"Hey, kiddo," Rheon greeted warmly, his presence filling the room with a reassuring energy “Are you all right?” Rheon’s voice broke the silence, startling Towan. He hadn’t expected the professor to come check on him.
“Yes… Professor,” Towan replied, his voice hesitant. He glanced at Rheon’s arm, wrapped in a makeshift sling. “Is your… arm okay?”
Rheon raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the injury with a wry smile. “Does this look ‘okay’ to you?” He chuckled softly, the sound warm despite the pain he must have been feeling. “But don’t worry. No hard feelings.”
Towan exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing. For a moment, he’d been certain Rheon would be furious. After all, it was supposed to be a light spar—nothing more. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, guilt creeping into his voice.
“No need to apologize,” Rheon said, his tone firm but kind. “If anything, I’m impressed. You used my own technique against me. That’s not an easy feat.”
Towan blinked, surprised by the praise. Before he could respond, Rheon continued, his gaze sharpening. “I suppose your brother already gave you the vial. I can sense my Essentia within you.”
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Towan’s eyes widened. “What does it do?” he asked, curiosity overtaking his hesitation.
Rheon leaned back, his expression thoughtful. “Aside from being a professor, I’m also a scholar. I’ve been developing a medicine to repair destroyed channels. While yours weren’t completely ruined, the vial will accelerate the healing process. It’s infused with my Essentia, and as it’s absorbed, it will strengthen your pathways.”
Towan stared at him, stunned. A legendary fighter and a scholar? And why would someone like Rheon give such a valuable gift to him? “Why… why did you give it to me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Rheon’s lips curved into a faint smile. “You earned it,” he said simply. “Your dedication in training, your focus in the fight—it’s rare to see someone so determined. And,” he added, his tone shifting slightly, “only one other person has ever outsmarted me like that.”
Towan’s curiosity piqued. “Really? Who?”
Rheon’s smirk returned, a glint of nostalgia in his eyes. “Your master,” he said, the words carrying the weight of memory. “I’m certain of it. Your kicks, your punches—they’re his techniques. I’d recognize them anywhere.”
Towan’s breath caught. So that was why Rheon’s movements had felt so familiar. He’d trained to counter them. “You… you knew him?”
Rheon nodded, his gaze distant. “We trained together. Fought side by side. A long time ago.” He paused, then added, “He was a good man. And if he chose you as his student, then you must be something special.”
Towan looked down, a mix of pride and sorrow swelling in his chest. Rheon’s words lingered in the air, a bridge between the past and the present, connecting him to a legacy he was only beginning to understand.