The Masochist’s Request
Dar looked ready to explode, jaw tight, knuckles white around the fireball still fizzling out in his palm.
“Dar, do you really think you can act like this is your own backyard?” Clin said, blade catching the pale morning light. “I’ll give you one last chance to go back wherever you crawled from. Otherwise, my next swing takes your head.”
Asin stepped forward, forcing a smile onto a face that clearly didn’t want to make one. He was the only one who hadn’t started an incantation.
“Clin, I’m sure this is just a small misunderstanding,” he said, hands raised, placating. “We don’t want any trouble. We’ll just take Dar’s fingers and get to the hospital wing. Dar—let’s go.”
Dar was still breathing hard, chest heaving, sweat beading at his temple. He finally seemed to register what surrounded him—drawn steel on every side, more students arriving by the second, the corridor gone tense and silent. He sucked in a breath and stepped forward to collect his severed fingers from the stone floor.
Before he could take a second step, Fate scooped them up himself.
“Here you go,” Fate said, smiling, blood still dark and wet against his palm. “Sorry for cutting them off.” He stepped forward as if to hand them over. The moment he opened his palm, only grey dust remained, drifting between his fingers like ash.
Everyone’s eyes went wide. If he’d still had the fingers, the healers could have reattached them—even a whole hand could be restored, given enough tissue to work with. But dust was dust. There was nothing left to save.
“Sorry, I didn’t expect them to be so fragile,” Fate said, still smiling.
Dar’s face went purple with rage, but he bit down hard on his tongue when he caught the twitch in Fate’s sword hand. He took a long, ragged breath.
“This isn’t over,” he said quietly. Then he turned and left, boots striking the stone hard.
The others followed, throwing one last look at Fate before falling into step behind Dar, murmuring low, keeping him calm the rest of the way down the corridor.
“No need to thank me,” Clin said dryly, sheathing his own blade with a soft metallic click. “You’d be dead if it weren’t for me.”
Fate sheathed his sword and turned to him. “You didn’t do it for me—you did it for the whole sector.” He paused, studying the other boy for a beat. “But that slash through the Fireball was clean work.”
Clin looked surprised for a moment, then laughed, the sound easy and genuine, and walked off without another word, clearly in good spirits.
This time, a few curious looks followed Fate as he headed to class, whispers trailing in his wake. But no one stopped him.
Kate, the martial arts teacher, was late.
When she finally arrived, boots echoing against the stone floor of the training hall, she turned to Fate with a serious expression, letting silence do the intimidating. It didn’t work on Fate anymore.
“Would you mind explaining yourself?” she finally asked.
“I already sent a note to the office explaining my absence,” Fate said, calm, unbothered. “Self-directed survival training in the academy woods. I needed time to catch up to the level of my classmates, and I decided the best way to do that was to strengthen my basics.”
Kate frowned slightly and waited. When Fate said nothing further, she pressed. “That’s not what I mean. I’m asking about today’s incident. Care to explain what exactly happened?”
Fate looked genuinely puzzled. “Incident? I don’t recall anything significant happening today.”
A few students glanced at him, surprised. Even Kate hadn’t expected that answer.
“I see,” she said, studying him a moment longer. “You said you’ve been training to catch up with your classmates. Tivi—would you mind pairing with Fate today, so we can gauge his new level?”
Everyone looked stunned. Tivi was at the top of the class, and until today, Fate hadn’t even been trusted with a practice sword.
Tivi didn’t look particularly interested. She simply pulled a practice sword from the rack, the wood worn smooth from years of use, and walked to a spot on the far side of the training ground. The grounds were enormous, divided into fifty separate sparring areas, enough for a hundred students to train at once, the morning air already thick with the smell of dust and sweat.
Fate followed Kate’s instructions. Tivi looked bored, arms crossed, like she’d been ordered into this against her will. So Fate decided to give her a small surprise.
The moment she stepped into the training area, he didn’t wait for her to take her stance. He accelerated to his top speed and swung with full force at her head.
Even with practice swords, a blow like that could kill—but she noticed it just in time and blocked, spinning to absorb the force. She hadn’t expected a strike that strong, and mid-turn, her balance broke.
