Marigold tea – what an abomination!

Its flavour could best be described as 'an infusion of a marathon runner's damp socks'. And you had to drink it twice a day for a consistent effect. Ideally before bed – since recovery peaks at night – and again first thing in the morning to prolong the benefit. Morning was the hardest. I managed the first sip through sheer willpower, squinting and losing faith in myself. The second I took with open contempt for my own weakness. The third... somehow, I finished the cup.

But it did work. First off – my energy recovered much faster: 132/156 even before breakfast. And speaking of breakfast – compared to the tea, every dish in our cafeteria tasted like the ambrosia of the gods.

The morning training session with Rene brought nothing new. I 'danced' in the hologram, channelled qi to my knuckles, fired off bursts of projection, and vented my arms when failed attempts led to excess qi buildup. I wasn't slipping up as often as before, so there was less venting and correspondingly less energy waste – though I was still far from perfect. But something new did appear: Rene said it was time for me to start learning the shield. He promised we'd work on it in the next session.

After Rene came Kate's turn. And this time she wasn't alone. Adam was with her.

"Just so you know," he said as we warmed up in the sand. "I'm not great at dialling down the force of a projection. So if it hits you – it's going to hurt."

"Are all of Novak's students sadists?" I asked.

"Not really," he replied with a smile. "Kate seems alright."

"Ha ha," I replied drily. "Maybe you guys could just use the training balls?"

"That's not the same," Adam shook his head seriously. "It's a whole different feeling when an attack charged with qi comes flying at you. Haven't you been taught that yet?"

"Feeling the attack specifically?" Kate asked. "Only passively. He can just tell Fist Qi apart."

"You know," I said uncertainly, "I think I can distinguish Lightning Qi now, too."

Kate tilted her head, clearly unsure.

"Your lightning root is four. You can't possibly sense it!"

"But he might be recognising the mix of Fist and Lightning. Test him," said Adam, then ordered me: "Close your eyes."

"No-no-no! I was wrong. That was a stupid joke!" I tried to talk my way out of the violence about to be inflicted on poor me.

"Don't be a child!" Adam barked, leaving no room for argument. "Close your eyes."

I had to obey.

"Just not the…"

My body darted to the right on its own. I couldn't describe the sensation as anything other than danger – it had been too fleeting for anything more. And of course, I opened my eyes, but all I saw was Kate's hand raised for a shot.

"He really can feel it!" said Adam.

"Or he's just sensing the Fist component in the projection," replied Kate, lowering her hand.

"Maybe…"

"But that's not what we're here for. We've got another task, so…" she pointed at me.

Adam picked up the sack of training balls and tossed it at my feet. I immediately grabbed two, looked at Adam, and dumped out the rest before he could stop me – he might not let me do it later.

Kate stayed to observe. She was the mentor; Adam was the hands-on trainer today. She had her own reasons, she'd said, for not overexerting herself before her upcoming isolation.

Adam wasn't firing electrobolts. His 'bolts' were projections formed from his finger, charged with Fist Qi. They didn't fry your nerves like Kate's, didn't crackle in your ears – they hit. The impact was springy and solid, like getting smacked by a rubber bullet.

I didn't see the first bolt – I felt it with my ribs and collapsed into the sand.

"Pause!" I croaked.

"Sorry!" Adam apologised. "Told you – not great at power control."

"And I'm not great at even seeing what it is you're throwing," I replied. "Your projections aren't as bright as Kate's, and they seem a lot faster. Plus, her bolts give off a stronger sense of threat."

"Two or three hits," Adam chuckled, "and you'll flinch from mine just the same. Maybe more."

Judging by how much my ribs hurt, I believed him.

"Let me at least take a look at them first," I asked. "Fire at the sand."

"Sounds reasonable," Kate backed me up. "My projections are tinted by lightning. Fist projections are bigger – easier to see and you shoot a small finger."

Adam shrugged and, in a cowboyish fashion, fired a couple of pew-pews from both index fingers. His bolts kicked up little spurts of sand. And it really was a pew, not a zap like Kate's.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"Again!" I requested.

The dull silver projections were hard to spot and fast.

"Alright," I said. "Now try shooting past me."

If that's how it is, I've got to watch his movements…

Adam started raising his hand, and silver qi gathered around his finger. He gave a light push forward and the projection shot off.

Yes! That's it! I can feel his qi more clearly now – almost like Kate's bolts.

"Alright," I steeled myself. "Let's try again."

Pew! Pew! Pew!

I didn't answer — just focused on dodging the bolts and protecting my ribs, clutching the balls tightly in my hands. Luckily, Kate showed some patience and didn't push me to respond faster.

Though it didn't last long.

"Counterattacks are still allowed, you know!" she reminded me.

"I remember!"

But Adam was firing too often, and I just couldn't find an opening.

"Can we lower the difficulty? Just so I can get at least one ball thrown."

The training lasted an hour and a half. By the end, I could barely breathe, my hands were trembling, and my shoulder blades were on fire. It was one of the most frustrating sessions I'd had. Strangely, I only got hit three times. It felt like Adam was tweaking the bolts mid-flight so that they'd miss me by mere centimetres. I only managed to throw four balls in return. Three were wasted shots, and the fourth was deflected by one of Adam's bolts — it ricocheted straight into my forehead.

At the end of the session, Adam said:

"Good work. Don't worry about the score. I can see you gave it everything. That's what matters."

"I'll get that printed on a T-shirt," I replied.

