Earth In Words, Ranker Female Dormitory
“When in doubt, always assume a next punch will come. It’s better to dodge or defend nothing than to get hit in the face.”
“Predict your opponent’s movements, instead of assuming they’ll simply let you hit them.”
“Fighting is a flow. A constant, and complicated dance.”
Seijuro’s words. Though Melinda would never dare to forget them, she has always viewed things differently.
Fighting is fighting, dancing is dancing. Your opponent hit you? Hit them harder.
Like this!
Stepping forward, Melinda transfers her weight and jabs in quick succession before throwing a powerful right as she bends her body slightly as if to avoid an opponent’s attack. Then, using the motion of raising her body, Melinda knees the hovering punching bag explosively, jumps, and rotates herself for a high front kick.
She ignores the sweat running down her body and the light pain which has started to spread throughout her limbs a while ago. After all, it’s nothing compared to what real fights have put her body through; to what they’ll put her through in the future.
Again!
Melinda plants her right foot down, concentrating her body’s power for a low punch which creates a satisfying bang as it sends the bag sliding backward. Then, head low and guard up, Melinda follows after the moving bag, using a combination of low punches, elbows, and knees to continue to propel it forward, each blow stronger than the last, until…
Melinda hardens her core, waiting prepared as the floating bag suddenly answers to one of her kicks by rotating and striking back, nearly numbing the upper guard she set up against it.
Sneaky thing. Not so tough against a girl your size?
Melinda follows the bag across the room with renewed vigor, often ducking or defending against its heavy attacks with little difficulty. At some point, she realizes she’s smiling, moving as though she could keep going forever.
Eventually, however, the bag stops abruptly, as if freezing midair, and Melinda has to break her high kick in its motion, settling her foot down with disappointment as she sighs.
Hardest setting, and it’s barely putting up a fight. She’ll have to find a new way to train soon.
After a moment, the bag showcases a holographic number above it, but Melinda barely spares it a glance as she walks toward a bottle of water and towel placed nearby. Unfortunately, the number is very similar to her previous score, and the one before that. It is clear she isn’t improving as fast as she used to.
Gazing at the bag with the corner of her eyes as she drinks, Melinda wonders if she is close to her pick as a fighter.
Two more years and she’ll be able to compete in the real world. Enough of amateur competitions and spars.
Becoming Seijuro’s shadow will take priority, but she should have some downtime before that. Melinda wonders if Seijuro might convince her father to allow her to compete professionally as well. The princess seems to love fighting almost as much as she does, if not more.
In fact, the bag was a present from Seijuro for Melinda’s fifteenth birthday. The only present she has ever received which has physically kicked her ass, in fact, and something she’ll be eternally grateful for.
Fearing the answer, Melinda never asked how much it cost…
Melinda’s thoughts are interrupted by a strong knock on her door, to which she raises her eyebrow. At this time, there’s about one possible option, but she didn’t expect to receive a visit from her dormitory mates, especially so early in the morning.
She was hoping to go for another round. This better be important.
Another strong knock comes as she is heading toward the door, souring Melinda’s mood further. Not bothering to check who it is first, she simply waves her hand in a command to open as she approaches the entrance, revealing the corridor outside, and the teenage girl there, tapping her foot, seemingly readying herself for another knock.
Tall, if scrawny and hunched over, the girl adjusts her posture in time to stare Melinda squarely as she stops in front of her.
“Yes?” Melinda asks, somewhat mollified by the brief glow of fear flashing through the girl’s expression.
Aileen Marks, if Melinda is not mistaken. Her left neighbor, not that they have ever talked before.
“Yes?!” Aileen starts, her eyes narrowing now that her initial fear seems to have vanished. “Do you even understand how thin these fricking walls are?! Pow, pow, pow! Give it a break already! Why do I have to put up with your bullshit before the sun is even up?! I swear I’m about to lose my fricking mind and if I have to listen to your stupid fricking punches for one more day I’ll-”
“Wow there girl, hold those tits, alright?! Why don’t we calm down and-”
“I didn’t work my ass off to become a Ranker and have my own room just so you would wake me up hours before class every, fucking, DAY! What’s wrong with simply training at night?! Or the afternoon?! Why do I have to suffer through your training like your fricking punching bag?!”
