Lance was a few steps behind, still hadn’t entered his suit. I seized the moment to try and practice what Morningstar had said. I examined the HUD, focusing on the clutter of texts and numbers that filled my vision.

As I concentrated, I saw the familiar lines:

Subject: Tiberius
Status: Unchosen
Level: 8
Ranking A: 12/12
Ranking B: 178/178

There was no zero or dot before the 8.

That creepy voice returned, childlike and nymphish, in my ear. "Oh, you're back. You know, I missed you. You're not as ready as the others, but I think you're more interesting..."

I cringed in fear at the voice. Was my mind breaking and playing tricks on me, or was this coming from the suit? I didn't have time to replay the expressions on Morningstar's face when I'd mentioned the voice the night before. I didn't have time to acknowledge the voice or consider its reality. I concentrated on progression, focused.

I tried hard to communicate with the suit, to see the screen as Lance stepped into his suit. Then the voice was there again. "You want to see your progression? I really don't see why. There's no progression to speak of, but if it will shut you up..."

The HUD shifted. The dazzling maze of text melted away, replaced by a row of words and numbers:

CUT: 0
BEAM: 0.1
POWER: 0
SHIELD: 0
AGILITY: 0

My eye hung on the BEAM reading. It wasn't a zero. Morningstar had suggested I would be zero in every category when I began, and he had implied there would be an advantage in progressing at least one of the categories. But how could I progress with Beam?

The voice said, "You want to progress with Beam? Well, I suppose why not, it's where you seem least hopeless."

I whispered, "But how do I...?"

The voice replied, "You push, silly head. Push down the blade, like the blade was a muscle and you want it to contract. I'll be here. I'll tell you if you're doing any good."

Then the voice, a little alarmed but mostly amused, said, "Oops, I think you should be paying more attention to your playmate."

My eyes suddenly focused beyond the wall of text. Mario had dropped the cloth already, and I was too shocked to react. Lance was on me, hitting me full force across the chest. The impact of the kinetic energy staggered me. I was beyond fortunate that these were his first steps in the new suit. He'd stepped too close as he swung and failed to gather enough momentum. I kept my feet, barely.

Panicking, I clumsily got my feet under me and raised the sword. My movements flailed. There wasn't time to mess around with the bullshit where I tried to direct the suit instead of my own muscles. If I didn't go and go fast, then I was a goner. The new HUD was in the center of my vision, and I could barely see Lance trudging forward, winding up to swing again.

The voice said, "Oh, is the screen annoying you? Make up your mind. First you want to see it, now it's in your way..."

The HUD flashed away, and I had a moment of clear vision. Lance attacked again. I sidestepped, still taking a glancing blow that turned me, my feet shuffling and staggering awkwardly. He spun, clumsy, but already gaining confidence.

I had a thought, maybe a dangerous, stupid thought. All I had to do today was not finish last. My odds of beating Lance were very close to nothing. What if, instead of really trying to come out on top over him, I let this round be a chance to grow into the suit, the way Morningstar had suggested? I'd seen how Katya had grown in the suit when fighting Olaf, how Olaf had stagnated. If I lost this round but went into my next match a little more accustomed, then maybe I would have better odds of coming out on top.

As Lance goose-stepped towards me, raising the sword again, I tried imagining my legs moving, really feeling it. As he swung at me, my instincts took over, and I stepped aside. But it was ever so slightly different this time. It felt, dare I say, slightly more natural.

Lance swung again, and I parried awkwardly, but my movements had a bit more flow. I focused on the feeling. I tried to let my mind speak to my body and the suit as though they were one. With each passing moment, my confidence grew a little. I knew I wouldn't win this bout, but I could use it to learn, to adapt.

I spent the next few minutes just evading and parrying, focusing on the advice given by the voice and Morningstar. I imagined pushing down the blade like a muscle, flexing it as I moved. With each attempt, a very slight sense of fluidity grew in my movements. It was nothing to write home about, and certainly nothing that would help me stave off Lance, the favorite to win the whole thing, but it was progress.

As I dodged another one of Lance's heavy swings, I flexed my "Sword muscle" once more. To my elation, a message flashed across the HUD. BEAM: 0.1 appeared, then the 1 blinked out and was replaced by a 2. BEAM: 0.2.

A surge of triumph welled up inside me, but as my elation dissipated, Lance struck me in the chest again. The impact was immense, the kinetic energy propelling me through the air. I landed in the dust far outside the rope ring, the force of the blow ringing in my ears. I lay there, the dull aching pain spreading through my body, unable to ignore the disappointment of defeat despite its expectation.

Lance stood above me, looking down with a smug expression. "Don't worry, shopkeeper. We're classmates. That will really count for something. I'll be sure not to haggle too much when I'm perusing your wares in years to come. The city needs merchants too."

I gritted my teeth, the sting of his words cutting deeper than the pain of the fall. The crowd murmured, some with approval of Lance's skill, others with sympathy for my effort. As I struggled to my feet, the voice in my ear returned, softer now, almost encouraging.

"Not bad, silly head. You made some progress."