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The courtyard smelled faintly of dew and iron, the air still clinging to the coolness of dawn. I rolled my shoulders, wincing at the stiffness. For the past few days, the others had been drilling, training, sharpening their skills for the Moonlit Games. But me? I'd been doing the grand total of nothing except resting, eating, and trying to convince myself that being gone for five months wasn't going to crush me the moment the Games began.

Not anymore.

Today, Akane had decided it was my turn.

She stood across from me now, arms folded, her expression as composed and unreadable as ever. The faint glisten of sweat already shone across her collarbone from her earlier training, but her breathing was steady, calm. A predator at rest.

"All right," she said simply, tapping her bare foot against the packed earth. "We start with the basics. Stances first. Without balance, nothing else matters."

"Balance," I echoed, forcing my feet into some approximation of a martial stance I'd seen in movies. "Got it."

Her eyebrow rose. "That's not balance. That's you preparing to trip yourself."

I scowled. "You could at least pretend I'm close."

She walked over, sharp eyes scanning me like I was a puzzle piece jammed in the wrong spot. Without hesitation, she tapped my ankle with her toe, nudging it outward. Then she pressed a palm to my hip, shifting me until my center of gravity stopped wobbling. Finally, she flicked her fingers against my chin to lift my head.

"Stand tall," she said. "Even when you fall. Confidence begins in posture."

I tried not to focus on the fact that her hand lingered a little too long at my waist. "You're very hands-on, you know that?"

"Stop talking," she ordered flatly, stepping back.

The next hour was brutal.

Akane drilled me in movement, forcing me to plant my feet in one spot and strike again and again until my shoulders burned. She had me block imaginary blows, pivot, swing, recover—again, again, again—until my body felt like it wasn't mine anymore.

When my punches sagged, she barked at me to straighten my arm. When my stance wavered, she corrected it with sharp taps of her foot. When I complained, she ignored me completely.

And every time she demonstrated, she moved with a grace that made me feel like a flailing child. Her form was precise, her strikes sharp, her body flowing from one movement to the next as though she'd been born to fight.

I wasn't.

Sweat plastered my shirt to my back. My breaths grew ragged. My legs shook. But still, she didn't let up.

"Again."

"I'm dying here."

"You're breathing, aren't you?"

"Barely."

"Then again."

We sparred next. That was when the real humiliation began.

Akane defended; I attacked.

Or rather—I tried.

Every strike I threw, she parried effortlessly. Every punch, she sidestepped. Every kick, she caught with ease and swept me to the ground like I was weightless.

Thud. Dust in my teeth.

"Get up," she ordered.

I groaned, rolling to my knees. "Do you… enjoy throwing me around like a sack of potatoes?"

"No," she said. Then, after a pause, "Yes."

I glared. She didn't even smirk.

Hours passed like that. Strike, fall. Kick, fall. Try to grapple, pinned instantly. My body ached in places I didn't even know could ache. My knuckles stung, my arms trembled, my knees scraped raw.

And still, she kept pushing me.

"You're not focusing."

"I'm focusing on the part where you keep breaking me."

"You're too tense. Stop thinking."

"Easier said than done when you're hurling me across the courtyard every three seconds."

"Then learn faster."

By the tenth time she had me pinned, I was convinced my soul had already left my body.

She'd thrown me down again—an elegant sweep of her leg, a twist of her hip, and suddenly my back slammed against the earth. Before I could even register the pain, she was on me. Straddling my hips, pinning my wrists to the dirt with surprising strength. Her face hovered inches from mine, her breath warm against my cheek, strands of her dark hair brushing my skin.

I expected the usual sharp command to "get up." But it didn't come.

Instead, her eyes lingered.

For the first time all day, Akane didn't look like a stoic teacher or an unyielding fighter. She looked… human. Vulnerable. Her lips parted slightly, her chest rising and falling a little quicker than before.

I swallowed hard. "…Uh. Am I supposed to tap out now?"

Her voice was low, almost hesitant. "Forgive me. But I have to do this."

I blinked. "Do wha—"

She kissed me.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't hesitant. It was fierce, desperate—like she'd been holding it back for far too long and couldn't any longer. Her lips pressed to mine, firm and unyielding, the warmth of her mouth stealing the air from my lungs.

My eyes widened. My heart stopped.

And then it started again, hammering in my chest.

When she finally broke the kiss, pulling back just enough for me to see the storm in her eyes, her voice came ragged. "I… had to do that."

I stared up at her, breathless, the ghost of her lips burning against mine. For a heartbeat, all I could do was process the fact that Akane—disciplined, stoic Akane—had just kissed me like she was drowning.

