Zach woke up to a soft glow—and the blurry outline of a girl right in front of his face.

  Instinct kicked in before logic did.

  He flinched and reflexively tried to shove her away.

  “Damnit, Mika—!”

  She stepped back just enough to make him overextend, and the wince that followed from his ribs earned her a smug little grin.

  “He’s alive! Praise be, one and all,” Mika announced with a dramatically raised hand, like she was performing in some tragic stage play.

  Zach, still very much in pain, flipped her off without looking. His head pounded. His ribs felt like they were made of already broken chalk. And the moment he blinked through the fog and their silhouettes sharpened, the rest of them descended on him like vultures that wore combat boots.

  Mika was first, of course. Light jab to the ribs.

  “What the hell were you thinking, dumbass?”

  “Clearly nothing,” Sato added, pushing his glasses up.

  “Why didn’t you just play dead?” Derrin said from the wall, arms crossed, disappointment radiating off him like a disappointed dad at a school play.

  “What you did was stupid,” Elle added calmly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You know that, right?”

  None of them noticed that Zach had zoned out thirty seconds ago. Until—

  POP.

  Elle blew a bubble right next to his ear.

  “FUCK—” Zach nearly flung himself off the bed. “Jeez—! Okay, okay, I’m sorry, alright?! I didn’t have a choice!”

  “Oh, you didn’t have a choice, huh?” Mika repeated with the fakest smile in existence before drilling a knuckle straight into his forehead.

  “What about playing dead?”

  “Or admitting defeat?”

  “You could’ve pushed your way back into the crowd.”

  The others chimed in like a rehearsed choir.

  Zach groaned and tried to push Mika off again—another swing, another miss.

  “But you didn’t have a choice, right?” Mika said sweetly as he finally shoved her back with a grunt.

  ‘Either that, or we look like even more of a laughing stock,’ Zach wanted to say.

  But he didn’t. He held his tongue.

  “Look... I’m sorry for worrying you all, alright?” he muttered, cracking his neck as he sat up straighter.

  The group let out a collective sigh and, for once, went quiet.

  For a beat, they just stood there. Watching him.

  Then Sato spoke.

  “You were pretty cool though,” he said, tapping his tablet and flipping it around. A paused frame of the fight hovered in the air—Lucien’s face, right after that first jab. Wide-eyed. Off-guard.

  “You scared the crap out of him with that opening move.”

  Sato skipped forward.

  “And right here,” Derrin said, pointing as the footage showed Zach shoulder-checking Lucien, “you made him stumble. That in itself is a victory.”

  “And did you see the way he looked when you slashed him?” Mika added, snatching the tablet and zooming in on Lucien’s expression mid-fight. “He was so mad you messed up his outfit. I think that hurt him more than the cut.”

  Zach chuckled, which immediately turned into a half-wheeze. “Really couldn’t tell.”

  “Point is, you did good,” Elle said after a beat. “It was reckless. It was stupid. But you didn’t fold. You stood your ground… so thank you.”

  She extended a hand to him.

  Zach took it.

  She pulled him to his feet slowly.

  “And you made us look good,” Mika added, throwing him a big, genuine smile.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Zach gave a dramatic half-bow, wincing hard mid-motion. “Everything I do is for you, m’lady.”

  “Shut up,” Mika snorted, smacking his shoulder with a punch that had way more affection than anger.

  “Come on, get dressed. We’ve got homeroom.”

  Zach groaned as he shrugged on his haori, still sore in places he hadn’t known could hurt.

  “Damnit… is it too late to say I can’t walk?”

  Mika scoffed as she leaned against the doorframe. “I dunno, probably. But if I had to guess—no.” She walked beside him, giving his leg a light, teasing kick that almost sent him stumbling again.

  The walk down the D-Wing hall was uneventful—except for Zach limping every few steps and the flickering ceiling lights pulsing like they were begging to be put out of their misery. The whole place looked like it had been half-abandoned after a war and never quite recovered.

  As they neared their classroom, the bets began.

  “Ten credits says it’s just a paper test,” Sato muttered, pushing his glasses up. “Probably questions like ‘What’s your goal?’ and ‘How do you spell Aspects?’”

  “Fifteen says it’s a projection,” Mika added. “Some dude in a cheap suit saying we can still be better people if we just believe.”

  Derrin raised an eyebrow. “Five credits it’s nothing. Just an empty room. Like they gave up halfway through orientation.”

  They reached the door to Room 4-C.

  Zach braced himself before grabbing the handle.

  They stepped in—

  —and lost every single bet.

  The lights were already on.

  The chalkboard had writing on it.

  And sitting behind the desk, feet kicked up like he owned the place, was a man sipping from a battered thermos, eyes already on them.

  He wasn’t what they expected.

  Mid-forties. Broad shoulders. Scarred jawline. His black hair was streaked with silver, pulled back just enough to keep it out of his eyes, which were sharp and calculating. He wore a dark long-sleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing scarred forearms and faded burn marks. His entire vibe screamed done with your shit before you start.

