I took it easy that morning. My energy had only recovered to 81 out of 156, so I went back to basics and worked on movement drills using the hologram. It went fairly well — the red flashes were showing up far less often than before, though I was still far from perfect. I didn't spend as much time on qi projection, but I did manage to push my continuous fire rate up to 8 out of 9. I could now release a volley of 15 to 20 strikes without serious risk of qi detonation. Two or three of them would still misfire, though, and I'd have to purge the excess energy from my arms with a heavy burst.

Straight after training with Rene — no rest, just a quick detour to the shop for marigold tea — I had another session with Kate. Lightning bolts, dodging, and tennis balls — nothing new except that I'd improved. At least less sand made it into my suit. And I only caught two bolts this time.

Then again, maybe Kate was going easy on me — I had cultivation planned for the evening.

Lunch that day followed an unspoken new rule: no one talked about their own techniques anymore. Ever since Marlon pointed out we might face each other in the arena, the topic had become taboo. And honestly? No one seemed to mind. Instead of showing our own hands, we started analysing other people's.

Bao told us about a girl he'd met in the Tree Garden. She'd bought a technique called Falling Leaf Veil, which let her surround herself in swirling leaves. Not very strong as a shield, but it partially obscured her from her opponent. She could also wrap enemies in the leaf cloud. On the first tier, it was mostly for show — at second tier, the leaves could cut, though not through proper armour unless they were upgraded with Point or Blade Qi.

Denis mentioned rumours about a guy who'd bought a Fist technique but trained to use it with open palms — just to trick opponents in the arena.

I didn't believe that for a second.

Kate might be able to pull something like that. Rene definitely could. But Rene was third stage, and Kate was almost there. No rookie could manage that. Marlon, meanwhile, had nothing to share — too focused on his own grind to notice anything else around him.

Nur, though, was a goldmine of gossip about girls and their techniques. She talked so much that, by the time she finally paused for breath, it was too late for me to say anything.

After lunch, I had a meeting with the other assistant supervisors. This time we gathered in Dubois's room. Same group as before. Tea instead of fizzy cans. And the tone — completely different. Everyone was serious now.

"Right," Dubois began. "First point: we don't push victims to attack. We compile a list of cadets who've been targeted — preferably those who resisted at least once. They're more likely to be open to standing up for themselves again. Even if it's just a small step."

Made sense.

"Second point: we approach them one-on-one. No pressure. No 'you have to'. No 'this is your duty'. We just make an offer. Remind them they have the right to defend themselves. And that if the bullies retaliate — we, as assistants, can hit them with penalties."

"The bullies will know about the plan by evening," Omar warned, shaking his head.

"We're basically using them as bait, offering no guarantees," Hao said sceptically. "Except that their attackers will get fined."

As much as I didn't like the guy, he had a point.

"No," Kowalski countered. "We're offering them a choice. Endure it — or push back."

"That still sounds like manipulation," I said.

Kowalski raised an eyebrow — part surprise, part offence.

"Shall I remind you this was your plan?"

"I remember," I waved him off. "That's why we're here — to refine it. Use your critical thinking."

"My critical thinking's screaming that this ends in a massive brawl."

"That's exactly what we're trying to avoid," Sun Hao pointed out.

"Depends who ends up throwing the punches," Lin Jiao muttered. "Let's be honest — if the victims deck the bullies, that'll be epic."

"That'll be an epic disaster," Omar shot back.

"Let's be blunt," Dubois said. "We're expecting a fight. It's going to happen no matter what. The only question is how big it gets. A shove, a slap, a spit — they're all provocations. One way or another, it ends physical."

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"Then we start with the weakest group — the ones doing the psychological bullying. If they're not used to swinging fists, we'll get to stir the pot longer."

"Finding someone willing to go first is the real problem," Kowalski muttered with frustration.

"I've got ten," Dubois replied, activating his tablet and handing it over. "First three are the most promising."

"Hmm..." Kowalski scrolled through the list, then passed the tablet to me.

"Sullivan should talk to the top ones."

"People say my tongue's a bit too sharp for negotiations," I offered.

"Let it be!" Kowalski shrugged. "You're living proof that standing up to bullies can work."

I hadn't really seen it that way — but that also meant I was taking on more responsibility.

It was manipulation, sure. But if not this — what else could we do?

I glanced down at the list. First name — Viktor Arada. Big guy. Denis-sized. I'd seen him in the corridors more than once. Quiet, avoided eye contact. But Dubois had marked him as a potential — one of the few who didn't give up his tea without a fight.