Fate took every advantage he had. Instead of the second blow she expected, he tackled her to the ground and pinned her in a mount position. With his weight and her broken balance working in his favour, he pressed the flat of his training blade to her throat.
“That’s one to zero, me,” he said. “Remember—sometimes fancy swordplay isn’t enough. A weaker opponent can kill you just as easily as the best swordsman, if you let your guard down.”
A series of gasps went up from the watching students. Every one of them looked at Fate differently now. But the most surprised person of all was the one pinned beneath him, dust and dirt smeared across her back.
Some time later, Fate stood, wincing—his body hurt in at least a hundred places, breath ragged in his throat.
Her technique wasn’t as refined as Sari’s—she was slower, weaker—but she was merciless, never pulling a blow, always pushing to end the fight as fast as possible. The strange thing was, Fate could feel himself growing stronger with every hit he took, like each bruise was paying interest.
“That’s thirty-three to one,” she said flatly, wiping sweat from her brow. “Want to go again?”
“That one was close,” he said, grinning through split lip and swelling cheek. “Let’s go again. I think I can do better.”
This time Fate had a plan. He blocked her strike with his practice sword and, using a back grip she wasn’t expecting, drew his real sword with his left hand. Steel flashed. He caught her in the ribs with actual steel while her attention was elsewhere.
Kate, who’d been standing forty metres away, appeared beside them in less than a second and caught the blade from Fate’s grip with her own hand, fingers closing around it like a vice.
There was no blood—just a lot of heavy breathing, chests rising and falling in the dusty light.
“That’s thirty-three to two,” Fate said, smiling despite the pain radiating through his side.
Kate looked closer at Fate’s blade, turning it once in the light. “If you can use a coating spell—” she started, then shook her head. “You shouldn’t be sparring with a practice sword. Better you get used to real steel.”
She checked Tivi once more, pressing careful fingers along her ribs, then returned Fate’s sword and went back to her position at the edge of the field, where she could watch the whole class.
Fate grinned at Tivi. “Want to keep going?”
Tivi shot him a look sharp enough to cut and got back up. Thanks to her cracked ribs—and Fate’s dual-wielding trick—he managed to last longer this time. Still, he lost six more rounds before Kate called an end to the match.
Final score: thirty-nine to two, in Tivi’s favour. She had a few broken ribs, wrapped tight beneath her training gear. Fate had at least five fractured bones and bruises head to toe, a canvas of yellow, purple, and black, though he’d already burned through his life energy healing the internal damage, leaving only the surface injuries visible.
Kate went through the class one by one, pointing out weaknesses and where each student should focus their efforts, her voice steady and clipped in the cooling afternoon air. When she reached Fate and Tivi, she paused for a long moment.
“Tivi—given the gap in your abilities, it’s clear you let your guard down, and that’s why you lost the first time. I can understand that. But the second time, Fate waited for your confidence to rebuild before unsheathing the second sword and leading you into a trap. He used his own body as bait, took a beating to set it up, but he used your own confidence against you to steal the win.”
Tivi looked embarrassed but said nothing, jaw clenched, enduring it in silence.
Kate turned to Fate. “I have to say, I didn’t expect this kind of improvement from you. But you’re still below the rest of the class. You’ll need to work twice as hard to catch up. Next time, I’ll pair you with someone closer to your level. Get those injuries to the hospital wing before your next class—I’m sure the healers could use the practice before their exams. Class dismissed.”
Tivi turned toward Fate as the others began to disperse, footsteps scattering across the training ground. Once it was just the two of them, she said, “I won’t go easy on you next time,” and turned to leave.
Before she’d taken a step, Fate swung his practice sword at her head. She saw it in time—but instead of blocking like before, she rolled forward across the packed dirt and came up with her own blade drawn, eyes narrowed, glaring.
“What’s going on here? Fate, is there a problem?” Kate asked, her expression daring him to try something.
Fate just smiled, unbothered by the sword pointed his way. “No, teacher. But I’d like to request Tivi as my sparring partner going forward.”
Both Tivi and Kate looked startled. Someone in the background muttered, “Is he a masochist?”
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