It didn’t particularly surprise Octavia that Viola had moved her from an area with shade to an area with even more shade. Given Tacell’s semi-remote situation and substantial natural structure, she supposed Viola had her pick at any given point in time of whatever foliage most sufficed. Octavia smirked at the idea that her own sun-soaked comfort place from moments ago hadn’t been enough to satisfy Viola’s delicate skin. In Viola’s defense, Octavia couldn’t entirely prove that the locale had been her own idea. It was still wide open enough, and well-populated with Maestros she at least recognized on sight.

She settled Stradivaria down into their usual instrument pile, a mess of cases stacked atop one another somewhere between lovingly and haphazardly. It was with great delight in her heart that she’d convinced River to do the same, even with his own partner’s case ending up somewhat more distant than the others' respective instruments. It felt strangely intimate, if not friendly.

“Yay, finally!” Madrigal exclaimed, hands thrown high into the air with glee.

“Finally what?” Octavia asked, uncurling her fingers from Viola’s at last.

“We can’t get started without you!” she added with a brilliant smile. Even so, she was no closer to being any more specific.

“Hey, River,” Josiah at least attempted to offer, one lazy hand emerging from his pocket in a half-hearted wave.

“Hello,” River returned softly, emulating the same. Apparently, everyone was better at remembering names than the Ambassador was. Octavia was very, very grateful that River didn’t call her out on it. He didn’t seem the type, anyway.

“Hold up, is he doing this, too?” Renato muttered to Josiah.

“I don’t even know what ‘it’ is,” Josiah hissed under his breath.

Harper, if no one else, seemed composed enough about their mystery task. “That’s everyone plus one, I think. You gonna tell us what you had in mind now?”

At last, Madrigal nodded, clapping her hands together joyfully. “Soooo, I was thinking yesterday about how we’ve got a lot we’re gonna have to deal with in the next few weeks. There’s lots of Maestros here who are gonna be willing to protect the Ambassador, but we’re supposed to be the Ambassador’s inner circle, right?”

Josiah nodded in turn, a gesture tainted with absolute confusion. “I…guess.”

“So we’re gonna have to make sure we’re up to the task, all the time! We’ve gotta be sure we stay prepared to fight whenever we’re needed,” she continued, her radiant smile never faltering.

Viola raised an eyebrow. “O…kay?”

“We’ve gotta be ready for anything, and we’ve gotta be in top form, and we’re…we’re gonna have to be stronger than everyone else!”

“Alright, that last part is a little ambitious,” Harper mumbled.

Octavia couldn’t stifle the tiniest of laughs. “Where are you going with this?”

She got her personal turn with Madrigal’s happy beaming, although somewhat more muted. “Basically, I think it would help if we got to practice fighting.”

There was a collective pause, momentarily. Viola blinked. “You mean, like…with each other?”

Madrigal nodded fervently, her curls bobbing up and down along with her.

“Sparring, then,” Viola continued slowly, her voice tinged with the slightest hint of disbelief. “You want us to spar.”

Again came the same enthusiastic nodding, vivid enough to bring her lush buns with it this time.

“Oh my God, no,” Josiah muttered.

“Oh my God, yes!” Renato cried, pumping one fist in excitement.

“Do you mean, like, armed or unarmed?” Harper asked.

Madrigal tilted her head. “Whatever we want! Practice is practice.”

Octavia offered her a hesitant smirk. “I don’t know if all of us should be armed if we’re gonna be fighting each other. Some of us could get seriously hurt.”

Her own words were weighted, frankly. She’d been privy to the pains of wind, even, on one harrowing occasion. Her muscles still ached from the memory alone.

“Do we have to?” Viola asked with a groan.

Madrigal shook her head. “Not if you don’t want to. We can just watch whoever does.”

“I can’t decide if this is an awful idea or a really fun idea,” Octavia whispered to Viola alone.

“I’m leaning towards the former,” Viola confessed under her breath.

“Okay, that means River’s fighting too, right?” Renato asked with a bit too much enthusiasm.

At the mention of his name, River flinched, waving his hands in a hurried gesture of decline. “I’m okay. I appreciate the invite. More than happy just to spectate.”

