Sylvie goes back to the spot she was in and resumes her stretching.
Dakota: "She has an aura about her."
Erika: "I know, right?"
?: "Erika?"
Someone calls Erika's name. The two look over and see a familiar face.
Erika: "Mike!"
Mike: "What are the two of you doing here? Don't tell me Chifuyu's here too."
Erika: "It's a long story."
Dakota: 'We were out of the story so long, the readers probably forgot about us. Wouldn't blame them. But they definitely don't remember Mike. He only had one scene in chapter 1 after all.'
Mike: "Let's hear it. There's time before class starts."
Like Dakota and Erika, Mike too is a 3rd-year transfer student. He was on the basketball team with Chifuyu and felt an attraction towards Erika. He wasn't the fondest of Chifuyu because of his jealousy, but Chifuyu still thought of him as a friend. Dakota and Erika explain why they're at the Hunter Academy and what Chifuyu's doing, while omitting the whole turned into a half-vampire part.
Mike: "That bastard, of course he's getting training from the strongest Hunter."
Erika: "Don't tell anyone, okay?"
Mike: I'm not one to blabber. My real question is how the hell Dakota passed the transfer exam."
Dakota: "I worked my butt off, pal."
Mike: "That so? Good for you."
Dakota: 'I hate this guy.'
Mike: "Looks like the Hunter has shown up."
Dakota: 'Get outta here. Shoo.'
The Hunter strode onto the field with all the grace of a stage actor stepping into spotlight. His cape swirled dramatically, with his boots polished to perfection.
Student: "Is he wearing a cape?"
The students begin chatting with laughter, but their chuckles are quickly silenced.
?: "Good afternoon, my dear disciples of destiny!" he announced, his voice resonant yet musical. "I am Emelio, master of finesse, elegance, and unmatched beauty. Alas, humility continues to elude me."
A few students giggled nervously.
Emelio paused, eyes sweeping across the students, sharp and observant beneath his delicate composure: "You have survived the first 2 years," he continued, "and that means you can swing a sword. But today, we learn what it means to wield one."
The students reel in anticipation.
Emelio: "Prepare yourselves. For I will accept nothing less than brilliance." He smiled, and it wasn't a comforting one.
The students spread out across the polished training field. Despa paced before them, hands clasped behind his back. Assistants came and handed out wooden swords to all of the students.
Emelio: "These will be your blades for the semester. Try your hardest not to break them, or there will be consequences."
At first he seemed like he'd be fun and unserious, now the air around him is completely different. The students don't know what to make of this Hunter.
Emelio: "Now then, a sword is not a tool for destruction. It is an instrument of expression. Just as a painter uses a brush to capture beauty, a swordsman uses a blade to reveal his heart!"
Mike raised an eyebrow: "Isn't it just about form and efficiency?"
Emelio's head turned sharply, cape swaying: "Ah, the philosopher speaks! What is your name?"
Mike: "My name is Mike Bernfield."
Emelio: "Tell me, Mr. Mike, do you believe that numbers and efficiency can create art?"
Mike: "Well, technically, precision—"
Emelio: "Wrong!" he interrupted, voice ringing like a bell. "Precision without passion is lifeless. You may as well be a machine."
Laughter rippled through the group. Mike's demeanor faltered, though he adjusted his glasses coolly.
Dakota: "Guess I'm safe. I have zero precision," he whispered under his breath
Akebi giggled.
Emelio: "You two, what's so funny?" He turned sharply.
Erika: "Ah—nothing, Sensei!" she said quickly.
Emelio smiled thinly: "Good. Because nothing is the beginning of everything. Remember that."
The students exchanged confused glances.
Emelio clapped his hands: "Now! Pair up for drills!"
Dakota found himself opposite Erika. Emelio strode among the students, correcting posture with precision and asking their names.
Emelio: "Lift your elbow higher, Ms. Erika! Perfect form, yes, just so! Let your soul breathe through the motion! Mr. Dakota, stop looking like you're waiting to die. The sword does not pity self-loathing."
Dakota muttered, "Even the sword judges me now…"
Emelio: "Excellent structure, Ms. Sylvie. Controlled yet fluid. And you, Mr. Mike… ah, yes, technique flawless, expression zero. Try feeling next time."
Mike frowned: "Feelings don't increase power."
Emelio gasped theatrically: "Sacrilege! Feelings are the power!"
