The open plain, once a battleground of dirt and noise, had gone still under the gentle mid-morning light. The air was crisp and clean, tinged with the scent of damp soil and pine wafting from the nearby Evergreen Forest. Golden-green blades of grass swayed indolently, whispering secrets to one another in the breeze. The river, which cut through the field, sparkled in the sunlight, its surface rippling like polished glass as it continued on, uncaring about the chaos that had just unfolded beside it.
Yukio sat propped against the trunk of a thick oak, the bark rough against his back, his damp clothes clinging stubbornly to his skin. His breathing was steady now, his body whole again-thanks to Michibiki's almost frighteningly perfect healing magic. She'd mended his bruises, soothed every muscle, and left him physically sound.
But inside, he was wrecked.
His pride lay somewhere out in the trampled grass, probably buried under the crater his face had made the last time Michibiki had thrown him down. His arms hung limp at his sides, fingers idly brushing the soil, eyes locked on the steady flow of the river. The water shimmered, reflecting sunlight in glints that mocked him—calm, untouchable, serene.
The silence between them was thick. At periodic intervals, a bird chirped above them, or a gust of wind stirred the oak's branches, but neither spoke a word. The mind of Yukio was churning with too many thoughts all at once: how impossibly strong Michibiki was, how far behind he was, and how he kept getting dragged along by fate without ever being given a choice in the matter.
He finally sighed. I look pathetic, he thought; like some washed-up hero in a tavern corner.
Beside him, Michibiki sat with infuriating composure. Her pristine white mage robes were still immaculate despite the dirt, her silver eyes gleaming faintly in the light filtering through the leaves. She looked like she could've stepped out of a portrait, serene and unreadable, and far too calm for someone who'd just punched him into next week.
Then, suddenly—snap!
Her fingers clicked inches from his face, sharp enough to slice through his daze.
"Stop thinking so hard—you'll age before your time,"
She said, smirking.
"Or was I hitting you too hard?"
Yukio blinked, turning toward her slowly. His glare was half-hearted at best.
"Oh, I don't know,"
"Maybe I've got brain damage. You used me like a stress ball! You mad at me or I owe you money or something?"
Michibiki's laughter was bright and clean, ringing out across the clearing like a bell. It didn't fit the battlefield at all.
"You owe me more than money, Yukio,"
She teased.
"You owe me your potential."
He gave her a sideways look.
"That's not intimidating at all."
"Good,"
She said, the smile fading from her face as a serious glint took over.
"Because that was only your first taste of what I can do. You've got talent-but you're wasting it, hiding behind that luck of yours like it's some kind of safety net. Power like that isn't luck, it's responsibility. A weapon's only as good as its wielder."
She tapped his chest lightly with one finger, the gesture deceptively gentle.
"And right now, you're swinging it like a stick."
Then came that grin again, the one that always preceded something outrageous.
"No more breaks, round two, and this time you hit me back."
The peaceful morning shattered like glass.
Yukio's eyes widened in surprise.
"Wait, what?! We're doing this again? It's been like—what—five minutes? My bones just healed!"
With an almost regal flick, Michibiki rose to her feet, brushing her robes.
"Excuses,"
She said, simply, placing her hands on her hips.
"You're the one who said you wanted to learn magic. Before you touch magic, you strengthen your body. That's the deal. Now get up."
"I'm gonna file a complaint with the gods,
Yukio muttered, but he still let her pull him up by the wrist. Her grip was iron, dragging him back toward the flattened patch of grass where his dignity had died a short but violent death.
Standing opposite her again, Yukio inhaled sharply. The cool air filled his lungs and managed to clear some of the residual fog from his head. He slid into a stance, shaky but determined.
"You know,
He said dryly,
"if anybody saw this, they'd think you're bullying me."
Michibiki grinned.
"If it makes you stronger, I'll take the title proudly."
He groaned.
"You're insane."
"Thank you."
Yukio narrowed his eyes.
"That wasn't a compliment."
She lowered her head.
"Still taking it as one."
He could feel his pulse start to rise, both from nerves and the faint adrenaline creeping back in. Her calm confidence was irritating-and infectious.
"Relax,
She said, spreading her stance.
"I'm not even using one percent of my power."
His voice cracked.
"You're saying that like it's reassuring!"
