I dance. I flit like a butterfly from one metal pole to another, but instead of wings, I possess swords. The rhythm of "Bohemian Rhapsody" echoes in my head. It assists, smoothing my movements, making them more fluid, natural, and complete. There's no need to wait idly. Why squander time when one could train?

Besides, my intuition informs me that these two will arrive early. Let them observe. It doesn't bother me. In fact, it might even be beneficial. Later, undoubtedly without my presence, they'll attempt to replicate it. As our producer once declared: "I wish you the best of luck in this endeavor."

In the hands of a skilled individual, difficult, even seemingly impossible tasks often appear simple, giving the illusion of effortless replication. But when one tries, it becomes evident that it's not, regardless of their efforts. Either one thing goes wrong or another, sometimes it's even unclear how to accomplish it. For instance, my dance on the bars is one such example: appearing effortless but incredibly challenging to replicate without prior mastery of the wave exercises. So, let them try - perhaps they'll arrive at the right conclusions.

I intensify the exercise, and now my sword movements cease to resemble smooth strokes. Instead, my attacks are quick, precise, and menacing. I tread forward on the rod tips, practicing strikes, then revert to defensive maneuvers. It's an interesting practice as walking backward is only feasible if one can remember the precise location of each rod behind. Otherwise, a stumble is inevitable, disrupting the smooth dance and leading to failure.

Such movements demand intense concentration and utter focus on the process. However, I could not miss the arrival of my new acquaintances.

They approached and paused ten meters away, observing. Dobrynya slightly ahead, Baenre a bit behind, positioned so they can whisper to each other, safe from my hearing. Let them watch - that's the purpose of this demonstration. Concurrently, it serves as a minor test for the padawans. How will they react? Will they stand still, attempt to greet, or seek to attract attention in some other way? So far, their conduct pleases me: they don't disrupt my training or even converse among themselves. They're polite. Unsurprising, given that in this world, politeness is instilled into the youth with praiseworthy persistence. Nonetheless, it's a promising sign.

After concluding my exercise set with a striking leap, I touched down on the concrete arena floor, sheathed my blades, and turned to face the boys. Both reacted identically and nearly in sync, bowing with great respect.

"Good morning, Maestro," Dobrynya greeted, with Baenre echoing his words.

"Dobrynya, Baenre," I acknowledged the youths with a slight nod. "Are you ready?"

"Uh..." The thin one hesitated.

However, his companion was quick to back him up.

"Absolutely! We're both ready!"

They don't inquire about what they should be prepared for. Good for them. Or have they been influenced by movies featuring Eastern sensei? Regardless, it suits me fine, even if it's the latter, since that's the style I plan to use with this pair. The Western methods, focusing on developing techniques and physical conditions, are unfit here due to the time constraints. The only way I can assist them is by slightly tweaking their perception of the Break, and the Eastern approach is more suitable for this.

"Lift your heads." They exchanged puzzled glances, but complied with my command. "The unfinished roof - the inner part that curves inward. Yes, where it's still made of rebars and beams. Do you understand what I mean?" They nod, which is promising, but it remains to be seen whether they've understood correctly. "When I count to one, you'll start here, ascend, run a full circuit along the roof edge, then return to your starting position. And yes, it's a timed test. Ready?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Well then... ONE."

They remain still, unresponsive. Were they really anticipating a "three, two, one"? How naive. I begin to chuckle, and then it dawns on Baenre, and he's the first to dash off, followed closely by Dobrynya.

As soon as the first of them commenced moving, I discreetly activated the stopwatch function on my wristwatch via my sleeve. My perception is undoubtedly good, but precise figures are even better.

They appear so pathetic that it's almost heartbreaking. They're utterly ignorant of the Break's capabilities. Why would they ascend the stairs when they both can effortlessly jump five meters up or perhaps even higher? However, that's alright; they've climbed onto the roof, albeit avoiding the technical paths, but can this be considered running? They walk, meticulously stepping over the beams. At every empty span, they hesitate and maneuver around it. The mental blocks they possess appear far more potent than I initially assumed. This won't do.

Dobrynya completed his first lap in ten minutes and forty seconds, and Baenre took twelve minutes and three seconds. It's a complete disaster! If it were me... But, that's irrelevant. And they appear so pleased with themselves. They glance at me, likely even smiling behind the visors of their helmets.

