Dawn came washed and blue. The town still steamed from last night's rain; the straight gutter on their eave whispered as if finishing a sentence. The monastery wall was cool under the hand, lime and grit and old labor. Brother Sen stood there like a plumb line set against the morning, robe threadbare, hair tied back without vanity. He didn't wave. He didn't need to.
"In," he said when they were close enough to hear him without the yard hearing, "not greedy. Out—own it. We'll put hands on truth today."
Trixie tightened the strap on Taro's face wrap and smoothed the leather across his cheekbone with exact thumbs. He checked the ladder on her buckler harness and kissed her brow-guard quick, the way you say yes to a plan. Sen watched their small ritual with a blink that could have been approval. And a twitch of the lips that might have been a smile.
"Your shield sings," he said to Trixie. "We'll teach the edge to dance with it."
She stood a little taller, then forced herself not to.
They warmed the pillar—breath ladder to six-in/eight-out while Sen's knuckles tapped Taro's ribs to remind them to close "like a book,", the reminder welcomed and a small smile of familiar teachings growing across Taros face.
Armor Steps on the stair with exhale landing each foot—step, settle, bones stacked, no debt. They walked a chalked grid until half-shoe slides and quarter-turn heel pivots smoothed into thoughtless honesty. In the pale light Trixie's cadence slid into Taro's body the way a good song does—never demanding, always there.
Recognized Training (home).
Team Passive — Call-and-Breath II steady.
Blessed Growth: +2 to all stats.
"Feet are your honesty," Sen said, deadpan. "Hands are the rumor you spread after."
He turned to Taro. "Ki in the hand."
They built it from touch. Sen had Taro place his fist against the wall like greeting an old friend. Heel to hip to ribs to wrist—the line stacking itself. A just-visible breath, then the fist whispered into the stone without the shoulder shoving. Sen's palm rode Taro's spine as if to show the breath where to go. The flow of ki moving slowly as it was called to action and began to respond to the summons.
"Don't push," Sen murmured. "Invite the world to help." And the wall strike repeated itself until the ki flow began to be unclogged. A flow of water that finally pushed past the barricade that slowed it.
On the bag the whisper became a knock. Ki Punch found shape—short, correct, no flourish—and the bag lurched an inch, sand jump visible at the seams. He made it again, and again; Sen stopped him at three. "You're not paying interest on your ribs today."
Ki Guard came next. Sen tapped shoulders, temples, ribs with a padded baton while Taro's exhale set like a lattice. The first few strikes scuffed skin and pride equally. The flow learning a new path through his ribs and spine. Then the timing clicked—guard beginning three heartbeats before impact. The baton's thuds turned into poor decisions that never quite landed as they meant. And the guard began to glow on hit, the baton stopping no more than half an inch from skin as the ki flowed and solidified like water freezing over a pond in winter.
"Now the string," Sen said. He ran it once—Ki Pulse Step, a breath-led drop that slid him under an imaginary cleaver; palm heel to jaw-base like a polite question; a short turning elbow that wrote the answer. He nodded to Taro. "Do not admire. Decide."
Taro did, once slow, then clean, the drop-step arriving before his feet admitted it, the palm heel a small sun in the hinge of the jaw, the elbow finishing the sentence.
Ki Pulse Step (Novice → I).
Parry-Catch (Novice → I).
Snap Step I → II (angles cleaner; exit improved).
"Save the third tap for when it matters," Sen said when they reviewed Taro's GuardMelt. "But if you need it, make it the one that staggers."
He turned to Trixie. "Roof, bind, decide."
Sen's overhands came down like bad weather trying to break in. She raised RoofGuard and felt the steel dish sing in her wrist. Instead of staying there to be admired, she rolled the dish along his forearm to bind the strike, stole exactly one brick of space with a shoulder, and put a narrow cut into the seam Sen's blow had revealed. Quick. Neat. Honest.
"Moulinet," Sen murmured, and she traced the small circle with her wrist that put the edge back where danger likes to live without stepping—a ribbon of air that promised threat without theatrics.