“Good answer,” Viola mumbled.

He laughed softly. “To be fair, I don’t really know how any of you fight. I doubt I’d be able to hold my own.”

Viola shrugged. “Well, you’re about to learn, apparently.”

“Alright, Josiah, come on, let’s go,” Renato demanded, already raising his fists in the boy’s direction.

“How did I know it was gonna be him first?” Viola muttered disdainfully.

Josiah scoffed. “I’m a lover, not a fighter. No chance.”

Renato frowned. “You’re just scared I’ll kick your ass.”

“You would kick my ass,” Josiah answered coolly, rolling his eyes. “Not afraid to admit that. We’ve all got our strengths. Yours is being physically strong. Mine is not being an idiot.”

“You’re no fun,” Renato groaned.

“If you’re going to fight somebody, make sure you’re unarmed,” Octavia called. “You specifically. You’re gonna get someone hurt.”

He grinned. “That was the plan. You wanna take me on, braids?”

“Doesn’t punching the Ambassador kind of defeat the point?” Josiah scolded.

Renato deflated somewhat. “Okay, fair.”

Octavia couldn’t help but laugh. There was a split second where she entertained the idea of saying “yes”--even if she was all but certain he’d pull his punches with her.

When the Strong Maestro raised his eyes to River again, Viola actually beat him to it.

“Hey, Riv--”

“No.”

“You didn’t even let me ask the man himself!”

River was, for the most part, already comfortable as a spectator, legs crossed in the grass and head tilted with earnest interest. Despite his earlier insistence as to becoming their audience, he at least gave another soft laugh over the idea.

“Maybe one day,” he comforted with a gentle smile.

Renato put his hands on his hips in mild frustration. “Are we sure I can’t get a free pass on the Ambassador for like, one match? I’ll be nice. All of you are ridiculous.”

“Fight me.”

The soft voice was in stark contrast to the confidence and weight behind two words. It was enough for even Renato to raise an eyebrow.

“What?”

Harper grinned. “You wanna fight so bad? Fight me, then. I’ll take you on.”

For a fraction of a second, Renato hesitated, flinching. “You can fight?”

Viola had to clap one hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. If only he knew.

Harper nodded, his gentle demeanor and bright eyes again betraying the gravity and brutality of his offer. “You know it.”

When Renato continued to hesitate, Octavia blinked. “I…I don’t know about this one, actually,” he muttered.

Harper smirked. “Worried I’m gonna kick your ass?”

Renato adopted his sassy smirk in turn. “Okay, nevermind, not conflicted anymore if you’re gonna start talkin’ like that.”

“No instruments,” Harper clarified. “Bare-handed. I’m not trying to burn anybody, and I don’t exactly want to get blasted to pieces today.”

Renato nodded with a grin, casting his eyes behind him. “Fine by me. You got my back, Mr. Field Medic?”

Josiah sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Is this what I am to you?”

“Alright, then,” Harper said confidently, stretching as he adjusted his cap and sleeves. “Don’t get upset when I beat you, okay?”

Renato, too, was emulating much of the same, albeit with slightly more exaggerated stretches. His own hat also didn't escape delicate adjustments. Octavia didn’t particularly understand why neither of them had the foresight to just take their hats off altogether. “You sound awfully sure of yourself for a guy who’s like, what, half my height?”

Harper winked at him. “Keep an open mind, alright?”

“Watch your leg,” Josiah scolded the Willful Maestro, pointing accordingly. “You sure you’re up for this?”

Harper gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. I feel pretty good today. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“Josiah, place your bets,” Renato called behind him once more.

The boy inhaled sharply--more than likely secondary to the aggravation of Renato’s infinite harassment. “Harper. No question.”

Renato’s grin slipped for a moment. “Wait, seriously? Why?”

“Because he’s not you. I’ll cheer for whoever can shut you up for ten seconds.”

His hostile words weren’t enough to shake Renato’s confidence in full. “Whatever. Don’t need your support, anyway. Tavi, what do you think?” he called.

