruno’s right hook should have smashed into Clara’s face—

  But Clara dipped her head and took it on her forehead.

  “Tch…”

  Bruno found the pain in his fist irritating.

  (She takes it on the forehead so it doesn’t hurt. How many times did she drill that?)

  Clara exhaled—relieved her defense worked.

  A side kick snapped toward her face.

  Her elbow stopped it at the last instant.

  Having his attacks countered again, Bruno felt his irritation deepen.

  (Enough playing around. If I drag this out, nothing good happens.)

  Using his height, he dropped a heel strike toward the crown of her head.

  Clara deflected it with a high block, avoiding a direct hit.

  —In that moment.

  Bruno’s foot stamped down on Clara’s shadow.

  A savage pain tore through Clara, like someone had kicked her organs.

  “I’ll make it easy for you. That’s my courtesy.”

  Bruno’s kick drove into the face-area of her shadow; Clara rolled away, blood streaming from her nose.

  (An Exceed that transfers damage inflicted on a person’s shadow to their body… It depends on light, but it’s troublesome.)

  Victoria analyzed calmly.

  “You can’t beat me. Still want to go?”

  Bruno asked Clara as she lay rolling.

  “…I do…”

  “…I’m… a warrior of Luna Nordics…!”

  Clara stopped wiping her nosebleed and forced herself up.

  (Clara…! No matter what injuries you take, I’ll heal you!)

  Emma was genuinely terrified.

  “Fine. Understood.”

  Bruno moved fast—stamping her shadow again.

  Clara’s head jerked.

  And he didn’t stop: a straight to the solar plexus, a straight to the throat—

  A kickboxing-derived barrage landed clean, and Clara was blown backward, rolling hard.

  But—

  Even as she rolled, Clara rose again.

  Her body, however, was at its limit.

  “I’ll give you credit for getting up,” Bruno said. “But I advise you to surrender.”

  “…Th-thank you… But… I’m fine…”

  (How is that “fine”? Clara, at this rate you’ll really—)

  Maya could hardly bear to watch.

  (At times like this… ether breathing.)

  Clara recalled the basics. She felt strength return to her body.

  (I don’t have long either… So this is my last gamble.)

  Inside her pocket, Clara pinched a coin between her fingers and fired Victoria’s taught finger-flick technique: Sonic Bullet.

  Her aim was precise—two coins streaked toward Bruno’s eyes.

  Bruno, apparently used to projectiles, raised both arms to guard.

  But—

  In the instant his arms lifted, creating a blind spot—

  Clara vanished from his sight.

  She had slipped beneath him—directly into his space, right under his center.

  “—AAAAAAAAHH!”

  Clara’s all-in mid-level straight punch.

  Normally, Bruno would have guarded easily.

  But—Clara’s kiai shout rattled deep inside Bruno’s ears.

  (My vision… warps—!)

  A split-second opening.

  Clara’s punch drove precisely into Bruno’s solar plexus.

  Bruno’s face twisted with pain.

  (Bad. I need distance—)

  He managed a backstep through the warped vision and reset his stance—

  Only to find Clara collapsed unconscious in front of him.

  “Match over,” Ilse ended it.

  “Bruno. Don’t rely too heavily on your Exceed. Train the combination with your martial technique.”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “And Luna Nordics—when Clara Whitman wakes, tell her this.”

  “Her Exceed is still developing. But her spirit is strong. Continue training your finger-flicks and fundamentals—understood?”

  “Thank you. I’ll tell her, I promise,” Emma answered, carrying Clara on her back.

  “You really… did your best,” Maya whispered, taking Clara’s hand and squeezing it with affection.

  (She’s incredible. She knows she’s weak… and still—could I have done that, if I were her?)

  Maya found herself envying Clara’s courage.

  “Next, I’ll go,” Victoria said, stretching lightly. “It seems someone over there has been sending me a ‘love call.’”

  “Of course, that ‘love call’ is just killing intent.”

  “I’ll go—so I won’t shame Emma and Clara.”

  Victoria smiled and began walking toward the arena.

  Watching her, Ethan felt a bad premonition coil in his chest.

  (My sister… and that person? …Even I can’t predict how this will go.)

  For no reason at all, Ethan’s throat went dry.

  —Next, if someone misreads the moment, one of them will die.