While enjoying the scenic view of bustling students, gossip, and sheer overwhelming noise during dinner time, I found myself given to thought. Thoughts, mainly of what was to occur upon our encounter with ‘Yon’. Chances are that things would proceed without trouble. That is to say, without the unlikely outcome of someone being greatly hurt in the process. Ultimately, we were in school. It wasn’t like the Lower City of Alpha-One, where interrupting the business of some local ‘snack dealer’ might actually riddle you with holes or a well-timed magical projectile to the face.

No.

Things are civilised around these parts. Relative to the world at hand, the amount of backstabbery, or overall shittiness, would be kept to a minimum. As I dwelled over these thoughts, I kept reassuring myself of such, believing that it would all be well. Then, as if seeking validation, turned to Ceylica and asked a simple question.

“You think it’ll turn out fine?”

She looked to Ode’go, then to me, as if finding my query abnormal.

“Ye.”

From then on, no further attempts at alleviating my worries were made. Instead, I chose to play the waiting game. Keeping quiet until, finally, the time proved ripe. Thus, when the atmosphere began to subside in intensity, with many a student leaving, we decided to act.

A look of equal determination and glee takes Ceylica’s face, “He’s there.” she points, her finger set on the hallway. Catching sight of Yon, I take the moment to study him. Convenient for us, he looks to be alone, with no one to accompany him. We absorb that information for all of two seconds before getting up in pursuit. Going at a speed roughly above a jog, we catch up to him in just short of a minute, grabbing his attention with a quick ‘hey’ from Ode’go’s side.

He must’ve felt something was amiss, however, as immediately upon turning to face us, Yon grimaces and takes his two hands out of his pockets.’

“Hey.” He greets, his voice monotone.

Ode’go smiles assuredly, “No need to be cold; we were just hoping for a bit of your time.”

“Leave me alone.” Yon reiterates, this time, with a bite coating his edge.

“Afraid that’s not possible, though if it’s any consolation, do know that you’re in good company.”

And suddenly, Yon tenses. Taking two steps backwards, the boy recenters the median of his body and sets his right foot in front. He then slightly bends his knees and stands up straight, lifting his two hands to chin height and assuming an orthodox boxing stance.

Yon sighs, “Did martial arts, you know.” then pulls a paint brush from within his left breast pocket. “Could’ve gone pro if I didn’t join this school.” As if goading a response, only to receive bated breath, the boy then sighs again, a smidgen of shame in his eyes.

All the while, Ode’go initiates his own stance. No doubt prompted by his opponent, the catboy shifts his right leg forward and bends it at the knee. While straightening his rear left leg, and putting his foot at a forty-five-degree angle.

—Front stance

I know it well. Though sacrificing much in the way of manoeuvrability and raw adaptive force, it more than makes up for in ease of use and power. Enabling the user to launch a lunge while drawing as much mass from the earth itself.

Or so a poet would say.

Though impressive on the surface, stances for unarmed martial arts rarely serve as anything beyond sheer transitional phases. If you kept trying to move from one to the other, attempting to stick true to some idea of tradition, then chances are, that you’d find yourself slow and encumbered.

Proper footwork and movement above all else, take precedence.

In that regard, Yon obviously reigns supreme, with his being far more flexible in purpose.

Though…

Does that matter?

Truth be told, technique only dominates when you compare two fighters of the same calibre. In this case, one clearly stands above the other. From their expression, breathing, and posture, it seems to me, at the very least, that the winner is already decided.

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Technique, after all, is empty without power.

But the opposite does not apply.

No matter how skilled he is, a cripple has no hope of killing an ape.

“See ya.”

With the momentum generated by driving his rear leg forward, Ode’go sends a punch straight into Yon’s chest. The attack is fast, blurring into an unidentifiable haze and retreating back in the blink of an eye.

“AHRH!”

Less than a second later, Yon topples to the ground, spit rising from his throat. By then, the fight has ended. Even now, no attempt at retaliation is made. Despite the passing of a few seconds, Yon still remains in an act of prostration, hands on the floor, and breaths wheezing like low-pitched groans.

