Repaired Relationship

By the time the training session was over, Amukelo felt as if his entire body had been torn apart and rebuilt. His muscles ached from the repeated sparring matches, his arms felt heavier than usual, and the sweat on his skin was starting to cool in the aftermath of exertion. But despite the fatigue, there was something else—an exhilarating sense of progress. He had come into this class unaware of just how deeply flawed his technique was, but now, after sparring with every one of his classmates and receiving the instructor's detailed corrections, he could see the flaws himself.

It was the first time he felt that he could work on his mistakes on his own. Even without a teacher, even outside of class, he now had the tools to fix himself.

As the session wrapped up, the instructor clapped his hands. "Good work today. You all have things to improve, and I expect you to work on them before the next class. Amukelo—" he turned to him directly, "—your progress today was significant. You learned quickly. If you keep absorbing lessons like this, you'll close the gap between yourself and your stronger opponents much faster than you think."

Amukelo nodded, swallowing the prideful grin that wanted to form on his face. He wasn't going to let himself get arrogant about it. He had too much work left to do.

As he left the training hall and entered the main room of the facility, he spotted Idin already waiting for him. Idin leaned casually against a wooden support beam, arms crossed, looking bored. When he noticed Amukelo, he straightened. "Finally. Took you long enough," he said with a smirk. "So? How was your first class?"

Amukelo exhaled, still rolling his sore shoulder. "It was great. I can't believe how much someone simply pointing out my mistakes can help. I was fighting completely wrong before."

Idin nodded knowingly. "Yeah, having someone better than you tell you exactly what you're doing wrong is invaluable—if you listen. But that's where most people fail. Some get too stubborn, too prideful, and refuse to change even when they know they're wrong. Breaking bad habits is already hard enough, but for some people, breaking their ego is harder."

Amukelo hummed in agreement, thinking about how difficult it had been to let go of his dagger. He had relied on it for so long that it felt like abandoning a part of himself. But in the end, it was necessary. He had to unlearn before he could truly learn.

As they exited the facility, stepping into the cool air outside, they barely made it a few steps before two figures approached them. One was the tailor from yesterday, his expression warm and slightly nervous. Beside him stood a younger man—probably in his early twenties—with sharp, studious eyes and a lean but well-built frame. His hands were clasped in front of him, as if containing his excitement.

The tailor extended a hand towards Idin. "Mister Stellafold, it's good to see you again." His voice was respectful, but there was a hopeful edge to it. "This is my son, Ezein."

Idin shook the man's hand firmly before turning to Ezein, giving him a brief but measuring glance. "Nice to meet you."

Then the tailor's gaze shifted, and he spotted Amukelo. His expression brightened. "Ah, and you must be the one who wore my son's suit yesterday."

Amukelo nodded and extended his hand as well, shaking both their hands. Ezein, in particular, had a strong grip—firm, confident. A craftsman's grip.

The young tailor spoke first, his tone eager but professional. "How did it feel? Was there anything off? Too tight anywhere? Any irritation from the silver or gold detailing?"

Amukelo blinked at the flood of questions. "Uh… No. Nothing like that." He paused, thinking. "I don't know much about clothes, but it was comfortable. It didn't get in my way or feel too restrictive, and, well—" he glanced aside, slightly embarrassed, "—it made a good impression."

Ezein's lips twitched into a pleased smile. "That's good to hear."

His father, however, turned to Idin with a more serious expression. "Mister Stellafold, if I may ask—what would it take for our shop to gain your father's attention?"

Idin tilted his head, arms crossing again. "That depends. What exactly are you looking for?"

The tailor turned to Ezein, letting him speak for himself. The young man straightened slightly, then spoke with measured confidence. "I want better training. I know I still have a lot to learn. I'm not expecting anything for free, of course. But it's hard to get the attention of someone from the Stellafold Company. If someone could come and see my work—just to evaluate it—that would mean a lot."

Idin studied him for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly, as if weighing his words. Finally, he nodded. "Alright. I'll tell my father that this place has promising work. If he's interested, he'll send someone to assess it in person."

The tailor exhaled in relief, and Ezein's eyes brightened, though he remained composed. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "This means a lot. Even just the chance for someone from your company to look at our work is an opportunity we wouldn't have otherwise."

Idin gave a casual shrug. "Just keep doing good work. If my father's interested, he'll take notice."

The tailor beamed, shaking Idin's hand again. "Thank you very much. This is for my son's future, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."

