Mrs. Marlee had that rare quality as a teacher that made you want to attend every class—even if you were exhausted.
In my second cycle, I had missed some of what made her so special, but I was determined not to make the same mistake this time.
During that earlier phase, I’d been too preoccupied with the setbacks of my first cycle. My fear of failure and inability to properly use my meta nature had driven me to abandon my meta nature entirely, retreating into the safety of studying science and pursuing a “normal” career. I’d pushed away all thoughts of tapping into those strange abilities, trying to find peace in the ordinary.
But now, with the knowledge gained from past cycles, everything had changed. The world that once seemed limited now expanded into a wide expanse of untapped potential, filled with open doors and unique opportunities I couldn''t ignore.
After finishing the Fundamentals of Meta Nature class, the next item on my schedule was Self-Defense. Not knowing where to go, I quietly followed a group of students, hoping they were headed to the right place. After a short walk, we arrived at a spacious hall. The room was designed for purpose, with foam mats neatly covering the floor and tall mirrors lining the walls, reflecting the anticipation on every face.
So we get to watch ourselves while getting beaten? Yeah, no thanks.
Still, curiosity got the better of me. I reached out to touch one of the mirrors, pretending to inspect its surface while discreetly scanning the room behind me. Most students were already dressed in gym gear, their numbers noticeably larger than before—practically doubled.
Oh no. My stomach sank. Gym gear. Of course, I’d forgotten it. I silently groaned. That’s what happens when you have no friends to remind you of the basics. Brilliant move, really—definitely not winning any "brightest bulb in the box" awards today.
Despite my internal flailing, I forced myself to scan the room. I’d just have to hope someone wouldn’t mind partnering with the unprepared rookie, even if I looked completely out of place for a practice match.
The self-defense instructor entered with an air of authority. He was a middle-aged man with a meticulously trimmed white beard that somehow screamed both elegance and danger. Wasting no time, he barked an order for us to form two parallel lines. To my relief, he didn’t seem to care about anyone’s attire. That made sense, I supposed. For metahumans, combat costumes were the norm, and comfort often took a back seat to practicality.
As I stepped into line, I froze. Oh Wow! The person standing opposite me was… surprising, to say the least. It wasn’t just that she was extraordinary—though she was, in the way that instantly pulled every eye toward her.
Of course, half of the surprise was just that she was just too extraordinary. The other half was due to the fact that I was very good at self-defense given my experience over hundreds of years.
Still, this wasn’t the time for overthinking. I refocused, keeping my face neutral.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I recalled that this was supposed to be our seventh self-defense class. For me, however, it was the first one here. Judging by the ease with which the other students fell into position, many of them had already mastered foundational training, likely during their preparation for admission into the academy.
No pressure, right?
Mr. Clemen, our instructor, wasted no time getting to the heart of the lesson. He called two students to the front and demonstrated the key movements we’d be practicing. Every word he spoke was sharp and efficient, slicing through any confusion with the precision of a blade. He broke down each stance and technique with a mastery that made even the most complicated moves seem accessible.
When the demonstration ended, he clapped his hands, setting us loose in pairs across the room to practice. As we fanned out, he prowled the space like a hawk, adjusting stances, fine-tuning postures, and offering pointed feedback to anyone whose form faltered.
I looked up from my awkward self-assessment and found my would-be partner standing before me. She wore a clean white tracksuit, her hand extended toward me for a handshake.
I took it hesitantly.
"Jade London," she said in a soft but confident tone.
London, huh? My mind betrayed me with a stray thought: You mean, like the city stuck back in time?
I managed to choke that one back before it slipped out. Instead, I forced a polite smile and offered my own introduction. “North… Starr.”
Jade’s lips pursed ever so slightly, the faintest sign of skepticism flickering across her face. Was it my awkward delivery, or had she picked up on my last-second fabrication? If she had any telepathic abilities.
Sure, I’d made up the last name on the spot, figuring if she could have an exotic name, why not me?
Jade settled into a fighting stance, her movements fluid and assured, like someone who knew exactly how to handle herself. Her eyes fixed on me, appraising, challenging. “How good are you?” she asked, her tone carrying an undeniable edge.
