A few more weeks had passed. As Norman was headed towards the station back from the agricultural dome, a warning flashed in the corner of his vision. Keeping his walk steady, he closed his eyes and expanded his awareness. Sure enough, with his essence-sight could see two individuals following him. They were keeping their distance, and approaching cautiously in the shadows.

He turned towards an alley. He didn't have anything to defend himself with. The academy was an establishment of exceptional safety and security. With meticulously designed structures and state-of-the-art systems, every measure was taken to ensure the well-being of its occupants. But a quick investigation through his tablet revealed that the cameras in this area were all malfunctioning at this time. This was planned. They were deliberately targeting Norman.

His assailants emerged from the shadows. They were both swathed in black from head to toe, leaving only their piercing eyes visible.

One of the black clad individuals pulled out something - an electric baton. Weapons were not allowed in the campus, but in an organization filled with highly motivated smart students, people always found ways to reverse engineer the most mundane things and creatively recombine them for interesting applications.

"We want you to withdraw from the tournament." Said the first one, a youth of lithe and agile build, attempting badly to mask his voice. If Norman had paid any attention to the people around him, he might have been able to identify the guy with his high-pitched voice alone.

"We have worked hard for this opportunity. Our careers depend on it. We won't have a chance in the Protectorate without a glowing track-record in physical." The other one continued. He looked more well-built and weighed at least twice as much as Norman. Not great odds.

"You are not even planning to join the Protectorate. We looked into your ongoing project with ZF."

Norman agreed. "It's alright. We didn't have to meet like this. We could have discussed this like gentlemen."

In the corner of his vision, he saw faint red outlines against arbitrary objects. A pot of plants at the corner of side walk. A glass panel showing advertisements. A litter bin.

"I will withdraw," he conceded.

"You will?" The two were visibly taken aback by that.

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Norman relaxed. Maybe there was a way to get this resolved without complicating matters. "I see where you are coming from. I just found that I was good at it. I will withdraw my membership."

"You can't take his word for it." The burly guy nudged his companion. "Do you really believe this guy? That he just found out one day that he was good at it. The kind of finesse he demonstrated takes dedicated practice and serious effort. We have all seen how much he used to flounder around. He is just saying it to get away from us. We won't get this chance again."

They activated his baton. The surrounding air crackled with energy, and sparks danced merrily at the end of the device. And there went Norman's all hope of ending matters peacefully.

"Yeah, we need to make sure that he cannot participate." The other decided.

Norman picked up the flower pot. His opponents just laughed. "What are you going to do with that, Norman? Hit us with flowers?"

As the short one tried to strike his foot, Norman pivoted - following the motions his companion suggested. He feinted, trying to throw the pot towards one of the assailants, but at the last moment his trajectory shifted. Following the red streak in his vision, he smashed the pot in the ground and changed his direction.

Shifting, he pulled up a shard of the pot and tore through the fabric on the back of one of his assailants.

"What the hell?" They were both surprised by that. Apparently, neither had expected an actual fight.

The second one came at him again, his charged baton raised.

Swiftly dodging him, Norman once again tore through a section of his shoulder, this time drawing blood.

As he let out a surprised cry, Norman swiftly slammed his fist into a specific point under his diaphragm that was highlighted by a glowing yellow spot in his vision, and the assailant collapsed into a heap. His hood fell off.

"Eithan, right?" Norman recognized the face.

He turned to face the other one. "I give you one last chance. Leave me in peace, and I will not register a complaint with the authorities."

The shorter one didn't need to be told twice. He just dropped his retrofitted baton and ran off.

Norman checked Eithan's pulse and made sure he was alive. His companion showed him a red outline of the injured parts of his attacker. The damage was minor. He would come to his senses in an hour or so.

Norman walked away, leaving him passed out on the street.

"Strength respects strength" a thought was projected into his mind. Norman realized that this was the first time he had actually heard his companion speak. It was not real speech, though, but just words directly thrown into his mind.

He also realized that this phrase was familiar to him. The motto of the Abyssal Khanate - one of the Yaskh guilds that had been a thorn on the side of the Protectorate for many years during its early expansions. "Seketh Rah'el Rah'el" was one of the engravings he had seen in a museum long ago. Below it had been the words, "Sal n'etef Rah'el, Ferek etef Rah'el, Surek etef Rah'el" which loosely translated to: "Strength doesn't just destroy. It protects. It elevates."

As he contemplated those words, a feeling of acclamation was projected into his psyche. It had at least been ten years since Norman had seen that engraving. But he now remembered it letter by letter as if he had just seen it.

What he didn't know at the time, was that even though all the surveillance cameras installed on the street by the academy had been vandalized, there was another one that remained operational. Hidden in the shadows, a camera mounted at the edge of a balcony in one of the nearby buildings, owned by a private individual, recorded this fight.