Chapter 5 Training Day Part 1

Ethan Lockwood's mansion was the kind of place that most people only saw in movies. A

towering estate of glass, marble, and steel, set back behind a long, gated driveway lined with

sculpted hedges and imported cherry blossom trees. The sheer extravagance of it was

almost obscene—like a five-star hotel that only one person actually lived in. And that person

was Ethan, though he hardly saw it as home.

The moment the Lamborghini Sesto Elemento pulled up to the entrance, a uniformed butler

was already waiting. He opened the door for Ethan with a practiced nod, his posture stiff

with professionalism.

"Welcome home, sir."

Ethan ignored him and stepped inside, knowing Evelyn was trailing behind him. The grand

foyer was all gleaming marble floors and chandeliers large enough to crush a man. A double

staircase curled up toward the second floor, lined with a black-and-gold railing that looked

custom-made. The air smelled faintly of expensive cologne and polished wood.

Evelyn took in the surroundings with a calm, unreadable expression. She wasn't dazzled by

the wealth—not the way most people would be. If anything, she seemed more interested in

understanding Ethan's place in it.

"Big house," she finally commented.

"Big prison," Ethan muttered under his breath.

Before Evelyn could respond, a smooth voice interrupted.

"My, my. Ethan, you've brought a guest?"

Evelyn turned just in time to see a striking woman descending the stairs. She was poised,

elegant, dressed in a silk blouse and fitted skirt that screamed designer. Her features were

sharp, her dark hair pulled into a flawless bun. There was a practiced warmth in her smile,

but her eyes—cool and calculating—lingered on Evelyn just a moment too long.

Ethan's stepmother.

"Well," the woman said, gliding toward them, "this is certainly a surprise. Ethan never has

visitors. Especially not a young lady."

Ethan's jaw tightened. "She's just an acquaintance. Needed some study materials."

"Is that so?" His stepmother's lips curved, but it didn't reach her eyes. She turned to Evelyn,

assessing her with quiet interest. "And what is your name, dear?"

"Evelyn Fairchild," she said, meeting the woman's gaze without hesitation. There was a

confidence in her posture, a quiet assurance that made Ethan's stepmother's smile falter

for half a second.

"Fairchild… British, I assume?"

Evelyn nodded.

"How lovely. And how… unusual." She glanced back at Ethan. "I must say, I never expected

you to invite someone over."

Ethan exhaled sharply, already irritated. "Yeah, well. Don't make a big deal out of it."

His stepmother chuckled lightly. "Oh, but Ethan. It is a big deal." Then, looking back at

Evelyn, she said smoothly, "I do hope you enjoy your visit. But, dear, be careful. My stepson

has a habit of keeping people at arm's length."

Evelyn's expression remained unbothered. "I can handle myself."

Ethan's stepmother studied her for a long moment before her smile returned, this time

almost… entertained.

"Well, we shall see, won't we?"

Ethan grabbed Evelyn's wrist before his stepmother could say anything else. "We're going

upstairs," he said flatly, already leading her away.

Ethan's room was a stark contrast to the rest of the house. While the mansion itself was a

display of wealth, his bedroom was something else entirely. Neat. Structured. Every item

precisely where it belonged. The bed was made with military precision, the shelves

meticulously arranged.

Evelyn looked around, brow raised. "I would have expected this place to be a mess."

Ethan scoffed. "Why?"

"I don't know. You don't seem like the organized type."

He leaned against his desk, arms crossed. "Discipline. When you train like I do, you either

have it, or you fall apart."

Evelyn walked over to the bookshelf, running her fingers along the perfectly aligned spines.

"Huh. So the maid didn't do this?"

He smirked. "Not even once."

Evelyn looked at him, intrigued. "Interesting."

Ethan wasn't sure what to make of that word.

He grabbed a few textbooks from his desk and handed them to her. "Here. Just take

whatever you need."

She took the books, still glancing around as if trying to understand something about him. It

was unnerving how perceptive she was.

"Alright," she said, finally stepping back. "Shall we go?"

Ethan exhaled, relieved to leave.

Back in the Lamborghini, the tension from the house seemed to melt away. Ethan drove in

silence for a while, weaving through the streets like he was born for it. The city lights flashed

past, reflections gliding across the sleek black of the car.

Eventually, Evelyn glanced at him. "Where are we going?"

Ethan smirked. "My real place."

She frowned. "Your—what?"

Fifteen minutes later, they pulled up to what looked like an abandoned warehouse on the

edge of the city. The contrast between this and the mansion was staggering. The building

was massive, the metal exterior slightly rusted, the entrance secured with a heavy steel door.