Then something in me snapped.

"Then I'm also sorry about this," I said, my voice rough. My hands, still trapped beneath hers, twisted free. I reached up, cupped her face, and pulled her down into me again.

This time, it was me who kissed her.

And she kissed me back.

The world vanished. There was no courtyard, no Games, no clone, no missed months. Only her. Her mouth on mine, moving with a heat that seared through my chest. Her breath mingling with mine, fast, uneven. Her hands fisting in my shirt as though holding me in place.

I lost track of how many times our lips found each other. Once, twice, again, again—every kiss longer, deeper, hungrier. I tilted my head, and she matched me. She nipped at my lower lip, and I gasped into her mouth, the sound swallowed by the next kiss.

We broke apart only when our lungs demanded it, gasping for air like we'd run miles, foreheads pressed together, eyes locked. And then—inevitably—we kissed again, unable to stop ourselves.

Her lips were soft but strong, commanding. Her control never wavered, yet her desperation betrayed her. Each kiss was a clash, a push and pull of power and surrender.

I didn't know how long it went on. Minutes? Hours? Time lost meaning.

At some point, she whispered against my lips, "This is… reckless."

I smiled breathlessly. "Then let's be reckless."

Her laugh was quiet, broken, and then she kissed me again, harder than before.

We tangled in the dirt, rolling, neither of us caring who pinned who anymore. Sometimes I was on top, hovering over her, my hair brushing her cheeks as I kissed her until she moaned softly into my mouth. Sometimes she flipped me effortlessly, straddling me once more, her lips claiming mine with an authority that left me dizzy.

There was no rhythm, no pattern—only need. Only the raw, unspoken emotion that had built between us for months spilling out at last.

By the time we finally stilled, both of us panting, lips swollen, faces flushed, I couldn't tell where I ended and she began.

Akane's forehead rested against mine, her eyes half-closed. She whispered, "I shouldn't have… but I couldn't stop myself."

I brushed a thumb across her cheek, smiling faintly. "Don't apologize. Not for this."

She exhaled shakily, her lips brushing mine once more in the barest ghost of a kiss.

For a long time, neither of us moved. The world crept back in—the chirp of birds, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the faint laughter of voices in the mansion far behind us.

But I didn't care.

Because in that moment, pinned beneath Akane, her warmth pressed to me, her lips still tingling against mine, nothing else mattered.

---

Her lips were still warm on mine, our breaths ragged, when I felt her body tense beneath my hands. I realized then where my palms had wandered—up her back, down to her waist, sliding lower to her behind, then back again, tracing her as though I couldn't help but map out every line of her. She hadn't stopped me. She hadn't pulled away. If anything, the way her fingers gripped my shirt tighter told me she didn't want me to stop.

The sharp trill of a ringtone cut through the air like a blade.

We froze.

Akane's phone buzzed on the table a few feet away, screen lighting up with Sora's name. For a moment, we just stared at it, both of us still straddling that razor's edge of breathless heat.

Finally, she pushed herself off me, lips still parted, chest rising and falling as though she'd run laps around the mansion. She swiped the phone into her hand, thumb trembling slightly as she answered.

"H—hello?"

Sora's voice drifted through the speaker, soft but steady as always. "Akane? Are you two finished with training yet?"

Akane's eyes darted toward me, then away. She swallowed, but her breathing still came uneven, too quick. "Y-yes. We're just… finishing now."

There was a pause. Then, sharper: "…Why are you out of breath?"

Akane stiffened. I had to bite back a laugh, covering my mouth with my hand as her face turned an impossible shade of red.

"It's… training," she said quickly, fumbling the words. "We—we were sparring hard."

Another pause. Then Sora's voice, softer but tinged with suspicion: "…If you say so."

Akane shot me a glare that only made me grin harder. She cleared her throat, trying to steady herself, though her lips were still swollen from our kisses.

"What is it, Sora?" she asked, her voice more controlled this time.

"Lunch is ready," Sora replied simply. "Come inside before it gets cold."

The call ended with a soft chime.

For a long beat, the only sound between us was the faint breeze tugging at the leaves overhead. Akane slowly set the phone back on the table, her hand lingering there as though grounding herself.

Then, finally, she muttered without looking at me, "Don't. Say. Anything."

I raised my hands in mock surrender, smirking despite the thundering of my own pulse. "Not a word."

But as we stood, brushing dust and dirt from our clothes, I caught her eyes one last time. There was no need to speak—the flush in her cheeks, the tremor still in her breath, the memory of her lips on mine said more than either of us could.

And though we walked back toward the mansion side by side in silence, I knew both of us were thinking the same thing.

Training had changed everything.

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