Professor Dufer Bane watched Kana closely.

  The armor she wore wasn’t standard for the [Thief] class or anything similar to it. It was unconventional—almost mismatched—but undeniably effective. Before it faded it must have matched the hue of her eyes, covering her chest, waist, shoulders, and thighs. The joints remained free, her movement unimpeded. Black sleeves peeked from beneath the plates, and he noted the glint of metal bracing her shins and forearms.

  Not elegant—but strangely effective design.

  There were deep scratches gouged across the surface, some from blades, others jagged—like claw marks. This armor had seen battle. Serious battle. Maybe beasts. Maybe worse.

  Interesting.

  There was only one way to see if Wor-en’s praise was right.

  He ordered a sparring match—quick, unannounced. Nothing fancy. He simply pointed her toward his students.

  The first to step forward was a boy with a tricky skill, one who usually forced quick bouts. Dufer hesitated, almost stepping in to decide the order himself.

  Too late.

  Kana had already stepped in.

  What happened next caught him off guard.

  From the start, she read the first attack—almost instinctively. She felt it coming. She blocked and countered, but her strike was textbook: reactive, straightforward. No feints. No deception. A beginner’s form.

  That’s all? he almost thought—

  —until she closed her eyes.

  At that moment, something shifted.

  The air around her stilled. Her next strike came in slowly. Weak, even. It looked clumsy.

  Then the next set of movements began.

  And it was not what he expected.

  She struck with precision. Measured, lethal intent. Her blade cut angles designed not for sparring, but for killing like chasing a deer until exhaustion. She attacked from blind spots, adjusted her pressure combination of low and high-direction, moved to corner and trap—

  Then the last strike, she stopped.

  Pulled her dagger back at the last second.

  Only someone with his eyes, someone trained to notice everything, would have caught it.

  He glanced at the student. The boy stood frozen, eyes wide, breathing shallow. He didn’t understand what had almost happened, but his instincts had. He’d felt it—that last breath of air before death.

  Dufer’s gaze dropped to her feet.

  Her stance was off. Her upper body executed the motion flawlessly, but her hips and legs lagged behind. The footwork—too forced. She hadn’t trained for that kind of movement. Not fully. Was it similar to his?

  He was told she hadn’t learned that style. She had seen it—once—and mimicked it.

  And now he was certain.

  If she could do that with someone else’s technique, similar yet different from his, then with proper training—his training—she might be able to execute the complete Bane Dagger Arts.

  For the first time in years, Dufer felt a ray of hope.

  ….

  Boris stepped into the section of the training grounds marked for Spear Mastery I. There were exactly seven students already assembled—including him. He scanned the group and couldn’t help noting that he was the broadest among them. Big shoulders, strong legs, thick arms.

  Then he saw the instructor.

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  Professor Fin stood at the far end of the grounds, arms folded, posture like stone. The man was massive. Taller than Adam by half a head, with a frame that looked carved from old oak and reinforced with iron. Despite his size, he didn’t carry the heaviness of a brute. There was a coiled sharpness to him, lean beneath the bulk—like a spear built into the shape of a man.

  Boris felt like a dwarf standing next to him.

  Fin’s voice cut through the air. “We’ve got a late addition. Recommendation from one of the professors. Let’s see if he can keep up.”

  Five of the students—those with gold bands on their arms—snickered when they spotted the copper colored band on Boris’s.

  Professor Fin ignored them. “To give you some context, we’re focusing on foundational strokes. Simple thrusts, but with proper weight. I want it drilled into your muscle memory. You lose mana in a real fight, you better hope your body remembers how to kill—I mean strike.”

  No one laughed at that.

  The students formed a line across the field. Boris took a spot at the edge.

  The first spear thrust caught him off guard. He didn’t recognize the motion—wasn’t sure where the pivot was meant to come from. The others executed in a smooth rhythm. Boris hesitated.

  The second time, he mirrored them.

  It was a simple forward thrust—but not just the arms. The whole body moved with it. Legs braced, hips turned, shoulders rolled forward. Every motion built force from the ground up. Each repetition pulled the air with it, pushing a small gust in front of the spear’s point.

  It was slower than he expected.

  It was weird since he always relied on his skill when attacking.

  But this one felt right.

  Fin watched in silence. When Boris synced his movements on the second try, the instructor gave a single approving nod and moved on.

  For an hour, they repeated the motion. Again and again. The same thrust. The same shift of weight. Over and over until the mind shut off and only instinct remained.

  When Fin finally called for a break, most of the class staggered toward the well.

  All but two.

  One gold-band student remained behind, drenched in sweat and gasping quietly.

  And Boris.

  He simply stretched his arms, rolled his neck, and lowered himself to sit cross-legged on the ground.

  He could have stood there longer. Hours, maybe.

  But he knew better.

  Don’t stand out, he reminded himself.

  So he suddenly acted tired. Just enough. Like someone trying to keep up.

  ….

  The trio had fallen into a routine: every noon, like clockwork, they attended their two combat-related classes. More on drills but Suri never stopped working.

  Her illusions had spread like a silent web across the academy—and beyond. Tiny eyes and ears in the shape of rats crept along rooftops, slipped beneath doors, and clung to alley walls. She’d been watching for days. Weeks. But the shadow man had vanished without a trace.

  It was morning, the sunlight streaking across her desk as she sipped on lukewarm tea, half-thinking of dismantling her illusions to conserve mana. But then—movement. A flicker in the pattern. One of her hidden rat scouts caught something.

  The merchant’s vault. The same one owned by the thief who hoarded coin and hired a professional from the adventurer guild to protect it.

  Only… the guard was gone.

  Suri leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. Why?

  Then she saw it. Probably, a personal errand. He’d left the post, and no one had replaced him yet at least not on his level.

  Her illusion—cleverly disguised as his shadow—latched onto his form and followed, drifting behind him like a loyal ghost.

  This was their chance.

  She stood up abruptly, voice sharper than intended. “It’s time.”

  Rin, sitting beside her, flinched. “Time for what?”

  Suri didn’t answer but Kana nodded.

  Across the room, Boris looked up from his seat near the window. Their eyes met, and he nodded once.

  …

  The night came. In the small boarding room they shared, Kana made final checks—sliding a dresser against the door, tucking a few spare daggers beneath her cloak, and feeling the weight of the scroll at her hip.

  Suri laced up her boots beside the bed, glancing at Kana. “What if the shadow man shows up? In the middle of everything?”

  Kana answered by lifting the scroll from her belt—a piece of parchment wrapped in faded silver thread. “[Teleportation Scroll],” she said simply, letting it speak for itself before tucking it back into place. “If he shows up, we use this.”

  Suri frowned. “The old lady said it’d take us back to somewhere, right? But will it actually work?”

  Kana shrugged. “Everything else she’s said has been true so far. The core, the staff’s effect, the rare class thing… all of it. This is the only piece I haven’t tested.” She hesitated for half a second, then added, “I just don’t know where exactly it’ll drop us.”

  Suri gave her a look. “Comforting.”

  Kana grinned, brushing a bit of dust from her sleeve. “Come on. Boris is probably falling asleep from waiting too long.”

  She moved to the window, silent if not for Suri’s heavy boots, and slipped out into the night.

  Time to move.