I could lecture them about their errors. I could berate them. I could ridicule them. I could encourage them. There are various possible approaches, but none of these would be as effective as I need them to be. So, I'll opt for a simpler method.

Raising my hand, I point out a feature of the environment.

"Do you see the crane hook hanging about four meters above the ground behind you?"

"Yes," Dobrynya replies on behalf of them both.

"New task. Jump onto that hook. You may take a running start. Go!"

This time, the Slav responds quicker: three broad strides and he's soaring across the arena, catching the hook with his right hand, pulling himself up, then with a loud "Woohoo!", he leaps back down.

As soon as he returns, Baenre repeats the process. Indeed, there's a great deal of work ahead, but where will I find the time?

"Did I ever mention anything about returning from the hook in the task I assigned you?" My tone is frigid, like an avalanche cascading from a glacier.

"Uh... no," Dobrynya stammers, puzzled by my query.

"But it was implied," his friend interjects in defense.

"By whom?" I counter.

"But..." Baenre fumbles for words.

"Drop the excuses. That's the first mistake. Once these mistakes exceed a certain threshold, you won't see me again."

"And what's this critical threshold?" Dobrynya asks, while his more astute partner stays silent.

Ignoring his question, I point upwards and command:

"Roof. Circle. Again. One."

The approach I've chosen may be controversial in many aspects, but it's bearing fruit. See how promptly the boys sprinted forward when I said, "One." They didn't hesitate, like they did a few minutes ago; they instantly began to run. If such a response to my commands becomes their norm, perhaps that alone will be enough to survive their first Breakthrough. I need to figure out a way to engrave this conditioned reflex deeply within their subconscious. However, everything still hinges on the available time. Besides, I must monitor their prana: they're at the first level and don't have a fragment of a second soul like me, so their energy reserves are extremely limited. An hour of training a day, no more. I must allow the boys time to travel home.

The improvised lesson with the crane hook wasn't for nothing. They caught on quickly, no longer dawdling along the familiar route, and utilizing leaps to reach the roof faster.

They are learning, sometimes from each other, which has certain benefits. True, there's a risk that without their partner nearby, they might feel insecure, but this detail can be rectified.

Both completed the second round almost concurrently as they assisted each other in challenging areas. Should I reprimand them for this or not? No, I can't. There were no restrictions on the task, meaning they have the right to do so. As they descended from the roof, I covertly glanced at my stopwatch. Six minutes and twenty-three seconds. That's significant progress compared to their first attempt, but still exceedingly slow if viewed without context.

"That was poor," I greet them without any words of praise. "One."

It's unfortunate that in the Break, there's no sense of physical exhaustion, only mental fatigue. Otherwise, in the typical style of basic military training, I could push them to the brink of collapse. However, such a method isn't applicable in this situation.

Am I making a mistake by having them run a third lap? Judging by their pace, if they do manage to improve on their second attempt's time, it will be solely because they've grown accustomed to this route. Yes, that was my mistake. I've wasted five minutes. Not entirely wasted, of course, as they've already jumped down, and by their appearances, they're prepared for any command.

"That's better," I admit, understanding that negative reinforcement needs to be balanced occasionally with positive feedback. "But it's still not good. Follow me."

I approach a concrete block that's about a meter off the ground and halt. Who should I choose first? I examine the young raigs.

"Baenre, jump onto the block. Turn your back to us." He hesitates, but after a glance at his partner, he complies. "Stand up straight. No. Keep still. That's it. Now, maintaining your stance, fall backward. What was that? Again! Get up and hold your stance. Don't put your hands out or turn around when falling. Fall backward while keeping your stance. Do it! Why did you land on your feet? Are you scared?"

"It feels strange, Master," Baenre defends himself.

Indeed, it's a psychologically challenging task. The mind understands that falling in the Break is entirely safe, but instincts scream in terror. As soon as you start to fall, reflexes kick in.

"Repeat!"

Again, he fails. Why is he so stubborn?

"Baenre, stop trying. Dobrynya, your turn."

There's something about his enthusiasm and readiness to execute any command that I find appealing. Despite his many flaws - naivety, trustfulness, impulsiveness - I like this guy. People like him often find life giving them a rather harsh reality check.

The young Vyatich quickly jumps onto the block, turns around, and freezes.

"Keep your back straight and press the axe to your chest," I advise him. "Fall. No, don't fall on your butt!"

