“What?”

  Gadeon snaps upright, his power pose breaking instantly.

  “You said caring about image protects us,” Ami continues, voice trembling but steady.

  “But I did that. I protected my image. I acted tough. I pretended.”

  His hands curl into fists.

  “And all it did was make me hurt you.”

  Gaedric’s eyes widen slightly.

  Gadeon… hurt?

  “The way you reacted,” Ami adds, swallowing, “you were raging. You looked like you were about to cry.”

  Gaedric stiffens.

  “That’s not—” he starts. “You’re a kid. You won’t get it—” Gadeon cuts himself off mid-sentence as he notices Ami’s expression. It makes him freeze.

  The room goes quiet.

  Gadeon looks at Ami. His face isn’t angry, nor mocking—just honest.

  And that, somehow, unsettles Gadeon more than any insult ever could.

  “Huh? But you’re the same age as him, Gadeon,” Gaedric says.

  Gadeon pauses — only for a split second — then snaps back.

  “How can that be weak?! It’s just a way to survive in this world. It’s called adapting.”

  “That’s not adapting,” Gaedric replies calmly. “That’s conforming.”

  “No, it’s not!”

  Ami steps forward, voice unsteady but sincere.

  “The world isn’t a nice place. I know that. I get bullied for being called girly, or looking like a girl — even though I always say I’m a boy. And because I like different things than most boys, it just makes it worse.”

  He clenches his fists.

  “But if you’re saying the only way to survive is to like what other boys like, to copy them, then that’s not strength. That’s being scared to do what I really want — hiding and becoming fake with myself.”

  “It’s not hiding or being fake,” Gadeon snaps. “It’s being strategic.”

  “No,” Gaedric says firmly.

  “Being strategic is choosing who to open up to. Trust takes wisdom — I agree with that. But using dishonesty as armour? That’s not strength.”

  “If that works for you, then fine,” Ami says quietly. “But I want to be strong. I want to be a man who doesn’t bend to the systems of the world.”

  “Stop talking like I’m conforming to anyone!” Gadeon snaps.

  “A man who,” Ami continues, “despite his personality, doesn’t let fear control him.”

  “Fear?!” Gadeon scoffs. “What nonsense. Who says I’m scared?”

  “A man who allows others to be honest,” Ami says. “Who lets people open up.”

  “Why would I want people to open up?” Gadeon fires back. “I don’t get it!”

  Ami looks at him — really looks at him — sadness settling in his eyes.

  “Because keeping everything to yourself,” Ami says softly, “is the loneliest, most painful thing there is. It’s unbearable.”

  Gadeon has no answer.

  Instead, his vision fractures.

  A bottle of alcohol in his hand.

  Laughter.

  Women surrounding him.

  Music blaring.

  And yet — he’s staring at the ceiling, empty. Hollow. Lifeless.

  Gadeon jerks back into the present, jaw tight, shaking his head as if to physically reject the memory.

  “That’s why — boy or girl — I don’t think anyone should live while keeping everything bottled up inside,” Ami says gently.

  “And you shouldn’t either, Gadeon.”

  He hesitates, then extends his hand.

  “I’m sorry for grabbing you earlier.”

  Gadeon stares at the offered hand like it’s something foreign.

  “Hey. That nonsense you’re talking about — where did you even get it from?” he asks sharply.

  “Nonsense?” Ami blinks.

  “This whole rubbish about opening up and being honest. Who put that in your head?”

  “Oh,” Ami says simply. “Your dad. Gaedric-sensei taught me all that.”

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  Immediately, Gadeon snaps his head toward Gaedric.“What?!” His voice tightens.

  “Gadeon—” Gaedric steps forward, concern flashing across his face.

  “Who taught you the things you’ve been saying just now?”

  The room distorts.

  Young Jason, hunched over a glowing screen.

  Videos of men preaching dominance.

  Books stacked high with titles like Supreme Self, Cocky Conquest, Egotopia, Narcissistic Nirvana.

  Voices telling him what power looked like. What men should be.

  “Gadeon.”

  Gaedric’s voice cuts through the memory.

  He’s been calling his name more than once.

  “Who taught you all of this?” Gaedric asks again.

  “Erm… no one,” Gadeon replies quickly, brushing it off. Sweat beads along his temples.

  “It’s just stuff I already know.”

  Then he turns back to Ami, eyes narrowing.

  “So what are you trying to say?” Gadeon asks.

  “That I’m weak?”

  Ami hesitates.

  “The way you took my Water Flexing attacks… you’re tough—”

  “That’s not what I’m asking.”

  Ami exhales, then meets his gaze.

  “But you are weaker than me.”

  Silence snaps.

  “So you are saying I’m weak!” Gadeon snarls.

  “You asked me,” Ami replies, a hint of teasing slipping through.

