Training began just like it had ended: loud, painful, with a splash.
A blur of white robes and silver hair cut through the air and, before Yukio could so much as blink, Michibiki's foot connected with his chin. The impact snapped his head back and launched him skyward like a tossed coin. For one dizzying second he was weightless-then gravity caught up.
He hit the river with a slap that stole his breath. Water exploded in an outward spray, droplets sparkling in the morning light before crashing back in ripples.
"Up."
Her voice carried easily over the sound of rushing water. Calm, almost bored.
Yukio groaned, coughing as the cold water filled his nose. He pushed to his feet, soaked clothes clinging to him like heavy armor. The river ran down his face and hair, but he barely noticed; his body hummed with pain and stubborn adrenaline.
Michibiki stood on the riverbank, hands on her hips, the sunlight gleaming off her staff where it was planted in the grass. She looked entirely unbothered—radiant, in control, as if she'd just gone for a pleasant walk rather than kicked her student halfway across a river.
"You're not drowning, good,
She said,
"Now again."
"Again?!"
Yukio's voice cracked, halfway between disbelief and despair.
"Yes, again. Unless you plan on learning the Sacred Arts by osmosis.
He opened his mouth to argue, but the glare she shot him made him think better of it. With a resigned sigh, he stepped out of the water, boots squelching in the mud, and assumed the stance again, his breath coming in short bursts.
"You know,
He muttered,
"Most mentors start with warm-ups or stretches. You skipped straight to attempted murder."
Michibiki smiled faintly.
"I told you before-no shortcuts. If you want to wield power, your body has to stop breaking before your spirit does."
"Yeah, easy for you to say when you're built like a divine tank."
She laughed; it was a bright, musical sound.
"Flattery won't save you."
And then she disappeared.
His instincts screamed move! but his body was still half a step behind. A flash of motion to his right—he ducked on reflex, feeling the whoosh of air as her foot sliced overhead.
"Good!"
She called, her tone genuinely pleased.
"You actually dodged that one."
There was little time to celebrate. Michibiki followed up in an instant, her next attack a spinning sweep for his knees. Yukio leapt backward, barely avoiding it. His boots slid across the grass, leaving trails in the damp earth.
He'd been in scuffles before-bandits, monsters, bad bets gone worse-but this was something else entirely, and she wasn't so much fighting him as she was dissecting his every move, making him adjust or crumble.
She's not trying to kill me, he realized between labored breaths; she's trying to break every bad habit I have.
A low growl escaped his throat as he charged forward. If she wanted a fight, fine. He'd give her one.
He threw a punch, quick and tight-his best guess at her next move. But she slipped aside as if she'd predicted him three moves ago; her counter came fast, a side kick to the ribs.
Not this time.
Yukio blocked with both arms, gritting his teeth at the jolt that shot through him. Pain flared, but he didn't back down. He seized her ankle mid-kick, locking it under his arm.
A grin split his face.
"Got you."
Michibiki raised one eyebrow.
"Oh?"
Her free leg lashed out, faster than his eyes could track. The heel clipped the side of his head, sending stars exploding across his vision. His grip broke instantly.
He staggered, the world tilting around him.
"You—cheated—"
"Adapted,"
She corrected.
Before he could recover, she was inside his guard, her fist driving into his stomach like a sledgehammer. The impact folded him in half, forcing out what little air he had left.
He gasped, blinking through the blur, but some stubborn spark in his chest refused to go out.
Not yet.
As she drew back for another strike, Yukio lunged forward and grasped her wrist, pulling her in. Their foreheads met with a dull crack.
Both froze.
Then Michibiki blinked, actually stepping back a pace, surprise flickering in her eyes. Yukio swayed, dazed but grinning through split lips.
"Ha… got you that time…"
The grin still lasted about two seconds.
Michibiki's expression sharpened into something halfway between approval and payback.
"Not bad."
Then her body twisted in one smooth, impossible motion—a spinning kick that slammed into his chest. The blow lifted him clean off the ground. For an instant, all he saw was sky.
Then dirt.
Then sky again.
He landed hard, rolling until he came to a stop on his back, staring at the drifting clouds. The world pulsed with dull pain. Muscles in unison screamed across his body.
From far above him, he heard her voice.
"Still breathing?"
"Barely,"
He rasped.
"You… are insane."
"I like detailed,
She said, stepping closer. Her shadow fell over him, framed by sunlight. She crouched, tapping his forehead lightly with a finger.
"You'll live."
He wasn't entirely convinced.
Michibiki straightened and turned toward her pack resting by the riverbank. She retrieved two canteens and tossed one to him. He caught it clumsily and gulped down the water, not realizing how parched he was until then.
