“You would go that far to properly show me who’s boss, huh?” I ask, my voice low and threatening as I take a step closer. Her smirk only widens, and I can see the challenge in her eyes- those deep, crystal blue pools that seem to sparkle with amusement. “You would even risk your own life for this?” My gaze flicks down to the saber in my hand, the edge gleaming dangerously in the light.
“Oh, please.” she scoffs, brushing off my concern with an arrogant wave of her hand. “My life isn’t going to be at risk at all.”
“Dress up into your armor, Ayame.” I command in a firm, demanding tone.
She doesn’t budge.
Instead, she takes a slow, deliberate step forward, her bare feet barely making a sound on the floor, and only stops when are are so close to each other that our chests are meshing together. Ayame then arches her neck to look up at me with a defiant, confident smile. “Make me, Quinlan.” She challenges with a tone that’s laced with playful malice.
We continue to conduct a muted stare-down match for a good half minute before I notice the object in her hand. My eyes trail down from her face, past the bandages that wrap around her chest and hips, to her hand, where she’s holding not her katana, but a simple wooden sword. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut.
My gaze snaps back to her face, and I see the smug satisfaction there. Her lips curl into a knowing smirk, and her eyes gleam with mischief, fully aware of the effect this has on me.
“A wooden sword?” I ask, incredulous, as I gesture toward the simple weapon in her hand. “You’re seriously underestimating me.”
She raises an eyebrow, as if amused by my surprise. “Oh, not at all,” she purrs, her voice smooth and teasing. “I just don’t want to hurt you too badly, Master. After all, it wouldn’t do for you to be out of commission indefinitely after our little sparring session.”
I force myself to stay calm. I grit my teeth and tighten my grip on my saber, the cold steel a reminder of the very real danger this weapon poses. Despite my anger, a part of me can’t help but be impressed by her confidence, her boldness. She’s not afraid of me, not even a little.
But this isn’t about fear, is it? This is about proving something- both to her and to myself. I know that if I want her to take me seriously, if I want to earn her respect as her master, student, teammate and future lover, I need to rise up to this challenge of hers, and that means not backing down no matter how much she provokes me, or how much physical pain I have to endure.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself. “Alright, Ayame, if you want me to make you wear your armor and wield sword, then that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
She chuckles softly. “I’m looking forward to it.”
I grunt, “then without further ado…”
She finishes my sentence, “let’s start.”
We both step back a short distance and lock eyes for a moment before Ayame darts forward, her movements a complete blur. I barely have time to react before she’s on me, her wooden sword whistling through the air. I try to parry, but my reactions are sluggish compared to her lightning-fast strikes.
My saber meets her wooden blade, but it’s like clashing with a concrete wall- the impact reverberates up my arm, and before I can reset my stance, she’s already gone.
I spin around, slashing at where I think she’ll be, but she’s not there. Her agility is incredible, a whirlwind of motion that I can barely keep track of, let alone counter. She ducks under my swing, her body bending with a fluid grace that makes it seem effortless. The next moment, her wooden sword thuds against my ribs, the impact jarring and painful even through the armor.
Grunting, I swing my saber in a wide arc, hoping to catch her off guard, but she easily evades the attack, her body twisting out of the way with a backflip so smooth that you’d only expect to be able to observe such a move at the Olympics. Her legs tuck in tightly as she soars backward and as she reaches the peak of her flip, her arms move in perfect harmony with the wooden sword she wields.
While still in mid-air, she contorts her slender body in a completely unnatural way, her torso twisting as she grips the hilt firmly. With a flash of speed, she extends one arm, swinging the wooden blade in a deadly arc as her body rotates, and she brings it down toward my skull with a ruthless, calculated strike.
She really is way too flexible… I can’t help but give credit where its due. What an outstanding acrobat this girl is.
The force sends a sharp pain shooting through me, and I stagger back while desperately trying to regain control over my brain’s functions. Everything is so blurry…
It’s quickly becoming evident that not only is she significantly more experienced than me, but her overwhelmingly high Agility and Strength stats don’t make my job any easier either. After all, she is level 14 with 50 and 49 stats in those attributes, while I’m level 9 and I only have 34 and 30 numbers respectively.
“Come on, Master,” she taunts, her voice light, almost playful, as she circles around me. “Is this all you’ve got? I thought you’d at least make me sweat a little.”
I grit my teeth, frustration boiling over as I charge at her, putting all my strength into a downward slash. She doesn’t even flinch, simply sidestepping at the last second and bringing her wooden blade down on my back with a precise, punishing strike. I stumble forward, barely keeping my balance.
“How… How is that wooden sword not breaking?” I gasp out, the pain from her relentless hits making it harder and harder to focus.
Ayame’s lips curl into a wicked smile as she twirls the sword in her hand with casual elegance. “This sword has been enchanted to have increased durability,” she replies, her tone dripping with satisfaction. “It lets me hit you as hard as I want without the risk of breaking it… or you, thanks to your strong armor.”
So that’s why she told me to dress up into my new gear…
There’s a cruel glint in her eyes, a sadistic enjoyment of the power imbalance between us. She’s toying with me, and she absolutely loves every second of it.
But I won’t back down. I force myself to focus. I try to recall some of the basic moves I’ve seen, trying to mimic their fluidity and control. I swing again, this time aiming for her midsection, but she blocks the attack effortlessly, her wooden sword meeting my saber with a loud crack.
She doesn’t just block, though- she parries with a twist of her wrist, throwing my blade off course and opening me up for another hit.
She darts in close, her wooden sword jabbing into my side with pinpoint precision. The force behind the blow makes me wince, and I lash out with my saber in desperation.