Chapter Text
Act III — Mixed
Part I — Akira (≈650-690)
I can’t sleep.
I wish it had been adrenaline—that’d be easy to cope with.
This is worse. My mind’s calm. It’s pacing and looking for a wall to punch.
Without thinking, I get up from my warm bed with a sense of yearning that could easily be quenched.
Boots. Gloves. Valkyrie in tow.
I don’t remember changing or leaving my loft. It’s as if my brain discarded useless information.
Maybe if I move enough, I’ll get tired of these questions.
There’s only one place to go.
The training hall is dim when I get there. Emergency lights on, casting an amber glow on everything it touches.
The training hall smells faintly of citrus cleaner—too bright for a place built for damage.
The hall has the kind of empty quietness that being alone in such a busy place does to you.
Familiar. Safe. Empty.
I let out a breath and step onto the blue training mat.
“Center guard,” I parrot from memories, automatically. I lift Valkyrie.
The first strike is clean. The second is sharp. The third—
Metal grinds on metal. Footsteps from behind.
Valkyrie jerks towards the dummy. Faster than it should. Looser.
Someone else is here.
“Wow,” a voice says from the shadows. “You always hit that hard, or am I special?”
I spin on my heel.
Orion steps into the light, rolling his shoulders like he’s warming up for a casual jog, not trespassing in a restricted facility at midnight.
Of course.
Of course it’s him.
“What are you doing here?” I demand, voice hard.
Orion blinks, an illusion of confusion, “Training?”
“The hall is monitored.”
An easy shrug, but I see his unease. “So was the rest of the facility,” he responded, “Didn’t stop you. So why would it stop me?”
My jaw tightens, “Jae didn’t call you.”
Orion laughs once, sharply. “She didn’t call you either.”
Silence stretches.
That lands harder than it should.
I raise Valkyrie, “Leave.”
Orion tilts his head, studying me. Not mocking. Curious.
As if he wanted to observe.
“You’re restless,” Orion says. “I can tell.”
I slip into stance, a mocking shrug and a bouncy voice. Not me.
“Funny. Jae says the same.”
Orion copies my pose subconsciously. But more teasing. Loose. Open. Annoyingly familiar.
Like an invitation.
Or a trap. My mind whispers, a warning.
That snaps something.
I move first.
Fast. Direct. No warning.
Orion barely dodges, laughter bursting out as steel whistles past his shoulder.
“Whoa—okay! So that’s how this is going.”
We clash. Hard.
Blades ringing, footwork sharp and unforgiving. I press, driving Orion back with precise strikes, forcing him to adapt instead of show off.
Orion’s grin fades into something breathless.
Good.
“Don’t hold back,” Orion mutters, ducking under a slash and coming up close enough that I can feel his breath. “You never do.”
Rage surges, “You don’t know me.”
Orion stumbles, recovers, eyes flashing. “Yeah? Then why do you guard like you’re afraid of losing something?”
Because I do.
I press harder.
Orion meets me head-on this time. No flourish. No jokes. Just movement. Controlled. Intentional.
Jae’s drills bleed through.
Same workouts. Different ways to do them.
Disarm. Counter. Trip.
Confuse. Jab. Move.
Valkyrie nearly grazes Orion’s neck, and at the same time, our breath hitches.
Orion twists, hooking my wrist just like Jae taught—too familiar, too correct—and sends me sprawling.
I roll on the mat, Valkyrie under me.
Orion towers over me. Daggers invisible.
How will he kill me? My mind dully wonders.
“Still think you’re her only disciple?” Orion asks quietly.
“No. I think we’re mistakes.” I spit out the last word, sliding out like something slimy and gross.
I look up at him—rain-soaked memories flashing behind my eyes.
Orion’s expression flickers.
“Maybe we are,” he whispers under his breath—if I weren’t under him, I wouldn’t have noticed.
Then he offers a hand, he has golden rings on each finger—except for his left ring finger. Ironic.
I slap it away and surge to my feet.
“Again,” Jae echoes with my voice.
Orion smiles—smaller this time. Real.
“Yeah,” he says. “Again.”
We circle.
Not enemies.
Not allies.
But worse.
Two shadows raised by the same ghost. Guarding the same invisible wound.