Idin nodded, and with that, the conversation wrapped up. The two tailors gave their parting words before heading back to their shop, leaving Amukelo and Idin to continue on their way.

As they made their way back to the inn, the familiar warmth of the common hall greeted them. The smell of roasted meat and freshly baked bread lingered in the air, and the clatter of dishes and quiet conversations filled the space. Bral, already settled at a table, was tearing into a meal he had ordered while waiting for them. He had one leg lazily propped up on the bench beside him, his plate nearly empty except for a few scraps of meat and bread.

When he saw them enter, he grinned, chewing as he waved them over. "Took you long enough. I was starting to think you two got kidnapped or something."

Amukelo rolled his eyes and sat down across from him, reaching for a loaf of bread from the shared plate in the middle. Idin plopped down beside Bral, helping himself to what was left of the food.

"So," Bral said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "what's the plan? You doing anything differently after your first class, Amukelo?"

Amukelo nodded as he chewed, swallowing before answering. "Yeah, I need to work on my footwork. Apparently, I've been relying too much on my upper body when I fight, and it's messing with my balance and control."

Bral smirked. "Oh, so you mean you've just been throwing yourself at people and hoping for the best?"

Amukelo scowled. "That's not—okay, maybe a little. But I've got a plan now."

"Good," Idin said, taking a sip of water. "Breaking bad habits takes time, but at least you know what to fix. That's already half the battle."

They finished their food quickly, knowing they had to get back to the facility soon. As they were leaving the inn, heading for the doors, they nearly bumped into someone coming in—Pao.

She had a notebook tucked under her arm, her eyes scanning a few lines she had written before she noticed them. The moment her gaze landed on Amukelo, her whole face lit up.

"Oh! Hey, Amu!" she said brightly.

Amukelo blinked. He hadn't expected to run into her so soon, but he found himself smiling almost instinctively. "Hey, Pao."

She shifted her notebook in her hands and clutched it closer to her chest, rocking slightly on her heels. "Are you heading back to the facility?"

"Yeah," Amukelo said, glancing at Bral and Idin, who were already exchanging knowing looks. "But what about you? Studying your new grimoire?"

Pao's face practically glowed with excitement. "Yes! And it's actually simpler than I expected! I might even be able to learn it before our next quest."

"That's fast," Amukelo said, raising an eyebrow. "So, what kind of spell is it exactly? You figured it out yet?"

Pao nodded eagerly, flipping open her notebook and scanning her notes. "It's a teleportation spell, but not instant teleportation—more like a portal. I think instead of moving an object or person in a blink, it creates a stable gateway from one place to another."

Amukelo scratched the back of his head, feeling out of his depth. "Uh… is that good?"

Pao giggled, shaking her head. "It's amazing. Think about it! If we ever get into a dangerous situation, I could make a portal to get us out. But," she added thoughtfully, "I probably won't be able to create one big enough for even one person at the start. I'll have to train it a lot to increase the distance and size."

Amukelo was about to respond when Bral cleared his throat loudly, as if to remind them that he and Idin were still standing there.

"That's amazing, Pao," Amukelo said, offering a genuine smile. "Good luck with learning it. Meanwhile, we're gonna get stronger so we don't have to rely on escape plans."

Pao nodded, beaming. "Okay! Good luck, Amu!"

With that, she turned on her heels and walked off, flipping through her notes again as she disappeared into the inn.

Amukelo turned back around only to be met with the biggest, dumbest grins he had ever seen plastered on Bral and Idin's faces. His own expression flattened immediately.

Idin crossed his arms, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "She barely even acknowledged us."

Bral smirked. "Yeah, yeah, but more importantly—"Amu?" I don't know what happened last night, but it must've worked."

Amukelo groaned. "Can we please get back to talking about training?"

Bral's smirk only widened. "Oh no, no, no. This is way more important. Why don't you want to tell us what happened, Amu?"

Amukelo scowled. "Stop calling me that."

Bral shrugged. "But you didn't seem to mind when Pao called you that."

Amukelo opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. He looked away, cheeks tinged pink. "Well…"

Idin burst into laughter, clapping Bral on the shoulder. "Oh, this is gold. He's blushing! Our wild man is blushing."

Amukelo groaned again and rubbed his temples. "I hate you both."

Bral threw an arm around his shoulder, still grinning. "Nah, you love us. Now, come on, let's get you back to training before your head explodes from all these feelings."

Amukelo sighed, shoving Bral off him, but he couldn't fully wipe the small, reluctant smile from his face.