Eileen stops exactly for long enough to catch her breath, her mouth already opening for what Melinda assumes is the beginning of another paragraph-long-rant which she has no intention of listening to, when Melinda interrupts by raising her hand in front of her face.
“That’s enough shrimp. You don’t wanna make me mad.”
“Or what?! You’re gonna punch me?! That’s exactly what I expect from a cavewoman like you!”
Eileen shakes as she seems to force her eyes to remain locked against Melinda’s. Like a cute, angry giraffe. If not for the obvious dark circles under her eyes, Melinda might have simply closed the door in her face.
Eh, words have never been her forte. What would Seijuro say?
“Look… Eileen, right? I-”
“It’s before seven and you smell! I can’t believe-”
Anddddddd… That’s what she gets for being nice.
Melinda grabs Eileen’s cheeks and squeezes, holding the girl’s weak attempt at a jab with her free hand, then dodging what she assumes was supposed to be a right hook by stepping back.
“Did you actually come here with the intention to fight me?! Girl, do you even understand what a punch from me would do to your face?! Have you completely lost your mind?!”
While her mouth performs fish-like movements, Eileen seems determined to land at least one good hit by flailing her arms and legs as wildly as she can, though Melinda is certain her short career as a fighter should end before it ever begun were she to allow herself to be hit by something like this.
“Eileen?! Eileen, don’t make me slap you!”
The threat of a slap finally seems to get through the panic-fueled girl, pausing her movements and widening her eyes.
“So, what is it gonna be? Smack? Or talk?”
“…P-please letle mle glo.”
Melinda does so, though her eyes remain narrowed, and she half expects Eileen to bolt back to her room immediately. Instead, Eileen seems strangely mollified, her gaze downcast as she massages her cheeks and stands in awkward silence for a moment.
“…I’ve seen your punches before… Thanks for not doing that to my face.”
Melinda sighs, frowning as she sniffs herself. “Do I really smell?”
Eileen raises her gaze tentatively, as though afraid of what she’s going to find. “A bit? I mean, it’s to be expected? I might have exaggerated about the smell…”
“Forget it. Now, why don’t we solve this like civilized people who are part of an advanced civilization?”
“…Sound’s better than the alternative.”
“I’m glad you’ve realized that. And I’m sorry my training has kept you up. Haven’t we been neighbors for the entire last year? Why didn’t you say something?”
Eileen frowns, gaze slipping toward the ground as if by habit before she seems to catch herself. “Y-you´re scary, you know that? People talk… I figured I could put with it… And then it became too much… During vacation I almost forgot what it was like, but today… I guess I just lost it.”
“Good thing then you caught me in a good mood.” After her fight with Seijuro yesterday, Melinda couldn’t be further from a good mood, but Eileen doesn’t need to know that. “But, look, this isn’t just a fun hobby for me. I train because I need to, just like you study because you need to. I figure you do it before going to bed? And you can’t do it in the morning instead because of the noise?”
Eileen nods. “I’ve never been a morning person, and I need silence to study… Music just doesn’t do it for me. I-I’ve tried adjusting my hearing before going to sleep, but there’s something about complete and absolute silence… You get what I mean? I’m afraid of losing my first class, and I just can’t fall asleep like that…”
“Have you tried adjusting you hearing in the morning, so you can study while I train? I get that it’s not ideal for you to wake up early, even if you’re sleeping earlier as well, but…”
Eileen opens her mouth, then closes it again. “Muting it in the morning so I can study?”
“Yeah? You really never thought of that?”
“I tried music… And putting up with it…”
Eileen closes her eyes, an expression of pain taking over her face.
