"What kind of stress relief did you have in mind?" I asked, taking in the sight of Lila—long legs, curves barely concealed by the oversized t-shirt, and a predatory smile that mirrored my own.
She stepped into my room, closing the door behind her. "The kind that makes you forget all about power tests and rankings." Her eyes dropped to my lap, where the sheet did little to hide my body's immediate response to her presence.
"I know what you're doing, Lila," I said, rising slowly from the bed.
She raised an eyebrow, confidence radiating from her. "And? Are you complaining?"
I moved toward her with deliberate steps, watching her expression shift from predator to something less certain. When I reached her, I placed one hand on the wall beside her head, leaning in close enough to feel her breath quicken.
"The question is," I whispered, my lips nearly brushing her ear, "are you ready for what happens if you succeed? Because once I start, I don't stop until I own every... part... of you."
I felt her shiver, saw her pupils dilate. For a moment, her carefully constructed confidence wavered.
"You think pretty highly of yourself," she managed, but her voice lacked its usual edge.
I pulled back, giving her space. "Goodnight, Lila. When you're ready to be conquered, not just played with, you know where to find me."
Confusion and frustration flashed across her face. This wasn't how her game usually played out. She was used to being the one who walked away, not the one left wanting.
"Your loss," she said, trying to reclaim control, but we both knew who had won this round.
After she left, I collapsed back onto my bed, my body still tense with unfulfilled desire.
(Interesting strategy,) the assistant commented. (Denying yourself to establish dominance.)
"The longer the hunt, the sweeter the kill," I replied, staring at the ceiling. "Besides, she needs to learn who's really in charge here."
(She'll be back,) the assistant predicted. (And next time, she'll be desperate.)
I smiled into the darkness. "That's the plan."
---
I woke up feeling like shit. My head pounded from last night's celebration with Zack, and my body ached from the tension of my encounter with Lila. A soft knock at my door interrupted my misery.
"Come in," I groaned, pulling the sheet higher.
Maya peeked in, her eyes immediately dropping to the floor when she saw my bare chest. "Big bro, dad wants to see you," she said quickly. "He's in the basement training room."
I sat up, wincing at the movement. "Thanks, Maya. I'll be down in a minute."
She nodded, still not looking directly at me. As she turned to leave, I noticed the blush spreading across her cheeks. Unlike Lila's bold sexuality, Maya's innocence was almost refreshing—and equally tempting in its own way.
"Oh," she added, pausing at the door, "he wants to teach you some sword techniques. Said it would help with your sonic control."
After she left, I checked my phone. No messages, which was expected. I'd only been in this world for a short time—my contact list consisted of Zack and the Harrisons. That would change soon enough.
(Planning your next move?) the assistant asked as I headed for the shower.
"Always," I replied. "This world is full of possibilities."
---
The basement training room was impressive—professional-grade equipment, reinforced walls, and a weapons rack that would make a museum jealous. David stood in the center of a padded mat, practicing forms with a metal sword that seemed to flow like liquid in his hands.
"Sup, son," he said, noticing me. "Sleep well?"
"I'm good, Dad," I replied, the word still feeling strange on my tongue. "Maya said you wanted to see me."
He nodded, tossing a practice sword in my direction. I caught it by the hilt, the weight feeling oddly familiar in my hand.
"I want to teach you some basics you'll need for sword fighting," he said. "Sonic users often neglect close combat, relying too much on distance attacks. That's a weakness smart opponents will exploit."
For the next hour, David put me through my paces. I deliberately held back, showing just enough aptitude to be impressive for a beginner, but not enough to raise suspicions. Despite my restraint, I couldn't help admiring David's skill. He read my movements perfectly, anticipating attacks before I made them, countering with precision that spoke of decades of training.
"You're telegraphing your strikes," he said, easily parrying my attack. "Your body tells the story before your blade does."
I adjusted, making my movements more fluid, less predictable. David nodded in approval.
"Better. Now, let me show you something useful."
He demonstrated a technique for calling the sword back to his hand if disarmed. The metal responded to his will, flying across the room into his waiting grip.