He nearly succeeds, but 'nearly' doesn't count as a successful attempt. At the last moment, right before the fall, his body arches and he lands on his butt.

Before I can comment on what happened, Dobrynya jumps to his feet and exclaims, "Again!"

"Do it," I reply. I could have taken this opportunity to remind him that nobody permitted him to speak, but it's not the right time for that.

He jumps onto the block, pauses, inhales deeply, and falls. He descends like a staunch tin soldier, maintaining a stiff, rigid posture.

He did it! On his second try! It took me five attempts to force myself to do it.

He rises to his feet, and I can see the guy is literally beaming.

"Explain to Baenre," I direct him. I could do it myself, but it's more impactful coming from the lips of a comrade.

"It's simple!" Rushing over to his partner, Dobrynya chatters in his usual manner. "Don't be afraid. It's not scary. It's... It's really simple. You need... Need..." He searches for words but fails to find suitable ones.

This seems like a good time to step in.

"You have to trust the Break," I come to his aid. "You might not understand it intellectually. But you can feel it. The capabilities the Break grants you allow many actions that would typically be unthinkable in the physical world. By not believing in yourself and your power, you risk starting to doubt, hesitate, and eventually meet your demise." I look straight into the gap of Baenre's visor. "Do you know that this fall is safe?"

"Yes, Master, I know."

"Repeat!.. Once again... Again..." Dobrynya is visibly pained by his comrade's failures, ready to intervene and help somehow, but I stop him with a gesture. "Baenre must do it himself." He understands; he's indeed good. "Again!.. Yes!"

Eventually, he succeeds, performing the exercise correctly just as I was beginning to question my approach.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master."

"Excellent. Let's make the task more complex: climb onto the roof, stand still, and fall head-first. You can land on your outstretched arms."

Even Dobrynya looks scared, and Baenre probably turned green behind his visor, though I can only guess.

"Do it!"

They fail on their first attempt. I don't blame them; it's terrifying to fall from such a height... Head-first... Their minds shut down, their instincts scream, and their will vanishes. I call them both over to me.

"It's a leap of faith," I explain. I can see Baenre is familiar with the concept. "It's still challenging for you to trust the Break. To believe in your abilities... In yourself. I understand - I've been through it." They listen intently. "Right now, it doesn't matter whether you believe in yourself. Confidence in your own strength will come with time. What you need to know right now is... I believe in you! Go!"

I can't recall where I picked up this speech, especially the ending. Probably from some cartoon I watched in my past life. I've long forgotten the title and the plot, but the phrase, "Don't believe in yourself. Believe in me! Believe in me who believes in you!" stuck with me.

I've tried jumping off skyscraper roofs like this. But I didn't fall head-first the entire way; in the last third of the fall, I would somersault and land on my feet. To be honest, I'm not sure if I could perform the task I'm demanding from these boys. Would I have enough willpower to avoid panicking as the ground rapidly approaches? Regardless, it's not about me. The boys need to shatter their perceptions, push their boundaries, and break the mental blocks screaming, "This is impossible! This is impossible!" In achieving that, any means are justified.

So they climbed onto the roof for the second time, looked at each other, exchanged a few words that I couldn't hear, nodded to each other, and took the leap. I watched their descent, wondering if they might succeed this time. However, I noticed that Dobrynya couldn't resist performing a somersault, placing his legs forward. Baenre, though, held out a bit longer than his friend, succumbing only near the ground.

Actually, their performance was already quite good. It's human nature to always want more, but I recognized the achievement as excellent. A slight disappointment stemmed from realizing that motivational phrases from cartoons, unfortunately, tend to work only in cartoons. Not that I truly expected my words to cause an immediate shift in the boys' attitudes and help them conquer their fears, but I harbored a small hope for such a result.

"Halt!" I ordered the young men, who were ready to try again. "Come here."

Judging by their depleted expressions, they were running low on prana, and I didn't want them to stop just yet. Although initiating a training fight during the very first lesson isn't considered good practice, I had reasons for ending the training this way.

These young raigs had already faced many disappointments this morning, and they needed a shake-up. They needed an outlet for their pent-up emotions. Plus, time was running short. Although the next Breakthrough might not happen for another two months, I was about to start university soon, making such training sessions unfeasible.

Who to choose first? Upon reflection...