Ethan stepped out of the car and pressed his thumb against a biometric scanner. The lock

clicked, and with a low hiss, the door slid open.

Evelyn followed him inside—and her eyes widened.

The interior was nothing like the outside. The warehouse had been completely converted

into a private sanctuary. The main area was a fully equipped training space—punching bags, weight sets, wooden dummies, even a full-scale boxing ring. There were weapons mounted

on the far wall, some traditional, some modern.

Beyond that, there was a living area—luxurious furniture, a massive TV, even a stocked bar.

A sleek black bed was set up in the corner, large enough for someone who valued comfort

despite everything else in the room being built for endurance.

Evelyn turned to him. "This… is unexpected."

Ethan smirked, leaning against one of the training dummies. "Welcome to my real home."

"You live here?"

"Not officially. But yeah. I stay here more than the mansion."

Evelyn walked deeper inside, taking it all in. The food storage, the medical supplies, the

reinforced steel security doors.

She turned back to him. "You built all of this?"

"Yeah."

Her gaze lingered on him, thoughtful. "Why?"

Ethan exhaled. "I like being prepared. And I don't trust people."

Evelyn studied him for a moment before nodding. "That makes sense."

Somehow, that answer—simple, understanding—caught Ethan off guard. Most people

would call him paranoid. Most people wouldn't get it.

Evelyn, it seemed, wasn't most people.

Ethan Lockwood's mansion was the kind of place that most people only saw in movies. A

towering estate of glass, marble, and steel, set back behind a long, gated driveway lined with

sculpted hedges and imported cherry blossom trees. The sheer extravagance of it was

almost obscene—like a five-star hotel that only one person actually lived in. And that person

was Ethan, though he hardly saw it as home.

The moment the Lamborghini Sesto Elemento pulled up to the entrance, a uniformed butler

was already waiting. He opened the door for Ethan with a practiced nod, his posture stiff

with professionalism.

"Welcome home, sir."

Ethan ignored him and stepped inside, knowing Evelyn was trailing behind him. The grand

foyer was all gleaming marble floors and chandeliers large enough to crush a man. A double

staircase curled up toward the second floor, lined with a black-and-gold railing that looked

custom-made. The air smelled faintly of expensive cologne and polished wood.

Evelyn took in the surroundings with a calm, unreadable expression. She wasn't dazzled by

the wealth—not the way most people would be. If anything, she seemed more interested in

understanding Ethan's place in it.

"Big house," she finally commented.

"Big prison," Ethan muttered under his breath.

Before Evelyn could respond, a smooth voice interrupted.

"My, my. Ethan, you've brought a guest?"

Evelyn turned just in time to see a striking woman descending the stairs. She was poised,

elegant, dressed in a silk blouse and fitted skirt that screamed designer. Her features were

sharp, her dark hair pulled into a flawless bun. There was a practiced warmth in her smile,

but her eyes—cool and calculating—lingered on Evelyn just a moment too long.

Ethan's stepmother.

"Well," the woman said, gliding toward them, "this is certainly a surprise. Ethan never has

visitors. Especially not a young lady."

Ethan's jaw tightened. "She's just an acquaintance. Needed some study materials."

"Is that so?" His stepmother's lips curved, but it didn't reach her eyes. She turned to Evelyn,

assessing her with quiet interest. "And what is your name, dear?"

"Evelyn Fairchild," she said, meeting the woman's gaze without hesitation. There was a

confidence in her posture, a quiet assurance that made Ethan's stepmother's smile falter

for half a second.

"Fairchild… British, I assume?"

Evelyn nodded.

"How lovely. And how… unusual." She glanced back at Ethan. "I must say, I never expected

you to invite someone over."

Ethan exhaled sharply, already irritated. "Yeah, well. Don't make a big deal out of it."

His stepmother chuckled lightly. "Oh, but Ethan. It is a big deal." Then, looking back at

Evelyn, she said smoothly, "I do hope you enjoy your visit. But, dear, be careful. My stepson

has a habit of keeping people at arm's length."

Evelyn's expression remained unbothered. "I can handle myself."

Ethan's stepmother studied her for a long moment before her smile returned, this time

almost… entertained.

"Well, we shall see, won't we?"

Ethan grabbed Evelyn's wrist before his stepmother could say anything else. "We're going

upstairs," he said flatly, already leading her away.

Ethan's room was a stark contrast to the rest of the house. While the mansion itself was a

display of wealth, his bedroom was something else entirely. Neat. Structured. Every item

precisely where it belonged. The bed was made with military precision, the shelves

meticulously arranged.

Evelyn looked around, brow raised. "I would have expected this place to be a mess."

Ethan scoffed. "Why?"