Octavia winced. It wasn’t exactly an easy choice to make, especially relative to the levels of unique athleticism between the two Maestros. She didn’t get to answer on her own behalf, regardless.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harper said with pride, crossing his arms. “She’s already gonna cheer for me.”

Renato scoffed. “You didn’t even ask her.”

“Don’t need to,” he answered casually.

The grin he sported wasn’t for Renato, instead cast in Octavia’s direction. His eyes sparkled. She could, at the very least, offer him a smirk in return.

“Show-off,” she teased.

“Guilty as charged,” he returned, just as playful. “You better watch me.”

Renato grimaced. “Ugh, fine. Vi--”

“Harper.”

“You know what? I don’t even know why I bothered to ask,” he muttered.

The Maestro tossed his annoyed gaze at his humble, uninvolved audience. “River.”

“Context?” River whispered, raising his head in Octavia’s direction.

Octavia thought for a moment. “You…might want to go with Harper. You’ll see why.”

“Please don’t cheer him on. Please,” Viola pleaded with a groan, indicating Renato with a half-hearted gesture. “Don’t give him the satisfaction.”

“Hey, I see you whispering to this guy! Stop giving him ideas!” Renato scolded.

“I’ll cheer for both of you,” River answered at last, a mediating smile doing little to alleviate Renato’s growing ire. The boy groaned with great exaggeration, throwing his head back and his eyes towards the sky.

“That doesn’t count! You can’t do that!”

His eyes snapped to the one who'd started it all. “Maddie! You’ve got my back. I know you’ve got my back. Cheer for me, okay?”

Madrigal tilted her head, folding her hands together calmly in front of her dress. “You, uh…you can do it, Renato!”

His face fell. “Why the hell did you hesitate?”

Harper was absolutely aglow with pride. Renato rolled his eyes so hard that Octavia genuinely wondered if he might pass out from irritation alone. It was, admittedly, extremely humorous to witness.

“Do you people all know something I don’t?” he snapped broadly.

Octavia didn’t bother with a shrug, or any sort of body language that would speak to Harper’s yet-uncommunicated fighting skills. Viola, conversely, was already trying and failing to stifle her laughter, her shoulders shaking. “I should’ve brought snacks,” she snickered.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“Kick his ass, Harper!” Josiah called, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“Zip it!” Renato growled.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harper offered gently, already bracing himself as he slid into an offensive stance. “Ignore them and just focus on me. We’re only here to practice, no matter who wins. Let’s have fun, okay?”

Renato took a deep breath, finding both a grin and composure he’d lost not long ago. “Yeah. I’ll try not to mess you up too bad.”

Harper raised an eyebrow playfully. “Oh, now you’re gonna get sassy with me? And here I am trying to make you feel better. If I find out you’re holding back on me, I’m not gonna be too happy about it. Give me everything you’ve got. I can take it.”

“You know what?” Renato said, straightening up. With arms wide, he met Harper with a bit more confidence in his voice than was necessary. “Go ahead and take the first shot. I’ll give you one free hit.”

Harper cocked his head. “Are you sure about that?”

Renato nodded, never faltering. “Yup. Go on, try me.”

For once, though, it was Harper’s grin that was downright devilish. “Are you sure about that?” he repeated slowly.

His repetition, combined with the look on his face, was enough to make Renato blink exactly twice--presumably with confusion. Even shaken in the slightest, he still strained to keep his sassy smile. “I’m sure, I promise. You don’t have to--”

It wasn’t as though the distance between them had been particularly sizable in the first place, what with the proximity that they’d assumed was necessary for a bare-handed brawl. There was, at the very least, still a solid six or so feet to be closed in order to make any semblance of contact. Renato couldn’t manage a third confused blink in the time it took to find a fist buried deep into his stomach. Octavia, too, could hardly have done the same. She could’ve sworn Harper was getting faster every day.

The only thing that offset her initial amazement with his ever-improving speed was the look of absolute shock on Renato’s face as his eyes drifted downwards. He groaned in pain, recoiling somewhat from the force of the blow. Harper didn’t give him a chance to recover.

