The mornings were always the same.
Under the old bridge, 24 led the slow stretches, his body moving in precise arcs and controlled bends. Lu followed as best she could, mirroring his movements. The river flowed quietly beneath them, reflecting the pale light of dawn.
"Remember," 24 said, voice even, "flexibility isn't just about surviving attacks. It's about being ready for anything — even if you don't know it's coming."
Lu nodded, focusing on the motion, the rhythm. Her muscles screamed, but she pushed through, knowing the evenings would test her in a far different way.
When the sun began to dip and shadows stretched long across the bridge, the real training began.
"Tonight," 24 said once the fire was lit, "your goal is simple. Put a mark on me. One strike, one touch, one scratch. Anything."
"And if I succeed?"
"You don't," he said flatly. "You just survive another day."
Lu melted into the shadows immediately, moving with careful, deliberate steps. Every motion was a study in patience. Every moment, she watched him. Studied him. Learned him.
But no matter what she tried — from fast strikes across the riverbank to slow approaches through dust and broken stones — 24 always anticipated her moves. Blocks, parries, slight shifts in stance; he moved like a shadow of himself, unerring, impossible.
Night after night, she failed.
Each morning, she returned, exhausted and bruised, only to face his slow, measured stretches under the bridge. Each evening, she tried again. Every attack was met with calm, precise defense.
By the seventh night, the weight of the week pressed down on her shoulders.
"Tonight," 24 said as the fire crackled, "don't hold back. Try anything. Use the shadows, the terrain, your instincts. Don't think about winning — think about surviving and marking me."
Lu's pulse quickened. She moved with everything she had — fast strikes from the riverbank, rolling through dust and broken rocks, silent steps, sudden lunges from behind the bridge's pillars.
For the first time, 24's defenses faltered — not completely, but enough that she landed a graze across his shoulder.
He didn't flinch.
And then, one step too late, one moment miscalculated, Lu's strike almost got through. 24 reacted with a burst of speed — his body disappearing in the air with the distortion of his jump, landing just out of reach as her hand swept the spot where he'd been.
Lu froze, chest heaving, realizing how close she had come. The shadowed riverbank and broken stones were still.
24 landed silently, dust scattering from his boots. He didn't speak, didn't scold. He only adjusted his stance and said quietly:
"You're faster than you were yesterday. But never forget — even one mistake can be the last."
She swallowed hard, blinking into the night. Her arms shook, her entire body taut with exhaustion and adrenaline.
"I… almost got you," she admitted.
"Almost is not enough," he said. "But you're learning. That's what matters."
The fire burned low. The river whispered beneath the bridge. And for the first time, Lu understood that this training was more than survival or skill. It was a lesson in patience, awareness, and the razor-thin line between life and death.
She didn't speak again that night. She simply nodded and waited for the dawn, knowing the mornings would be slow, steady, and mercilessly exacting — and that the evenings would come again.