Was she really trying to size me up? I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Good enough,” I replied flatly.
However, my perception shifted in the next instant, and her Likeness revealed itself to me. It was breathtaking—an immense, golden dragon coiled upon itself, its sheer size overwhelming. I had to crane my neck to take it all in, and even then, I could barely grasp its full scale. Its luminous, golden scales radiated a brilliance so intense it was almost blinding to look at. The dragon''s head rested among soft clouds, as though it slumbered in the heavens, while its tail disappeared deep into the shadowy abyss below. The juxtaposition of celestial grace and unfathomable depth was mesmerizing, and I could feel the ancient power rolling off of it in waves.
I rarely encountered such extraordinary Likenesses, even in a place like Beyonder’s Academy, where every student was exceptional, the elite of the elite. The Academy was the pinnacle of talent, its halls filled with prodigies who represented the "heavy cream of the top," as the saying went. Yet, Jade was something else entirely.
There was no denying it.
Huh! In the next instant, my world shifted. Darkness enveloped me, as if stars and a faint moon had been painted against an endless void. My mind scrambled to process what was happening, but when my senses snapped back into focus, I realized I was trapped. Her legs were locked firmly around my neck in an ironclad hold, her face smug and victorious.
What?! I hadn’t even seen her move. The shock of being outmaneuvered so easily rippled through me, undermining all my centuries of experience. But, I wasn’t prepared yet. Or I had underestimated her, completely and utterly.
The hold tightened. My vision began to blur, and my face, I was sure, had turned the color of chalk. The air felt thin, my thoughts foggy. Just as I was wondering whether I was going to pass out, a sharp voice cut through the moment.
“What are you doing? Let him go!” Mr. Clemen’s voice was sharp with a mix of alarm and irritation as he strode toward us. “Are you trying to give him brain damage?”
Jade released me immediately, and I collapsed to the mat, gulping in air like it was the finest drink I’d ever had. My chest heaved as I regained my senses, embarrassment mingling with the burning sensation in my throat. I silently cursed myself for being so arrogant. Jade, clearly, was not someone to underestimate.
“Sorry,” Jade mumbled, her voice low but devoid of any real regret. Her eyes flicked between me and Mr. Clemen, as if deciding how much of an apology was truly necessary.
Mr. Clemen sighed, his expression darkening as he turned his focus on her. “You need to dial it down, Jade. This is why no one wants to partner with you.”
I glanced at her, still catching my breath. She shrugged slightly, as if the accusation didn’t bother her in the least.
Oh. That stung a little. So it wasn’t fate or my lucky charm that brought us together—it was her habit of knocking out anyone unlucky enough to train with her.
“I’ll see if I can move you up to the advanced class next week,” Mr. Clemen added, hauling me to my feet with all the warmth of a wet towel.
No pat on the back, no word of encouragement—nothing. I was the one who practically got strangled and just died. I felt sad.
Gender discrimination, or what? I bubbled internally. My life was the one on the line here. Would it kill someone to acknowledge that I just got practically strangled?
Jade, meanwhile, seemed to be doing her best to appear uninterested, but the subtle curve of her lips betrayed her satisfaction. Clearly, in this class, landing the hits earned you a quiet badge of honor.
I dusted off my clothes, rolling up my sleeves as I straightened up.
One thing was certain: it was on.
Jade might have won the first round, but there was no way I was letting her get the last laugh.
Petty? I was rotten to the core. But fair play was overrated when you’d been publicly humbled.
Yet a thought kept nagging at me. I didn’t remember anyone like her from my first or second cycles. Her presence wasn’t just extraordinary; it was anomalous. Was my memory fading? Or had the time loop spun some new threads in this third cycle? The ripple effects were beginning to pile up, like pebbles tossed into a still pond, distorting the reflections of what I thought I knew.
Looking around, I noticed nobody else seemed the least bit concerned about our little showdown. Everyone else was focused on their own training, and what made this class unique was that nobody used their meta nature in combat.
Even those with boosted strength or speed were consciously holding back, focusing on raw skill alone. It was a peculiar rule here—to fight as humans, no powers allowed.