Fighting because putting down the weapons meant thinking.
And who’s ready for that?
Part II — Orion (≈1000-1500)
We stop because none of us lands a hit.
Not because we can’t.
Because we won’t.
Steel hovers a breath apart—Valkyrie angled for my throat, my dagger lined with the pulse in his wrist. Sweat drips down my spine. My arms burn. My lungs are staging a mutiny.
And for one stupid second, we just stare… eyes locked as if something would happen if we glanced away.
The Akira blows out a minty breath—even this guy’s breath is specific—Long. Controlled. Like he’s shelving something dangerous.
He steps back first.
A truce, unspoken. Accepted.
“Break?” I offer, voice rougher than I meant it to be.
Akira hesitates for a beat. Then he nods once. Sharp. Practiced.
We drop to opposite ends of the mat like magnets forced apart. I sit with my back against the wall, legs stretched out, head tipped back. The ceiling lights hum softly, like they’re watching.
My hands are shaking.
Adrenaline with nowhere left to go.
I peel off my gloves. My fingers ache—the good kind. The earned kind.
Across from me, Akira’s arms are loosely wrapped over his heart. Wrists covered—Still favouring it. Still pretending he’s not.
“You fight like you’re apologizing,” I say before I can stop myself.
Silence.
Ah. So we’re doing honesty now.
Fun.
Akira doesn’t look at me. “You fight like you’re trying to prove something.”
I laugh quietly. It comes out wrong. “To who?”
Akira glances at me for a split second. “Whom,” he corrects before wincing, “Sorry.”
A laugh bubbles out, my chest aching with the movement.
“Yourself,” he says.
That one lands. Deep. Clean.
I roll my head to the side and stare at the floor. Chalk scuffs. Old blood stains. Memories layered like sediment.
“Yeah,” I admit. “That tracks.”
Another beat passes before we say anything.
I scrub a hand over my face. “You know what the worst part is?”
Akira raises an eyebrow. Invitation, not challenge.
“I thought I admired you because you were perfect,” I say. “Golden boy. Clean strikes. Always one step ahead.”
“You’re a bad liar for someone whose job relies on it,” Akira scoffs.
“Not lying.” I glance at him. “Just late.”
He watches me carefully now, like I’m a puzzle he didn’t know he was solving.
“I didn’t admire your perfection,” I continue. “I admired your restraint.”
That gets his full attention.
“You could end fights faster,” I say. “You don’t. You always choose the angle that spares the most damage—even when it costs you.”
I gesture vaguely at his wrist.
“You guard like you’re responsible for everyone in the room,” I finish. “Even me.”
Akira’s jaw tightens.
“That’s not admiration,” he says quietly. “That’s pity.”
I shake my head. “No. Pity looks down.”
I meet his eyes. They’re such a dark brown, they’re almost black.
“I looked across.”
Something shifts. He’s not defensive. He’s not angry.
Finally, he’s spoken to. Not spoken at.
He exhales, long and slow. “I thought I admired you because you were free.”
My turn to go still.
“You move like consequences are optional,” he continues. “Like the rules are… suggestions.”
I grin despite myself. “They usually are.”
“But you calculate,” he says. “Every step. Every blast radius. You never let chaos spill where it shouldn’t.”
My jaw loosens, and a lie slides out, “I don’t calculate. Athens is just lucky.”
He looks away, voice lower now. “I thought that meant you didn’t care.”
I laugh under my breath. “Yeah. People get that wrong a lot.”
He nods once, plays with the decoration on Valkyrie. Then: “You care too much.”
The silence sits between us. Heavy, but not suffocating.
A laugh from Akira, “It’s like we rehearsed the same conversation.”
I echo his laugh, “In the shower.”
He nods, “Before bed.”
I stretch my legs out further, boots squeaking faintly against the mat. “So,” I say lightly, because if I don’t, I might actually feel something. “Turns out we’re both idiots.”
Akira almost smiles.
Almost.
“What do you think it was, then?” he asks. “The admiration.”
I think about the alley. The hesitation. The choice not to chase.
About how my heart kicked like a trapped animal when I realized he’d let me go.
“Recognition,” I say.
He blinks.
“You fight the way I would,” I explain. “If I let myself stop running.”
