Chapter 72 The Twelve Seconds Between

Theo put the sofa cushion down beneath the swinging pad.

“Don't do that again yet.”

Jin looked at the little dent in the wall backing.

“I may have found the expensive part.”

“I heard your feet. Then you stopped.”

“That's when it works.”

“Then whoever you're fighting gets a warning.”

Jin glanced toward the kitchen threshold.

Theo walked the three strides, planted his heel with exaggerated care and raised one finger.

“Please wait. I am about to be magnificent.”

Jin hit him with the loose towel.

Theo caught it and threw it back.

“I'm helping.”

He was. By Tuesday morning, Jin had thought of three ways to hide the pause. Bae found the problem with the first one in less than a minute.

“You're rushing it.”

“I'm concealing it.”

“From yourself?”

They stood in the Academy's sand ring. Jin had walked two paths from a blue tile: three strides straight toward the center, four to the right-hand post. Bae had watched the recordings without comment, then taken a padded staff off the rack.

“First clean torso touch,” he said. “Your new trick's allowed. Don't break my teeth.”

Jin lifted his padded baton.

“I've seen your dental plan. Not a chance.”

Bae came forward.

Jin retreated to the blue tile, selected the right-hand route with Impact Hitch and drove toward the post. He felt the last part of his rush settle through the brace, waiting for his hand.

Bae stopped out of reach.

The heartbeat passed.

Jin swung anyway.

The staff caught his baton and carried it harmlessly outside his shoulder. Bae's other end stopped a finger's width from his chest.

“That's the warning,” the instructor said.

Jin nodded.

Bae lowered the staff.

“Again.”

This time he gave Jin no clean approach to the tile. Every small step closed a different angle. Jin tried to shoulder inside the shaft and found the lower end coming up toward his ribs.

A source note for this page: the author publishes this chapter on the NovelPhoenix site, while this copy was not authorized.

He gave ground, caught the end against his baton and turned it aside. The contact stung. His new Strength helped him stay in the exchange; it didn't tell him where the next blow was going.

Bae changed his grip.

The staff slid down Jin's baton, pressing the padded tip toward the sand. If he fought the pressure, the far end would come around beneath his arms. He let the tip drop and stepped alongside it instead.

Bae followed with a short thrust.

Jin turned his shoulders. Padding dragged across the loose edge of his shirt without reaching his chest.

He wanted to watch the tile. He made himself watch Bae's hands.

The right one loosened.

Jin brought his own weapon up before the staff could change ends. The impact knocked the baton against his palm, but this time he was ready for the reversal.

Jin ducked the returning end and almost stepped onto the tile.

Almost.

A boot covered the blue edge.

“Popular destination,” Bae said.

Jin leaned away from the staff and kicked sand against the boot.

“Terrible neighborhood.”

Bae didn't move his foot. He shifted the staff low, inviting Jin to jump it.

Jin remembered his stomach meeting that same invitation before the team exercise.

He stayed down.

The upper end came across instead.

He caught it on the baton, let his elbow bend and slid along the contact until his shoulder was close to Bae's forearm.

Then he pushed.

Not enough to move the instructor far. Enough to make him turn.

His boot left the tile.

Jin got there first.

The shared recovery had finished. He chose the straight route.

Bae was already following.

Three strides took Jin toward the empty middle of the ring. He landed side-on, baton close against his forearm instead of drawing it back.

Bae's staff came over his shoulder.

Jin turned into it.

His heel held. His wrist stayed straight.

He released the saved rush through the padded baton against the staff's middle.

Wood cracked.

Bae's hands spread under the impact. Jin stepped through the brief opening and tapped the instructor's chest with his free palm.

They stopped together.

Sand slid from Jin's heel.

Bae looked down at the hand against his shirt.

Then at the staff, split beneath its padding but still in one piece.

“Clean,” he said.

Jin took a breath.

Another.

He'd expected to have something magnificent ready to say.

“Oh.”

Bae smiled.

“You can keep that speech.”

Theo, watching from the rail, applauded with the solemn expression of a man witnessing a beloved pet master a door handle.

Jin pointed the baton at him.

“No.”

“I haven't said anything.”

“Your face has.”

Bae took the damaged staff to the rack and marked it for replacement. He gave Jin the baton back.

“You got the opening. You waited for it. Don't turn that into believing you have to use the new strike every time.”

“That sounds like permission to be annoying in several ways.”

“You've never needed mine.”

Outside, Min-jae was waiting with his crew-leader retest result folded into his pocket. He showed them without making a speech.

Passed.

“What changed?” Jin asked.

Min-jae rubbed the folded edge with his thumb.

“I stopped sending the quickest person ahead.”

Theo made a wounded little noise.

“Cruel.”

“They kept getting somewhere the rest of us couldn't help.”

Min-jae glanced between them and grinned.

“I may have had examples.”

Still F-rank. Now trusted to lead the next recovery crew.

Mira's message lit his phone while Jin was congratulating him. Min-jae read it, smiled and put the result away.

Theo leaned closer to Jin.

“He got a better prize.”

“I broke a staff.”

“Exactly.”