I woke with a sharp gasp, lungs dragging air back into me, yet my body refused to move. The space around me was unfamiliar—too still, too clean, the air faintly scented with herbs and warm wood. My head felt light, buoyant in a way that made the ceiling seem farther than it should be.
When I tried to circulate my qi, it flowed without resistance.
That, somehow, made it worse.
I tried again to move. Nothing. My qi obeyed me more than my limbs did, and that felt backwards in a way I hated.
"What… happened?" I forced out. My tongue felt heavy, bitter, like I'd bitten down on old leaves.
"Ah. You're awake."
The voice came from somewhere to my left, calm and infuriatingly pleased. Footsteps followed, unhurried.
"You should feel some discomfort," the voice continued. "But nothing alarming."
"Did I lose?" I asked.
The footsteps stopped.
There was a pause—just long enough to sting.
"Most definitely not."
Miss Li Hua. I could hear her smile without seeing it.
I tried to turn my head. The effort sent a wave of dizziness through me. "Where's Victoria?"
"She's learning," Miss Li Hua replied lightly, "that her shinobi does not answer every command simply because it was spoken."
She chuckled.
"But you," she added, far too cheerfully, "you were knocked out cold."
"That's not exactly comforting," I muttered.
"As if you would have done any better," another voice said dryly.
Footsteps approached the bedside. A familiar presence leaned closer.
"How are you feeling, dear?" Mr Mumei-shi asked gently. "Any fever?"
"She's just red from embarrassment," Miss Li Hua said, dismissive as ever.
Mr Mumei-shi placed something cool beside me—medicine, maybe water. "Hazel said rest would be enough. Sleep, and you'll recover."
Then, with a regretful sigh, "It is a shame I missed the sparring match."
"It was interesting," Miss Li Hua said. "Little Heiwa has truly grown into her own."
She paused, then added, "Though the mother goose remains a goose's mother."
I wanted to protest. To argue. To sit up and prove something—anything.
Instead, the weight of frustration pressed me deeper into the bedding.
The sun was already dipping low, staining the room in amber and burnt gold. Shadows stretched lazily across the floor, long and forgiving. I stared at the ceiling, replaying every misstep, every moment I'd been too slow, too certain.
I lay there for a while—time stretching thin—until the room filled again with soft movement.
Miss Hazel came quietly, her daughter and Dōngzhì padding beside her. Others followed, voices low, respectful, as if my pride were something fragile that might crack if spoken over too loudly.
Outside, the sky shifted—orange fading to a fleeting pink, then settling into a deep, dignified violet. Stars began to blink awake.
"How are you feeling?" Victoria asked.
Her hand wrapped around mine, warm and steady. That alone nearly undid me.
Silence pooled between us. I searched for a clever answer, something composed, something worthy.
Instead—
"I lost," I blurted. The phrase felt like sawdust in my mouth.
The word landed heavier than I expected. The frustration I thought I'd buried clawed its way back up, sharp and hot.
Victoria laughed softly. "You're so competitive."
Then, more gently, "No one expected you to win. And this may not help—but I lost too."
She squeezed my hand.
That did it. A short, surprised laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it. "That… almost helps."
"I mean it," she said, grinning. "You were incredible—for those few moments."
She paused, then collapsed into laughter. "Really. You were."
"Oh wow. High praise," I muttered.
My stomach growled, loud and unapologetic. "What's for dinner?"
She blinked, then laughed again. "Right. I don't know—but Miss Hazel is cooking."
I turned my face toward the window, moonlight spilling in silver and soft. For once, I didn't argue. I let the quiet do its work.
"I heard," I said after a moment, "you failed to summon your shinobi."
She sighed. "Yeah. I wanted to ask for a massage after all the damage they caused. No response."
That earned a real smile from me.
They do not do massages, I thought, amused.
Victoria leaned closer, studying my face. "You sure you don't have a fever? Your cheeks are very red."
"I'm fine," I said quickly, swatting her hand away. "Perfectly fine."
"Mm-hm." She stood. "I'll go check on dinner."
The door slid shut behind her.
I lay there again, emotions tangled but quieter now—less sharp, less loud. Embarrassment lingered, sure, but beneath it was something else: resolve, maybe. Or understanding.
Blue learns. Black corrects.
"Dinner," I murmured to myself. "And a bath."
The thought alone felt like recovery.