“Okay. I’m ready now,” she says, her words a quivered whisper.
Melinda blinks. “Uh… We’re ready for what, exactly?”
“That punch. I’m ready whenever you are. Please make it strong enough to erase my short-term memory.”
“Eileen, you’d die. Seriously.”
“…See what I mean? Scary.”
Once Eileen opens her eyes to face Melinda, her gaze carries visible shame to company her slightly burning cheeks, and instead of sustaining Melinda’s stare, she simply allows her own to slip down until it has found the ground.
“I was so upset with you this entire time,” she whispers, “I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of that… Goodness, I’m the stupidest person who has ever existed…”
“H-hey, we don’t even know if it’s going to work yet, right? Just promise me you won’t be afraid to hit me up again if it turns out you weren’t able to make it work, yeah? Believe it or not, I take no pleasure in making your life miserable.”
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Eileen nods, her gaze flickering up briefly. “I’ll tell you. Thank you.”
Before Melinda is able to answer, Eileen is running down the corridor toward her room. Watching her go, her mouth still half open, Melinda scratches her head, waves the door to close, then sniffs herself again.
“Well, nice to meet you too, neighbor. Guess I should hop in the shower now?”
Melinda doesn’t expect an answer to her rhetoric question, and she doesn’t receive one. Her steps are quick as she stretches her arms above her head, heading through her function-designed room.
That the flats have a bathroom in each of them is definitely their best-selling point for anyone from the Institute who would like to become a Ranker. The dormitory experience of sharing a common bathroom is not something Melinda would like to repeat any time soon.
‘Miss Cornell has received a connection request. User: Seijuro Aston, Subject: I know you’re awake, stop ignoring my messages.’
Melinda pauses, half undressed, to raise her eyebrow and check her smartwatch, realizing she does indeed have two unread messages from Seijuro, one from the day prior, and one from twenty minutes ago.
‘Sorry about what I said. I know it was insensitive. Let’s connect?’
‘You didn’t see my message. Are you mad at me? I’m having breakfast at school today. Wanna meet and talk?’
Melinda blinks. ‘Accept connection request, please.’
‘Hey. Did I interrupt your morning training?’
Seijuro’s voice fills Melinda’s head as she steps underneath the lukewarm waterfall, releasing a sigh of relief.
‘Somebody else beat you to it, actually. Sorry about the messages, just saw them.’
‘Am I still in trouble?’
Melinda sighs, resting her hands against the wall as she lowers her head and allows the water to fall against her sore back. ‘I’m not mad at you, Seijuro. I just don’t want things to end like that.’
‘…I see.’
‘I know you don’t consider me your rival. Why would you? I couldn’t beat you even once yet. But I know I have the potential… And I hate the idea of winning by default.’
‘…I can’t wait forever.’
Melinda closes her eyes. ‘I know.’
‘Well, how’s your morning?’
‘Shit.’ Melinda smiles over the obvious change in subject, though she doesn’t fight against it. ‘The water is making me feel better.’
‘Shower?’
‘Hot and wet.’
‘They usually are. Is it weird that I’m imagining you naked right now?’
‘I guess it makes sense. What about you?’
‘Not naked, unfortunately. Back seat. On my way to school.’
‘Is that breakfast offer still a thing?’
‘I was about to bring it up, actually. Make yourself pretty.’
Straightening herself as she reaches for the soap dispenser, Melinda frowns. ‘Wait, why?’
‘Second day picture. I figured it was going to be harder to impress, and then I thought about my beautiful, popular, strong-willed best friend…’
Melinda groans. ‘You can’t be serious. You know I hate this sort of play pretend.’
‘So do I. Still, making myself visible is a part of my royal duties, and as my future Guardian…’
Melinda groans louder. ‘Fine, I’ll be there.’
‘Looking pretty?’
‘Yes! Looking like a fucking doll! I’ll put in some effort, okay?!’
Seijuro laughs, the first sound she sent through the connection other than her voice. ‘You’re the best.’