"Beat, thrust," he said next, tapping the buckler with two knuckles. She knocked, then tucked the tip into the lane the knock had forced, a two-tempo sentence that did not need a conjunction.
Roof Guard (Novice → I).
Riposte I → II (faster window; truer point).
Shield Shoulder (Novice → I).
"Count for him," Sen said, eyes crinkled, "but let your edge keep its own rhythm. Two musicians; one song."
They built partner work. Hook & Hinge: Taro pinned with a forearm and shoulder, not over-Surging, while Trixie threaded a thrust past his bicep into a seam she'd made herself. Roof & Rip: she roofed a heavy blow; he spent the beat with a body-head pair of short shots that did not rob breath, then got out clean. They ran smoke protocol under a low cloth—her cadence turning fog into a hallway, his Anchor Step making a wall where none had been.
The light lifted toward silver. Spars, then. Sen moved like grammar—every motion intended to be read and answered. With Taro he offered jabs that were really lessons; Taro parry-caught one, slid a short hook to the ribs, rolled his shoulder so leather kissed instead of bit when Sen's baton pretended to be a cross. Counter-Tempo III pinned a hitch; the monk string snapped into place—drop, palm, elbow—and Sen rewarded him with a cuff like a punctuation mark.
"You're not here to impress the bag," he said mildly. "You're here to live."
With Trixie he feinted low and dropped a cheeky overhand. She roofed, bound exactly, and cut-over with a neat ruin of intention. "Good. Don't admire your work. Make more."
They cooled down with long exhales, wrists and lats and hips stretching into tomorrow's version of themselves. Sen gave homework without making it feel like orders.
"One monk string per fight," he told Taro. "No more. Save Ki."
"One two-tempo per room," he told Trixie. "Make it matter."
He lifted two fingers in farewell that could have been a blessing. "Breath before doors," he said, almost smiling. "Every door is a teacher. I shall be back in two days to check your assignments. Be ready." Both exhausted pupils nodded and knew they had work to do and things to test in the dungeon, but they would do their work and do it well.
They walked home along a lane rinsed to brightness, the straight gutter whispering their pace back to them. The house smelled of tea and oil and leather doing its job. They put the kettle on. They put their gear down. The kind of ordinary that keeps a life from bragging.
Meaningful Training Registered.
Blessed Growth: +2 to all stats.
Team Passive — Call-and-Breath II stabilized.
They took care of each other the way you do when the day has asked for everything and given something back.
"Sit," he said softly.
She did, and he folded a warmed cloth over her feet, steam rising with a faint sweetness of pine. His thumbs drew slow lines from heel to ball, found the cords that carry camps and markets and floors, pressed just enough on her exhale to convince, not conquer. He circled under each toe pad; he traced the tendon arcs along the top and eased the ladder where toes meet the world. When a knot let go she made a small sound that lived somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. He smiled without looking up. He kissed each toe—light, grateful—then the tops and the soles, an old promise answered in their new language. She blushed in awe of his admiration and his respect for her tribes customs. And when his kiss lingered a bit longer on her two biggest toes with a cheeky look and a widening smile in his kiss, she blushed and giggled at his action.
"Calves?" he asked after straightening once more and going higher up her legs with one final kiss to the soles of her feet and the tops of each foot.
"Yes," she breathed, cheeks warm.
His palms glided up her calves, kneading rope into silk; thumbs slid the length of the IT band; he worked with reverence around the knee, then eased into the first muscles of the thigh with the patience of someone who understands what work lives there. He smoothed the edge of her porter-cut where leather had sat all day, heat in the skin and a low hum in her throat as tension unwound. At the hinge of hip and thigh he slowed, careful and kind, letting pressure be comfort and not claim. Her breath deepened. The reflexive wag of her tail betrayed her once, twice, before she caught it, grinning at herself even as color touched her ears.
"My turn," she said, voice low.