That wasn’t to say Renato didn’t try, staggering backwards in a futile attempt to evade Harper’s initial set of blows. Harper was, true to Renato’s words, shorter than him--even if the height difference wasn’t nearly as substantial as Renato’s jeering had implied. It was hardly a disadvantage, particularly given exactly how easy it was for the Willful boy to nail him in the same place over and over again. It didn’t take long for Harper to start preparing the same unforgiving kicks Octavia had seen used in far less friendly circumstances. Unhesitant and unrestrained, he relentlessly slammed the flat end of his shoes into Renato’s sides with such force that the boy was already on the defensive.

By the time the Strong Maestro had realized how severely he was being assaulted, outright gasping beneath the weight of every blow, he was at least ten seconds deep into abject shock. No amount of guarding was helping. Fleeing, at least momentarily, sufficed.

The tip of his shoe just barely missed catching Harper hard in the chin as he threw his full body weight backwards, casting himself desperately towards the ground and onto his awaiting hands. Once, twice, three times over he tumbled in reverse, an emergency effort to put the slightest semblance of distance between himself and his Willful assailant. Even in the midst of his acrobatic evasion, the look of utter confusion on his face all the while was making Viola choke at Octavia’s side. It was only when Renato found his shaky footing once more that his wide eyes struggled to adjust to the scene.

“Wait, are you friggin’ serious?” he cried. “I didn’t think you were…you know!”

Harper cracked his neck, his endless grin laced with dangerous confidence. “What, you thought I was bluffing about kicking your ass?”

The distance between them, again, meant nothing. Renato’s efforts to maintain it were completely in vain with each pounding footstep Harper unleashed against the grass below. The overly-satisfied smile on his lips contrasted sharply with the strained expression that stained Renato’s face as he gave chase, throwing every ounce of his strength into each crushing blow.

Harper was unflinching and unforgiving, striving to beat upon the same weakened places with punch after punch and kick after kick. There were, at least, the brief intermissions that came with Renato struggling to re-establish and preserve a fragile gap again and again--only to find his hopes dashed instantly. No amount of skillful tumbling and evasive inversions was doing anything to counter the Willful Maestro’s unbelievable speed.

The next time he tried, Harper let him. The gap Renato crafted with the saving grace that was his backwards momentum was a bit more than what he’d achieved with his last several attempts. Undoubtedly, he had Harper’s brief moment of respite to thank for that. Even with his arms raised defensively, braced low against the ground, Renato still didn’t move. His breath was steady, even, a testament to the perfect preservation of his stamina. He wasn’t fatigued in any capacity. Harper narrowed his eyes.

“You’re not fighting back,” he observed aloud, his voice just a bit less sharp than his gaze.

Renato’s face was still as strained as ever. “I, uh…you’re just…stronger than I expected.”

Harper raised an eyebrow. “Then at least try to hit me, okay? I can take it, I told you.”

Renato didn’t answer. Harper shrugged half-heartedly.

“Fine, then. If you won’t hit me, then I’ll hit you.”

Whatever peace had come with distance was, again, stolen. There was no way for Harper to physically back Renato into a corner, given the open terrain upon which they held their one-sided battle. That left him with the arduous--and, if his face was anything to go by, apparently frustrating--task of more or less chasing Renato in a circle. The singular advantage Renato did notably have over him was his effective evasions, and the Strong boy was nearly untouchable once out of range.

Even when Harper’s skillful speed brought him close enough to bash Renato in the ribs with one elbow, or to nail him in the side with a sharp kick, his opportunities to inflict quick and continuous blows of meaningful damage were always compromised. Again, the cherry oak that frantically scraped the grass carried with it in reverse the boy’s full being, flipping and tumbling his way to mere seconds of safety. He was lucky if he could move fast enough, sometimes, to bolt out of the way of Harper’s fists as they traced a dead-on path to bruising skin.

The moment to breathe breaths he didn’t particularly need came with yet more irritation on the part of Renato’s sparring partner.

“Seriously?” Harper growled. “Hit me!”

“I--”

“Hit me, Renato!” he demanded.

The same tactic was doing little to serve the boy suffering beneath Harper’s anger, not quite impaired so much by fatigue as by something Octavia couldn’t place on sight. It was practically non-existent, by which Renato had largely stopped his frantic tumbling evasions in favor of facing Harper head on. It didn’t do him any favors, and it didn’t assure retaliation all the same.

