Three’s the Magic Number!

"Look, there they go."

"Shh, here they come!"

"Yo, what are they talking about?"

Kilo, Nyota, and Sage were walking down the hallway the next morning when they noticed whispers and stares from the surrounding cadets.

All eyes were on them, with a mix of awe and curiosity.

"I'm not sure," Sage said in response to Kilo's questioning look.

"Probably because of our run-ins with the Big Three," Nyota added. "What else could it be?"

Kilo stretched his arms above his head. "Well, I'm kind of digging the attention. Let's just hope it's positive."

As they entered their homeroom, the stares only intensified.

"Morning," Jora greeted casually from his desk.

"Morning," they replied awkwardly before heading to their seats.

The room buzzed with hushed conversations as the trio set their bags down. Instruction wouldn't begin for another fifteen minutes, so they sat back and tried to ignore the attention. Nyota and Sage took their seats while Kilo leaned against the desks, arms crossed.

"Talk about a grand entrance," Kilo joked.

"Yeah," Nyota sighed.

Before they could settle in, two cadets from their squadron approached.

"Hey," one of them said hesitantly. "Are you… uh… the 'Three-Headed Basilisk' everyone's talking about?"

"Huh?" The trio exchanged confused glances.

"The Basilisk," the other cadet clarified.

Their expressions grew even more puzzled.

"Okay," the first cadet continued, "you know about the Big Three, right?"

They nodded.

"Well, there's been a lot of talk about how you've stood up to them. People think it's bold, and I guess that's just the nickname they gave you."

"Oh wow," Nyota said, clearly surprised.

Sage folded his arms and closed his eyes as Kilo burst into laughter. "Makes sense! I kinda like it."

"Why'd you ask?" Nyota inquired.

"Just wanted to say we think it's cool. It spices up the cadet experience. Honestly, things can get a little rigid around here, you know?"

The bell rang through the intercom, and Jora stood.

"Anyway, it was nice talking to you," one of the cadets said as they returned to their seats. "Hope we get to chat again!"

"Well," Kilo snickered as the two left. "That was something, wasn't it?"

"Looks like we've got admirers," Sage said, taking off his glasses to clean them.

"Not gonna lie, I felt kinda embarrassed for them," Kilo teased.

"Alright, that's enough," Nyota said with a laugh.

"What? Come on, you can't tell me I'm wrong."

"Attention!" Jora called, cutting through the chatter. "Alright, let's get started. Everyone, take your seats. I trust you all read the assigned passages last night. There will be a quiz soon, so stay on top of it."

The cadets groaned softly, but Jora ignored them.

"Today," he continued, "is going to be combat-heavy. We're heading outside to spar, abilities and all. I want to assess your progress and help you develop as agents."

Excitement rippled through the squadron, and murmurs of anticipation filled the room.

"Quiet down," Jora said, raising a hand. "Now, remember, this squadron has a higher caliber of cadets based on initial test scores alone."

Nyota frowned, whispering, "Test scores? I don't remember taking any tests. Then again…" He trailed off, thinking to himself. What do I remember?

Jora continued, "You're smart and capable, all of you. That's why most of our class time will be dedicated to physical development. Your literary studies will largely be self-managed outside of class."

He scanned the room. "Any questions before we head out?"

The room fell silent.

Nyota and the brothers exchanged an eager look, their excitement mirrored in each other's faces.

"Alright then," Jora said with a grin. "Let's get prepared."

--

Jora brought the squadron outside, lining them up at attention beside one of the outdoor sparring courts.

"All right, listen up!" he barked, pacing back and forth along the line. "Around the world, supernatural abilities go by many names—powers, abilities, techniques—it varies regionally. But here in the District, we call them 'Modus Operandi,' or 'MO' for short. This should be common knowledge by now.

By a show of hands, how many of you have experienced yours?"

Of the thirty or so cadets, about half raised their hands. Nyota noticed Sage raise his.

Jora scanned the line. "For those of you who haven't, don't worry. It'll likely happen in time. That's why we're here: to bring those abilities to the forefront and refine them. And if they never manifest, you'll still leave here skilled and able to contribute to society in a multitude of ways."

Nyota nodded quietly, and Jora moved on. "Here's how this will work: two cadets at a time will spar on this court. For now, it'll be raw hand-to-hand combat. As we progress, you'll work with wooden weapons.

Any takers?"

A brief silence followed before a few cadets raised their hands.

"We should wait," Sage whispered to Nyota and Kilo. "Observing first doesn't hurt."

Kilo nodded. "Agreed."

"Right," Nyota said.

"Great! Volunteers." Jora pointed at two cadets. "You and you—take your positions on the court. Sparring rules are simple: minimal property damage and absolutely no killing."

The cadets exchanged glances before stepping onto the court.

Jora stood at the perimeter with a small flag raised. "Other than that, have fun."

"Wait," Kilo muttered, squinting at one of the volunteers. "Isn't that Faris? One of the cadets who talked to us earlier?"

"Yeah," Nyota confirmed.

Faris bowed to his opponent with a smirk before darting forward. His movements were swift and calculated, his opponent barely able to react.

Sage adjusted his glasses. "This is exhilarating. Looks like we've got competition."

Nyota smiled. "Sure is."

In an instant, Faris slid behind the other cadet, lifted him over his shoulder, and slammed him onto the court.

The impact left the cadet stunned. Before he could recover, Faris delivered a clean blow to his abdomen, prompting a pained shriek.

