"Don't just stand there like a stunned squirrel," Socrates snapped, his gruff voice cutting through the classroom chatter like a blade. "Get over here. You're partnering with Mylo. Nymera, you're with the boy's partner—uh, what's your name, lad?"
"T-Terien," the boy stammered, pushing up his glasses and looking as though he regretted showing up today.
"Right. Terien, you and Mylo. Nymera, you're with Alina."
Nymera's eyes swept across the room, settling on a small girl with tightly coiled braids and nervous hands who was shifting her weight from foot to foot.
"Nice to meet you," Alina said softly, her voice like the rustle of leaves.
Nymera gave a small nod. "Likewise."
Around them, the students scrambled to find their positions. Some bumped into one another, others tripped over their own feet, but the atmosphere was unmistakably electric. Socrates rubbed his hands together, the corner of his mouth twitching with something dangerously close to excitement.
"Today we're running a two-on-one formation drill," he announced. "One pair Lorien, you'll be solo first round. Try not to break Mylo again, eh?"
"No promises," Lorien replied, rolling his shoulders with a smirk that could've melted steel. There was something oddly fluid in his movements—as though his very bones remembered the rhythm of combat.
A nervous chuckle rippled through the class. Socrates clapped once, sharp and commanding.
"Enough giggling! Positions, everyone!"
As Lorien stepped into the sparring ring, facing Mylo and Terien, his entire demeanor shifted. His posture relaxed, shoulders loose, hands at his sides—but there was an unmistakable glint in his eyes. Calm. Focused. Lethal.
This was where he came alive.
Nymera, now off to the side with Alina, crossed her arms and tilted her head, studying Lorien with interest blooming behind her cool expression.
On the other side of the ring, Mylo and Terien were already bickering, voices hissing like snakes.
"You're standing too far to the left," Mylo said irritably.
"I'm exactly where we agreed, Mylo," Terien replied, exasperated.
"Don't tell me what I agreed to. I know what I agreed to!"
While the pair squabbled, Lorien stood with stillness that was almost unnerving. His eyes darted around the room once—twice—but always returned to the two boys in front of him. He wasn't just watching. He was studying. Calculating.
"He's strategizing," Nymera muttered under her breath.
"Pfft, as if he'd need to strategize to beat those two bums." The voice made her jump. Socrates had appeared beside her like a specter, arms crossed, an amused smirk on his face.
Nymera glanced sideways at him. "Is he really that good?"
Socrates shrugged, watching the ring with casual indifference. "He's good. But most of the people in this room are bums." He turned his head slightly, his tone almost philosophical. "Out of fifty students, maybe ten are worth teaching. And Lorien? He's the best of that bunch."
"That's why he's your favorite," Nymera said, a knowing look creeping into her eyes.
"Ahem… I don't have favorite students," Socrates said. His sincerity though wasn't enough to fool a child. "I just happen to like hard workers. Quite a lot."
"Riiight." Nymera stretched the word out with a teasing grin, earning another shrug from the professor.
She turned her attention back to the trio in the ring, just as they finally stopped arguing and took their stances.
"They're starting now."
"So they are," Socrates said, his eyes gleaming. "Twenty quid says Lorien finishes it in under a minute."
Nymera raised a brow. "Aren't you supposed to be this scary, grumpy professor? I've been here ten minutes and everyone seems terrified of you."
"I really don't know why they think of me like that," he said, voice deadpan. "Anyway, twenty quid. You in or not?"
Nymera chuckled. She was starting to like this professor. "I'm in. Even if he's good, there's no way he's that good."
Socrates grinned, already fishing a coin from his coat pocket. "Alright then."
She might've been mistaken, but Nymera was almost certain she saw Socrates give Lorien a small nod just seconds after making the bet.
Suddenly, a loud shout erupted from Mylo.
"You lying piece of shit!" Mylo screamed, pointing at Lorien with a trembling finger. "You lied to me!"
"I did," Lorien replied calmly, his tone infuriatingly mild.
"I don't fuck with liars, you fucking—lying—piece of shit!"
"And I guess," Lorien said, his smile blooming slowly like a predator's grin, "you're going to want to beat me up now?"
Mylo stuttered for a second. "I—I am!"
"Well then… have at it."
Mylo didn't need more encouragement. With a furious roar, he launched himself at Lorien, swinging a wild right hook at his face. The arc of his arm was dramatic, but undisciplined.
Lorien didn't flinch. He raised his left hand, caught the punch mid-air with a dull thud, and delivered a lightning-fast kick to Mylo's gut. The boy doubled over with a choked wheeze. Before Mylo could recover, Lorien's knee shot upward, connecting squarely with his forehead and sending him sprawling across the ring like a ragdoll.
Gasps rippled through the class, but no one moved. Terien, wide-eyed and panicked, sprang into action. His timing was near-perfect. Just as Mylo hit the ground, Terien's fist collided with Lorien's jaw.
Lorien stumbled back a few steps, caught off guard for the first time. His expression twisted—not in pain, but in annoyance.
'Luxarion's cock,' Terien thought. 'Now I'm really fucked.'
Without another second wasted, Lorien sprinted forward and leapt into the air, twisting his body mid-flight. His right leg snapped out like a whip, connecting with Terien's jaw in a clean roundhouse kick that sent the boy spinning. Terien crashed to the floor with a sickening thud, knocked out cold.
By the time Lorien's boots hit the mat again, Mylo had somehow dragged himself upright and came barreling toward him.
This time, he managed to spear Lorien to the ground, mounting him and landing two strong punches on his face, causing Lorien to have a bloody lip and a slight purple coloration on the side of his face.
Lorien's head snapped back, but then—crack—a clean headbutt stunned Mylo. Another came a second later. Dazed and disoriented, Mylo was easily thrown off as Lorien reversed their positions.
Now straddling Mylo, Lorien didn't hesitate.
He started punching.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Faster.
Harder.
Until Mylo stopped moving.
His face had become a bloody canvas of red and purple, swollen and broken.
Silence fell over the room like a heavy shroud. No one breathed. No one moved. They had all seen Lorien fight before. He regularly bested Mylo, but never like this. Never without holding back.
Because this time, he hadn't.
All the anger, all the frustration—he'd let it out. Mylo had been antagonizing him for weeks. Nymera had promised to deal with him, and Lorien had believed her. But even if she didn't… well, that was a bridge he'd cross when he got there.
Across the ring, Nymera stared, her brows slightly furrowed.
Socrates walked up beside her, arms behind his back like nothing had happened. He extended his hand toward her with an expectant look.
"I believe you owe me twenty quid."