"Dobrynya, step back ten paces. Baenre, unsheathe your sword. Your task is a sparring match, you're on the offense, I'm on defense. You have the advantage, and I'll hold my ground, taking no more than one step in any direction. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Master." A slight bow and the lean knight drew his blade.

"Begin!"

My sword, "Word," remains in its sheath. I only have "Purity" in my left hand. I also needed to refine my wakizashi technique a bit, so why not seize this opportunity?

I didn't even need to block his first swing. Baenre's preparatory movements telegraphed his attack, so a slight shift of my body was enough to evade his strike. His bastard sword whistled past me, and before the lean raig could recover, I took a short step forward and flatly struck him with "Purity" on his nearest palm. It wasn't painful, but being hit so effortlessly was rather disconcerting.

Closing the distance, Baenre raised his sword over his head, then began to swing it broadly, slicing through the air faster and faster. Settling into a rhythm, he lunged at me, apparently hoping the force and speed of his attacks would overcome my light, short blade. However, this preparatory "spinning" of the sword, so popular in movies and anime, proves even less effective than cartoon catchphrases in real combat. It's a foolish trick that allows the opponent to adapt to your rhythm even before your first blow lands. As expected, a soft block, paired with a twist of my hand, deflected Baenre's weapon, clearing a path for me.

"Thud!" The sound of "Purity's" hilt making contact with the young raig's helmet was somewhat muffled. In the real world, such a hit would have left Baenre seeing stars. In the Break, it causes little harm, but inflicting damage wasn't my intention.

Rather than withdrawing, the boy lingered, attempting to trap "Purity" with his blade. Naive... A side-step, a block, securing the guard of the enemy's sword with my free hand, a kick beneath the knee, and as his legs buckled... "Thud! Thud! Thud!" Three times the pommel of my wakizashi made contact with the armored man's visor before I finally stepped back and assumed an inviting stance.

I had successfully pulled him from his normal state, but not in the direction I intended, unfortunately. Instead of applying logic, he became enraged. He charged mindlessly, swiftly receiving a kick to his lower back for his recklessness. If he refused to think, I'd force him to do so with discipline. He lunged forward, swinging broadly. I blocked at the guard, spun, shoved with my shoulder and, with my right hand's straightened fingers, targeted the considerable gap in his visor. Even in the Break, a blow to the eyes hurts. Not as much as in reality, but it's certainly noticeable.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Enough was enough, the boy had lost all control, muttering angrily under his breath. No, this wasn't working. I had proven myself a terrible teacher. I'd chosen the wrong approach. I had to end this here.

"Halt!" I called out. If he didn't listen and launched another attack, I'd only have myself to blame. I'd pushed him too far.

He halted, two desires evidently wrestling within him. Had his sword started glowing peculiarly? No, it appeared normal.

I needed to nudge him toward the correct decision, but subtly.

Ignoring the flustered Baenre, I turned to his companion.

"Next."

I've never been a fan of axes, bardiches, and the like. If wielded by someone who knows what they're doing and their hands are properly protected, they can be incredibly difficult opponents. However, this didn't apply to Dobrynya. He might be well-versed in chopping wood - his strikes suggested as much - but taking the same approach to battle is fundamentally flawed. I didn't even need to block - a sway of my body from side to side, coupled with occasional small steps back or forward, was enough. His powerful attacks never hit their mark.

Meanwhile, Baenre had calmed down and composed himself. He was observing. My mistake in approach had almost ruined everything, and it was fortunate that the crisis hadn't escalated. Later, I could rectify everything and turn the situation to our advantage.

Dobrynya's attacks were monotonous and predictable. From his perspective, things probably didn't appear this way. He was trying to strike from the most unexpected positions, or so he thought. But his approach nullified all his efforts. Just from his stance, I could tell where he was aiming. By how his shoulders moved at the start, I could discern whether he intended a full blow or a feint. Yet, I had to admit, he was performing better than his partner. Even after receiving a blow to the helmet for the fifth time, he remained composed, trying to adjust his tactics as he retreated. He didn't understand his mistakes, and consequently, his attempts were futile, but his perseverance was commendable.

"Halt!" I commanded. "Purity" returned to its place on my belt. "What is your main mistake?"

"We lack skill," Baenre responded, not exactly retorting, but the tone was close.

"We need to be faster!" Dobrynya's enthusiasm hadn't waned, even though he hadn't managed to touch me once.