‘Seijuro?’
‘Yeah?’
‘If I was doing something that really bothered you… You would tell me, right?’
‘Sure. I figure most people wouldn’t, though.’
‘What?! Why?!’
‘You’re scary.’
‘…Straight through the heart.’
‘I don’t miss. Something happened, didn’t it?’
‘One of my neighbors complained about the noise; apparently, she couldn’t sleep for the entire last year.’
‘Ouch. You should definitely check with the others.’
Melinda sighs. ‘…Thought so.’
‘You’re welcomed.’
***
Swain Family Estate, Fioro Surroundings
As she walks down the manor’s corridor, Beatrice’s footsteps are nearly drawn by the soft piano notes she follows.
Despite the sadness of the song, Beatrice finds herself humming alongside it, her steps light as she swirls once and smiles before stopping near one of the corridor’s windows showcasing the manor’s backside.
Opening it, she closes her eyes and takes a moment to enjoy the morning breeze running through her hair as it caresses her face, gently yet coldly.
The mansion’s far-reaching back garden, touched by the rising sun, fills Beatrice’s vision as she slowly opens her lids, taking in her mother’s pools and fountains, strange plants and decorative bushes, intricate marble paths and expensive chairs, sports courts, and glass greenhouses.
Chaotic yet beautiful. Chaos itself creating something marvelous, of which her limited capability permits only a glimpse of.
The garden has been her mother’s passion for as long as Beatrice can remember, and where they spent most of their time together. For as much as she appreciates the view, however, Beatrice is forced to remember why she came here in the first place.
The piano notes wouldn’t allow her to forget it.
As such, Beatrice resumes her humming, closes the window, and continues down the corridor, stopping before the double wooden doors at its end, from behind which the song struggles to pass through.
Like an endless tide. How long has she played for, this time?
Reminded of her childhood, Beatrice’s hand reaches up to trace the wood’s carvings, the storm there engraved, representing her family’s symbol and its chaotic beauty at its full glory.
‘Open, please.’
The doors give under Beatrice’s hand soundlessly, revealing a big, but mostly empty room illuminated by a full wall window as it shows the garden outside and allows the morning sunlight to fall over the white piano which occupies the room’s middle.
Beatrice scans through the young pianist’s cold and concentrated expression as she walks in, who shows no signs of having noticed Beatrice’s entry, fingers moving skillfully to bring the song to its inevitable climax.
The resemblance is so obvious. An older, taller, and somewhat sharper version of her. While side by side, they’ve always been recognized as sisters at a glance.
The notes come faster and faster, the song’s climax showing no signs of subsiding anytime soon, although Beatrice planned to wait for its end before speaking…
She doesn’t have the whole morning.
“Linda!” Beatrice calls, bringing the song to an instant ugly mismatch of notes as the room falls silent and Linda glances up in surprise, her shock quickly replaced by an angered expression.
“Could you not have waited another minute?!”
Beatrice averts her gaze to inspect the well-taken care of plants that decorate the room’s corner. “I’ve been waiting for a while. And I had no idea how long you were going to continue for…”
“I don’t care! How many times do I have to tell you to not interrupt me while I’m practicing?! I thought I revoked your permissions! How did you even get in here?!”
“Mother gave them back to me. She wanted me to call you for breakfast.”
Beatrice hates the defensive tone which colors her voice, the knot in her stomach, the way her eyes seem unable to face Linda’s, roaming over her bare feet and hemline as the taller woman rises from her stool and approaches her.
“And you thought barging in here to interrupt me at the worst possible moment was the best course of action? I was about to go down.”
In order to not call out her sister on her obvious lie, Beatrice turns away, but the sound of bare footsteps rapidly approaching causes her to hesitate, and a yell of surprise escapes her mouth as Linda grabs her hair and forces their gazes to meet.
“Don’t you dare turn away from me when I’m speaking to you!”
Beatrice finds herself facing her sister’s swollen blue eyes directly, words stuck in her throat as the other woman holds her head in place.
