Flashback: Back to the future!

When Lara woke up, the sterile scent of antiseptic filled her nostrils. Her father sat beside her, his face dark with anger. She realized she was in their family clinic, her body aching from head to toe.

"You're wasting money, Lara," he said sharply. "You can't train for two weeks now, but I still have to pay Rocky his fee." Her father snorted.

Lara swallowed the lump rising in her throat. The sting of his words cut deeper than her bruises. "I'm sorry, Dad," she whispered, forcing herself not to cry. "I'll be more careful and work harder next time."

"You'd better be," he snapped. "Rocky is only with us for three months. You need to learn everything he teaches you by then."

"But, Dad," she protested, her voice trembling, "he's not teaching me anything. He is not a coach. He's just…beating me."

Her father's gaze turned icy, and her stomach knotted under the weight of his disappointment.

"Listen closely, Lara. This is crucial: you can't rely on him to guide you through every step or to gently nurture your progress. You need to develop your skills by observing your surroundings and anticipating what comes next. Approach the fight with intelligence and strategy. What good is all that brain of yours if you don't put it to use?" His father's voice was harsh.

Lara lowered her swollen eyes, her emotions threatening to break through her fragile composure. She clenched her fists until her nails bit into her palms, the pain grounding her.

"I'll try harder, Dad," she replied, her voice flat and distant.

"Good." He stood abruptly, his tone curt. Without so much as a glance back, he walked out of the room, leaving her in silence.

Lara let out a heavy sigh, her chest tight with a mixture of frustration, sadness, and determination. After a moment, she grabbed her phone and searched for videos of Rocky's fights. If no one was going to teach her, she'd teach herself.

For the next two weeks, she immersed herself in boxing footage. She studied Rocky's every move—his footwork, his timing, his tells. Each night, she replayed the matches, imprinting them on her mind until she could almost predict what he would do before he moved.

When Lara stepped back into the gym, the change was undeniable.

This time, when Rocky threw a punch, she dodged it, every single one. Her movements were fluid and calculated. And when she struck back, her punches connected—light as they were, they still landed.

Once she landed a punch, she would retreat immediately.

Rocky's frustration was palpable. Though her hits barely fazed him physically, his ego took the brunt. Each time she slipped out of his reach, his growls of irritation grew louder.

Though she wasn't strong enough to hurt him yet, Lara had found her edge. For the first time, she saw Rocky's confidence falter. He became more distracted as he focused on hurting her, and his punches became more forceful but careless.

Lara spotted an opening. She was too small to land a powerful uppercut—her punches barely reached Rocky's chest. Instinct took over. In the heat of the moment, she shifted her weight and launched a front kick, aiming high.

Her foot connected with a sharp crack against Rocky's chin. His head snapped back, and a fragment of white flew from his mouth, mingled with a spray of crimson.

"F*ck! #@^!" Rocky spat, clutching his jaw as he staggered. The air was thick with the sting of sweat and humiliation. Enraged, he lunged toward Lara, bellowing a string of obscenities.

But Lara was quick, darting around the gym like a shadow. She weaved between punching bags and ducked under equipment, her small frame giving her an edge in agility. Rocky's heavy steps thundered after her, his breath growing and labored with each failed attempt to catch her.

Panting and worn down, Rocky faltered. Lara seized the opportunity. With precision, she unleashed another kick, this time striking him squarely in the face. The impact reverberated through the room.

"I'll… I'll kill you, you b*tch!" Rocky snarled, his words dripping with venom.

But his curses became his downfall. Every time he opened his mouth to bark an insult, Lara found her chance. Another kick, and then another, each one striking hard. His once-dominant stance crumbled under her relentless, calculated strikes.

For the first time, Lara felt something new coursing through her veins—power. She was no longer the helpless girl avoiding blows. She was fighting back, and with each kick, her confidence surged. For once, she wasn't just surviving. She was winning.

After she was done, Rocky's face was badly bruised, just like she was two weeks ago. She took out her gloves and threw them over Rocky, who was sprawled on the ground.

 "Sister! Wake up. How could you sleep on the grass?" A cute little voice entered through her hazy mind, pulling her into wakefulness.

When Lara opened her eyes, she saw a pair of black, anxious eyes staring at her. Sandoz's small hands clasped her arms. 

 "Hmm, I have dozed off." She paused and then shook her head as if trying to shake off the memory of her training that almost took her life. It came back to her in a dream. 

Her father was very generous with her training. He only hired the 'best' teachers, who were very good but also ruthless. Rocky, the boxer, was just one of the many ruthless teachers whose 'teaching style' forced her to master their art in the shortest time possible.

Jethru's teaching style really surprised her. Why did he stop when it was not even two hours?

Lara used both her hands to prop herself up into a sitting position before standing.

 "It is good that you are awake now. Our master said that I will teach you what he taught me earlier."

Sandoz's eyes, which were too big for his small face, brightened.

"Thank you, Sister Lara. I promise to be a good student."

In the next hour, Lara was busy teaching Sandoz the meditative breathing exercises. After a warm-upp, she performed the horse stance with Sandoz.

They were about to perform their winding exercises when they heard Reya's loud scream.