"I don't know. You don't seem like the organized type."

He leaned against his desk, arms crossed. "Discipline. When you train like I do, you either

have it, or you fall apart."

Evelyn walked over to the bookshelf, running her fingers along the perfectly aligned spines.

"Huh. So the maid didn't do this?"

He smirked. "Not even once."

Evelyn looked at him, intrigued. "Interesting."

Ethan wasn't sure what to make of that word.

He grabbed a few textbooks from his desk and handed them to her. "Here. Just take

whatever you need."

She took the books, still glancing around as if trying to understand something about him. It

was unnerving how perceptive she was.

"Alright," she said, finally stepping back. "Shall we go?"

Ethan exhaled, relieved to leave.

Back in the Lamborghini, the tension from the house seemed to melt away. Ethan drove in

silence for a while, weaving through the streets like he was born for it. The city lights flashed

past, reflections gliding across the sleek black of the car.

Eventually, Evelyn glanced at him. "Where are we going?"

Ethan smirked. "My real place."

She frowned. "Your—what?"

Fifteen minutes later, they pulled up to what looked like an abandoned warehouse on the edge of the city. The contrast between this and the mansion was staggering. The building

was massive, the metal exterior slightly rusted, the entrance secured with a heavy steel door.

Ethan stepped out of the car and pressed his thumb against a biometric scanner. The lock

clicked, and with a low hiss, the door slid open.

Evelyn followed him inside—and her eyes widened.

The interior was nothing like the outside. The warehouse had been completely converted

into a private sanctuary. The main area was a fully equipped training space—punching bags,

weight sets, wooden dummies, even a full-scale boxing ring. There were weapons mounted

on the far wall, some traditional, some modern.

Beyond that, there was a living area—luxurious furniture, a massive TV, even a stocked bar.

A sleek black bed was set up in the corner, large enough for someone who valued comfort

despite everything else in the room being built for endurance.

Evelyn turned to him. "This… is unexpected."

Ethan smirked, leaning against one of the training dummies. "Welcome to my real home."

"You live here?"

"Not officially. But yeah. I stay here more than the mansion."

Evelyn walked deeper inside, taking it all in. The food storage, the medical supplies, the

reinforced steel security doors.

She turned back to him. "You built all of this?"

"Yeah."

Her gaze lingered on him, thoughtful. "Why?"

Ethan exhaled. "I like being prepared. And I don't trust people."

Evelyn studied him for a moment before nodding. "That makes sense."

Somehow, that answer—simple, understanding—caught Ethan off guard. Most people

would call him paranoid. Most people wouldn't get it.

Evelyn, it seemed, wasn't most people.

The tension in the warehouse crackled like an unspoken challenge between them. Ethan

stood with his arms crossed, his expression sharp with expectation. Across from him, Evelyn

sat on one of the luxurious leather chairs, legs crossed, hands resting in her lap, the very

picture of calm.

"So," Ethan said, rolling his shoulders, "we should start with combat training. Your powers

don't mean much if you don't know how to fight."

Evelyn tilted her head, the corners of her lips twitching into the barest smirk. "Or… we could

start with studying. Because if you fail your classes, your father will be—how do I put this—

absolutely livid?"

Ethan's jaw twitched. "That's not—"

"Not what?" Evelyn's tone was perfectly even, but her eyes gleamed with amusement. "Not

true?"

Ethan exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. "I don't have time to sit around solving math

problems when we've got bigger issues."

Evelyn arched a brow. "Like?"

Ethan scoffed. "Like the fact that we've bonded with ancient artifacts and could be hunted

by god-knows-what at any moment?"

"Right," Evelyn nodded thoughtfully. "And that's precisely why you need to sharpen your

mind as much as your fists. Strategy, Ethan. Intelligence." She leaned forward slightly. "Or

are you afraid of a few equations?"

Ethan's left eye twitched.

"Fine," he growled. "We'll settle this properly."

Evelyn raised a brow. "Oh?"

Ethan clenched his fist. "Rock. Paper. Scissors."

A beat of silence passed. Then Evelyn smiled. "Alright."

They held up their fists, locking eyes like two warriors about to clash in battle.

"One… two… three… shoot!"

Ethan threw rock.

Evelyn? Paper.

She grinned. "Looks like we're studying first."

Ethan groaned and ran a hand through his hair. "Unbelievable."

Ethan slumped in his chair, scowling at the physics textbook in front of him. It wasn't that he

couldn't understand the material—it was just tedious. Every question felt like a slow,

suffocating death. Numbers, equations, theoretical nonsense.

Evelyn sat beside him, watching his frustration grow. "You're rushing it," she said. "Breathe."

