The training began the same way it had ended—loud, painful, and with a splash.

  A blur of white robes and silver hair cut through the air, and before Yukio could even blink, Michibiki’s foot connected with his chin. The impact snapped his head back and launched him skyward like a tossed coin. For one dizzying second he was weightless—then gravity caught up.

  He hit the river with a slap that stole his breath. Water exploded outward, droplets sparkling in the morning light before crashing back down in ripples.

  “Up.”

  Her voice carried easily over the sound of rushing water. Calm, almost bored.

  Yukio groaned, coughing as cold water filled his nose. He pushed to his feet, his soaked clothes clinging to him like heavy armor. The river ran down his face and hair, but he barely noticed; his body hummed with pain and stubborn adrenaline.

  Michibiki stood on the riverbank, hands on her hips, sunlight gleaming off her staff where it was planted in the grass. She looked entirely unbothered—radiant, in control, as if she’d just gone for a pleasant walk rather than kicked her student halfway across a river.

  “You’re not drowning, good,”

  She said,

  “Now again.”

  “Again?!”

  Yukio’s voice cracked, halfway between disbelief and despair.

  “Yes, again. Unless you plan on learning the Sacred Arts by osmosis.”

  He opened his mouth to argue, but the glare she shot him made him think better of it. With a resigned sigh, he stepped out of the water, boots squelching in the mud. His breath came in short bursts as he took his stance again.

  “You know,”

  He muttered,

  “Most mentors start with warm-ups or stretches. You skipped straight to attempted murder.”

  Michibiki smiled faintly.

  “I told you before—no shortcuts. If you want to wield power, your body has to stop breaking before your spirit does.”

  “Yeah, easy for you to say when you’re built like a divine tank.”

  She laughed, the sound bright and musical.

  “Flattery won’t save you.”

  And then she vanished.

  His instincts screamed move! but his body was still half a step behind. A flash of motion to his right—he ducked on reflex, feeling the whoosh of air as her foot sliced overhead.

  “Good!”

  She called, her tone genuinely pleased.

  “You actually dodged that one.”

  He didn’t get time to celebrate. Michibiki followed up instantly, her next attack a spinning sweep aimed for his knees. Yukio leapt backward, barely avoiding it. His boots slid across the grass, leaving trails in the damp earth.

  He’d been in scuffles before—alley fights, monsters, bad bets gone worse—but this was something else entirely. She wasn’t just fighting him; she was dissecting his every movement, forcing him to adjust or crumble.

  She’s not trying to kill me, he realized between labored breaths, she’s trying to break every bad habit I have.

  A low growl escaped his throat as he charged forward. If she wanted a fight, fine. He’d give her one.

  He threw a punch, quick and tight—his best guess at her next move. But she slipped aside effortlessly, as if she’d predicted him three moves ago. Her counter came fast: a side kick to the ribs.

  Not this time.

  Yukio blocked with both arms, gritting his teeth at the jolt that shot through him. Pain flared, but he didn’t back down. He seized her ankle mid-kick, locking it under his arm.

  A grin split his face.

  “Got you.”

  Michibiki raised one brow.

  “Oh?”

  Her free leg lashed out, faster than his eyes could track. The heel clipped the side of his head, sending stars exploding across his vision. His grip broke instantly.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He staggered, the world tilting around him.

  “You—cheated—”

  “Adapted,”

  She corrected.

  Before he could recover, she was already inside his guard, her fist driving into his stomach like a sledgehammer. The impact folded him in half, forcing out what little air he had left.

  He gasped, blinking through the blur, but some stubborn spark in his chest refused to go out.

  Not yet.

  As she drew back for another strike, Yukio lunged forward and grabbed her wrist, pulling her in. Their foreheads met with a dull crack.

  Both froze.

  Then Michibiki blinked, actually stepping back a pace, surprise flickering in her eyes. Yukio swayed, dazed but grinning through split lips.

  “Ha… got you that time…”

  The grin lasted about two seconds.

  Michibiki’s expression sharpened into something halfway between approval and payback.

  “Not bad.”

  Then her body twisted in one smooth, impossible motion—a spinning kick that slammed into his chest. The blow lifted him clean off the ground. For an instant, all he saw was sky.

  Then dirt.

  Then sky again.

  He landed hard, rolling until he came to a stop on his back, staring up at the drifting clouds. The world pulsed with dull pain. Every muscle in his body screamed in unison.

  From somewhere far above him, he heard her voice.

  “Still breathing?”

  “Barely,”

  He rasped.

  “You… are insane.”

  “I prefer thorough,”

  She said, stepping closer. Her shadow fell over him, framed by sunlight. She crouched, tapping his forehead lightly with a finger.

  “You’ll live.”

  He wasn’t entirely convinced.

  Michibiki straightened and turned toward her pack resting by the riverbank. She retrieved two canteens and tossed one to him. He caught it clumsily and gulped down the water, not realizing how parched he was until then.

