The secret training room became Maya's crucible. Sleep became a luxury, stolen in short, exhausted bursts. Her days were spent navigating the rigid, watchful demands of the court, her nights dedicated to mastering the ancient, punishing Lioness martial art form.
Ji-su was not training a fighter; she was training a queen who needed to survive a war. Her philosophy was brutal simplicity: "If you hesitate, you die. If you falter, your people fall with you."
The form itself was a masterpiece of kinetic economy. It was called N'kafo, or 'The Recoil', emphasizing cyclical power. Maya had to learn to shift her center of gravity instantly, dropping from a high strike into a low sweep, and then using the momentum of the sweep to launch a devastating upward kick.
"Your strength is not in your size, but in your speed and your unexpected angles," Ji-su stressed during one particularly grueling session, using a staff to parry Maya's clumsy attacks. "The Korean guards fight linearly. Predictably. You must move like a whirlwind, not a ram."
Maya's initial failures were painful and humbling. She was bruised, aching, and often frustrated to the point of tears. One night, after failing a complex aerial maneuver for the twentieth time, she slammed her fist against the stone wall.
"I can't!" she whispered, her voice choked with exhaustion. "My body won't remember!"
Ji-su's face was unreadable. "It is not your body that remembers, Anansi. It is your soul. Close your eyes. Do not think of the form. Think of the sea. Think of the lioness hunting under the hot sun. Let the fluidity of water meet the fire of instinct."
Maya obeyed. She closed her eyes. She stopped trying to remember the complex steps and instead let her body move. The memory of the deep ocean, the effortless glide she possessed, melded with the fierce, protective shadow of the Lioness.
She began to move. Slowly at first, then faster. Her hips turned, her arm snapped out in a block, her feet spun into a low defensive posture, and then she launched herself upward, delivering a perfect, powerful palm-strike to the hanging target.
The movement was flawless. It was no longer practice; it was reflex.
"Good," Ji-su said, the single word a higher compliment than any flowery praise. "You have found the connection. The knowledge of the N'kafo is now yours."
The success was immediately followed by a lesson in strategic discipline. Ji-su pointed to the numerous weapon racks. "The Lionesses use specialized tools—throwing knives disguised as hairpins, flexible wire hidden in belts, and the Jalaba staff, which is deceptively weighted. You must learn to make a weapon out of silk and a shield out of air."
Maya's confidence soared, but it was tempered by the constant, chilling reminder of Prime Minister Choi. He was the puppet master, watching her every move from the shadows. The training was not just for survival, but for the eventual, inevitable confrontation with the man who sought to destroy both her new home and her ancestral one.