Between Jade and me, rules ceased to exist the moment our eyes locked in: this wasn’t just sparring—it was personal, at least to me. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.
Mr. Clemen stood on the sidelines, but I didn’t wait for his signal. There was no time for formalities. I lunged forward, fists tight.
The first punch was a feint, blocked swiftly by her precise guard, but my second hit connected, catching her momentarily off-guard. I wasn’t holding back, and my relentless onslaught forced her to dodge, counter, and adapt.
She was good—better than good. Her moves were sharp and deliberate, a clear sign of elite training. Yet, there was something unpolished beneath her flawless exterior.
Her reactions were sharp but not yet automatic; she lacked the automatic muscle memory honed through years of practice, which gave me a slight edge as I pushed her to keep up.
Our clash intensified. It wasn’t just about skill anymore—it was a struggle for dominance.
She moved with precision, but I kept her on the defensive, forcing her to grapple with my momentum. Soon, we hit the mats, her legs locking around my waist as she tried to pin me down. I gritted my teeth and twisted against her hold, my fists still seeking openings.
Our spar became less of a polished exchange of moves and more of a struggle for dominance. Her technique was undeniable, but so was her lack of experience, and the momentum was shifting my way. Still, she was stubborn, holding her ground with an intensity that forced me to respect her as an opponent. Even if I had the upper hand now, she was far from defeated.
This arrogant dragon needed to be taught a lesson…
Is this how cats fight… I supposed.
And then—fuck. A sharp, searing pain exploded in my nose, snapping me out of my thoughts. She’d landed a direct hit, precise and brutal, and the crunch that followed told me she’d probably broken it.
Pain radiated across my face, throbbing with every heartbeat, but I refused to let it slow me down and pushed it to the back of my mind, my focus laser-locked on Jade.
Surging forward, I lashed out with a flurry of strikes, my fists blurring as I attempted to overwhelm her defenses. Jade''s arm snapped up, batting aside the first blow, but the second caught her square in the shoulder.
She grunted, but her recovery was swift, her counterattack brutal. Her movements were sharp and unrelenting, and we crashed to the floor in a violent tangle of limbs, exchanging blows at point-blank range.
The mats offered no cushion from the sheer force of our strikes, each hit reverberating through my bones.
Jade lashed out with a vicious kick that caught me squarely in the ribs. I heard something crack, and the sharp pain in my side confirmed the damage. My breath came in ragged gasps, the air driven from my lungs. Gritting my teeth, I pushed through the pain and tackled her, slamming her back onto the mat.
My hands grabbed at her sweatshirt, yanking her closer as I drove my knee into her abdomen. Her strangled gasp told me I’d landed a solid hit, but Jade retaliated immediately.
Her teeth sank into my forearm, sharp and unyielding, and I hissed as the metallic tang of blood filled the air. The pain was sharp and hot, but I refused to let her gain the upper hand. With a sharp twist, I slammed my elbow into the side of her head.
Her grip slackened, just for a moment, and I wrenched my arm free, ignoring the blood dripping from the bite marks.
I didn’t stop. I couldn''t stop.
I grabbed hold of her sweatshirt again and pulled, yanking her upward with every ounce of strength I had left. A sickening pop echoed between us as her arm twisted at an awkward angle, likely dislocated from the force.
Jade winced and bit her lips, her face flushing crimson with pain, dark bruises blooming across her cheeks and under her eyes.
Her sweatshirt was spattered with my blood, the red stains stark against the white fabric. Her injured arm hung limp at her side, but her expression told me she wasn’t done.
Despite the tears streaking her cheeks, she refused to back down. Her resolve was as fierce as ever.
Despite the pain, she refused to relent, and nor did I.
We were landing pouches like we were mortal enemies.
This was no longer a controlled sparring session - it had descended into a brutal, visceral confrontation.
Fortunately, before our confrontation could spiral completely out of control, Mr. Clemen stepped in, his voice cracking like a whip.
“That’s enough!” he barked, his tone leaving no room for argument. “This is supposed to be a training exercise, not a full-on brawl. Break it up, both of you.”
Jade and I froze mid-motion, chest heaving, the adrenaline slowly ebbing from our systems.