  “Take five,”

  She said, sitting cross-legged in the grass.

  “Even a miracle needs a breather.”

  Yukio sat up slowly, the motion a symphony of protests from his bruised body.

  “Is this… your definition of teaching?”

  “Exactly. If I go easy on you now, you’ll plateau before you even learn to harness fate.”

  He frowned.

  “You mean the ‘Threads’ thing? I barely even know what it does yet. Wait—how do you know about that?”

  Michibiki looked at him over her shoulder, the sunlight glinting off her silver hair. For a heartbeat she said nothing, just watched the river shimmer. Then, quietly,

  “Because I know what’s written in you before even you do. Your abilities aren’t random, Yukio. They’re revealed pieces of a story I’ve already read.”

  His brow furrowed.

  “You’re saying… you knew I’d unlock the Threads of Fate before I even saw that system window?”

  She nodded once.

  “All of them. Every path you’ll touch, every risk you’ll gamble. My role isn’t to choose them for you—it’s to make sure you’re strong enough when they appear.”

  Her tone carried no arrogance, only certainty. It made something cold and electric crawl down his spine.

  “So you’re my babysitter and my fortune-teller,”

  He said dryly.

  “More like your insurance policy,”

  She replied, a hint of humor breaking through.

  “Now drink before I decide to reset this lesson.”

  He obeyed, though his mind kept circling back to her words. If she really knew his future skills, then every blow she landed, every push to his limits—it was all deliberate. Training by design, not chance.

  After a while he muttered,

  “That’s… terrifying.”

  She smiled faintly.

  “It should be.”

  They sat in companionable silence for a few beats, the river whispering between them. Then Yukio leaned back, eyes on the clouds.

  “You really think I can master this?”

  “I don’t think,”

  She replied.

  “I know. But you won’t if you keep thinking of yourself as lucky. Luck is passive. Power isn’t.”

  He huffed a laugh.

  “So what, no more gambling my way out of trouble?”

  Michibiki’s lips quirked.

  “You can still gamble—just learn to stack the deck first.”

  They shared a brief, quiet smile, the kind that hinted at mutual respect growing out of chaos. Then she stood, brushing grass from her robes.

  “Break’s over.”

  His heart sank.

  “Already?”

  “Don’t whine. You’re improving.”

  She offered him a hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, he took it. Her grip was firm, warm, grounding.

  As she pulled him to his feet, he realized something: she wasn’t just training his body. She was training his will. Every time she knocked him down, she was measuring how fast he stood back up.

  When he was steady again, she stepped back and raised her hands.

  “Round two. I’ll hold back this time.”

  “You said that last time,”

  He muttered.

  She grinned.

  “And you survived. So, progress.”

  Yukio sighed, rolling his shoulders. His ribs ached, his vision still swam a little, but there was a strange thrill under the exhaustion. The ache meant he was learning. Evolving.

  The breeze picked up, rippling the tall grass around them. The sunlight glinted off the water. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to still—and he saw it again: faint, golden filaments stretching between them, dancing like invisible threads.

  He blinked, and they were gone.

  Was that his power stirring again, or just his imagination clinging to hope? He didn’t know.

  But he wanted to.

  “Alright,”

  He said, taking his stance.

  “Let’s see how long I can last this time.”

  Michibiki smirked.

  “Long enough to impress me, I hope.”

  “Tall order.”

  “Then you’d better start reaching.”

  And just like that, they clashed again—the teacher’s grace against the student’s raw defiance. The sounds of their battle echoed across the open plain: the rush of feet, the dull thuds of impact, the quick, short laughs of challenge.

  To anyone watching from afar, it might’ve looked one-sided. But to Yukio, every block, every dodge, every half-second he managed to read her movements was victory.

  By the time the sun climbed higher, his arms hung heavy, his lungs burned, and yet—he was smiling.

  He had no idea how many times he’d fallen. He only knew that every time he did, he stood up faster.

  When Michibiki finally called,

  “Enough,”

  He almost collapsed from relief.

  She approached, her gaze sharp but approving.

  “You’re learning,”

  She said simply.

  “Feels more like dying,”

  He croaked.

  “Then you’re doing it right.”

  She crouched beside him again, her tone turning thoughtful.

  “You’re not the same gambler who stumbled into the Wheel of Providence anymore. Keep this up, and maybe you’ll earn the right to see what the Loom truly weaves for you.”

  Yukio looked up at her, sweat and dirt streaking his face but his eyes bright with stubborn fire.

  “Then I guess I’ll keep betting on myself.”

  Michibiki’s answering smile was small but genuine.

  “Good. Because the next lesson… will raise the bar even higher.”

  He groaned.

  “Of course it will.”

  The breeze stirred again, carrying the scent of pine and river water. Above them, sunlight filtered through drifting clouds, and somewhere in that light, Yukio swore he saw faint golden threads shimmer—waiting, whispering, promising that his story was only just beginning.