"No matter how fast or skilled you are, it's all for naught if you don't think," I began pacing with my hands clasped behind my back, like a seasoned academic. "By the rules of our exercise, my movement was limited. Why didn't you exploit that? Did you think that handicap was for the weak, and you're too cool for it? Do you know better than me what you need or don't need? If so, why are you here? Well?!"

"Uh..."

"We..."

I had no interest in hearing their excuses.

"Baenre, what was that outburst about? Does any pain send you into a frenzy?"

"No, master." He kept his composure; his voice held a hint of regret. "My sword... I'm still getting used to it."

What a peculiar excuse! I didn't understand what he was implying.

"Its name is..." His friend's hand came to rest on his armored shoulder, but he shrugged it off and continued, "My sword is called 'Wrath.'"

What?! I almost let out a yell, but managed to hold it in. Wrath? Seriously? Another theory about the nature of raig weapons had just been swept away like dust in a hurricane.

"Pacifier." Stepping forward, Dobrynya presented his axe to me.

Boys!!! Why... Who asked you? I'm a stranger... Ah... Youth...

Trust is a complicated thing. I could simply remain silent, turn, and walk away. They hadn't yet earned my trust. Yet, they trusted me. How premature, how untimely...

The long blade exited its sheath.

"Parade sword," I decided. "Its name is 'Word.' And this little one on my belt is 'Purity.' And don't ask what the name implies. It's a complex matter..."

"Master," Dobrynya bowed deeply, "please be our sensei."

"We implore you," Baenre mirrored his bow.

What a shift. But it was apparent that they had rehearsed this scene — it was executed too perfectly, too synchronously. It seemed the decision had been made long before.

Ugh... Why am I smiling?

Thankfully, I caught this smile in time and managed to contain it to the corners of my eyes. Was I so weary of being alone that the proposition from these young men was genuinely appealing? The predicament was that I couldn't become their full-time teacher. The academic year was upon me, and they too might not have enough free time, especially considering that I would be moving to the university and living in a dormitory with access restrictions.

So, what was my response? Being frank wasn't the best approach, and detailed explanations were just sugar-coating for the inevitable refusal.

I pondered while they remained bent in a bow. An answer couldn't be delayed for too long... Yet without having made a decision, I found myself evading their request.

"Tomorrow, here," my voice was as monotonous and unemotional as I could manage. "And I have an extra assignment for you." I almost said "homework," but caught myself in time — it wouldn't have been the right term. "High jumps and long jumps, from a standstill and with a run-up. Report the maximum distance and height you can achieve by tomorrow. Is the task understood?"

To reply, they had to stand upright, which was good since their pleading stance irked me. I felt like some kind of tyrant.

"Yes, se... master," Dobrynya replied for both of them.

"Dismissed!"

With my arms crossed over my chest, I watched as the two figures darted toward the roof after a brief bow. Did I make the right call? Only time would tell.

Once the two shadows disappeared, I moved through all the walls and exited the under-construction stadium. I could have left much faster, but the unsettling sensations of passing through material obstacles were somewhat soothing at the moment. Was I punishing myself in some way? Was I falling into a new spiral of madness? I wasn't sure.

The high spirits I had during training had plummeted to somewhere near the subway level. Why were they so hasty? But I knew the answer: they were young, and for them, addressing all matters promptly and directly was a common behavior. The fact that I hadn't anticipated this turn of events and hadn't considered response options was entirely my fault, and it was unfair to place the blame on the boys.

Having returned home and changed into more comfortable attire, I found myself staring at the bar for a solid three minutes. The allure of downing a couple glasses of something potent was incredibly compelling. To drink, forget, and postpone all thoughts for a later time — it was tempting. I barely managed to resist. Honestly, I was teetering on the edge, my hand outstretched to open the cabinet, but I managed to halt. No, if I gave in, I might not be able to stop myself and I would spiral out of control like a freight train hurtling down a mountain, brakes screeching in protest.

Alcohol was never my solution to problems, it wasn't in my nature, so there was no reason to start now. Collapsing onto my bed and staring blankly at the ceiling, I began to replay the entirety of the training session. It seemed rather successful: not perfect, but certainly better than I had initially anticipated. The young Knights' psychological adaptation to the Break and understanding of their abilities were progressing smoothly. If it hadn't been for Baenre's unexpected revelation after the sparring sessions... Damn, what made him spill the beans about his sword's name? It was such a personal matter. Plus, it was information that could be used to draw a psychological profile of a raig. Moreover, weapons enforce restrictions, each unique, and the names of the blades offer a significant hint at the nature of these limitations.

