As arranged, a screened enclosure was quartered for Vin. It was noisy since the room was tied to the recreation facility and disconnected from sunlight.

A mid-sized cubed room with naught by a wooden dummy that Vin could repeatedly strike. A few storage items were tossed around the border of the space, sports equipment, nets, and weights, but it was sufficiently preserved.

Because it lacked a spinning ball of hot plasma, Vin was subjected to that pleasant, frozen tundra hospital temperature. There wasn't a moment in that building when his skin didn't bubble and crawl. Such a familiar sensation, obsessional even, because it pursued him even as he slept for years.

At the very least, Vin hoped he wouldn't be introduced to the cold often while attending Seasons University. The only consolation was that Soap was true to his word and instructed his new nuisance in the way of the sword. Upgrading him from a flimsy branch to a bamboo stick.

It began with rudimentary form, how to strike, block, and everything someone could learn in a YouTube tutorial. Even while wearing three layers of long-sleeved shirts, Vin could effortlessly accomplish each given task.

Before long, Vin grew tired of his regime and revolted. "Soap," Vin had grumbled. "Enough fundamentals. Teach me. To fight."

The mentor's lips tightened like a duck's bill, and they awed. "That's a pretty big word for you," they applauded.

"Learned it. In class. Now fight me." Vin was insistent on fulfilling a particular benchmark. He wasn't sure if his desire to duel was his own or an imprint left by his late companion. He believed that if he were to plunge toward becoming a 'knight,' he would understand his insatiable interest.

Besides, since he didn't have any means to practice skating, he had all the time to pursue his new hobby while finding a way into his dream university.

"Com'on," nudged Vin, turning his weapon from the training dummy to the sucker that gave him the blunt instrument.

"That's not necessary, is it?" Protested Soap, taking uneasy steps away. "Let's just stick to the plan; I'll even instruct you on some killer techniques!"

Both of Vin's hands gripped his weapon, and he held it outright several inches away from his torso. "Defend yourself," he said, prowling along.

"I'm done with all of that! Now I'm just a simple rehabilitation coach. I don't even know if I can adequately fight you anymore."

Vin grimaced, locked with the man, then callously objected, "Liar. You never forget, your first love."

Soap ceased and returned Vin's death stare with perplexity. His open face seemed to have retained something crucial, and he compromised. "Alright," he said.

The man's limbs relaxed, his mug defaulted, and he walked with a deliberate stride. He collected a worn wooden sword from a pile of miscellaneous articles, then met Vin. Center of the room, face-to-face, with an equally as intimidating profile.

"I'll fight you," he said. His weighty, seasoned aura incited a revived sensation within Vin. It was respect, but through fear. He respected his father, but Gavin had earned it due to his skill. Soap, however, was a blank slate. Vin could only imagine what kind of athlete he was to cast such conviction.

"I want to see it. The kind of people who specialize in martial art. Macy was impressive, so a pro must be on a different level."

Vin withdrew a step, tapped the three layers of clothing he wore, then whispered, "Miyo." The black, flaming phoenix crawled from the shirt's center and then stuck its head from the collar. Since it was irregular, the summon hardly ever returned to its sphere. Its most recent role was to rest inside Vin's garments and act as a personal heater.

"Why are you calling your support?" questioned Soap.

"I saw it, on TV. Real duels, use SFX," justified Vin. Soap went on to clarify a fact unknown to him. SFX skating and MMA used different nanospheres, and summons was especially forbidden in duels.

While the spectacle attracted interest and engagement, the industry wanted to ensure a person's skill was still prevalent. Because of this, SFX was limited to weapon augmentation.

Informed, Vin communicated to Miyo, who climbed down to his forearm. "So. Just simple. Enhancements," he restated.

A sudden flare of void flames combusted around the bird, and its body contorted. Miyo's wings outstretched and dematerialized into shapeless fire.

Unrecognizable, the summon transformed into a malleable congregation of black flames. That mass was reshaped into a wide, winged armband that rested below Vin's elbow.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"It changes shape?" Observed Soap, who unconcernedly broadened his stance and prepared his sword.

"I don't know how or when I figured out Miyo could do this. Somehow I just knew."

The black band erupted; flames fanned down Vin's right arm and encompassed the wooden sword he wielded like a fire screen.

Soap's left brow raised in apprehension, and he stammered, "H-huh?"

The main facility where men and women fraternized was only a few yards over. At the time, a regular fitness group enjoyed the jazzy music in the cooled building while they exercised.

