Chapter 35 – Private Practice (Part 3)
"This is my balcony. Well, it also has a pool, so it's more like a backyard—but yeah… What do you think?" Fiora said as she slid the glass door open, motioning for Zane to step outside.
The boy stepped onto the balcony and was immediately struck speechless. A sprawling view of the city skyline stretched out before him, glittering in the sunlight like a canvas of living light. A crystal-clear pool reflected the sky above, its still surface mirroring the towering buildings. The entire scene looked like something ripped from the pages of a luxury magazine—or a dream.
He had never seen anything like it in his life.
The opulence hit him like a wave, a stark contrast to the grimy streets and crumbling buildings of his own neighborhood. Every polished edge, every gentle ripple in the water, every faint breeze that swept over the tiles screamed wealth. A silent, persistent reminder that he didn't belong here.
'I'm not here to enjoy this,' Zane told himself as he stepped further in. 'I'm here to train. To get stronger. That's it. Focus.'
"It looks really nice," he admitted quietly.
"Right? I told you, your world isn't all that bad. Nice view, nice weather. I definitely wouldn't mind coming back here for a vacation," Fiora said, crossing her arms as she admired the scenery.
"I'm glad you're one of the few who can enjoy their time here," Zane replied, walking to the edge and peering over the railing. The ground was so far below he couldn't even make out the details—just a hazy blur of movement and color.
When he turned back around, Fiora was watching him closely, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
"So," she said, tilting her head, "are you ready to begin, champ?"
"Sure thing." Zane stepped forward, meeting her gaze with steady determination.
"Good. I'll be honest with you—I plan to push you to your limit. You're going to spend the entire day training like your life depends on it. No breaks unless I say so. I want to squeeze every single minute we have to make sure you're ready for the test."
"I'm ready," Zane said without hesitation.
That unwavering answer made Fiora smile wider.
"That's the spirit. Now, activate your blade. I want to see how you handle it—show me your stance, your form. I need to know what we're working with."
"Okay." Zane nodded.
He closed his eyes and channeled his energy. The purple blade shimmered into existence in his hands, pulsing faintly like a living thing. Drawing in a breath, he gripped it tightly with both hands, lifted it high, and swung it down in a vertical arc.
The blade sliced through the air, leaving behind a trail of violet light. Without pausing, he followed with a horizontal slash, then thrust forward. As he stepped back to strike again—
Snap.
Fiora snapped her fingers.
Zane halted mid-motion, lifting his head to find her staring at him with a bemused look.
"What?" he asked.
"Well," Fiora said, blinking slowly, "this is certainly… something. How do I put this…?" She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "You weren't kidding when you said you had no idea what you're doing."
Zane winced but said nothing.
"Don't worry," she added quickly. "That just means we start from the very beginning. Everyone does at some point."
Zane sighed inwardly. 'Why did I even expect I'd be any good at this? I should've started training in swordsmanship a long time ago.'
"Hey, no sulking," Fiora said, gently tapping his shoulder. "Stay focused. Optimism is key to improvement. Now—your posture. It's all wrong. Let me show you."
She stepped closer and began adjusting him.
"Your back should be straight, not stiff," she said, lightly nudging him upright. "Bend your knees slightly so your stance is firm but flexible. Keep your weight evenly distributed between your feet. Your arms—stretch them like this."
Her hands moved with practiced confidence as she guided his limbs into the correct position. Zane let her, silently absorbing every adjustment. A few moments later, he stood in a completely new stance. It felt odd and unfamiliar—unnatural, even.
"That's perfect," Fiora said, stepping back. "Now hold that."
"You sure this is right? I don't feel like I can put much force into my attack like this," Zane asked, eyeing his awkward posture.
"You don't question your mentor's teachings, Zane," Fiora replied with a smirk. "Try swinging now. You'll feel the difference."
"Alright…" he said hesitantly, focusing ahead.
Swish.
His blade cut through the air with a sharp, fluid motion. It was cleaner, faster—and the power behind it was unmistakably greater. The purple glow trailed longer, lingering in the air.
Zane's eyes widened. "Whoa…"
"What did I tell you?" Fiora asked with a smug tilt of her head.
"It's… so much better. I can feel the difference. It's easier to handle, too."
"That was your first correct swing. Imagine what it'll feel like after ten thousand of them. That blade will feel like an extension of your arm."
Zane nodded slowly, still absorbing the change.
"Now back to position," she said. "Let's see if you've already memorized it."
"Understood."
He took his stance again, this time relying on his memory to recall every little adjustment Fiora had made.
"Good. Legs—yes, like that. Straighten your back. There. Perfect," she instructed, her voice sharp but encouraging.
Zane swung again.
And again.
And again.
For the next hour, Fiora had him drill the basics over and over—correcting his posture, fixing his grip, guiding his movements. It turned out to be harder than he expected. There were countless tiny things to pay attention to: foot placement, hip rotation, the angle of his wrists. But surprisingly, he didn't struggle.
In less than an hour, he was replicating the form with almost no errors. Fiora barely had to intervene anymore.
'He's learning fast… too fast,' she thought, folding her arms as she watched from a distance. Her eyes narrowed slightly. 'This kind of progress isn't normal. It's impressive—abnormally so. But I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. That energy wouldn't have chosen someone talentless.'
Zane's movements grew sharper with each repetition. Every swing became more refined, more efficient. She could see him soaking in every correction like a sponge, molding it into something new and instinctive.
'I was planning to just teach him how to swing properly… but maybe I can push it further. Maybe there is time to squeeze in some new techniques.'
She let her gaze drift to his eyes.
Those crimson irises were burning with focus, completely locked in. Zane didn't even seem aware she was there anymore. He was in his own world now—a realm where it was just him, his body, and the blade in his hands. Each movement etched itself into his muscles, into his bones. His body learned the rhythm even as his mind let go.
He wasn't merely training.
He was transforming.
'More…'
Swish.
'More…'
Swish.
'More!'
Every swing came faster, cleaner. The sound of his blade slicing the air rang out like a chant. Over and over again. Relentless. Determined.
This was Zane's new domain.
His sanctuary.
The battlefield where he would rebuild himself from the ground up.
And he had only just begun.