That Fine Line

Chapter 10 - Practice Makes Perfect

"What?" In no way was I prepared for a duel with him. At least, right now.

"Come on, we're getting straight into it. No time to waste." He had a point, especially with private sessions right around the corner tomorrow. "What's the first thing you're gonna do if I come at you?"

Isn't it obvious? "Uh, run away?" That got a chuckle out of him.

"Okay, what if you were cornered?" he proposed the scenario.

"Um," I shifted into the fighting stance that I'd been using for more than a decade of my life, holding the knife in my good hand. He seemed somewhat surprised by my knowledge of how to get into a defensive position.

"Well? Aren't you going to come at me?" I challenged.

With a playful smirk, Finnick lunged forward, but plunged his dagger down to stab me, aiming for my left shoulder. The sight of the gleaming metal scared me for a second, but thankfully he wasn't going at full speed, so I had time to think and react.

It's just like a punch, Y/N. Treat it like a punch. I blocked his forearm from the side, stopping the trajectory of the blade from entering my shoulder, and stepped in to slice his neck from the other side, though the motion turned out to be more of a throat punch instead of a cutting motion. The muscle memory of hand-to-hand combat overrode my awareness of having a weapon in my hand.

Even though he was going easy on me, it didn't stop his quick reflexes in grabbing my wrist in time. They were right when they said Finnick was a skilled fighter. Having both hands occupied now, I kicked him in the stomach as hard as I could. Clearly, I'd grown stronger after moving to the Districts because I hadn't expected him to actually double backwards and let go of me.

He recovered from the kick before the idea of hitting him while he was down occurred to me, so that wasn't an option anymore. A questioning look appeared on his face when he got back up, as if he were contemplating whether that was dumb luck or if I was actually a seasoned fighter.

This time, it was my turn to attack first. Trying to rely more on the weapon I was wielding, I made the mistake of swinging the knife at him at such a close proximity. He immediately read my move and dodged out of the way. I swung at him again before he could take advantage of my open spot with his dagger. Returning to my defensive stance, I waited for his move. Twirling the weapon around, he changed his grasp on the handle, and went forward for a jab, this time aimed at my stomach. Perfect.

With his weight now leaning forward towards my torso, I shifted out of the way and grabbed his fist with both hands. Taking a step, I arched his wrist back, twisting his arm in an awkward position. Distracted by the pain, his grasp on the weapon loosened, and with one strike, I knocked the dagger out of his hand.

Letting go of him, I kicked the dagger off of the mat we were practicing on. Obviously, he didn't dare to go after it, lest I struck him once his back was turned. 

"Personally, I'd say I won this round," I smirked triumphantly at his unforeseen circumstances. Something about surprising him with my hidden skill made me swell with pride.

"The Games don't end once a tribute drops their weapon, do they?"

Oh, so he wanted to keep playing. I let out a mock-grudging sigh as I flung my knife off to the side.

He raised his eyebrows. "So you're the 'fight fair and square' type."

I hummed. "More like a 'don't know how to use weapons' type." In this case, holding a knife while fighting would be more of a handicap than an advantage for me.

"Having a weapon would be the safer option when going against someone outside of your weight class," he warned.

"We'll see about that."