"Take five,"
She said, sitting cross-legged in the grass.
"Even a miracle needs a breather."
Slowly, Yukio sat up; the motion was a symphony of protests from his bruised body.
"Is this… your definition of teaching?"
"Exactly. If I go easy on you now, you'll plateau before you even learn to harness fate."
He frowned.
You mean the 'Threads' thing? I barely even know what it does yet. Wait-how do you know about that?
Michibiki looked at him over her shoulder, the sunlight glinting off her silver hair. For a heartbeat she said nothing, just watched the river shimmer. Then, quietly,
"Because I know what's written in you before even you do. Your abilities aren't random, Yukio. They're revealed pieces of a story I've already read."
His brow furrowed.
"You're saying… you knew I'd unlock the Threads of Fate even before I saw that system window?"
She nodded once.
"All of them. Every path you'll touch, every risk you'll gamble. My role isn't to choose them for you—it's to make sure you're strong enough when they appear."
There was no arrogance in her tone, only certainty. Something cold and electric crawled down his spine.
"So, you're my babysitter and my fortune-teller,
He said dryly.
"More like your insurance policy,
She replied, a hint of humour breaking through.
"Now drink before I decide to reset this lesson."
He did, but his mind kept going back to what she had said. For if she knew of his future skills, then every blow she'd ever given him, every pushing to limits, was by design, not chance.
After a while, he muttered,
"That's… terrifying."
She smiled faintly.
"It should be."
They sat in silence for a few beats; between them, the river whispered. Then Yukio leaned back, eyes on the clouds.
"You really think I can master this?"
"I don't think,
She replied.
"I know. But you won't if you keep thinking of yourself as lucky. Luck is passive. Power isn't."
He huffed a laugh.
"So what, no more gambling my way out of trouble?"
Michibiki's lips quirked.
"You can still gamble—just learn to stack the deck first."
They shared a brief, quiet smile-the kind that spoke of mutual respect growing out of chaos. Then she stood, brushing grass from her robes.
"Break's over."
His heart sank.
"Already?"
"Don't whine. You're getting better."
She gave him her hand, and after a moment's hesitation, he took it. Her grasp was firm, warm, grounding.
It wasn't until she pulled him to his feet that he realized something: she wasn't just training his body, but his will. Every time she knocked him down, she was measuring how fast he stood back up.
When he was steady again, she stepped back and raised her hands.
"Round two. I'll hold back this time."
"You said that last time,"
He muttered.
She grinned.
"And you survived. So, progress.
Yukio let out a sigh and shrugged his shoulders. His ribs ached, his vision was still swimming a little, but there was a strange thrill under the exhaustion. The ache meant he was learning. Evolving.
A breeze stirred; the tall grasses around them wavered. Sunlight sparkled on the water. For a heartbeat, the world appeared to hold its breath-and he saw it again: faint, golden filaments stretching between them, dancing like invisible threads.
He blinked, and they were gone.
Was that his power stirring again or just his imagination clinging to hope? He didn't know.
But he wanted to.
"Alright,
He said, taking his stance.
"Let's see how long I can last this time."
Michibiki smirked.
"Long enough to impress me, I hope."
"Tall order."
"Then you'd better start reaching."
And in an instant, they clashed again, the teacher's grace pitted against the student's raw defiance. The sounds of their battle echoed across the open plain: the rush of feet, the dull thuds of impact, the quick, short laughs of challenge.
To a casual observer, the bout might have seemed one-sided. To Yukio, every block, every dodge, every half-second he could manage to read her movements was a victory.
By the time the sun had climbed higher, his arms hung heavy, his lungs burned, and yet, he smiled.
He had no idea how many times he'd fallen. He only knew that every time he did, he stood up faster.
When Michibiki finally called,
"Enough,
He nearly fainted with relief.
She came near, her glance keen yet approving.
"You're learning,
She said simply.
"Feels more like dying,
He croaked.
"Then you're doing it right."
She hunched down beside him once more, her tone contemplative.
You're not the same gambler who stumbled into the Wheel of Providence anymore. Keep this up, and maybe you'll earn the right to see what the Loom truly weaves for you.
Yukio looked up at her, his face streaked with sweat and dirt, but his eyes shone bright with stubborn fire.
"Then I guess I'll keep betting on myself."
A small but genuine smile was Michibiki's answer.
"Good. Because the next lesson… will raise the bar even higher."
He groaned.
"Of course it will."
The breeze stirred again, carrying the scent of pine and river water. Above them, the sunlight filtered through the drifting clouds, and in that light, somewhere, Yukio swore he saw faint golden threads shimmer-waiting, whispering, promising his story was only just beginning.