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 it 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—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—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.

  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. Judging by the ease with which the other students fell into position, many 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 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 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 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?

  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 scales radiated a brilliance so intense it was almost blinding. The dragon's head rested among soft clouds, as though it slumbered in the heavens, while its tail disappeared into the abyss below. The contrast between celestial grace and unfathomable depth was mesmerizing, and I could feel the ancient power rolling off it in waves.

  I rarely encountered such extraordinary Likenesses, even at Beyonder’s Academy, where every student was exceptional—the elite of the elite. The Academy was the pinnacle of talent, 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, stars and a faint moon 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 around my neck in an unbreakable 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. Either I wasn’t prepared yet, or I had completely underestimated her.

  The hold tightened. My vision blurred, and I was sure my face had turned the color of chalk. The air felt thin, my thoughts foggy. Just as I wondered whether I was about to pass out, a voice cut through the moment.

  “What are you doing? Let him go!” Mr. Clemen’s tone carried 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 onto 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 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 to 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 had been on the line. Would it kill someone to acknowledge that I’d just been 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.

  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 nagged 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 piling up, like pebbles tossed into a still pond, distorting reflections of what I thought I knew.

  Looking around, I noticed nobody else seemed the least bit concerned about our little showdown. Everyone was focused on their own training, and what made this class unique was that no one used their meta nature in combat.

  Even those with boosted strength or speed held 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: this wasn’t just sparring—it was personal, at least to me.

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  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. My relentless onslaught forced her to dodge, counter, and adapt.

  She was good—better than good. Her moves were precise and deliberate, a clear sign of elite training. Yet, there was something unpolished beneath the flawless exterior.

  Her reactions were quick but not yet automatic; she lacked the 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 primal 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 and more of a raw contest of will. 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 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.

  But I refused to let it slow me down, shoving the pain to the back of my mind, my focus locked on Jade.

  Surging forward, I unleashed a flurry of strikes, 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 recovered swiftly, her counterattack brutal. Her movements were relentless, and we crashed to the floor in a violent tangle of limbs, exchanging blows at point-blank range.

  The mats offered little cushion, each strike reverberating through my bones.

  Jade lashed out with a vicious kick to my ribs. Something cracked, and the sharp pain in my side confirmed the damage. My breath came in ragged gasps. Gritting my teeth, I tackled her, slamming her back onto the mat.

  Grabbing her sweatshirt, I yanked her closer and drove my knee into her abdomen. Her strangled gasp told me I’d landed a solid hit, but she retaliated immediately.

  Her teeth sank into my forearm, unyielding, and I hissed as the metallic tang of blood filled the air. Pain flared, but I refused to let her gain the upper hand. Twisting sharply, I slammed my elbow into the side of her head.

  Her grip slackened just for a moment. I wrenched my arm free, ignoring the blood dripping from the bite marks.

  I didn’t stop. I couldn't stop.

  Gripping her sweatshirt again, I 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.

  A tear trickled her cheeks, she refused to back down. Her resolve was as fierce as ever.

  She refused to relent, and nor did I.

  We were landing punches like mortal enemies.

  This was no longer a controlled sparring session—it had descended into a brutal, visceral confrontation.

  Fortunately, before it could spiral completely out of control, Mr. Clemen stepped in, his voice cracking like a whip.

  “That’s enough!” he barked, 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, chests heaving, the adrenaline slowly ebbing.

  I released my grip on her sweatshirt, my knuckles stiff and bloodied, while 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 supposed mental maturity, I felt a rare twinge of embarrassment in that moment, my composure slipping. I met Jade's gaze, but she seemed too consumed by pain to 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 drained the last of his patience.

  Shouldn’t you have intervened sooner, before we almost killed each other? I thought, resisting the urge to glare. His hands-off approach had clearly backfired, and his delayed intervention felt hypocritical at best, 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 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 fresh ache through my body, the metallic tang of blood lingering on my tongue. My ribs throbbed with each breath, my nose burned, and my arm—decorated with Jade’s bite marks—stung with every movement.

  Ahead, Jade looked just as rough. Her face was a patchwork of red and blue, bruises swelling in stark contrast against her pale skin. Two girls supported her, 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, his eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and respect. “You really went toe-to-toe with her. In the earlier classes, she destroyed everybody.” He flashed me a thumbs-up, as if congratulating me on some kind of revenge-by-proxy.

  I shrugged, biting back a 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, frustration bleeding into my voice. The throbbing ache in my face and the sharp sting with every breath reminded me just how battered I was.

  Alex shot me an unconvinced glance. “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 an odd mix of admiration and unease, 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. She looked just as disheveled, battered, and bloodied. But I noticed her lips, smeared with traces of wiped blood.

  She might be a vampire. I traced a finger over the bite marks. It hurts so bad. I hope I don’t get rabies…

  “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 just her fighting skills.

  Alex tilted his head thoughtfully, his gaze flicking 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 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 arrived and guided us into separate infirmary rooms. We were given clothes to change into. Alex and the others headed out, leaving just me and Jade lying a few beds apart. Silence filled the room, and if it weren’t for the persistent ache in every muscle, I might have fallen asleep 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, an odd sight, and I couldn’t help but watch 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—most of the volunteers in these roles were women. Maybe it was their natural empathy that drew them to healing, or perhaps it was just a cultural expectation.

  Frankly, if I’d had a healing meta nature, I wasn’t sure 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 wax to the next spot, the pain dulled into a deep warmth. My skin tingled with relief, the area left behind marked by faint red patches—almost as if it had been gently cauterized, soothing rather than searing.

  I could feel it shifting beneath the surface, moving through my flesh and bones. It was an indescribable sensation, painful yet oddly restorative. As she worked up my neck, the burning continued.

  “Why did you two fight so brutally?” the girl asked, her voice soft but laced with curiosity. Her hands hovered close to my throat, 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.

  I closed my eyes, no longer interested in watching her healing meta nature at work. Instead, my consciousness seemed to sink deeper into a vast mental landscape.

  My knowledge of meta nature felt shallow, and that awareness gnawed at me.

  How much did I truly understand about it?

  My experience felt like 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 reach 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.