As for the boys, they had resolved that fate had presented them with a teacher, and thus, they had nothing to hide. Dobrynya had even tried to stop his friend from revealing his sword's name. It was an impulsive act, not a premeditated one. On my part, such a disclosure didn't pose any threat. The names of my swords were known to all BKDW and potentially to the organization's overseers. So, in that scenario, I believe I acted correctly. Indeed, it was the right course of action and it only worked in my favor. There were no apparent adverse consequences.

However, their final proposal for me to become their sensei was utterly unexpected. That's a mark against me — I hadn't even considered such a gesture from them. I can't fault them for this. Unlike revealing their weapons' names, this request was intentional and well-thought-out. Assessing it objectively, I reacted poorly by leaving the situation up in the air and not providing a definitive "yes" or "no."

Could I become a full-time teacher for them? Yes, it's plausible. But to achieve this, I'd have to leave the university and drastically alter my life plans. Do I want that? Absolutely not... There's not even a whisper of such a desire.

However, a harsh rejection wasn't what I desired either. How could I maintain control over this situation? What could I offer them as an alternative? I only ever saw myself as a transient coach for these young men.

"Purity," "Word," could you guide me to a solution?

Their silence resounded.

Predictably so.

Whenever I'm faced with a critical question, they pretend to be nothing more than ordinary swords. Traitors, the pair of them. Not even a single response. Well, it's not as if I was truly anticipating an answer.

I lay on the bed, thinking and strategizing. For what purpose? Why am I doing this? Why not just be forthright? Why do I seek hidden agendas in every situation? Do I perceive everyone around me as adversaries?

In my past life, I used to laugh at those who bought into conspiracy theories, who saw a puppeteer's hand behind every occurrence. When did I become akin to those who had previously elicited nothing from me but amusement? Fear is a natural response in my situation, but it's irrational to be scared of everything, right?

I had grown fond of these lads. Yes, and their proposal, despite being unexpected, did appeal to me. I recalled my smile — it felt genuinely pleasant. They trusted me. Could I really just turn my back on them?

So, what did my musings yield as I lay there gazing at the ceiling? I won't alienate the boys. I'll endeavor to talk to them — be as honest and succinct as possible, without deception. The teacher's path may not be mine, but as a coach and mentor, I will offer any assistance I can.

However, there's still plenty of time until tomorrow, so there's no need to rush any decisions right now. I should let the matter rest a while and not insist on resolving it instantly, especially when there's no pressing need.

With that in mind, I sprang out of bed and compelled myself to do push-ups. I had entirely neglected the usual workout regimen, which was regrettable. After all, it was less than a week ago that I had promised to maintain it daily without fail. I had made that promise, yet I was only following through every third day — it wasn't ideal.

Twenty-five push-ups in, and my arms were already trembling, lacking the strength to lift myself from the floor. Disappointing. I rolled onto my back with a grunt and started doing ab exercises, which proved more successful — I managed fifty repetitions. Then I rose, stretched, performed a series of relaxing oriental gymnastic exercises taught to Izao as part of the school curriculum, and went back to doing push-ups.

Half an hour later, I was seated in the shower, berating my lack of willpower as the water streamed over me. It was nothing short of a miracle that I'd been given a second life, yet I was still falling into the same old habits. I remained idle and forgetful. I should take a leaf out of the shapeshifting boy's book — who laced up his sneakers and ran regardless of the weather — be it scorching heat, rain, or strong winds. Every morning, he clocked at least ten kilometers. He lacked the experiences of a previous life but had the discipline to push himself. Why was it so challenging for me? Sure, I faced issues he could never dream of, but was that a valid excuse? There would always be something obstructing and distracting me, always.

After stepping out of the shower, I dried myself off and was about to make some tea and settle down on my favorite windowsill when I halted. This wouldn't do. I had entirely turned into a hermit, only leaving the house in the Break. This wasn't life — it was merely an illusion. Sometimes, I was running from something; other times, I was fearful of everything. What was most concerning was that these thoughts weren't new to me, yet my behavior stayed the same. I would initiate some changes, but after a day or two, everything reverted to its usual course.