  “Or did you want me to keep that honesty to myself — like you said I should earlier?”

  “Shut up!” Gadeon snaps, frustration boiling over.

  CLAP! CLAP!

  “Alright. That’s enough,” Gaedric says firmly.

  He looks at Gadeon.

  “And Gadeon — there’s a difference between having an insecurity and being insecure.”

  “Huh?” Gadeon scoffs.

  “That doesn’t even make sense. You’re just repeating yourself.”

  “I’m not,” Gaedric says calmly. “Think about what I just said.”

  “Having an insecurity means you’re insecure!” Gadeon snaps. “That’s literally what it means!”

  “Alright,” Gaedric nods. “Then answer me this. What does it mean to never be insecure?”

  “That’s easy,” Gadeon fires back. “It means you don’t have any insecurities.”

  “And you think that’s possible?” Gaedric asks.

  “Pardon?” Gadeon blinks.

  “I’m asking you,” Gaedric continues evenly, “do you truly believe a person can exist without a single insecurity? Completely insecurity-free?”

  “Of course,” Gadeon says without hesitation.

  “Oh,” Gaedric replies, tilting his head slightly. “Then how do you know?”

  Gadeon opens his mouth—then freezes.

  “Do you know someone like that?” Gaedric presses.

  “And if you do, could you introduce them to me?”

  Gadeon stutters, tongue tripping over itself, no words forming.

  Gaedric’s tone drops—quiet, firm.

  “Son, if anyone in this world tells you they have no insecurities… then they’re lying.”

  The words hang heavy.

  “What?!” Gadeon snaps.

  “So you’re saying I have insecurities?!”

  “One hundred percent.”

  “Bullshit,” Gadeon snaps.

  “Language, young man,” Gaedric scolds.

  “So even you?” Gadeon presses. “A grown man like you—are you really admitting you’re insecure?”

  “No,” Gaedric replies calmly. “I’m not insecure. But I do have insecurities.”

  “What?!” Gadeon barks. “That makes no sense! You’re telling me I’m insecure, but you’re not?”

  “I never once said you are insecure,” Gaedric corrects him. “I said you have insecurities. If you choose to label yourself insecure, that’s your decision—not mine.”

  Gadeon opens his mouth, then hesitates.

  “But what’s wrong with admitting you’re insecure?” Ami asks softly. “It’s not like you’re planning to stay that way forever.”

  Gadeon grimaces, visibly uncomfortable.

  “Gaedric-sensei taught me that admitting your weakness is the first step to becoming strong,” Ami continues. “But pretending you don’t have any is worse than being weak — it makes you a coward.

  At least someone who’s weak knows what they are. A coward just hides. And I don’t want to be a coward!”

  Gadeon clenches his jaw.

  There’s a difference between being insecure and having insecurities? Since when?

  So you’re telling me it’s impossible to be completely secure? That’s nonsense. Utter bullshit.

  Why am I even entertaining this? These people aren’t from my world. I shouldn’t be buying into their rubbish.

  “Mister Alfred told me you two fought,” Gaedric says, shifting gears. “Ami—next time, don’t use your Water Flexing impulsively. Provocation doesn’t justify losing control.”

  Ami nods immediately.

  “Your mood belongs to you,” Gaedric continues. “Don’t hand that power to someone else.”

  “Yes, Gaedric-sensei.”

  “And you,” Gaedric adds, turning to Gadeon, “we’ll talk more at home. There’s a lot I want to unpack now that I understand how you think.”

  Ami hesitates, then speaks again. “I really didn’t want to hurt him. I feel terrible.”

  “Hurt me?” Gadeon scoffs.

  “But I did hurt you… didn’t I?” Ami asks, genuine concern in his eyes—no mockery, no pride.

  Gadeon pauses. He’s serious… There’s no sarcasm. No games.

  “Well,” Gaedric says, “Gadeon was at a disadvantage. He can’t use Water Flexing.”

  “Yeah, I never understood that,” Ami admits. “He breathes underwater just fine—like me—so why can’t he flex?”

  “We’re still figuring it out,” Gaedric replies. “But it might mean Gadeon is… special.”

  “Like me?!” Ami lights up.

  Gaedric smirks. “Possibly.”

  “Special?” Gadeon mutters.

  “I’ve trained your body to be resilient,” Gaedric says, standing. “To endure damage. But toughness alone isn’t enough. Realistically, a non-flexor can’t defeat a flexor head-on.”

  Gadeon scowls.

  “However,” Gaedric adds, eyes sharp.

  “Huh?” Gadeon blinks.

  “I’ll show you a fighting style designed specifically for those without Chi-Lungs,” Gaedric says, already heading for the door.

  “Let’s go to a unused dojo.”

  He turns back.

  “Ami—spar with me.”

  Ami stiffens. “A-and… hold back?”

  Gaedric smiles.

  “Don’t.”