Ethan exhaled sharply, tapping his pencil against the page. "This is a waste of time."

"It's not," Evelyn countered smoothly. "You just don't like feeling stuck."

Ethan shot her a look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Evelyn gave a small, knowing smile. "You're used to fighting your way through problems. But

you can't punch numbers into place, Ethan. You have to think through them."

Ethan let out a rough sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Evelyn softened. "Here, let's go over this one together." She leaned in slightly, pointing at

the problem. Her voice was steady, patient. Not condescending, not dismissive—just…

there.

Ethan didn't even realize how much tension he'd been holding in his shoulders until he found

himself following her explanation, his mind actually processing the words instead of

resisting them.

Maybe it was the way she talked, or the way she didn't rush him. Maybe it was something

else entirely. But somehow, despite himself, he pushed forward.

And, for the first time, the material started making sense.

After a while, Evelyn leaned back, stretching. "Alright. I think we deserve a break."

Ethan exhaled, dropping his pencil like it had personally offended him. "Finally."

Evelyn smirked. "So impatient."

Ethan cracked his knuckles, standing up. "I've been waiting for this part."

The training area within the warehouse was vast, filled with equipment that had clearly seen

years of use. Ethan led Evelyn to the center, his posture shifting—he was in his element now.

"Alright," he said, stretching his arms. "Before we even think about using powers, you need

to learn the basics."

Evelyn rolled her shoulders. "Go on, then."

Ethan smirked. "Judo, Taekwondo, and Boxing. These are what we're focusing on today."

He started with Judo, demonstrating throws and locks, forcing Evelyn to use leverage

instead of brute strength. She caught on quickly, adapting to the movement.

Taekwondo followed—kicks, footwork, precision. Evelyn struggled at first, but she had

natural balance. By the time they moved to boxing, she was already adjusting.

Ethan tested her—fast jabs, feints, controlled strikes. Evelyn learned fast, keeping up

despite the sweat forming on her brow.

Finally, Ethan nodded, satisfied. "Now, we tap into our powers."

Evelyn wiped her forehead. "About time."

Ethan smirked and took a step back. "The basics first. You have Attraction, I have Repulsion.

That means I can push things away, and you can pull them in."

He demonstrated, lifting his hand toward a crate. With a flick of his wrist, it flew backward,

slamming against the far wall.

Evelyn focused on the same crate, reaching out. A faint hum filled the air. The crate

trembled—then, slowly, it slid toward her.

Ethan nodded. "Not bad."

Evelyn smirked. "Not bad? That was perfect."

Ethan chuckled. "Yeah, yeah. But this is just the start."

He took a step forward, his expression turning serious. "There's a higher level. Ultra Spirit

Form."

Evelyn frowned. "Ultra Spirit Form?"

Ethan nodded. "It's an evolved state. In this mode, we're surrounded by an aura—red for me,

blue for you. Our strength, speed, and powers multiply by a hundred. We can teleport. We

can fly."

Evelyn's eyes widened slightly. "That's… insane."

Ethan smirked. "Oh, that's not even the peak. Mastered Ultra Spirit Form? Our hair changes

completely—blue for you, red for me. Strength, speed, endurance—everything becomes

planetary. Repulsion and Attraction don't just move objects. They manipulate matter itself."

Evelyn's breath hitched. "You're saying…?"

Ethan's voice was low, serious. "If I wanted to, I could separate an entire continent into atoms."

A chill ran down Evelyn's spine. The weight of their abilities—what they could become—was

overwhelming.

Ethan inhaled deeply, his body tensing. And then—

A red aura exploded around him. The air crackled with energy, his power surging to life. He

floated inches above the ground, eyes gleaming with intensity.

Evelyn stared. "You… can already do it?"

Ethan smirked. "Took practice, but yeah." He exhaled, lowering back down. The aura faded.

"Mastered Ultra Spirit Form, though? Still working on it."

Evelyn swallowed. "And you're going to teach me?"

Ethan nodded. "Starting now."

Evelyn took a breath, steadying herself. She closed her eyes, searching for that spark of

energy within her.

She reached.

She pulled.

A flicker of blue light crackled around her, like an ember trying to catch fire. But the moment

she strained, it sputtered out.

She groaned. "This is—"

Ethan cut her off. "Took me months to get it right. You won't master it in a day."

Evelyn clenched her fists. "But—"

Ethan smirked. "You'll get there."

And for some reason… Evelyn believed him.

Evelyn collapsed onto the soft mat in Ethan's warehouse-turned-training ground, her body

aching from the relentless drills. She had thought herself fit, but combat training was an

entirely different beast. Every fiber of her being throbbed with exhaustion.