"Metal responds to intent as much as force," he explained. "Focus on the connection between you and the blade. Feel it as an extension of yourself."
I tried, focusing on the sword he'd knocked from my hand. To my surprise, it twitched, then slid a few inches toward me.
"Good!" David exclaimed. "That's impressive for a first try, especially for someone with sonic affinity."
I called the blade again, this time managing to make it slide all the way to my feet. I picked it up, feeling a strange satisfaction.
"You've got good instincts," David said, studying me with newfound interest. "Almost like you've done this before. The sword isn't just responding to your hand—it's responding to your intent. That's rare."
I shrugged, downplaying his observation. "Beginner's luck."
"There's no such thing," he replied. "Only untapped potential."
We continued training until Sarah called us for lunch. As we headed upstairs, David clapped a hand on my shoulder.
"I'm proud of you, son. C-rank with room to grow, and now showing aptitude for weapon work. You're going to make a name for yourself."
His genuine pride made me uncomfortable. This man had taken me in, was teaching me, supporting me—and I was planning to take everything from him, including his wife. For a brief moment, something like guilt flickered through me.
(Getting soft?) the assistant mocked. (Remember who you are. What you are.)
The moment passed. David was just another obstacle, another piece on the board. Sentiment was weakness, and I wasn't weak.
Not anymore.
---
Lunch was an exercise in tension. Sarah fussed over the minor cuts and bruises from my training session, her fingers lingering on my skin as she applied antiseptic.
"David always pushes too hard," she murmured, her touch gentle but deliberate. "You should have seen Maya after her first training session. Covered in bruises."
Maya, sitting across the table, blushed at the mention of her name. "Dad says pain is the best teacher," she said quietly.
"Dad says a lot of things," Lila commented, arriving late to the table. She slid into the seat beside me, her knee deliberately brushing mine under the table. "How was sword practice, little brother? Handling your weapon okay?"
The double entendre wasn't subtle. I met her gaze evenly, a slight smile playing at my lips. "Still learning the basics. But I'm a quick study."
"I'll bet you are," she murmured, reaching across me for the salt, her breast brushing my arm in a move that couldn't have been accidental.
David, oblivious to the undercurrents, launched into a detailed explanation of the upcoming test battle. "It's not just about power," he said between bites. "It's about strategy, control, knowing when to hold back and when to strike."
I nodded, half-listening while observing the family dynamics. Sarah's protective nature toward me, Maya's shy admiration, Lila's aggressive sexuality, and David's oblivious paternal pride. Each relationship offered different opportunities, different weaknesses to exploit.
After lunch, I excused myself to meet Zack. As I was leaving, Lila caught my arm in the hallway.
"This isn't over," she whispered, her nails digging slightly into my skin. "I always get what I want."
I leaned in, close enough that my lips nearly brushed her ear. "So do I. The difference is, I make people beg for it first."
I left her standing there, her cheeks flushed, her breathing uneven. Round two to me.
---
Zack was waiting outside his apartment building, looking even more disheveled than usual.
"Wassup, bro?" I called, approaching him.
"I'm good," he replied, though his slumped shoulders and dark circles under his eyes told a different story. "My mom insulted me all day. 'Why can't you be like the Harrison boy? He's C-rank already.' Like I haven't heard that my whole life."
I felt a twinge of something—not quite sympathy, but close enough to be concerning. "Rankings are bullshit," I said. "They measure one thing, not everything."
"Easy for you to say, Mr. C-rank," he replied, but there was no real bitterness in his tone. "Anyway, I need to see coach. He wants to train me today."
"Good grief," Zack sighed, clearly envious but supportive. "At this rate, you'll be B-rank before the test battle. Save some glory for the rest of us, will you?"
I laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "I'll put in a good word for you. Maybe he can teach you to move two paperclips at once."
"Fuck you," he said, but he was smiling now. "Hey, watch out for Pixie on your way to the training center. She's doing a live stream near there."
"Pixie?"
"The pink-haired streamer? Only the biggest Arena influencer right now. Crystal element, B-rank, but more importantly, ten million followers. One mention from her can make or break a new fighter's career."
Interesting. I filed that information away for future use.
---