He at least made an earnest effort to block, fighting with everything he had to catch Harper’s aggravated uppercuts and resist what striking kicks he could. It almost served Renato well, his wincing a testament to whatever pain seeped through the cracks of Harper’s brutality. Octavia had seen Harper hit that hard before, albeit under far more serious circumstances. Even so, she'd never seen the look of absolute frustration on his face in the company of violence.

There came a point, apparently, where enough was enough. Without a single thrown punch or even an iota of aggressive intent towards the boy since the beginning of their tussle, Harper drew the line. Renato’s third confrontation came in the form of his undershirt collar yanked so tightly forward that Octavia feared he'd choke. The look in Harper’s eyes was piercing, sharp enough that it could cut the Maestro to shreds. Octavia had a feeling that she knew, vaguely, where this was going.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me why you won’t hit me,” Harper ordered through gritted teeth.

Inches from the Willful boy’s face, that in particular was a weapon Renato was powerless to escape. He was sweating, and not particularly from effort.

“I-I…” Renato stammered, hands aloft in uncomfortable defense.

“Now!” Harper growled.

Renato winced. “I can’t hit cute boys, man!”

The only person whose face filled to the utter brim with blood faster than Octavia was Harper. The latter saw to it that Renato, at least, found blood on his own as well.

The release of his grip also saw the fury of a right hook burrowing without mercy into Renato’s cheek, sending the boy absolutely reeling. He cried out in pain, the pressure of one cherry oak palm doing little to assuage the injury. So severe was the impact that the tiniest splotch of blood tainted the corner of his mouth--the first time in their consensual quarrel that red had replaced black and blue. If Renato looked mortified, then Harper looked humiliated. His raised fists were trembling, his narrowed eyes offset by the vivid scarlet absolutely coating his entire face.

“W-What the hell is wrong with you?” Harper cried, his voice wobbling with embarrassment.

“You’re the one that asked!” Renato answered frantically. It earned him the exact same physical response, his other cheek blighted by Harper’s opposite fist just as brutally.

“You were perfectly fine with fighting Josiah!” Harper whined.

Renato squeezed his eyes shut. “I know what I said!”

From the sidelines, Renato’s confession had been semi-muted by the chaos. Still, there were some ears it hadn’t escaped. Just as Octavia had overheard, so, too, had the apparent “field medic” in question. He scowled.

Josiah cupped his hands around his mouth again. “Kill him!”

If the look on Harper’s face was anything to go by, he might've been planning on it. It took effort for him to reach both of Renato’s shoulders in tandem, but his successful attempt was enough to lead one knee harshly into Renato’s stomach. The force of the blow left the Strong boy doubled over in pain, coughing as he wrapped his arms futilely around the damage zone.

“Hit me, damn it! Quit screwing around and fight me like a man!” Harper snapped, his blush still more than evident. “If you want to fight so bad, the least you can do is show me you mean it!”

“Oh my God, fine!” Renato cried, eyes still shut tight.

With one sloppy, hesitant motion, he swung his palm blindly in the direction of Harper’s voice--not so much as bothering to witness his own attempted attack. It didn’t especially matter. It landed, Harper’s grunt of pain serving as a catalyst to summon the boy’s full attention. On closer inspection, he’d struck the Willful Maestro hard with the sting of cool cherry oak across the face in full. It left his neck sharply twisted and his already-red cheek ever redder.

Renato winced. “Oh God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry--”

Harper’s satisfied grin had returned with a vengeance. “There you go.”

The next time Harper swung at him, seeking to claim another shot to Renato’s aching face, the boy finally managed to put his momentum to usage yet again. For once, the distance he established in three short tumbles, flinging his body against the earth with impressive propulsion, was far from purely evasive. If nothing else, Harper seemed to recognize that enough to pause, eyeing Renato's every movement cautiously. He cocked his head with a smirk.

“Give me everything you’ve got. Let me kick your ass the right way,” he teased.