"Halt!" Jora raised the flag. "That's it! Great job, Mr. Maxey. I'm impressed."

Faris extended a hand to help his opponent up, then walked off the court with a smirk directed at Nyota and the brothers.

"Alright, who's next?" Jora called.

"Sage," Kilo said with a grin. "Let's show them what's up."

"Sure thing."

The brothers stepped onto opposite sides of the court and assumed their positions.

"Brothers, welcome to the stage," Jora said with enthusiasm. "Nothing better than taking initiative."

Nyota watched eagerly. He couldn't wait to spar himself and prove his capabilities.

"Ready?" Jora raised the flag.

Sage and Kilo exchanged a look and nodded.

"We do this all the time," Sage said with quiet confidence.

"Damn right!" Kilo chuckled.

"Commence!"

The flag dropped, and the brothers clashed immediately. Kilo threw a rapid series of punches, each narrowly dodged by Sage. With calculated precision, Sage created space and delivered a kick to Kilo's jaw, sending him sliding backward.

Kilo caught himself and wiped his face. "You're not gonna make this easy, huh?"

Sage didn't respond, his focus unwavering.

"Fine, have it your way," Kilo said, snickering. "But trust me—your powers are getting used today, one way or another."

Without hesitation, Kilo charged again, determined. He knew deep down he couldn't beat Sage, but he refused to dwell on that.

"All I've gotta do is land a few hits. That'll throw him off."

Kilo swung again and again, his persistence pushing Sage onto the defensive. But Sage's calm precision made him an elusive target, his every move purposeful and deliberate.

Once he got within striking distance again, he threw another set of jabs, each of which were immediately blocked. Rotating around the court, he began mixing a series of punches in with kicks, both high and low.

Unluckily, none of his hits landed.

Sage created space between them and stopped to snicker. "Kilo, you're still lacking technique." He raised his hands, shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

"If you're on the attack all the time, you'll never beat even the most inexperienced fighter who has the slightest idea of what they're doing."

Kilo sucked his teeth. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Sage was right. Despite all the times he would spar with him in the past, he was still inexperienced himself.

What could he have done? Most of his attacks had missed and with each one, he grew angrier.

Kilo balled his hands into fists. His body became stiff, and he could feel his hands heating up.

With yet another exerted effort, he closed the gap between the both of them and swept low.

His morality was down a bit, so he expected to strike nothing but air. But to his pleasant surprise, this time, he was finally able to strike the bottom of Sage's legs.

"Finally," he thought to himself.

Sage caught his balance and laughed. "Well, well, nice work Kilo! It's been… how long since you managed to touch me?

You wanted to see my abilities again?" Sage ignited a blue flame on the tip of his index finger. "Well then, here you go." His finger consumed the flame.

The fire traveled through a vein in his hand to the center of it and he closed his fist, prompting it to turn orange as though it was heating up.

"It's time to wrap things up."

Within seconds, he neared Kilo in a rush and immediately drove his fist into his gut.

Propelling him back and causing him to shriek, Jora raised his flag and called the match.

"Halt! That's the game. Great job, both of you."

Kilo struggled to stand. Sage walked over and stuck his arm down to help him.

Kilo looked up, holding his stomach. Shakily, he said, "I'm fine." He stood up on his own. "I hate you, you know that?"

Sage laughed. "I know."

Sage put his arm around Kilo as the two of them returned back in line next to Nyota.

"I think I could feel my fire abilities a bit," Kilo mentioned.

"Oh?" Sage started. "That's great!"

"Yeah, that's the goal." Nyota congratulated him.

Sage turned to Nyota and asked him, "What'd you think?"

He was impressed. He finally got to see his friends battle it out, getting a peak at their fighting from a distance.

Not only that, Kilo seemed to be in relatively high spirits despite losing the fight. He knew somewhere inside, Kilo wasn't satisfied, and yet, he still put on a smile.

Nyota had seen the brothers argue and bicker before. It seemed as though fighting was their way of making amends and settling disputes.

"You two did well." He moderately raised his fist as a signal of assurance.

"Now, I'm ready to put on a show myself."

"Alright!" Jora clapped his hands. "We've got time for one more spar then we'll break up into smaller groups and use the other courts as well. So, who's next?"

Nyota raised his hand high into the air barely before Jora could complete his sentence.

Jora chuckled and nodded at Nyota. "Alright, that's one. Who else?"

Another cadet further down the line raised his hand as well and stepped forward.

He had stood next to Faris in line.

As a matter of fact, he was the other cadet that approached the three earlier alongside him.

The name of this cadet was Cadel.

"There goes the other one," Kilo noticed. "Hey, Nyota, show him what you're made of. As a matter of fact, show us, and show yourself."

Nyota stepped up, too, his eyes glued to Cadel who had a smile on his face and was looking right back at him.

Without a word, Nyota nodded his head, signaling his acknowledgement of Kilo's request.

"Oh, this might be something. Why don't you two show the squadron what you're capable of thus far."

Nyota and Cadel assumed their sides of the court.

Cadel rolled his sleeves up. "Nice to meet you again. Now that I think about it, I don't think I got to formally introduce myself.

Maybe we can properly greet each other after the match. What do you say?"

"Sure, maybe." Nyota got into a fighting position. "But let's focus on the match for now.

I'm sure you've got something to prove, just as I do. Otherwise, neither of us would be here right now."

"You're right." Cadel shrugged and rolled his shoulders back, then put his fists in a fighting position.

"C'mon Basilisk, show me what you're made of."