“Good try,” Ode’go says, reaching out a hand to his fallen opponent. “Shame you didn’t get to use your paintbrush.”

A few seconds pass.

Yon takes the catboy’s hand, heaves himself up, and sighs once again. Having been pacified, he now seems a tad more cooperative than before, evident in his deadpan expression and clear lack of energy.

“So, I guess I’m a prisoner now.”

Ode’go shrugs. “We’re just here to ask you a few questions, and we’ll be on our sweet way.”

“I’m a money mule.”

“Hm?”

Quicker than we’d expected, Yon had treated us with an answer. The implications of which come as no surprise.

“Who aske—”

“An elf. He has blonde hair and looks like a delinquent.”

Straight to the point, Yon relinquishes any previous sentiment of doubt, even going as far as to interrupt Ode’go halfway and confess to his role in the scheme. In all honestly, I find it pretty amusing. I’m well aware that violence makes people more prone to cooperation, but the speed at which Yon transitions is well beyond my understanding.

“So, uh, please don’t punch me or something.” Yon then goes on to say, his voice still impassive, as if uncertain if he actually wants to not be punched.

“I won’t.”

Rotating to face us, Ode’go winks.

“Well, we’ve got our lead.”

Ceylica, who had been relegated to an observer until this moment, approaches and plants a kiss on the catboy’s cheek. The half-demon then smacks her right bicep, clearly smug with victory.

“So, a delinquent blonde elf eh, do ye know his name?”

Before Yon can so much as blink, I chime in, offering my own take on the matter.

“Harux Y’ssanith,” I manage to let out.

Though wordless, the boy’s eyes speak for themselves. A hint of surprise and fear all intermingled in his black pupils. This, we interpret as silence, possibly brought forth by the promise of threats or other safeguarding measures. Therefore, with little reason else to stay, the three of us depart, moving down the hallway. As we head forward, our footsteps reverberating against the marble flooring, Ceylica motions to speak.

“I’ll ask the others to help search, ye alright with going by yerself for now?”

“Myself and Morgana.”

Ode’go turns, then winks at me as if sharing some forbidden secret. Likewise, I wink back, intent on playing the social game. Now at an intersection, Ode’go and I take a sharp turn left, thereby departing in a duo at last. A short while after, and I understand that this is the first time that it’s just been the both of us. No Ceylica, no goons, nobody. Discounting the students roaming the hallways, of course, though they have little bearing on us, truth be told.

“You’re pretty good at fighting, Ode’go.”

“Naturally.” He smiles, “When you do it for a living, you got to be somewhat decent.”

“Law enforcement?” I ask, eager to delve further.

“Sometimes it was, sometimes it wasn’t.”

“Sometimes you enforced things beyond the law, right?”

I catch onto his implication, a fact further confirmed by a click of the catboy’s tongue and wink.

“Haha! Well, that’s a poetic way of putting it.”

“And how would you put it?”

He reaches into his denim jacket and pulls out a dagger. Alongside the right side of the blade are deep, jagged serrations, like the narrow part of a comb. Under the lights, where orange gleams of its cold metal, the impression I get is almost warm. Like a reminder of a past, some distant callback to what once was.

“Desire.”

Less warm is his voice, which coats itself with cynicism. “How else do you describe it? I enforced the desires of those who ordered me, nothing more and nothing less.”

“Do you feel bad about it?”

“Haha,” he laughs again. “Not at all. Though I can’t say I feel good, either.”

I press two fingers to my philtrum. “So, no regrets, then?”

“Only a fool regrets. A real man learns from his experience and betters himself because of it.”

Working our way to an upcoming door, I soon find our pace deliberately slowed as if approaching something with particular reverence. The reasoning is simple enough. The door we stand before now is the entrance to the training room, a place I can only assume must be of some vague hint to Harux.

Before I can so much as ask why, the lines of Ode’go’s mouth lift.

“He likes to fight, doesn’t he?”

Curiosity seeps into my brain. While it’s true that Harux has displayed tendencies for combat, the question as to how Ode’go knows this is beyond me. Could the two have met before? Or better yet, could they have actually got into their own little fisticuffs?

I set aside the thoughts for now, walking past the kindly-held door into the training room.