That morning, the training fields were buzzing again — this time with a different kind of energy. Rows of cadets stood in formation as a new instructor stepped onto the platform.
Sergeant Marek was nothing like Smith.
He was tall, skinny, and radiated calm danger. His uniform sleeves were rolled to the elbows, revealing scars that looked like stories of their own. When he moved, it was with a kind of precision that made even the wind seem to pause.
"The lost Art, Jeet Kune Do," he began, his voice smooth but firm. "The art of simplicity, directness, and freedom. You'll learn to use your body — and mind — as one. But I don't train everyone."
His sharp eyes scanned the group. "Only the top three cadets will have that privilege. The rest will continue with Sergeant Smith."
A murmur spread through the ranks.
Marek continued, hands clasped behind his back. "warm up. Show me your basics. I'll be watching."
He stepped down from the platform and walked among them like a predator sizing up prey, every movement measured.
Scarlett leaned toward Elena, whispering, "He looks like he could kill someone with a Glare."
Elena smirked. "Probably could."
Across the field, Ryder was already boasting to his mates, throwing mock punches at the air. Elena's eyes narrowed.
This time, she thought, we'll see who's standing at the top.
Marek's voiced boomed across the students "I will see you all tomorrow, you better bring you're A game"
---
The following morning came quietly. No challenges, no chaos — just the steady rhythm of training bells echoing across the compound.
Elena and Scarlett joined the others on the ability fields, the air still cool with dawn.
Rows of students practised in their small marked zones, focusing on pushing their limits.
Elena crouched low, staring at a small pebble in her palm, her brow furrowed with concentration.
"Alright," she muttered under her breath, "just a little further this time."
The pebble shivered, then shot forward — barely two metres — before tumbling harmlessly into the dirt. She exhaled through a smile. "Progress."
A few metres away, Scarlett appeared and vanished in short bursts, her movements faster, sharper than before. She reappeared with a grin. "An extra foot ha! That's something, right?"
Elena nodded, brushing the dust from her hands. "Every step counts, As long as its one step forward and not two steps back. We'll get there."
The rest of the morning passed without drama — no duels, no taunts, just quiet determination. When the bell rang for lunch, both girls collapsed on the benches outside the canteen, trays piled with bread and fruit. The calm before the next storm.
---
That storm arrived soon after.
The lunchtime sun beat down on the combat field, where Sergeant Marek stood before them, arms folded. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes scanned the class like he was reading the measure of their souls.
"Today," he began, "you'll face one another in pairs. No weapons. No powers. Just skill, control, and instinct. Remember — this isn't about strength. It's about adaptability."
Students began pairing off under his direction. Scarlett was matched with a boy she didn't recognise, while Elena's name was called alongside one she immediately dreaded hearing.
"Max," Marek said.
Elena turned her head slightly, jaw tightening as Max smirked, rolling his shoulders. "Try not to break a nail,Bitch" he muttered.
She met his eyes coldly. "I'll try not to break your face, Dickhead."
Across the field, Scarlett was stretching, her opponent already circling her. But it wasn't him that distracted her — it was Ryder, not even attempting to fight his opponent, arms crossed, that same infuriating grin plastered on his face.
"Don't get stuck this time, teleport girl," he called out.
Scarlett ignored him, but her jaw twitched.
"Begin!" Marek's voice cut across the field like a blade.
Max stepped in immediately, fast and confident, throwing a testing jab that Elena blocked with ease. She countered with a low kick, but he pivoted smoothly, dodging just out of reach.
"Not bad," he teased. "For someone who spends more time staring at pebbles."
Elena ducked his next strike and swept his leg, catching him off balance. He hit the ground but rolled quickly, springing back up.
"Lucky shot," he growled.
"Skill," she corrected, her tone sharp.
They circled each other, sweat already glistening under the heat. Marek watched from a distance, saying nothing, eyes flicking from one student to the next like a hawk assessing its prey.
Across the yard, Scarlett was struggling to keep pace. Her opponent — a lean boy with quick reflexes — kept her on the defensive. Every time she tried to move behind him, she was a split second too slow, his strikes finding her guard before she could reset.
Ryder's taunts continued. "You sure you're fighting him? Looks more like you're flirting with him!"
Scarlett's patience snapped. She vanished mid-step, reappearing inches from Ryder instead, her face flushed. "You want to say that again? Wanker!"
Marek's voice boomed from across the field. "Scarlett! Back to your match. Now."
She froze, swallowed her temper, and blinked back into place, muttering under her breath.
The rest of the session passed in sweat and bruises. Max and Elena fought to a near standstill — neither willing to give in, neither truly winning. When Marek finally called, "That's enough," both of them stepped back, panting.
He turned to address the rest of the class. "See you tomorrow. Those who are still standing, Thats if you still want the top three."
As the students filed out, Scarlett limped slightly, still muttering curses under her breath about Ryder. Elena helped her along, laughing softly.
"Don't let him get to you," she said. "He only acts like that because he knows you'll beat his ass one day."
Scarlett smiled faintly. "Yeah. Maybe sooner than he thinks."
They left the field together as the sun dipped low — bruised, tired, but somehow stronger for it.
The rest of the day drifted by in a quiet haze. Dinner came and went, the usual chatter of students filling the hall as they compared bruises and bragged about close calls.
Scarlett picked at her plate, exhausted, while Elena sat opposite, her mind elsewhere — replaying every strike, every dodge, every flicker of Max's smirk. By the time they reached their dorms, the sun had already disappeared, leaving a cool hush over the training grounds.
The night passed uneventfully — no alarms, no dreams — only the promise of the next day hanging heavy in the air.