My eyes landed on the writing desk strewn with sheets bearing my sketches. The very ones in which I had attempted to convert the BattleTech saga into a comic. I probed my feelings — it was genuinely interesting to me. Even with my lack of artistic ability, I wanted to do this. So why had I stopped? I picked up the sketches and examined them. Yes, they were far from perfect, but without effort and repeated attempts, success would remain elusive. I recalled how my initial sword training sessions were equally dreadful and laughable, but time and dedication paid off. Moreover, I didn't need to master drawing. My role was to develop the script and storyboard; I could hire an artist for the rest. And money wasn't an issue — I had little else to spend it on.

Speaking of money... My personal reserves were depleting, and I needed a way to clean the rewards from BKDW. Not that I distrusted the Knights of the organization — I firmly believed in their sincerity. I was confident that they perceived the money they disbursed as impeccably clean. However, those who backed them, I wouldn't trust with a penny. And it wasn't because they could be malevolent or dishonest. The issue lay in the system itself. Any state would attempt to contain or subdue a significant threat such as the raigs, using whatever means necessary without considering the consequences — it was a matter of state survival, which wasn't taken lightly.

What should I do? The restrictions imposed by the swords and the Break left me with few choices. No matter how I evaluated the options or searched for a simpler solution, it boiled down to one best choice — a two hundred kilometer run to the nearest foreign port and a double currency exchange. Yes, the total loss would be approximately eight percent of the amount, but the safety was worth it.

I sat down at the computer and brought up a map of the continent. The optimal destination seemed to be Paciphyda, a state bordering Novilter to the southwest. A long-standing diplomatic conflict over territorial disputes smoldered between the two countries. There hadn't been a war in half a century, and even tourists traveled back and forth with ease. But the fact that there was no criminal or investigative information exchanged between the countries was a massive advantage for me. Moreover, state control over the financial sector in Paciphyda was far less stringent than in Izao's homeland.

This southern neighbor of Novilter was founded by immigrants from Greece — businesspeople known for their preference to retain their profits rather than share, especially with the state. Consequently, the country's shadow sector accounted for nearly a third of its total GDP. There were no inquiries into the origins of your money, nor was a passport required at currency exchange offices.

This option truly was the best fit for me. Moreover, if I discarded the typical routes and took a direct course across the sea, the nearest major port of Orpheidos was only one hundred nautical miles away.

Glancing at the clock, I figured that if I set off now, I'd be back home by three in the afternoon. So, why not? Of course, I could relax, watch some shows, surf the internet... No, work comes first. The decision was made.

I opted for an inconspicuous look that made me seem older: a baseball cap, a touch of foundation on my chin and cheekbones which could be mistaken for stubble in the shade of the visor, dark glasses — small and narrow, they didn't attract attention yet concealed the eyes. I then put on wide linen trousers to mask the youthfulness of my legs, a Hawaiian shirt, and light sneakers. All I needed was to get the hidden cash, and I could set off...

My training in the port on the waves proved beneficial. Running on the sea surface felt like an everyday activity, enabling me to reach speeds of at least two hundred kilometers per hour, as if I were strolling along the highway rather than skipping from wave to wave.

I arrived at my destination without any mishaps.

Orpheidos seemed merely a dot on the map. Although it couldn't match the enormity of Wilflaes, it still stood as a full-fledged port city of a million inhabitants, stretching for several kilometers along a broad bay.

Initially, I circled the city, noting down suitable exchange offices. After spying on these places for half an hour, I slipped out of the Break in a secluded alley and, posing as a regular tourist, exchanged francs for the local currency. I then returned to the alley, slipped back into the Break, dashed to the other end of the city, and performed a reverse exchange. The losses were even less than anticipated. No one attempted to cheat or rob me. It was perfect!

The city was quite appealing, by the way. I must make a point to visit it later and stroll along the picturesque embankments, styled after ancient Greek designs, perhaps savor aromatic coffee at one of the many eateries and enjoy a culture I knew little about.

But that was for another time.

I had just jumped off the pier and was about to accelerate home when it struck me.

A familiar foreboding.

No, I couldn't be that unlucky!

Please, let me be mistaken!

My wish was in vain!

I hadn't made an error.

Running was futile.

The Call had caught up with me.

A Breakthrough was nearing Orpheidos.