about to begin.

he completely mismatched spar

officially commenced with a sharp,

dismissive wave of Sensei Vance's hand. Kael

immediately began to showboat. He bounced

lightly and rapidly on his toes, throwing incredibly

flashy, entirely unnecessary feints and rapid-fire

shadow punches into the empty air, trying to elicit

a flinch or a gasp of fear from the small girl

standing opposite him.

Isla did absolutely none of that. She did not

adopt a wide, highly aggressive combat stance. She

did not raise her fists in a traditional guard. She

simply stood naturally, perfectly and completely

balanced, her breathing remaining astonishingly

soft and rhythmic. Her bright eyes were entirely

devoid of fear; instead, they were locked intently

onto Kael’s sternum, watching the subtle shifts in

his center of mass with surgical precision.

Growing mildly annoyed by her absolute lack

of reaction, Kael decided to end the joke quickly.

He lunged forward with explosive, highly

practiced speed, throwing a spectacular, sweeping

high crescent kick. It was an incredibly dangerous

move, meant to stop mere millimeters from her

nose, designed purely to make her scream and fall

backward in sheer, undeniable terror.

The heavy leg whipped through the air with a

terrifying, rushing swoosh. Isla did not blink. She

did not even attempt to raise her hands to block. In

the fraction of a second before impact, she merely

shifted her body weight backward by an incredibly

minute, almost imperceptible fraction of an inch.

The devastating kick sailed violently through

empty air, the intense wind generated by the strike

aggressively ruffling her blonde hair.

Kael's arrogant grin instantly faltered. He

landed heavily, momentarily thrown entirely off

balance by hitting absolutely nothing. A confused

murmur rippled quickly through the watching

circle of elite students. Kael quickly recovered, his

ego bruised, and launched a significantly faster,

much more aggressive combination—a rapid jab

followed immediately by a devastating cross aimed

squarely at her shoulders.

Isla moved like water flowing effortlessly

around a jagged rock. She wove gracefully through

the rapid punches, stepping deeply inside his

guard with terrifying, ghost-like speed. Yet, she

made absolutely no move to strike back. She was

merely analyzing his frantic rhythm, heavily noting

This profound imbalance, and feeling the blinding,

unrefined anger that completely fueled his sloppy

movements. She was standing directly in the eye of

a violent hurricane, entirely untouched and

completely serene.