"Because it is,"
She sweetly replied:
"Though I might crank it up just a little."
"You're unbelievable,"
He muttered, shifting his footing.
"With your god-like strength, my punches probably feel like… I don't know, a mosquito trying to sting you."
Her laughter floated across the clearing-warm and maddening.
"Then sting harder."
And then, in an instant, she was gone.
Michibiki's foot came down in a sharp axe kick, the force of it splitting the air with a crack! He rolled aside, the heel slamming into the dirt where his head had been a heartbeat earlier.
"I knew it!"
He shouted triumphantly and, with a pivot on one foot, drove a punch toward her ribs.
She caught it in her palm, without even looking.
Her other hand came around in a blur—then another, and another. The air around her seemed to bend as she unleashed a storm of punches. Yukio ducked and twisted, desperate to read her rhythm. His forearms burned where her strikes grazed him; his ribs throbbed from the few that got through.
She's faster now, he realized, teeth gritted. She's not holding back as much.
He saw an opening and snapped out a roundhouse kick; his foot connected with her ribs, solid and clean.
Silence.
She didn't move. Didn't flinch.
Then—WHAM!—her fist drove into his stomach and the air went out of him. He barely had time to gasp before her knee shot up and caught him square in the face.
"Weak, Do better."
She announced.
Pain flared bright behind his eyes.
Yukio stumbled back, vision swimming, hands up as he tried to steady himself. I can't keep this up, he thought desperately. She's too strong. Too fast.
And then—something changed.
It started as a shimmer at the edges of his sight, threads of gold unfurling like silk in the air. They weren't really there, but he could see them-delicate lines connecting everything around him. One thread pulsed brighter, coiling towards Michibiki.
His breath caught. What—
Then the vision snapped away—
He hadn't thought. His body moved first.
He ducked low, twisting his hips, sweeping his leg out wide. His kick connected clean with her ankles, and for the first time, Michibiki's balance faltered. She let out a startled
As she hit the dirt with a graceless thud.
Yukio froze, eyes wide. No way… I actually—
He lunged forward, raising his fist for the finishing blow—then stopped. His knuckles hovered an inch from her cheek. For once he'd gotten the upper hand.
A slow grin spread over his face.
"Finally,"
He said, breathing hard but grinning all the same.
"I actually took you down."
Michibiki blinked up at him, dirt streaking her cheek. For one long moment, she seemed genuinely surprised. Then, a smirk tugged at her lips.
"Took who down?"
She said softly.
Yukio barely had time to blink before she spun upward in one fluid motion. Her leg whipped around, a blur of white and silver; her heel connected squarely with his face.
The world leaned. Grass, sky, pain—then sky again.
He hit the ground flat on his back, the impact thudding through him.
Michibiki landed with poise, dusting herself off as if nothing had happened. Approaching closer, she got down beside him at a crouch. Her expression softened, the smug replaced with something much calmer-almost proud.
"You're improving,"
"That last move—your reaction time. That wasn't luck alone."
Yukio groaned, blinking blearily up at her.
"Could've fooled me,"
He muttered.
She said, voice firm again.
"That thread of yours-it's unstable. You read one move ahead by chance, not control."
He squinted up at her.
"Thread?"
Her gaze flickered toward the river, the sunlight glinting off her eyes.
"You saw it, didn't you? The golden lines."
Yukio hesitated.
"Maybe. Thought I was hallucinating."
"You weren't."
She straightened and folded her arms.
"That's The Threads of Fate. Now you can see them. You can touch them."
He tilted his head, wincing slightly.
"So you are saying my luck's… divine destiny now?
Michibiki smiled faintly.
"Or maybe fate just has a sense of humor."
Yukio then groaned, rolling onto his side.
"Next time,
He said,
"we train after breakfast."
Michibiki chuckled.
"Maybe next time you'll land a real hit."
"You're enjoying this way too much."
"Obviously,"
She said, hands on hips, her grin returning full force.
"Now get up. We're not done yet."
Yukio threw his hands over his face.
"I swear you're gonna be the death of me."
"Not if you learn fast enough,"
She replied brightly.
And as the sun rose higher above the plain, the breeze carried the faint sound of laughter-hers light and untamed; his tired but genuine. The morning no longer felt like defeat. It felt like the first thread of something new being woven.