Not all were convinced.
"You talk like you're giving us a choice," a voice said.
It wasn't shouted.
Wasn't charged.
Just… present. Like a post standing in the wind, refusing to lean.
Kamo stopped.
The speaker stepped forward—older than the rest, maybe eighteen.
Broad shoulders. Scar down one arm.
takton pulsing faintly at his back, like it had surfaced but not yet shaped.
He didn't draw a weapon.
He kept walking, steady and slow.
Every step announced its own weight.
"I'm not even against what you're offering," he said.
"But as a man, I refuse to be a slave to anyone."
He stopped a few meters from Kamo. Just far enough to act.
"I won't serve The Foundation. I won't serve you."
A pause.
"That doesn't mean I'm weak."
A few in the crowd looked at him—not admiring, not inspired.
Kamo studied him silently, still though.
"Fair," Kamo said. "But you know what that means, don't you?"
He stepped once, just within reach of a fast move. Just outside the reach of a mistake.
"Not all of us are that weak."
Kamo said nothing else.
Just rolled his neck. A quiet pop in the joint.
Then:
"Name?"
The boy blinked once. "Koshira."
Kamo nodded—almost with respect.
Then he moved.
Koshira moved too—but not backward.
Twisting his heel against the floor, dragging a wall through the air.
Kamo's approach halted from contact alone.
His footing slipped half an inch— enough to stop clean momentum, but not enough to fall.
Koshira rotated into a rising palm and sent another wall, the knockback force came from maybe from three paces out.
Kamo's coat flared, but his core held.
He didn't move.
Koshira's eyes narrowed.
That would've knocked back most men. Especially the instructors.
Kamo blinked. Slowly. One brow lifted.
Then he closed the gap again.
Koshira snapped another wall, creating unexpected leverage beneath Kamo's foot—trying to shift his center off-axis.
Kamo's leg slid, unprepared for the upward step he'd been forced into.
But he didn't stumble.
He rotated into the loss. Flowed with it.
Let Koshira think he'd made space.
Then Kamo's hand was on his shoulder. The weight of his arm clothesline Koshira, they both met the ground, and both escaped from that spot immediately.
Koshira didn't freeze. But Kamo followed through.
He let the escape happen, flowed with it and used the motion to pivot behind him.
A short strike slammed into Koshira's ribs. No wind-up. Just contact.
Koshira grunted, stepped through it. Kamo then spun backward, lifting his trail leg and kicking Koshira in the chest
Koshira braced—halted the air behind him, created a wall of resistance.
It dulled the blow's follow-through.
His own elbow snapped back—sharp, fast, aimed at Kamo's temple.
Kamo ducked it clean.
Knees bent. Eyes level.
Koshira jumped back. Two paces. Resetting.
Still breathing steady.
Still sharp.
He hadn't expected to be so reactive, to miss as much as he did. But he still missed. Kamo knew the rhythm of this fight. Koshira would be the aggressor, Kamo would counter until he'd gained an upper hand. Then Koshira would reset before he could capitalize. That pattern is tiring on its own.
So Kamo broke it.
He didn't wait.
He ran into him—shoulder low, center of gravity tucked, crowd forgotten.
Koshira reached to create another force point—
Kamo stepped inside the arc.
Twisted the boy's forearm down—
and popped the elbow with a brutal snap of pressure.
Koshira didn't scream.
Didn't fall.
Koshira used the torque.
Flipped with it—twisting, redirecting.
He spun the momentum, just enough to stay on his feet, nearly ripping his own arm out of the socket.
He ignored the pain, Koshira wasn't thinking beyond this fight. He twisted his trunk even more, but by then Kamo had released the disgruntled limb, Koshira carried that moment into a sideways strike with his good arm.
The edge of his hand caught Kamo's temple. Hard. It split skin.
Kamo's head turned.
Then he looked back.
Calm. Breathing even.
He didn't even blink.
Koshira hesitated.
Just for half a breath.
That was enough.
Kamo stepped in, caught him around the neck, coiled Koshira by his bicep— He twisted the body across his leg and slammed him back-first into the ground.
The floor cracked. Koshira's body bounced once. He exhaled—sharp. Frustrated, not broken. Rolled to one side. One arm hung limp. The other pushed slowly against the ground.
He wasn't done.
Kamo watched him climb to a knee.
"You get back up," Kamo said.
Koshira spat blood.
"Of course I do."
Kamo nodded once.
"Pride will be your downfall."
Koshira reached out, stepping out of range, and then twisted his wrist akwardly.A flick of the fingers—click. The air snapped outward. Not just pushed—torn.
A thick line cracked through the room in a hard spiral, carving through the space like a pulse meant to disorient, the force was blunt, though it moved with the speed of a blade.
It missed Kamo by inches.
But only barely.
It caught the girl from earlier instead—slamming her against the wall with enough force to knock breath out before pain could catch up.
Koshira was already moving.
He swept low with his good arm, dragging the current behind him like a short leash. His own body became an anchor, the room felt like it spun in its wake— centered just beneath Kamo's core. The room felt it.
Everyone did. A sudden vacuum. Then a pull. The air itself tilted, rotated against them. Much like the projectile that'd struck the girl against the wall. Floor and breath and focus all shifted—subtle, disorienting.
A makeshift fulcrum.
Clever.
Kamo's footing slipped again—but this time, he didn't resist it. He fell with it. Dropped into the collapse.
And vanished.
The shadow beneath one of the Koshira warped—twisted in a way that didn't match his own movements. Kamo stepped out of it a breath later, calm as sleep.
Behind Koshira.
He froze.
Not from fear— from dissonance.
His eyes widened, scanning the angles. His mouth parted. He'd seen something that didn't make sense. Didn't fit his understanding of the world. One of the boys in the back—arms once crossed, face rigid—let his hands drift apart.
His gaze tracked from where Kamo had been to where Kamo now stood.
And found nothing in between. Just a gap where logic should've lived.