"Eleven more!" Exclaimed a woman on her knees, hunched over and pressing down on her partner's feet as they performed sit-ups.

Their associate executed two more reps, then squeezed out a third before their oily face halted upright. "It's getting pretty warm, isn't it?" They said.

"Yea, you're doing the sit-ups, yet I'm sweating too." Both individuals resigned it as a simple malfunction of the facility cooling unit and continued their training.

It was only one more rep later that their and every other guest of the vicinity's ears were drilled by a man's horrendous scream.

Heads snapped toward the single shut door at the building's flank.

Muffled shouting battered the entrance and slipped through for all else to hear. "Hot! Vin, Sto- AH, that hurts!"

"Is that Soap?" Assumed one of the startled guests.

The commotion continued for at least a minute before the door slowly opened. Soap, a disgruntled employee stepped out and forced a chuckle. "S-sorry for all the noise," he said, soon after promptly returning and closing the door.

Inside, Vin was seen sitting on the floorboards, two layers shyer than before the match. The long sleeve shirt became a nuisance, damp and furling uncomfortably. Regions of scarred skin were exposed, so he pulled the fabric, hoping it'd stretch.

Soap stroked his own short hair in astonishment after the thrashing Vin rolled out. He eyed him and Miyo, who had returned to their original form, and sighed intensely. "Are skate summons supposed to be this unchained? That was way too hot."

Vin overlooked his comment, mindlessly and desperately yanking at his sleeves. He peered wistfully at his imperfect wrist and recollected how busted he'd been. More so, everything that happened because of his accident seven years ago all came rushing back.

"I always knew something was strange. No one just ups and walks away from a fall like that. Always cold, our constant losses in that world."

"I knew you were meant for more than just being a sacrificial shield. That we were strong together."

"If I'd just gone to a school like a regular kid, non of that would have happened. We wouldn't be orphaned, and Macy wouldn't look so depressed."

A benevolent palm anchored on Vin's shoulder, and he heard Soap's calm voice. "That's an unusual expression for you. You normally like more like-"

The man pinched the edges of his eyebrows and tugged them upward to mimic Vin's habitual grimace. Soap found it clever, but only he giggled. He smiled, sat directly in front of Vin, then pulled up his shirt sleeves. "Hey, what do you think about my ink?" He asked.

Inactive and null, Vin remained inside his head, filtering out the man's words and yanking on his too-short clothes.

"That settles it!" Soap yelled. He rocketed to his feet, yanked Vin from the ground, then illuminated. "We're going on a field trip!"

<>

Some papers were signed, and before Vin knew it, he was in a mini-compact, electric car cruising through the city ten miles under the speed limit.

One thing led to another, and he was sitting in the chair of a tattoo parlor with Soap jokingly asking him if they should hold hands.

"Since you're in a mood, I'll select the first two," declared the responsible adult. Soap chose, then relayed the first design the artist would etch onto Vin's skin. "Your surgeon was very cut-happy, so we have a lot of ground to cover."

"We'll start with your arms so you can wear comfortable clothing while active. You'll have a heat stroke otherwise."

Something was flipped, and a sharp buzzing commenced. An iconic noise that many humans would be able to identify on sound alone

It declined, then the throbbing, governed needle touched down on his skin.

Vin de-stressed on the seat, gazing idly at the hanging white light while being intentionally stabbed. It didn't hurt. Instead, he thought the experience was liberating.

For however long, Vin had no responsibility nor needed to think about what to do. He was booked until the professional was finished.

On day one, race stripes were printed on his wrist. Straightforward, meaningful, great. It took all of ten minutes to complete.

There were plans to do more; however, Vin came to and began directing his own canvas. Ideas had bombarded his mind when he dozed off, and the tattoo artist sketched each as he spoke.

A vision was established, but it took time to realize. One step, and day at a time.

Like a rotisserie chicken, he'd spun on every possible angle on the seat. He laid on his rear for most of his chest and body, and leg markings, rotated to his side for the lower arm and rib cage inking's, and rested on his belly to have his back designed.

It took a month for the finished product to be complete, for Vin to finally feel comfortable bearing his naked skin to the generous sun.

That day was full of fortune because more than his undressed body was disclosed to the world. News of Seasons University's enrolment had dropped. While previously elusive about their intentions to accept more students, they announced they'd be recruiting for the second semester, Spring.

After falling to the very depths of the barrel, he was ready to reinitiate his climb to the top.