Breathe

Chapter 37 - Oriole

 Another week passed and it was time to battle another person. Like before, I patiently waited for Newvy to bring back someone for me to fight. As I waited, I contemplated all the things that were going to happen in the next week.

For one, since finals were over, it was almost time for graduation—the big graduation, that is. I had never 'graduated' from a school before, so this was going to be the first experience. From what I have heard from acquaintances, graduating high school is like leaving hell: exhilarating, exciting, and daunting. Although there is an initial rush of relief from being able to get rid of unnecessary assignments and difficult classes, there is the worry that there won't be anything for you in the coming year; in other words, the fear of not knowing what will happen next. However, in my case, I knew my experience was going to be the exact opposite.

Graduating from high school means that I will be entering Hell. With the graduation date scheduled for Saturday, that means that after that day, it'll be The Day—it'll be operation day. My life as I know it will end that day. Either everything will be swell and I will no longer have to fear for my life and others, or everything that has sprouted will die. There was no knowing for sure what was going to happen and as I sat there, I felt the anticipation creep up on me.

"Alastair." Looking up, I saw Newvy standing in front of me. He looked normal. Everything was normal.

I released a sigh of relief. "Yes?"

Walking a bit to the side, he revealed Esmae. Excitedly, she waved at me. "Hi, Al! Heard 'bout what Newvy was doing for you, so I decided that I might as well help. Also, we haven't fought in a while, so it thought that it was going to be really exciting and fun to see what has changed!"

I reached for the spare sword at my side, but I felt her hand on me. Glancing at her, I saw her shake her head.

"No go, Al. I want us to go melee—something soft so that it doesn't show on my skin if we're rough."

I let go of the swords and instead reached for the two pairs of boxing gloves that I had set aside. Gladly, she took them and put her dainty little hands inside of them. She moved her hands around and the mitts moved around a little. Still, she grinned at them and said, "Perfect," without a single complaint.

Putting mine on, I stood a few feet away from her and got into the pose. She did the same. This time, I took Newvy's advice and eyed her stance. Her feet were angled facing each other instead of angled to the side. Her weight was on her toes instead of her heels. As for her pelvis, it looked parallel enough but her abs were loose and I could clearly notice that she wasn't trying to hide her flab. On the other hand, her hands were at the perfect height and her arms were close enough to her ribs that they were protecting them.

In my mind, I remembered the steps to a correct stance. Angled feet to the side—check. Weight even on both feet—check. Pelvis paralleled to my feet—check. Tensed abs—check. Hands at a reasonable level with arms near my ribs—check.

Everything was ready. I was ready. I gave her a nod.

In a flash, she disappeared. I kept calm. Cool. I treated her like Newvy. Except, she was slower. Focusing my eyes, I could see the outline of her body, running and spinning, trying to make my head spin. But she wasn't. Not as I am now. Speed was her servant, but I had my mind.

Pausing for a second, she pivoted and tried to throw a punch.

I caught it.

Her eyes widened. I smirked. Then, I threw a jab.

Knowing what I was doing, she quickly took a few steps back. Her stance faltered for a second as she recollected her thoughts. But then, it went back and she went back to running.