He smiled and left me with Kate.

She started gathering the balls, most of which had just sat untouched in a pile on the sand.

"Same time tomorrow. Then I disappear. I don't know what schedule you and Adam will have. Just take care of yourself, alright? He really is good at hitting and explaining things, but he's bad at moderating force."

"I noticed," I said, rubbing my ribs.

We all met for lunch, as usual, and this time the conversation revolved around one topic – Nur's breakthrough. The 'scent' of it still lingered around her. Her eyes were sunken and a little inflamed, but her appetite had returned.

My guys put two and two together pretty fast. They'd seen me in that condition before.

"You broke through, didn't you?" Bao was the first to ask, his voice carrying clear notes of jealousy and pain.

Nur nodded silently and gave a faint smile.

"Congrats," Denis managed to say, even forcing something like a smile.

"Beautiful," Marlon added, nodding with respect.

We exchanged a few more lines, joked about nonsense, but you could feel that the topic of Nur still hung in the air. And it would stay there for a while. When someone you know breaks through and leaves you behind, it weighs on you. Even if you are happy for them.

My shift in the block was uneventful – music and the library. I was mostly browsing for analogues of the techniques I'd already shortlisted, since I hadn't bought anything yet – it was all still changeable.

Near the end of my shift, I got a follow-up message from Weltman. Fifteen minutes later, I was serving him tea in my room.

He wasn't as emotional as Arada. More cautious, more measured — but not as distrustful as Shao.

"What did you want to talk about?" he asked, as if I hadn't already told him.

"About resisting the bullying. We're planning a small action — coordinated. No fights, no chaos. Just a synchronised response from the victims. We, as assistant monitors, respond. Both sides — yours and theirs — get minor penalties. But theirs scale up because of the volume of the infractions."

Yuriy silently sipped his tea.

"Details?"

I shook my head.

"If two people know a secret, it's not a secret," I said. "There's already too many of us."

Weltman laughed.

"Fantastic conditions! And how many have agreed so far?" he asked.

"Not telling you that either. But we won't start until we've got eight people."

"It's bullshit, man."

"Have they taken anything from you yet?" I asked. "Tea? Elixirs? Techniques?"

He nodded.

"No... They haven't laid a finger on me. Just ruined a cultivation session. I almost burned out in that bloody Chamber. I wish I'd caught them the way you did. But after your stunt, all the scumbags are on alert. No catching them off guard now."

So he was from one of the groups we'd marked as our first target?

"We're not asking you to fight. We're offering you coordination — and a chance."

Weltman went quiet, then set down his cup.

"I'm not against fighting," he said, shaking his head. "Whose plan is this?"

"Mine," I admitted.

"In that case, I'm in. But if it fails — I'm done playing the hero. I'll just wait for them to split up and turn one of them into a cutlet. Screw the points. They won't save me if I fail to break through in time."

"Understood," I said.

That evening, we assistant supervisors gathered in Dubois' room.

Same lineup. A bit more tension. And colder tea. Erik was slowly dragging his finger across the tablet screen, as if ticking off names:

"Five confirmed. Arada and Weltman from Jake. Okamoto from me. Fernández from Lin Jiao, and Raimondo from Kowalski. Negotiations with Omar and Hao failed."

Sun Hao winced like he'd just drunk the same marigold tea I'd had that morning.

"I just got a couple of snivelers. One didn't say a word, and the other launched into some full-blown childhood trauma story. Then he actually asked me if we were planning a war. Do I look like a general to you?"

"You look more like a heartless bureaucrat," Lin Jiao muttered.

"I honestly don't even know how to talk to them!" Omar finally chimed in. "I said, 'You don't want this to keep happening, right?' and they came back with, 'I'm already trying not to stand out.' Is that a counterattack? That's a retreat with your trousers down!"

Dubois sighed, eyes still glued to his tablet.

"Honestly, guys, we're not trying to recruit special forces. We don't need heroes. We just need people willing to do one small thing."

"If they're even willing to listen," I added. "I could try talking to the two you didn't manage to reach, Hao."

Sun grimaced.

"You going to coddle them?"

"No. But a different voice might make a difference. Maybe they just don't take you seriously."

"Thanks, I've had enough of being taken 'seriously'," Hao grumbled. "Do what you want."

"And one more idea," Dubois said. "We're all doing the talking separately. People see: Hao shows up, has a word, leaves. Then something happens. They don't make the connection. But if different assistants start approaching them — it'll start to feel like a wave, not a fluke."

"You're suggesting... we switch?" Kowalski asked.

"Yes. Let's pair up, go over the ones we couldn't get through to, and try again. Let them see it's not just one assistant pushing this. I suggest Sun Hao with me, Kowalski with Lin Jiao, Omar with Sullivan. Any objections?"

I had none. As long as it wasn't Sun Hao, I was good. Though Dubois had clearly thought it through on a deeper level. He dumped Omar — who apparently couldn't hold a conversation — onto me, the so-called best negotiator, and kept Sun Hao for himself, likely because Hao and Lin Jiao had been at each other's throats lately.

Speaking of those two...

"This might actually work," Lin Jiao agreed quickly. "And it'll help us figure out whether the issue lies with the cadet, or with how we approached them."

"You saying I don't know how to talk?" Hao flared up again.

"I'm saying they're scared of you. Or think you're showing up with threats."

Sun opened his mouth, but Dubois cut him off.

"Agreed," he said. "It's late. Let's wrap this up."

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