I'd finally gotten comfortable enough with Chain Punch that I could channel qi from my solar plexus to my knuckles without losing control or breaking the flow—four times out of five. Not exactly impressive, considering the principle behind Chain Punch is a machine-gun burst. Mine jammed every fifth shot. Though to be fair, "jammed" might be wrong…

The hardest part was splitting the qi thread evenly across the triple channel. Sometimes I couldn't reach one of the knuckles. The projection would still form and shoot forward, but it was incomplete—underpowered. Worse, the leftover qi that failed to reach the endpoint would start to accumulate after a good volley, building up in my hands and threatening to detonate. More than once I had to purge it, blasting out uncontrolled qi just to clear my channels. By the end of training, I'd run the reactor dry.

At first, I panicked. But René explained I'd simply depleted my energy reserves.

According to my interface:

Energy: 2/156

You could buy potions from the shop for instant recovery, or tea to speed up natural regeneration. Left alone, it would restore over two or three days. The less strain, the faster the recovery—so I wrapped up training and headed home to research energy-restoring teas. Pure Thoughts, for the record, were absolutely useless for that. But there were other options on the market that worked just fine.

I decided to ask Kate which one to go for.

Our next training session was set for six in the evening—after my shift—in the same sand-covered hall.

This time, Kate brought a bag of tennis balls.

"I want you to start learning to counter-attack while you still have the chance. Right now you've got an advantage—your core technique creates a barrage, which throws off an opponent's focus. That means in a real fight, you'll probably be the one pressing. But just in case your opponent seizes the initiative—that's what we're training for."

Kate pulled out two balls and tossed them to me. Then glanced at the bag, paused, and flung it forward with a full swing.

Balls scattered across the sand, and the bag flopped to the ground at her feet.

"Throw them at me," she said. "The more accurate, the better. Throw those two first—then fetch more."

I tossed one in my hand, weighing it. Just a standard tennis ball. Even if I got lucky and scored a hit, Kate wouldn't be hurt.

Zap.

The first bolt whizzed past my ear. That was Kate's way of saying start. The second one I had to dodge properly. I stepped left, knees slightly bent. The sand shifted underfoot, but I kept my balance. I didn't get the chance to throw. Had to dodge again.

"You're not even trying!" Kate snapped, and I hurled a ball at her.

Missed. And again. Both throws were way off. The first one I'd thrown too hard and too high, the second — too soft.

"Now that one I didn't try," I shot back, dodging another bolt and diving into the sand for the nearest ball.

My muscles just couldn't sync yet — one thing was scrambling away from lightning bolt, another was aiming, focusing, and throwing with any precision. I was either late or too quick. But hey, that's what training's for.

Kate didn't say anything else. She just kept firing — accurately, calmly, not out of spite, but with enough force to keep me moving.

Zap.

But this time I was ready. A sidestep — and a tennis ball right to her chest!

Kate raised a hand and caught it. Looked at the ball, then at me, smiled and said,

"Point to you."

I blinked.

"If you're going to catch them, that's not going to be as satisfying!"

"I'm not here to make things satisfying for you," she said, then narrowed her eyes and cracked lightning between her fingers. "And don't even think about making a joke out of that."

I didn't risk it.

"So a caught ball counts as a hit?"

"If it's flying straight at me and I can't ignore it — it's a hit."

Zap.

Another dodge — this time a low roll, one more ball in hand. Throw — just off. It passed close, but didn't connect.

Kate didn't flinch.

"Unlike that," she said flatly.

"Continuing!" I called, and let the next ball fly.

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Zap.

The game continued for another hour. In total, I "hit" her nineteen times. By the end, Kate had definitely made me sweat — pelting me with lightning bolts non-stop. Somehow, we even managed to talk about tea in the process.

Kate recommended yellow-grade marigold. It would double the speed of my energy recovery — meaning I'd get back somewhere between 65 and 100 percent within a day. She thought that was more than enough for training and not worth overpaying for anything stronger.

I figured there was no point in going to the shop today. One cup of tea wouldn't do much overnight — and besides, I had sand to rinse out of... difficult places.

I had it all planned: shower, dinner, early start tomorrow... But right after the shower — just before dinner — we had a bit of drama in the block. More emotional than physical. The system flagged it, but no one threw punches, and the bullies scattered as soon as Kowalski and I showed up. There wasn't even anyone to fine.

After dinner — round two. The situation played out exactly the same way, but this time it was Dubois's shift.

Assistant supervisors chat went live.

Dubois: "We need to do something about these bullies."

Kowalski: "And what are you going to do? No fight, no complaints."

Both messages carried a clear note of frustration.

Dubois: "Suggesting the Sullivan solution."

Whoa! Hold on. He's not planning to beat them up, is he? I don't doubt the genius kid could manage it — but how would Liang Shi respond to that?

Speak of the devil...

Liang: "If any of you start a fight — you're out. Especially you, Dubois. I'm watching you closely."

Yeah. I know why. And I'm very grateful that no longer applies to me!

Liang: "You too, Sullivan."

Ah, bloody hell. It's like he's reading my mind.