“L-Linda, it hurts!”
Linda abruptly releases her grip and steps back, eyes narrowing as Beatrice struggles to steady herself.
“Do you think I don’t know this is another of your petty games?! You couldn’t stay away for more than a moment, could you?! Couldn’t stand the idea of not ruining my life for once!”
Beatrice sighs, giving her sister a tired glance while running her hand through her hair, hoping it wasn’t damaged beyond repair. “Linda, we haven’t been kids for a while now. I just didn’t want to be late for school… Forget it. I’ll tell Mother you’re coming.”
Linda stares at Beatrice for a long moment, as though trying to decide if she’s serious or not.
“Am I allowed to leave now?” Beatrice asks.
Linda scoffs, walking by Beatrice with quick steps and heading for the door.
“Aren’t you going to ask what I thought of your song?!” Beatrice calls after her, bringing Linda to an abrupt stop.
…
The song?
Linda blinks, forcing her scrambled thoughts to form something coherent.
Beatrice. Beatrice hasn’t been this submissive to her in years.
Linda glances over her shoulder, unsurprised to find Beatrice standing with the shadow of a satisfying smile on her face as if holding back her laughter over some internal joke.
“Gods, you look like trash. When was the last time you even showered?”
“Beatrice, get it through your head: Your opinion is irrelevant to me.”
Beatrice laughs slowly, shaking her head as she takes a long sigh. “Well, I thought it was as predictable and boring as its composer… Good thing my opinion doesn’t matter, right?”
A feeling of dread slowly consumes Linda’s sluggish thoughts, painfully reminding her of who exactly she’s dealing with.
“What have you done?”
Beatrice shrugs, her expression the picture of boredom as she glances toward her nails. “How cold. Why do you always assume the worst of me, dear sister?”
“What are you doing here? I thought you moved to Fioro months ago.”
Beatrice pauses and glances up, her expression showcasing surprise. “Seriously? Darling, are you right in the head? I’ve visited for breakfast with Mom every Tuesday since I moved… Not that you ever bothered to join us, of course. I supposed I shouldn’t be surprised.”
Tuesday? When did it become Tuesday? Is Beatrice lying to her?
Linda’s vision spins as realization finally seems to dawn over her lethargic thoughts; This isn’t a dream, and she is, in fact, facing her sister who has come to visit.
Beatrice tilts her head, smiling. “Wow, that’s a scary look you got going on there… Coming back to reality, are we?”
“Out of my house,” Linda commands.
“Excuse me, your house? I didn’t realize Mom and Pa decided to kick the bucket while I wasn’t looking…”
Beatrice steps back once Linda begins to walk in her direction, though she still winks and smiles while retreating.
“Beatrice, I’ll ask it one more time… Why are you here?”
“I came to visit Mom… I thought we went over that?”
“Why are you in my studio?!”
Beatrice’s smile falters as her back hits the piano, bringing them close enough to touch and forcing the shorter woman to stare up at Linda’s furious ice gaze.
“O-oh, that? I told you already, Mom asked me to bring you breakf- Oops, I mean, to call you for breakfast…”
Linda smiles, understanding dawning over her. Of course, the little devil would’ve never agreed to help her.
“Where’s my breakfast, Beatrice?”
“…Take a guess, darling.”
“…I should pick it up from the trash and shove it down your throat.”
And for a moment, as she stares into her sister’s smug gaze, Linda considers doing exactly that. How satisfying would it feel to make her eat her own mess? To choke in her own pettiness?
Beatrice blinks, uncertainty creeping over her expression. “…Linda?”
“You think you’re so smart, don’t you? Every petty prank you pull… Always enjoying to see me lose control…”
“I-”
Linda’s slap echoes throughout her studio, her overflowing fury containing any sympathy she might have felt toward Beatrice’s shocked expression as she raises a shaking hand toward her red cheek.
“D-did you just-”
“Silence. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To see me lose control, to see how far you could push me before I break?”