  He looked like a war veteran disguised as a high school shop teacher—and yet, the weight in the room shifted the second they saw him.

  Not because he was loud.

  Because he wasn’t.

  He took a long sip from his thermos, then slowly set it down.

  “You’re late,” he said flatly.

  “We’re two minutes early,” Elle replied, glancing at the clock.

  “Then I’m two minutes behind on giving a damn,” the man replied, standing up with a lazy roll of his shoulders.

  He stepped in front of the desk and pointed at himself with a thumb.

  “Ishino Haruki. Rank seventy-two hero. Callsign: Dissect.”

  That got their attention.

  Even Mika blinked.

  “You’re ranked?” Sato said, slightly stunned.

  “Unfortunately,” Ishino muttered. “Aspect of Mind. Subclass: Analytical. That means I see everything. Every step. Every mistake. Every time one of you thinks you can coast through a fight and fake it.”

  He pointed at Zach without even looking.

  “You’re the idiot who got folded by Rank Two.”

  Zach opened his mouth to reply, then slowly closed it.

  Ishino tilted his head. “Why?”

  Zach blinked. “...Because I didn’t want to look weak.”

  “Wrong,” Ishino snapped. “Because you were thinking about pride, not survival. You had three outs. You took none.”

  He clicked a remote and a hologram of the fight flickered into the air.

  “Class starts now. You’re going to break this fight down until you understand why you lost. Not just how.”

  The group stared.

  Zach sighed, already feeling the headache coming on.

  Mika whispered under her breath, “Okay... he might be my favorite.”

  Elle nodded slowly. “He’s what we needed.”

  And Zach?

  Zach looked up at the projection of himself being launched across the cafeteria.

  ‘Fantastic. Let’s relive that moment in high-def.’

  The room was dead quiet except for the hum of the holo-projector.

  The footage played in sharp resolution, paused mid-motion—Zach mid-swing, sword arcing downward. Lucien just barely leaning away. The very next frame showed Zach’s leg coming up, aiming a follow-up kick toward Lucien’s midsection.

  Ishino pointed at the screen with a wooden ruler like he was circling a mistake on a pop quiz.

  “Why’d you do that?” he asked, not even looking away from the projection.

  Zach blinked. “Because he was slightly off balance from the first swing.”

  Ishino nodded once. “Then why didn’t you follow up with another swing?”

  Zach hesitated. “Because he was expecting that.”

  “But you just said he was off balance,” Ishino said, voice never rising. “He could expect it—but could he dodge it?”

  Zach sat straighter. “A kick would’ve caught him off guard even more. Less predictable.”

  Ishino flicked to the next frame.

  Lucien’s arm was already up. Clean block. Calm face.

  The ruler tapped again.

  “Does this look like a man caught off guard?”

  Zach didn’t answer right away. Just rolled his eyes slightly, like he already knew where this was going.

  Ishino saw it.

  His eyes narrowed.

  “I ask again,” he said, this time locking eyes with Zach. “Why didn’t you follow up with another swing?”

  Zach exhaled. “Because I had overcommitted. I was off balance too. A second swing would’ve been slow. A kick kept my body moving in rhythm. That’s the way I fight.”

  A pause.

  Then Ishino pointed the ruler at him again.

  “The way you fight is stupid.”

  Silence.

  Not dramatic silence. Stunned silence.

  Even Mika’s jaw dropped.

  Sato blinked twice.

  Derrin raised his eyebrows in quiet alarm.

  Elle froze mid-note.

  Zach stared, caught somewhere between disbelief and full offense. “Did… did you just call me stupid?”

  Ishino didn’t blink. “No. I said the way you fight is stupid.”

  He dropped the ruler onto the desk with a soft clack.

  “You have good instincts. Quick recovery. You improvise well. But you’re wasting movement, overextending, and relying on rhythm instead of structure. That’s how you get folded.”

  He pointed again, tapping the paused image of Lucien’s block.

  “This isn’t a rhythm game. You don’t win points for looking smooth. You fight to win. Not to impress people. Not to protect your pride. To win.”

  He let that hang.

  Then added, quieter: “If you want to survive this year, stop fighting like you’re on stage.”

  Zach sat back in his chair, something unreadable in his face now. Not anger.

  Just… listening.

  Really listening.

  Mika finally whispered under her breath, “Okay. Yeah. Favorite teacher confirmed.”

  Sato scribbled something down. “Brutal, but not inaccurate.”

  Elle kept her eyes on Zach. “He’s not wrong,” she said softly. “It’s not just about having a style—it’s about making it work when it matters.”

  Zach didn’t say anything for a while.

  Then, quietly:

  “…So how should I fight?”

  Ishino gave the smallest nod of approval. Not a smile. Just acknowledgment.

  “That’s the question,” he said. “We’ll find your answer. One fight at a time.”