Sullivan: "I don't start fights."

Liang: "Keep it that way."

Dubois: "You said yourself we need to deal with the bullies."

Liang: "So deal with them."

Liang: "What — no options besides a punch-up?"

The chat went quiet for about twenty minutes. Then Dubois chimed back in.

Dubois: "Suggest we meet up and talk it through."

Kowalski: "Now?"

Dubois: "Who's free now?"

Responses started popping up:

Lin: "I'm in."

Sullivan: "+"

Omar: "On my way."

Sun: "Where are we meeting?"

Dubois: "Vending machines at the end of the block."

By the time I got there, Dubois was already standing beside the machines, handing out fizzy drinks like they were bribes for showing up. Three cans had already been claimed — the fourth was for me.

"What'll it be?" he asked.

"Dealer's choice," I waved him off.

Dubois selected a drink, paid for it, and passed it over.

"Sweet stuff's for the brain — helps you think," he said as he handed it to me.

He took the same for himself, but only after he'd served the last of us — Sun Hao.

"Right," he began, "we've got three active groups. All working independently, not stepping on each other's toes, but using the same tactics: psychological pressure, threats of violence, and from there — blackmail and extortion."

Dubois reached up and removed a tablet from the top of the vending machine — one he'd clearly planted earlier. He brought up a list.

"Revis's team — three members. Quick to escalate. They're not afraid of penalty points — in fact, they provoke incidents deliberately so they can 'work off' the punishment. If a 'client' resists, the beating usually happens in the stairwell or lift."

"The lift's a blind spot too?" I asked.

Dubois nodded.

Well, that tracks.

"Marek's team — four of them. Focused on psychological abuse. Physically the weakest group, but they know how to get under your skin. They specialise in disrupting cultivation sessions."

"Sorry, what?" I frowned.

"They find out when a cadet's booked a Chamber, ambush them on the way there, and wind them up until they lose focus. The cadet can't concentrate — result? We've already had two serious injuries because of it," Dubois said. "How come you didn't crack after the Tariq fight?"

"Top-grade Pure Thoughts. Don't ask where I got it — I won't say."

Dubois gave me a slow nod, but pressed a little further.

"Orange?"

"Red."

Dubois nodded again and turned back to his tablet.

"Marek's team — smartest and most careful. The third group is just a pair — Kieren and Tan. They run evening raids on rooms, posing as 'inspectors'. They take supplies, tea, techniques — anything, really. Most afraid of exposure, because their method's the dirtiest. And because they've been caught three times already — still haven't stopped."

Dubois seemed to be wrapping up, so I added,

"And then there's Tariq."

Eric nodded.

"You've already had a 'chat' with Tariq. Seems to have made an impression. His group hasn't caused any trouble since."

"Right! And Liang Shi banned us from being that convincing again," said Kowalski with a sigh.

Omar exhaled loudly.

"We can't hit them — and that's not just a figure of speech. The supervisor is actually watching us. If we're lucky, it's just a fine. I'm not keen on losing a job where I mostly get to relax."

"You and Sullivan are the ones relaxing!" grumbled Sun Hao.

"Don't act like you overexert yourself," Lin Jiao shot back. "Half of the cadets are still asleep when your shift starts. They only wake up in mine."

"By yours, they're already gone from the block!"

Sun Hao and Lin Jiao clearly weren't on speaking terms any more.

"Cut it out!" Kowalski barked. "I'm dying to take it out on someone too. Preferably with grievous bodily harm. Gods, it's a crime I can't just punch those little pricks!"

"Actually — we can punch them," I said. "Where it really hurts."

"In the bollocks?" Kowalski asked, hopeful.

"The second most painful place," I corrected. "Their wallet. Or in our case — their point balance. No fighting, all clean. We just... use the system."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Lin crossed his arms.

"We round up everyone they've bullied — especially the ones who fought back at least once. Then we arrange for each of them, within the same hour of the same day, to do something very specific. A slap. A shove. A spit in the face. Something small but obvious."

"And then what?" Hao cut in.

"And then we — as assistants — respond. We fine everyone involved in the conflict. One incident — coincidence. Two — still a coincidence. Five — starts to look like a pattern. After that, every retaliation from the bullies becomes grounds for more penalties. If we can pull this off for a few days straight, they'll be sitting on a fine list as long as the library index."

Dubois nodded thoughtfully.

"If they don't break psychologically — they'll break financially."

"There's one problem," said Omar. "We can't tell the victims to hit them. That's technically conspiracy."

"Technically," I said, "Liang Shi never said we can't conspire. He said we can't fight. And we won't. And what happens — can't even be called a fight."

"You want to convince a bunch of rabbits to jump a pack of wolves?" Sun Hao laughed. "This whole idea's doomed!"

Kowalski patted me on the shoulder, surprisingly cheerful.

"I like this plan. And if it does end in a massive brawl — I won't complain. Gives me an excuse to warm up my fists!"

"Let's try to keep it clean," I said.

"Trying's fair," Dubois agreed. "But no rushing in. First, we gather a list of the bullied."

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