Renato closed his eyes for a moment, sliding one foot slightly behind him as he braced again. When he channeled his most fearsome athletic ability once more, it was no longer in reverse, and it was no longer away from Harper. Down. Sideways. Forwards. Upwards. Again. Again. Again.

It occurred to Octavia, at that moment, that there was no true way Renato could adjust his prosthetics to accommodate acrobatics and offensive fists simultaneously. The workaround to that, he’d apparently decided, came in the form of utilizing his lower body strength instead. He was almost taking cues from Harper, given how he threw everything he had into kicking rather than punching.

The notable difference, then, was the crushing angle that left him threatening to nail Harper's head from above. So skillful was Renato’s midair control of his own body that the force of his downward momentum, in turn, was almost perfectly pooled where it needed to be. Octavia’s eyes widened somewhat. For all the damage Harper had done to Renato so far, this was an excellent way for Harper to end up with a concussion.

It was almost at the last possible second that Harper realized Renato’s intent, practically rolling against the ground as he threw his shoulders hard against the grass. His dodge left Renato’s heel careening into the soft earth instead, a notable thud audible even from afar resting in its wake. Some part of Octavia was glad he missed. It didn’t necessarily mean that he let up in any capacity.

Even with the slightest hint of a strained expression still splashed across his face, Renato was at least trying, matching Harper’s speed with his precious physical prowess. He didn’t dare adjust for anything besides maintaining his agility. Again, he forewent the capacity to punch in favor of dodging the boy’s blows in the most spectacular way possible.

Harper didn’t miss every time, and neither did Renato. They traded shots in earnest, striking at every conceivable part of one another without restraint. In Harper’s case, his movement was fluid and fast, if not restricted to the earth alone. For Renato, limited mostly to fierce kicks abetted by channeled momentum, the freedom to soar over Harper’s head and the speed of his own movements more than made up for his restricted attack options. They were, at least, keeping up with one another.

Neither of them were explicitly made of stamina. Still, of all the Maestros Octavia knew, she couldn't think of a better pair who could fight for an impressive while. A war of attrition would be fruitless, if not something she knew both of them specifically would have a strong distaste for. That left the urge for a swift and decisive victory surely itching beneath their skin, their eyes focused and aflame in equal measure. Granted, one of them seemed to be having far more fun than the other, and it was not at all the person she expected. Today, apparently, was the day she learned of Harper’s sadistic side.

Renato was strong, and more than capable of withstanding heavy blows again and again to a reasonable degree. Even so, the most difficult part about chronic tumbling was mitigating the split second of vulnerability that came with falling still--even briefly. It was an opportunity that Harper pounced on when the Strong Maestro least expected it, nearly throwing himself to the ground as he swept one foot clean along the length of the grass.

With it came two instances of cherry oak that had precariously, albeit with confidence, supported Renato’s entire body weight seconds prior. He yelped in surprise, hitting the ground hard as he lost his balance in full. His face nearly collided with the dirt. It was only his quick reflexes that spared him from the downward thrust of Harper’s fist straight into the back of his skull.

Renato tried to emulate the same movement unsuccessfully, his own attempts at outright kicking Harper’s feet out from under him useless. Instead, it took great effort to balance mitigating his extreme vulnerability and an attempt to summon momentum while nearly flat on his back. His efforts paid off, and he somehow managed to launch himself to his feet once more. It hardly did him any good.

Harper was waiting for him patiently with the force of a strike that would probably leave him tasting blood for hours. It was enough for him to stagger, and Harper again caught him around his ankles with one successful sweeping motion. Again, too, his balance was gone--this time, accompanied by what Octavia suspected might actually be the makings of a concussion.

Harper didn’t let him down easily. It was the second time the Willful boy had seized him by the collar of his undershirt, twisting the material sharply as Renato stumbled. A swift movement of Harper’s hands that Octavia couldn’t quite catch saw his fingers dart beyond the confines of Renato’s inner vest. More of interest was the way Harper locked the concept of a concussion in place, taking a cue from Domino long before him as he violently crashed his forehead into Renato’s.