"Alright," I said. "I'll start with Arada."

"We still haven't decided what exactly you're going to say to them," Omar reminded me.

"We all are going to talk to them," Dubois corrected. "Sullivan takes the top three. The rest of us handle two each."

"You've only got ten names," Lin Jiao pointed out.

"And none of you made your own list?" Dubois gave a theatrical look of disapproval.

Kowalski leaned over to glance at the tablet again — still in my hands.

"I can add one," he said. "And I'll talk to him myself."

"Let's frame it as organised resistance," I suggested. My three were already assigned — I didn't care much about the rest. "We ask if they're willing to push back, willing to sacrifice a few points — if we can gather more people than the bullies' crew. I don't think there's any need to explain the whole plan up front."

"If you're doing the talking, they'll definitely assume it involves fists," Kowalski muttered.

"And so what? If they're ready for a fistfight — convincing them to spit in someone's face will be easy."

"Hmm..." Kowalski scratched his chin. "Then maybe we should all use you as an example. If they see you fought back, they might take it seriously. Our victims outnumber the bullies."

"There's still the question of how much more," Omar said. "We're dealing with three different groups."

"Biggest one's got four members," I said. "We're planning to speak to thirteen. So... eight? We get at least eight?"

"Different groups," Omar repeated. "And victims all need to act against the same one."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Lin Jiao cut in. "First — we get them to say yes in principle. That's step one."

And on that, we agreed.

I messaged Viktor and invited him over for a cup of tea — said I wanted to talk about the bullying situation. We agreed to meet in an hour.

Damian Shao said he could meet in two. Yuri Weltman didn't reply at all. Both of those meetings would fall during my shift.

Arada showed up exactly as planned. He looked exhausted — not physically, but emotionally. His eyes were red, his shoulders sagging. For the first time, we made proper eye contact.

"Sullivan?"

"Yeah. Come in — sit down." I gestured to Denis's bed and poured him a cup of Gunpowder. I wasn't Novak — no need to waste Pure Thoughts on this.

"You know what this is about."

"I'm not a coward," he said before I could even start. "I just didn't manage it like you did."

"I know. That's exactly why I asked you here. I want to offer another way."

Arada sat and took the tea.

"I'm listening."

Oh, good — looks like I wouldn't even have to convince him.

"We're planning a counterstrike. Officially, our hands are tied. Unofficially, we're looking for cadets who've resisted before. Eight minimum. If we coordinate it right, you'll have the chance to push back — and we, as assistant supervisors, will hit them with penalties. You'll get fined too, sure — but better that than paying in tea for the next six months."

"I'm in." Arada's eyes flashed darkly. "Give me the details."

"Whoa, hold your horses, hero. The fewer people who know in advance, the better. The bullies will find out fast enough — we're keeping the full plan under wraps until the day of."

In Damian Shao's case, a pair of bullies had taken his training fan — the kind wind cultivators used. They'd called him a little girl and snapped it in half right in front of him.

"I'm not out for revenge," he said immediately.

"How about masochism?" I countered. "Because they're not going to stop."

"What are you offering?"

Shao wanted details. No matter how I tried, I couldn't get him to commit. Still, I didn't write him off. He agreed to hear the full plan on D-day.

Weltman messaged me back just as I was brewing Pure Thoughts and getting ready to cultivate. We arranged to talk tomorrow.

Honestly, I have no idea what I would've done without that tea.

I kept thinking about Viktor — the way his eyes lit up when he said, "I'm in." About Shao and his fan, and that cautious mistrust in his voice. About Weltman, who I hadn't even spoken to yet.

If things went wrong… and they always do go wrong — I'd be the one to blame.

Only the tea calmed me.

My thoughts didn't vanish, but they eased. They slipped out of the centre of my mind and settled at the edges — like shadows flitting just outside awareness. No longer strangling. No longer pressing in from all sides.

I stepped into the corridor, then onto the stairs — this time making sure no one was following me.

The trip to the Meditation Hall went smoothly. I shared a few encouraging words with Nur, waited for her to enter her chamber, then took mine — number 34. I lay down and let myself dissolve into the flow.

This one was perfect — quiet, stable, calm. As if, just for a moment, my inner world aligned with the outer. That was enough. Just me, a metaphorical sun, and equally metaphorical waves.

I didn't even break a sweat.

When I opened the door, the first thing I saw was Nur's face. She was beaming — grinning ear to ear.

"Congrats," I said. Looked like it had gone well for her too.

I wondered… had Bulsara, like Robinson, shared a chamber with her during the breakthrough? Leeching off the leftover qi?

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