Master Irma

Orion stood in the training courtyard, his body sore from the week's grueling physical drills. He had begun to find a rhythm in his training with Varun, but today was different. Instead of the usual obstacle course or endurance runs, a new figure awaited him: a woman with short, silver hair tied back in a tight braid. She wore a sleek, black combat suit and exuded an aura of calm yet lethal precision.

Varun stood beside her, his arms crossed. "Orion, meet Master Irma. She's a specialist in hand-to-hand combat and one of the best martial artists in the Confederacy. From today, she'll be teaching you the art of close-quarters combat."

Orion blinked up at her, his curiosity piqued. "I understand why I need a weapon training since it helps the pilot adjust to the Mecha's piloting fighting. But hand-to-hand combat? But… aren't pilots supposed to fight ... well ... with mechas?"

Master Irma's sharp gaze met his, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "True. But a pilot who can only fight within the cockpit is vulnerable. You must learn to rely on your body as much as the machine. Besides," she added, her tone playful yet challenging, "If you can't even defend yourself in a fight, how do you expect to survive on the battlefield, let alone command a mecha?"

Orion straightened his posture, determination flashing in his eyes. "I understand."

"Good," she said, stepping into the center of the courtyard. "Let's begin."

The first lesson was far from glamorous. Master Irma began by teaching Orion how to fall—a skill he hadn't realized he needed until she sent him sprawling to the ground with a swift sweep of her leg.

"Falling properly minimizes injury," she explained, helping him up. "It's the first thing you need to master because, trust me, you'll be hitting the ground a lot."

Orion gritted his teeth and nodded, determined not to let her see his frustration. He practiced over and over, rolling his body to absorb the impact and springing back to his feet. By the end of the morning, his elbows and knees were scraped, but his movements were smoother, more controlled.

Then her next lesson focused on balance and awareness. Irma guided him through a series of stances, each one designed to ground him and prepare him for quick transitions. "Your foundation is everything," she said, adjusting his posture. "Without balance, you're nothing but an easy target."

Orion listened intently, absorbing her words like a sponge. He mimicked her movements, his small frame a mirror of her practiced grace. Though his execution was clumsy at first, Irma's patience and clear instruction began to pay off.

Hours passed, and Orion's training became more intense. Irma introduced him to basic strikes and blocks, drilling him relentlessly until the movements became second nature. She was a harsh but fair teacher, never hesitating to point out his mistakes but unlike Varun, she was quick to praise his progress.

On afternoon, as they sparred in the courtyard, Orion dodged Irma's jab and managed to land his first successful counterattack.

Irma's laugh rang out, warm and genuine. "Not bad, kiddo. But don't get cocky." Orion barely had time to react before he found himself pinned to the ground. As he gasped for breath, Irma leaned over him, her smile mischievous. "Lesson number one: never assume the fight is over until your opponent is down for good."

Orion groaned but couldn't help the grin that tugged at his lips. "Noted."

The sun had reached its zenith, casting sharp shadows across the courtyard as Orion stood across from Master Irma, his breaths steady but labored. The soreness in his muscles had become a constant companion, but now, as she motioned for him to ready himself, he felt a flicker of curiosity beneath the fatigue.

"Tomorrow's lesson," Irma began, circling him like a predator, "will build upon the foundation of balance and falling. But now, you'll learn the beginning of Saenal-Ra." She moved fluidly into a stance that radiated both strength and readiness, her weight balanced perfectly between both feet. Her body seemed coiled, ready to spring at a moment's notice.

Orion mimicked her, bending his knees slightly and raising his hands to chest height, palms open. His stance felt awkward, too deliberate, compared to her natural grace.

"Stop," she said, closing the distance in two steps. She tapped his right knee lightly with her foot, then adjusted the angle of his left foot. "Your weight is too far forward. Saenal-Ra is about adaptability. You need to feel as if you can flow in any direction—forward, back, or even to the side—without hesitation."

He nodded and shifted his weight back slightly. It felt different, almost unsettling, as though he were teetering on the edge of imbalance.

"Good," Irma said, stepping back. "Now, let's begin with the roots. Saenal-Ra starts from the ground up. Your stance must feel like an anchor in a storm. Solid, but not rigid. Show me."

Orion adjusted himself again, finding that elusive middle ground. His legs formed a wide base, his hands open and loose, and his breath steady. Irma watched him closely, then nodded.

"Better. The first lesson of Saenal-Ra is to stay grounded while remaining fluid. We call this the Iron Flow. Watch."

She moved, her feet gliding across the stone floor in a pattern that seemed almost like a dance. Her weight shifted seamlessly from one leg to the other, her body swaying and pivoting with precision. Then, suddenly, her motion erupted into a sharp kick aimed at the air, her balance unbroken as she returned to her stance.

Orion stared, wide-eyed. "How did you stay balanced during that kick? Wouldn't shifting all your weight to one leg throw you off?"

"Good question," Irma said, smirking. "It would, if you were stiff or untrained. But with practice, you learn to distribute the momentum through your core and opposite leg. It's not about strength—it's about control. Try it."

She demonstrated again, slower this time, breaking the motion into smaller steps. Orion followed her lead, shifting his weight to one leg and attempting a low kick. His balance wavered, and he stumbled slightly.

"Not bad," she said, catching his arm before he could fall. "You're thinking too much about the kick itself. Focus on the transition—your footwork, your center of gravity. Again."

He repeated the movement, this time concentrating on the fluidity rather than the power. His kick was still clumsy, but he managed to maintain his balance.

Irma nodded approvingly. "You're getting there. Saenal-Ra is not about brute force. It's about reading your opponent, adapting to the moment, and striking only when the time is right. Which brings me to the next principle: Veiled Motion. You attack without telegraphing your intentions."

She stepped in front of him, her hands lowered. "Attack me. Anything goes."

Orion hesitated, then lunged forward with a straight punch. Before he realized what had happened, Irma sidestepped him and gently tapped the back of his head with her knuckles.

"Too predictable," she said, shaking her head. "Your shoulders moved before your fist. Your stance shifted too early. Every part of your body must work together—no wasted motion, no signals."

They repeated the exercise over and over, Irma correcting him each time he failed. Slowly, Orion began to see what she meant. He learned to mask his intent, keeping his movements subtle and deceptive.

After an hour, he finally landed a glancing hit on her shoulder. Irma grinned, stepping back. "Good. You're starting to understand."