The latter cried out, disoriented as Harper’s grip suddenly relaxed once again. It left him collapsing, and Harper still wasn't done. Given his endless grin, Octavia sincerely couldn’t tell if he was overly devoted to a knock-out victory or--as suspected--just outright sadistic by now. The third option came in the form of him showing off. That, too, was an equal possibility, and Octavia was leaning towards it more with each passing second.

Harper twisted his body in full, smashing one foot hard against Renato’s cheek as he fell. It was enough to jerk the injured boy’s body sharply sideways, sending him tumbling and rolling through the unhelpfully-soft grass with ever more grunts of pain. He came to a stop again flat on his back, groaning in great discomfort as he struggled to open his eyes. The shoe that came down sharply onto his bruising ribs helped, somewhat. It didn’t leave.

Ever so delicately, two parallel tips of cherry oak captured the edge of Renato’s chin. They tilted upwards, bringing every injury on his aching face along with it. Still pinning the boy with one foot to his chest, Harper rested an arm on his knee as he leaned in close to Renato. He beamed.

“I win,” he said happily, switching to a soft smile that far betrayed his brutality yet again.

Renato’s half-lidded eyes flickered to Mistral Asunder in Harper’s hands, then back up to the boy’s deceivingly-gentle gaze. He repeated the process once more with the tiniest hint of a blush.

“I’m in love,” he mumbled.

Harper got in one more blow in the form of five fingers straight across Renato’s cheek. He groaned in ever more pain, his suffering ceaseless. With a grimace and another round against the deep scarlet that plagued his cheeks, Harper flung either half of Mistral Asunder hard against Renato’s face. The sticks clacked together pitifully as they rolled off and into the grass.

“Okay, oww,” Renato muttered.

Octavia did her best to assuage his embarrassment, let alone compliment his success. “That was amazing, Harper.”

He was practically stomping against the grass with irritation as he rubbed his temples. Regardless, he found the energy to smile for her through his blush. “That was a hot mess.”

“I didn’t know you could fight like that,” Josiah offered with a grin of his own.

Harper shrugged, his best attempts to hide his pride somewhat futile. “Had to learn. Didn’t have much of a choice.”

“You did great!” Madrigal cried with glee, hands raised high towards the sky.

Viola smirked. “You don’t care that he left Renato like that?”

She only beamed. “He’ll be okay. He’s really strong in lots of different ways.”

“Strong” as he was, Octavia still gave him the benefit of the doubt. She didn’t bother to kneel in the grass beside him as he lie sprawled out on the ground in exhaustion. Even so, she lowered one gentle hand downwards on his behalf. It took him another five solid seconds of indulging in his aches and pains to realize the opportunity was there. He obliged.

“You have things wrong with you,” she scolded half-heartedly, pulling him to his feet with great effort. “Like, seriously wrong with you.”

Renato winced. “Not my fault.”

Octavia raised an eyebrow playfully. “I know you can do better than that. I’m not saying he’s weak by any means, but that wasn’t you at your best at all. What happened?”

Renato sighed, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. He averted his eyes, a tint of a blush surely stolen from Harper’s own painting his face. “Remember when I said there’s only a few things hotter than a woman who can kick my ass?”

“You’re married,” Octavia deadpanned.

“I can still appreciate.”

“Okay, who wants to go next?” Madrigal asked, utterly immune to Renato’s physical suffering--or emotional.

“Are you going to fight with anyone else, Harper?” River inquired with a smile, somewhat more engrossed than Octavia had expected.

Harper returned his smile. “If you want to fight, I’ll fight with you. Otherwise, I might take a break for a while.”

River shook his head. “I’m still happy just to spectate. That was really fun to watch, though.”

“I mean, Madrigal, you organized this whole thing. Why don’t you fight?” Josiah tried, his arms crossed comfortably.

Madrigal clasped her hands together behind her back. “Nah, the event coordinator isn’t supposed to participate. I like watching, too.”

He scoffed. “Maybe two guys killing each other is the furthest we’re gonna get, then.”

“I have an idea.”

And it was Viola, of all people present, who fixed Octavia with a smirk just barely caught in the Heartful Maestra’s peripheral vision. Octavia only tilted her head. A spectator as the Ambassador was, she found her name hurtled onto the battlefield anyway.

“Fight me, Octavia.”