24 stood under the bridge, the river flowing quietly at their feet. The fire from last night had died to embers, and the morning light stretched thin across the rocks.
"Today," he said, voice low but firm, "is your final lesson."
Lu's masked gaze met his, curious. "Final?"
"Not in skill," he clarified. "In understanding. You've learned speed. Strength. Awareness. All of that is meaningless if you can't move with someone else — as one. Without getting in each other's way."
She shifted slightly. "So, I have to anticipate you…?"
"No," he said. "You have to see through me. The key isn't speed or strength — it's perspective. You learn to match your partner's pace, to adjust before you even realize you need to."
For the first day, they trained with bare hands. No blades, no tools — just movement, balance, and reaction.
They circled each other, testing distance, timing, and flow.
Lu reached, and 24 stepped aside before she could make contact. She mirrored him, learning the subtle cues — the shift in weight, the tightening of a fist, the angle of a shoulder.
By the end of the day, they were moving together in short bursts, anticipating each other's motion without speaking. Lu stumbled sometimes, misreading his intent, but he adjusted without pause, guiding her through the rhythm.
"You're too rigid," he said at one pause. "Loosen your shoulders. Feel the flow, don't force it."
"I'm trying," she replied, still catching her breath.
"Good. Keep trying."
On the second day, they added blades.
At first, the strikes were cautious, the swings measured. Lu landed a few scratches on his arm — small, but noticeable.
"Not bad," he said, examining the marks, "but you overreach. You have to read me before you strike, not after."
She nodded, adjusting her stance, focusing more on his subtle movements rather than just her own instincts.
The scratches continued intermittently, a reminder that she was learning, not flawless. 24 never retaliated harshly, only corrected, guided, and adjusted his pace to hers.
By the third day, everything began to click.
They moved fluidly, blades weaving through space, strikes parried and countered in perfect rhythm. Neither was ahead, neither was behind. They anticipated, adjusted, reacted — not as individuals, but as a single force.
Lu blocked his attack, then followed seamlessly into a counter, and 24 shifted mid-motion to accommodate her, leaving openings only for her to flow through.
"Stop thinking," he said quietly during a pause. "Move with me. Feel me."
She breathed heavily but didn't speak. For the first time, she understood the lesson — this wasn't about skill, or killing, or survival. It was about trust. About knowing your partner so well that your movements became a single heartbeat in space.
When the sun fell behind the badlands that evening, they finally sheathed their blades.
Lu stood beside him, chest heaving, mask glinting in the fading light.
"I think… I get it," she said softly.
"Good," he replied. "Because out there, it's rare to fight alone. You'll need this — more than you know."
The river murmured beneath the bridge. For the first time in days, they moved not as hunter and student, but as something closer to equals.
And 24 allowed himself a faint nod of approval — subtle, but earned.