She took his hands like cherished tools, rolling each finger from root to tip, the tiny clicks of joints readjusting like notes in a chord. Her thumbs drew circles in the palm's valleys, then ran long strokes through forearm flexors, shorter rubs across the top where extensor tendons lie like taught bowstrings. She eased the knot that Sen's baton had written into the edge of his triceps; she pressed into the shoulder cap in slow, patient circles until heat spread and something complicated became simple again.
"Back?" she asked, glancing at the tick with a playful lift of a brow.
"I trust you," he said, blushing a little because trust is a private word.
She stepped lightly onto the straw tick and tested his calves with one foot—warm pressure, then more. She moved up to hamstrings and glutes, balancing like a dancer, timing weight to his exhale. Heels leaned into the long erectors that bracket the spine; toes traced the edges of his shoulder blades; a careful rocking over the traps until stubborn knots softened. He made a sound he would not make in the yard and did not apologize for here. She smiled at the honesty of it and worked there a little longer, letting her soles do the persuasion and her toes the search. When she reached the top of the shoulders she set one foot between the blades, one over the far trap, pressing a thumb's worth on his out-breath and easing when he drew air.
As her feet pressed tighter into the spine he exhaled as a click was heard and a tension left. She smiled at his ease and worked harder at the joints. When she put one foot down by his face to balance and have her toes grip and work along his spine, he saw the chance and kissed her closest toe. Making her eep in surprise.
She looked down and enjoyed his cheeky grin, she smiled and wiggled her toes against his lips as a tease and he returned it by kissing each toe as they came into contact. They both giggled a bit as young couples do when they both enjoy an inside joke that only they knew the punchline to.
She stepped down fully to finish with palms, smoothing a little oil to make the work a single story. He turned over and they found themselves close enough to count eyelashes. The kiss found them without discussion—soft first, then warmer, a second that lasted, a third that made both of them laugh quietly at the sweetness of being allowed to have this.
His hand slid to her waist, respectful and wanting. Her fingers brushed the hem of his wrap at his ribs, hovered, pressed through fabric—testing the edges of a new country they were mapping together. The kiss deepened; he tasted tea, and rain, and her. She made a small sound against his mouth that he would keep tucked away forever. When breath insisted, they parted just enough to let the world back in.
"Tomorrow," she whispered, cheeks bright.
"Together," he said, the word heavier than it looked.
They curled in, her back to his chest, his palm warm at her hip. Her toes tucked against his shin like something precious put away safe. The room smelled of clean skin and pine oil and leather that would be ready in the morning. Outside, the market settled. The gutter kept its promise.
He felt the day's panes slide into place on the back of his eyes as sleep arrived.
Status — Taro
Class: Monk I (D-rank)
HP: 880 base (10× END 88) → 1380 effective (END 138 in combat/training)
Ki: 81Base Stats (post-19 → after training):
STR 92 | END 88 | AGI 88 | SPIRIT 69 | MIND 66 | LUCK 65 | Ki 81
Skills: Snap Step II; Ki Pulse Step I; Parry-Catch I; Guard Melt II (refinement ↑); Ki Guard (timing ↑); Weave Engine II; Counter-Tempo III; Load-Bearing Breath II; Rooted Frame (Novice); Rope-Cut Step (Novice); Formation Breach (Novice).
Monk String: Pulse Step → Palm Heel → Short Elbow (learned).
Status — Trixie
Plate (D-rank): STR 80 | END 84 | AGI 78 | SPIRIT 62 | MIND 56 | LUCK 54
Skills: Roof Guard I; Riposte II; Shield Shoulder I; Two-Tempo (Beat→Thrust) unlocked; Porter Brace I.
Team:
Call-and-Breath II (stable range ↑).
Partner Modules learned: Hook & Hinge, Roof & Rip, Smoke Protocol.
Blessed Growth: +2 all (training).
On the lintel, a fine thread of chalk they hadn't seen when they came in caught the last of the lamplight.
One string each. Don't admire; decide. —S