“L-Linda, wait! You’re going too far!”
Beatrice struggles against Linda’s grip, who barely spares her a glance as she drags the other girl by the base of her hair and heads for the door.
“Linda, it hurts! Are you really doing this?!”
Linda shoves Beatrice through the open doors of her studio, watching as the girl struggles to regain her balance before staring at her in shock, posture as if ready to run at any second.
“Get out. The fact we share the same blood makes me sick.”
Beatrice’s fearful expression is suddenly overtaken by anger. “When was the last time miss perfect composed something good?! You do realize climbing the ranks means going up, right?! No amount of rehearsing is going to make up for your lack of talent! Why can’t you understand something so simple?!”
Surprisingly, Linda finds that she is unfazed by her sister’s words, merely throwing Beatrice a look of pity. “At least I’m capable of composing something. What did you expect, Beatrice? Even you must understand nothing good would’ve come from coming here.”
Beatrice attempts to slap Linda, but her movements are clumsy, and Linda is able to easily hold her arm, facing the girl’s wide gaze as it rapidly changes to fury once more.
“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong! It isn’t every day you get to see miss perfect fall… Oops, I mean fail! Even though you had everything handed to you in a silver tray, you still managed to flop on your face! Do you have some kind of special secret Linda?! I can’t imagine natural talent being the only reason behind your mediocrity!”
“Your jealousy is so ugly, it disgusts me. Are you sure I’ve always had everything? Or is it you who has always been worthless beyond help? You who never had to work for a single thing in your life? Whining and expecting the whole world to attend to your egoistic desires… Father must have seen it from the beginning. He was wise in keeping you away.”
Linda watches with wicked satisfaction as all color leaves her sister’s face.
“W-what do you mean?”
“I see he hasn’t bothered to tell you yet. Typical.”
“I asked what you mean by that!”
Linda releases Beatrice’s arm and steps back, gazing at her sister’s fearful expression with a mixture of amusement and regret. Her words seem to have a will of their own, and they leave her lips coldly enough to freeze the room, “Last semester was your last chance, Beatrice. And you failed… One time too many. Father is taking your name out. He doesn’t want you embarrassing the family anymore, or taking part in the company.”
“…What?” Beatrice whispers, eyes full of disbelief, “…What did you just say?”
“I believe your hearing works well enough. Need I to repeat myself?”
No… This isn’t how…
“M-mom-”
“She has no saying in this. You should know as much.”
Beatrice laughs, as if unaware of the tears streaming down her face. “You sound exactly like him… He finally did, didn’t he? He finally found an excuse to pretend you were his only daughter… Always his fucking pet…”
“The only excuse here is you, Beatrice. An excuse of a daughter, an excuse of a musician-”
“I get it… I get it already!” Beatrice’s scream reverberates throughout the corridor, her hatred-filled eyes bringing forth the shadow of doubt Linda harbors over her father’s decision… perhaps far too late to matter.
“Beatrice…”
Hastily wiping her tears, Beatrice smiles wickedly. “I doubt he’ll agree to see me, so pass him a message for me, darling: Even if it is the last thing I do, even if it costs me everything, one day, I’ll make sure he sees it… The things he has chosen over me, I’ll make them burn in front of his eyes… So, I hope you aren’t afraid of fire, Sister.”
Beatrice turns and walks away before Linda can answer, her head held high as she heads down the corridor with controlled steps and shaking closed fists.
Glancing down, Linda realizes her hand is still half raised, reaching for something she herself fails to understand.
It was for the best... She’s free now. Free from this place, free to do whatever she wants, free to be whoever she wants.
Linda moves her hand and closes her studio’s doors, clenching her fist as she does so.
‘User command: remove Beatrice Swain’s permissions as soon she leaves the facilities. Lower Allissa Swain’s permissions to those of a guest.’
‘Command accepted.’
Linda’s steps are heavy, but not hesitant, as she approaches the piano once more.