Practicing Defense

The class ended with a mixture of exhaustion and lingering nausea. Some students were still pale, while others kept flexing their hands, trying to shake off the phantom sensation of cutting through flesh and bone.

Levi wiped the sweat from his brow, exhaling sharply as he removed his gloves and deposited them into the disposal unit. His hands still felt icky; the texture of the brain still felt fresh.

"Alright," Mrs. Lily's voice rang out, pulling everyone's attention. "Clean up and get ready. You are to head to the training ground."

Groans rippled through the class. Some had barely recovered from their first real encounter with a corpse, and now they were expected to jump straight into training? But no one dared complain—not aloud.

The group trudged out of the containment ward as they made their way through the facility. The air gradually lost its chemical stench, replaced by the crisp, sterilized scent of the upper floors. The transition from cold metal corridors to the open training grounds was almost jarring.

As they stepped into the large, reinforced outdoor area, Levi's mind remained elsewhere.

There was something about Mrs. Lily that wouldn't leave him alone.

During the dissection, when his vision had changed again, he had seen something about her. Most of her body had been highlighted like before, but a small section had appeared:

Mysticism: Insulator.

The word stuck with him.

Insulator.

That meant she couldn't wield any abilities. No magic, nothing.

That was also true for all humans, as research had proved no human could wield any ability.

He was so lost in thought that he didn't even register when they arrived at the training grounds.

It was only when a sharp whistle blew that he snapped back to reality.

Levi exhaled, pushing everything else to the back of his mind.

The moment Levi laid eyes on the instructor, a visible groan escaped his lips before he could stop himself.

Of course. It had to be Owen.

Owen stood confidently at the front of the training ground, arms crossed, his sharp gaze sweeping over the class. At sixteen, he was only two years older than Levi, but the gap felt much wider when considering his experience.

But Levi couldn't care less about any of that.

He had made the mistake of scaring Owen with a false premonition once. At the time, Levi had just been expressing his frustration.

Apparently, Owen hadn't taken it well.

Since then, Levi had made a conscious effort to avoid him. But that hadn't stopped Owen from occasionally singling him out, taking every opportunity to make Levi's life difficult in subtle but infuriating ways. And judging by the way Owen's gaze locked onto him now, that wasn't about to change.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Owen's lips, and a glint flickered in his eyes—one Levi recognized all too well.

Great. He's going to make this hell for me, isn't he?

Levi straightened his posture, forcing himself to keep a neutral expression. No use giving Owen the satisfaction of a reaction.

"Welcome," Owen said, his voice carrying easily over the murmurs of the class. "Let's see what you're made of."

Owen was one of the few who had chosen to specialize in combat, dedicating himself to the grueling path of becoming a soldier—a profession that demanded absolute discipline, skill, and a willingness to risk everything. In their settlement, soldiers and mercenaries were held in high regard, not just for their strength but for their willingness to venture beyond the safety of fortified walls and into Chaos Territory—the lands where the infected roamed unchecked.

Unlike other career paths, combat specialists were expected to master survival in its purest form. Owen had spent years training in everything from hand-to-hand combat to tactical evasion, marksmanship, and melee weapon proficiency. He had drilled relentlessly on how to handle every conceivable zombie type, learning to anticipate their erratic movements, unpredictable lunges, and terrifyingly unnatural bursts of speed.

It wasn't enough to simply fight. Unlike soldiers fighting each other, where tactics and strategy played a role, zombies did not think, hesitate, or retreat. They had no fear, no exhaustion—only an endless hunger that pushed them forward until they were destroyed.

Levi wasn't sure whether Owen had chosen this path because he genuinely wanted to protect the settlement or if he simply relished the glory that came with it.

From the subdued look on Owen's face, Levi knew—he had left civilized space. His gaze swept over the class, unreadable yet piercing.

The way he carried himself was different now. There were signs common among those who had ventured into Chaos Territory, as if he was haunted by something.

Still, Owen's voice remained smooth and orderly as he began to explain.

"This is a simple demonstration," he said, pacing in front of them. "If someone—or something—is running toward you, there are ways to safeguard yourself without needing brute strength. Whether you're outnumbered or caught off guard, survival depends on knowing how to manipulate force."

He lifted a hand and made a small, controlled motion.

"If someone grabs you—" He grasped his own wrist lightly for emphasis. "—you can break free with the right technique, not just by pulling away. If something is charging at you, you can redirect its momentum, make them lose their balance, or even turn their own force against them."

He pivoted on his heel, scanning the group.

"In order to demonstrate…" Owen's smirk returned, sharper this time. "I need a partner."

A ripple of unease passed through the students. No one moved at first. The idea of stepping forward, of becoming Owen's demonstration subject, was not particularly appealing—as there was a real chance of getting hurt.

The silence stretched.

Then Owen's eyes landed on Levi.

His smirk widened ever so slightly.

Without waiting long for a response, Owen casually lifted a hand and pointed directly at Levi.

"Why don't you come up?"

Levi froze.

Of course. Of course.

With a deep sigh, he let his shoulders drop in defeat. He should've seen this coming. There was no way Owen was going to let him off the hook. If anything, it felt like he had been waiting for this moment.

Muttering under his breath, Levi dragged his feet forward, the weight of everyone's eyes on him as he stepped up beside Owen.

Up close, he could see the faintest hint of amusement in Owen's expression.

"Alright," Owen said smoothly, stepping back just slightly. "Touch me."

Levi blinked. What?

"Go on," Owen gestured. "Grab my arm, shoulder, anywhere. Just make contact."

Levi hesitated, staring at him. With reluctance, he lifted a hand and placed it lightly on Owen's forearm.

The next thing he knew—his world flipped.

One moment, he was standing, and the next, the ground vanished from under him. His stomach lurched as his feet left the floor, and before he could even process what was happening, he hit the ground—hard.

A sharp thud echoed through the training area as he landed flat on his back. A dull pain shot through his spine, and for a moment, all he could do was stare at the ceiling, stunned.

The class tried to suppress its laughter.

Levi groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. That—was humiliating.

Owen smirked down at Levi, clearly savoring the moment before turning back to the class.

"Now, that wasn't really necessary," he admitted with an infuriatingly casual tone. "You don't always have to throw someone to the ground. Simple evasive movements can be just as effective."

Levi clenched his jaw, swallowing back another curse. So I got slammed for nothing? He muttered something bitter under his breath as he got back up, dusting off his clothes. His back still ached from the impact, but worse than the pain was the sting to his pride.

And it wasn't over.

Owen gestured for him to get back into position. "Again."

Levi tensed. Oh, come on.

But there was no arguing. He reluctantly obeyed, running toward Owen as instructed—only for the world to blur again.

Another hard fall.

Again.

This time, Owen barely moved—just a subtle shift of his weight—and Levi found himself thrown off balance, skidding across the ground.

Again.

It was a nightmare. Each time Levi tried to anticipate Owen's movements, it was like trying to grab smoke. The older boy adjusted effortlessly, making it impossible for Levi to gain any footing. No matter how he approached, he ended up flat on his back.

By the time Owen finally stepped back, Levi was sore, frustrated, and completely out of breath.

"Alright," Owen said, waving him off. "You can go back now."

Levi didn't hesitate. He turned and stormed back toward his peers, rubbing his bruised shoulders as he went. His classmates still looked amused, though a few seemed relieved that they hadn't been the ones called up.

At least it's over, Levi thought, biting back his frustration.