His gaze sharpens—not angry. Focused. Like I just handed him a live wire.
“And you,” I add, “fight the way I might have… if someone had taught me sooner that surviving isn’t the same as winning.”
Silence crashes back in.
Not empty. Full.
Akira looks down at Valkyrie resting across his knees. “Jae said mirrors refract.”
I pretend to understand what he meant. I nod slowly.
He snorts, “Refraction is the bending of light as it passes indirectly from one transparent medium to another, caused by a change in its speed.”
I rub my chin, “Transparent medium. Like a mirror?”
He points at me, finger seconds from my chest, “Exactly.”
“She said that’s why they’re dangerous,” he continues. “You don’t fight what you see in them. You fight what they remind you of.”
I push myself to my feet, muscles protesting. “Guess that explains the stalemate.”
He stands too. Slower. Careful with the wrist.
We face each other again—but this time, no weapons raised. His eyes don’t even flicker towards Valkyrie.
No guard.
Just two people breathing the same air, finally aware of what’s been circling between us since the first clash.
“So,” I say, tilting my head. “Rest round’s over?”
Akira’s mouth curves—not sharp. Not cruel.
Honest.
“Yeah,” he says. “Again.”
Instead, we step closer.
Noses grazing the other.
He’s warm. I breathe in his scent. It’s like wood and flowers.
We share a glance and nearly lean in.
Then—
Metal screams.
The door.
I leap from Akira, and daggers slip from my sleeve.
He summons Valkyrie.
A choked yell, “Orion! Akira!”
We freeze. Force of habit. Akira’s fingers twitch to mine.
Footsteps. Even. Unhurried.
The lights flicker once—as if embarrassed.
“Well,” Jae-gyeong says mildly, from somewhere behind us. “This explains the security alerts.”
Akira turns first. Slow. Respectful. Caught.
I follow, heart, doing that stupid skip it does when you’re a kid who’s been found out and also half relieved about it.
But I’m not sure if I’m relieved about being caught in the hall or being caught with who I’m in the hall with.
She stands at the edge of the mat, coat still on, hair tied back the way it only is when she means business. Her eyes sweep the room in one smooth arc.
Sweat on the floor. Scuffed chalk lines. Valkyrie out. My daggers out.
“Which one of you,” she asks calmly, “was going to pretend this was an accident?”
Akira opens his mouth.
I cut in. “Me.”
He shoots me a look. I ignore it.
Jae raises an eyebrow. Singular. Surgical.
“Bold,” she says. “Wrong. But bold.”
She steps onto the mat.
She exhales through her nose, disappointed but not surprised. Somehow worse.
“I leave you alone for one night,” she continues, “and you decide to reenact your unresolved psychological damage with weapons.”
Akira mock-winces. A smile playing on his lips.
I grin despite myself. “In our defence—”
“Don’t,” she says flatly.
Silence drops.
Her eyes narrow. Not angry.
Assessing.
“…You stopped,” she says.
Neither of us answers.
She nods once. “Good.”
Then she turns away, walking to the rack against the wall. Fingers brushing over old weapons she hasn’t touched in years.
“You didn’t come here to fight,” she says. “You came here because you couldn’t sleep.”
Akira stiffens.
I swallow.
“You came looking for me,” she finishes, turning back around. “Because somewhere along the way, you both decided you were alone.”
Her gaze softens. Just a fraction. Dangerous mercy.
“You’re not.”
My shoulders loosen.
“If only one of you had come, I would’ve said that because I was there for both of you,” she sighs, fingers tightening on the hilt of a sword, “But now I can say that because you two have each other.”
“Why did you hide it?” Akira asks.
Hide the fact that I wasn’t her only disciple. That he wasn’t her only disciple.
“What would it change?”
Everything.
I shrug in sync with Akira.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing.”
Jae turns on her heel, lifting a hand.
She calls out before slamming the door behind her, “Have fun.”
I clutch my metaphorical pearls, “The Jae-gyeong telling us to have fun?”
Akira steps forward again.
And I don’t think I need to describe the rest.
He won’t change. Neither will I.
We still need control.
We need to be in control.
Some victories don’t feel like survival—
They feel like the moment you learn what will haunt you forever.
And finally—
I feel like we get to live.