Slowly, I released my hold on her sweatshirt, my knuckles stiff and bloodied, and she cradled her injured arm, her face a mixture of pain and defiance. Our ragged breathing echoed in the stunned silence, the chaos of moments before now replaced by an awkward stillness.
As I lifted my head, I became acutely aware of the entire class staring at us, mouths agape as if they were witnessing monkeys fighting in a zoo.
For all my mental maturity, I felt a rare twinge of embarrassment in that moment, my composer slipping. I met Jade''s gaze, but she seemed too consumed by pain to even register the eyes upon us.
Did she want to kill me? I wondered fleetingly, though the thought felt more absurd than threatening. Probably not. Probably.
“Two nutcases this year,” Mr. Clemen muttered, shaking his head as he surveyed the aftermath of our brawl. His disappointment was palpable, but so was his exhaustion, as if dealing with us had sapped the last of his patience.
Shouldn’t you have intervened sooner, before we almost killed each other? I thought, resisting the urge to glare at him. His hands-off approach had clearly backfired, and his delayed intervention felt hypocritical at best, outright reckless at worst.
“Alright,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Someone get these two to the infirmary before they pass out.”
A few classmates hesitated, unsure whether to laugh or feel sorry for us. Eventually, two of them stepped forward—one on each side—to help us up.
Alex steadied me, his arm firm around my shoulder as he helped me stagger down the hallway. Every step sent a sharp ache through my body, and the metallic tang of blood lingered on my tongue. My ribs throbbed with every breath, my nose felt like it was on fire, and my arm—decorated with Jade’s bite marks—stung with each movement.
Ahead of us, Jade was in equally rough shape—her face was a patchwork of red and blue, bruises swelling in sharp contrast against her pale skin. She was being supported by two girls, her expression grim. Tears streaked her face, though she wasn’t crying—at least not in the traditional sense. It was more like the pain had leaked out on its own, unwelcome but unrelenting.
Today had definitely been a lesson for both of us, though maybe more for her.
“I never knew you were so crazy,” Alex whispered, his voice low enough that the girls escorting Jade wouldn’t overhear.
His tone held something close to admiration, and his eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and respect. “You’d even go toe-to-toe with her like that. In the earlier classes, she destroyed everybody.” He flashed me a thumbs-up, as if congratulating me for some kind of revenge-by-proxy.
I shrugged, biting back the urge to groan from the effort. What the hell is he talking about?
“Did you not notice? I’m the one with more broken bones. She still won,” I muttered, my voice tinged with frustration. I could feel the throbbing ache in my face, and every breath was reminding me of just how battered I was.
Alex glanced at me, unconvinced. “I think you did better than you’re giving yourself credit for. Not many guys here would even try to fight a pretty girl like that, let alone hold their own.”
His words carried a strange mix of admiration and discomfort, as if he wasn’t sure whether to applaud my resolve or question my sanity.
I cast a glance at the girls helping Jade shuffle along. Her state mirrored mine: disheveled, battered, and bloodied. Though, I noticed her lips, though smeared with the traces of wiped blood
She might be a vampire. I traced my finger over bite marks. It hurt so bad. I hope I don’t get rabies… I joked inwardly.
“Do you know anything about her?” I asked Alex, hoping to fill the gaps in my fragmented memories. If Jade was this extraordinary, there had to be more to her story than her fighting skills.
Alex tilted his head thoughtfully, his gaze flickering back toward the door Jade had been helped through moments earlier. “Well, both her parents are S-rankers, from what I’ve heard,” he said. “But nobody’s been able to dig much deeper than that. She’s pretty private.”
He leaned in closer, lowering his voice as if he were about to spill some forbidden secret. “There’s a rumor—don’t know if it’s true—that she wasn’t even born on Earth. Apparently, she’s from Aurora”
I nodded silently, letting that piece of information sink in. That explained a lot.
Before I could press him further, two nurses appeared and helped us into separate rooms in the infirmary. We were given clothes to change. Alex and the others headed out, leaving just me and Jade lying a few beds away. Silence filled the room, and if it weren’t for the persistent ache in every muscle, I might have been able to sleep right there.