The students burst into laughter again.
An hour passed. The courtyard rang with rhythm, wood clashing, feet shifting, and the occasional groan of exertion.
Emelio's voice carried above it all. "Balance! Flow! Confidence! A sword strike begins before you raise your arm and ends long after your blade stops moving!"
Dakota and Erika were sparring carefully. Erika's movements were steady and confident, her cheerful energy making her strikes fluid. Dakota struggled to keep up, retreating step by step.
Emelio: "You're rhythm is music to my ears, Ms. Erika."
Erika smiled brightly: "Thanks! It's because you're making this so fun, Emelio Sensei!"
Mike: "You're leaving your left guard open again." Meanwhile, Mike smirked as he deflected his partner's strike with almost mechanical precision.
Student: "Not everyone's obsessed with textbook perfection," he replied evenly.
Emelio, passing by, paused just long enough to add: "Indeed. Artistry over arrogance, Mr. Mike."
Mike: "Arrogance?" he bristled. "I'm simply efficient."
Emelio: "Efficiency without empathy," he said, walking away dramatically, "creates lonely victors."
The line hung in the air, and Mike fell silent.
Dakota's strikes were off-beat, his stance falling apart. His partner winced as the swords clashed awkwardly.
Dakota: "S-Sorry!" He stammered.
Emelio noticed from across the field. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
***
After the sparring, Emelio called for a break. Students gathered around, panting, laughing, and comparing bruises. Dakota sat down, staring at his sword resting on his knees.
Dakota: "Still can't keep my form right," he muttered. "Everyone else makes it look easy."
Mike: "Maybe you should try less," he said as he passed by, not cruelly but dismissively. "Overthinking slows you down."
Dakota forced a small nod.
Emelio appeared, as if summoned by an invisible cue. His shadow fell over Dakota, who quickly stood up.
Dakota: "E-Emelio Sensei!"
Emelio: "You're holding your sword like it might explode. Why?"
Dakota: "I—I guess I'm just nervous. Everyone's so much better, and I'm… still catching up."
Emelio's expression softened slightly: "Ah. The disease of self-comparison. A terrible illness indeed."
Dakota blinked: "Sir?"
Emelio knelt beside him, his cape brushing the ground: "Do you know what separates a beginner from a master, Mr. Dakota?"
Dakota: "I… guess talent?"
Emelio chuckled quietly: "Wrong. It's belief. The conviction that your worth is not measured by others, but by how much you care about what you do."
Dakota's eyes widen.
Emelio: "You train, you learn, you stumble, and you smile while doing it!" He rose, his posture perfect even in the casual motion. "Skill can be taught. Confidence must be chosen."
Emelio pointed dramatically at the boy: "So choose it, Mr. Dakota. Believe in the one person you spend your entire life with, yourself."
Dakota looked at Erika like he'd just gone through a revelation, she smiled softly back.
Emelio turned, cape swirling: "Everyon, attention! We're having a special demonstration."
When the class reassembled, Emelio stood in the center, with his real sword drawn. The blade shimmered faintly, reflecting the afternoon sun.
Emelio: "Observe closely. A strike without confidence is hollow. But a strike with conviction… can shake the earth."
He moved.
It was a single, fluid motion, no wasted effort, no hesitation. His sword cut through the air with elegance and power that made every student hold their breath.
Emelio turned to Dakota: "Come."
Dakota: "M-me?"
Emelio: "Yes, you. Strike me. With intent."
The students murmured. one student muttered: "Oh no, he's dead."
Dakota inhaled shakily. Then he moved. His blade swung, not fast, not strong, but honest.
Emelio parried it easily, yet nodded approvingly: "Better. Again!"
They clashed once, twice, three times. Each time, Emelio's eyes gleamed brighter: "Do you feel it, Mr. Dakota? The heartbeat of your own soul?"
Dakota exhaled, his strikes growing steadier: "I… think I do."
Emelio: "Louder!"
Dakota: "I do!"
Emelio: "Again!"
Dakota: "I do!"
Emelio smiled: "Good! Now remember that feeling. Every strike you make from now on must say one thing, 'I am worthy.'"
The students erupted into applause.
Even Mike, quietly thoughtful now, muttered, "Confidence as strength… huh."
Dakota looks at his wooden sword, now scattered with several chips. His courage had grown even more.