After about half an hour, I caught sight of a young girl, around my age, making her way over. She held a candle, which seemed oddly out of place, and I couldn’t help but watch her curiously as she approached.
At Beyonder’s Academy, it wasn’t unusual for students to volunteer in the infirmary. It was a practical way for those with healing abilities to hone their meta nature in a controlled environment. But I’d noticed something else over time—most of the volunteers in these roles were women. Perhaps it was their natural empathy that made them gravitate toward the art of healing, or maybe it was just a cultural and social expectation.
Frankly, if I’d had a healing meta nature, I wasn’t really sure if I’d want to spend my days in a hospital.
The girl gave me a polite nod, then wordlessly pulled up two stools. Sitting on one, she placed the candle carefully on the other and gestured for me to remove my shirt. Her demeanor was calm, professional.
When she lit the candle, something unusual happened. The wax didn’t melt slowly as I’d expected. Instead, it immediately softened and pooled into a small, warm blob that seemed to pulse slightly with energy. A light, daisy-scented fragrance wafted from the wax, filling the air with a subtle, soothing aroma. The scent was comforting in a way I couldn’t quite explain. As it wrapped around me, I realized the ache radiating through my muscles was beginning to ease—not fully gone, but noticeably dulled, as if the air itself was working to calm my battered body.
“It’ll sting like an ant bite,” the girl said, almost too casually, just before she poured the blob of hot wax across my chest.
My breath hitched, and my teeth clenched hard. Whatever she’d meant by “sting,” it was the understatement of the century. The sensation flared into what felt like thousands of ants biting and crawling just beneath my skin. The burning ache made my muscles tense involuntarily, my body recoiling from the sheer intensity of it.
But then, as she moved the molten mass of wax to the next spot, the pain dulled into a deep warmth, and the skin left behind felt strangely renewed, tingling with a sense of relief. The wax had left faint red patches in its wake, almost as if my skin had been gently cauterized but in a way that soothed rather than seared.
As the wax moved, I could feel it moving around, inside my flesh, my bones. It was an indescribable feeling, painful yet good. Her hands moved slowly up my neck and the burning pain continued.
“Why did you two fight so brutally?” the girl asked, her voice soft but laced with curiosity. Her hands hovered close to my neck, the warm air prickling against my skin. “Was there that much hatred between you?”
Her question caught me off guard, and for a moment, I hesitated. I couldn’t help but wonder if those gentle healing hands might turn to strangling me, depending on my answer. Deciding to deflect, I asked, “What’s your name?”
“Alaska,” she replied simply.
“Miss Alaska,” I said, grasping for time, “did you ask her the same question?”
She nodded slightly, her fingers continuing their steady, meticulous work. “Hmm. I did.”
“And what was her reply?” I prompted, the curiosity in my tone mirrored by the flicker of interest in her eyes.
“She said she felt you were using your meta nature to influence her,” Alaska answered, her voice even and matter-of-fact. “She felt an odd pull, like you were throwing off her rhythm somehow.”
“Huh?” I was quite surprised by her assumption. Her ideas were quite similar to my thoughts. It was oddly close to my own reasoning. In truth, I had pushed the fight as far as I could with the hope that Jade would eventually use her meta nature more overtly, perhaps revealing a strength or skill she was hiding. I’d thought I could corner her into showing her hand. But now, hearing her perspective, it was clear my assumption had been wrong. Had she felt the same about me?
"Did she then tell you what she discovered?" I kept my voice carefully neutral, though curiosity gnawed at me.
Alaska shook her head silently. Thereafter, I closed my eyes, no longer interested in observing her healing meta nature at work. Instead, my consciousness seemed to sink deeper and deeper into what felt like a vast mental consciousness.
My knowledge of meta nature felt shallow, and that awareness gnawed at me.
How much did I truly understand about it?
My experience seemed limited, a mere scratch on the surface, while the true depths of this power—and its implications—remained elusive.
I wondered if, given enough time, I’d be able to achieve that understanding. Time was both my ally and my burden, looping endlessly but never waiting.
Hopefully, given enough time, I told myself, I could achieve that understanding.