There was a training room under the house... Who the heck even builds such a thing?
The white walls, long since cracked and dried with age, surrounded a space filled with old dumbbells, a worn punching bag, rusted pull-up bars, and stretched resistance bands—everything one would need was there.
"Your father always trained you here... This place might stir up some of your memories," Raphael said as she looked at him, who wore the training clothes now, "Wear your protective gear"
"My father... ah," Leo muttered, his expression turning thoughtful. "So I've been training all this time, huh?" he added, as he walked toward the corner stand where a helmet and wooden practice sword rested.
Raphael gave a small nod.
Leo frowned slightly. If he really had been training, then why the hell was that Kai guy still able to bully him like that?
He grabbed the gear, starting to strap it on. "So we fight with swords?" he asked, stepping in front of Raphael. She, meanwhile, hadn't bothered with any protective gear herself. She stood casually but with perfect balance, her wooden sword gripped lightly in one hand.
Raphael nodded again. "Yes. So get ready. Don't worry—I'll go easy on you. I would never get angry at my sweet nephew who called me funny..." she said with a smile.
But Leo stared at that so-called smile. That wasn't a smile.
That was a death threat in disguise.
"If you're still stuck on that joke... believe me, I wasn't—"
"HYA!" Raphael lunged in a flash and swung the stick straight at his wrist.
Sudden attack that he would never reacted before, she going to teach him lesson for yesterday calling her car 'shitty' and today calling her 'funny!'
But,
Thud!
Raphael blinked, her brows lifting. "T-That was... fast," she murmured, clearly surprised. She lowered her weapon, her eyes still on him. But Leo?
He looked just as confused.
"What just happened?" he asked, staring at his own hand.
"It's just that... my hand moved on its own," he muttered, eyes narrowing slightly. "Like—like it reacted before I even processed the attack. I didn't even see you clearly, much less think about blocking."
Raphael's lips tightened into a thoughtful frown. "...Maybe your body's muscle memory remembers everything," she suggested after a pause. "It could be some kind of automatic response from your past training."
"But... that's never happened before," she added, her voice now filled with curiosity.
"What do you mean?" Leo asked, brows furrowing deeper.
Raphael didn't answer at first. Her expression changed slowly—eyes sharpening, lips curling.
Then she smirked.
"Let's test it, shall we?" she said, her tone shifting to something more playful and challenging.
Without warning, she stepped forward again, this time much faster, and—
"HYA!"
Her foot slammed into the ground, the wooden floor creaking beneath her sudden force. In a blink, she closed the distance—no wind-up, no hint of warning. Her body blurred as her wooden sword cut diagonally through the air, aiming not for his wrist, but for his shoulder, fast and brutal.
Leo didn't even think.
His feet moved. A perfect sidestep—fluid, sharp, precise. The edge of the sword whooshed past his shoulder, missing by an inch.
Raphael's eyes widened. She twisted instantly, bringing her weapon around for a follow-up strike to his side.
Leo ducked low, his knees folding with impossible grace, his stick shooting up from below and slamming into the flat of her blade mid-swing.
Clack!
The force echoed through the room. Her weapon was deflected, sliding off course.
His body moved again.
Twist.
Step.
Breathe.
It was like a rhythm. A dance he didn't remember learning... but somehow, his limbs knew every beat.
His foot spun behind hers, sweeping at her legs. Raphael leapt back, her breath caught in her throat—she wasn't expecting this. Not at all.
"What...?" she muttered, eyes locking on him.
Leo stood there, breathing steady, confused and tense. His stick was in front of him in a perfect defensive posture, his legs apart, knees slightly bent, his centre low—like a trained fighter.
But his face? Full of confusion.
"I—I didn't think about that," he breathed. "My body... it's just moving... like it's done this before. A lot."
"Leo…" she murmured slowly. "You're... responding."
He took a step back, unsettled.
Raphael didn't wait.
She launched again.
Faster this time.
Much faster.
Her body flickered forward like a gust of wind. She swung a feint to his shoulder but twisted mid-motion, thrusting straight for his abdomen.
Leo's stick was already there—waiting... Not just blocking... Parrying.
His wrist angled slightly and deflected the thrust, stepping into her space, and with a pivot of his foot, he turned her own force against her. The tip of his stick stopped just short of her stomach.
He stared at her.
She stared back.
Sweat glistened on Raphael's forehead. Her breath came a little heavier now, and her eyes... There was something wild in them.
Excitement? Shock? A glimmer of challenge?
"You've never moved like this before," she said, her voice breathless but her smirk still cocky. "Not even when your father trained you."
"Really?---"
"HYA!"
Thud!
"HYA!"
Thud!
"HYA!"
Thud!
"HYA!"
Thud!
Again and again, the sound of clashing wood echoed sharply inside the dim training room, sharp cracks ricocheting off the walls like small explosions.
Raphael's eyes narrowed. Her breathing deepened. Her muscles moved with sharp precision. Every strike was fast—calculated—and aggressive. She twisted her wrist, angled her hips, and rotated her core. Her body had been trained for this. Polished by experience, sharpened by sparring.
But every time she lashed out—he was there.
Blocking.
Not with clumsy flinching.
Not with raw desperation.
No—Leo was moving.
No, he was flowing.
Like water.
Like instinct.
His stick met hers midair with perfect timing, slipping beneath her swings, deflecting the pressure, guiding her force away from him rather than bracing against it.
Raphael was stunned.
It had never happened before.
Sure, Leo had trained before. She knew that. His father had trained him. His body had been moulded with form and basics.
But Leo—at least the Leo she remembered—was always a second too slow. A step behind. His movements always held back, like there was a wall inside him he could never break through.
The chains that wrapped his body limit!
But now?
Now it felt like that resistance had shattered.
Now, he was matching her blow for blow.
'What... caused this?' she thought, her eyes flicking from his face to his stance, 'What broke the chain?'
She tried a low strike—Leo stepped aside without thought. She swung from above—he raised his stick gently, the force dispersing like wind. Then she feinted to the side, reversed to go for his exposed ribs—
But he spun. His foot moved. The angle changed. Her stick missed.
Raphael's heart began to race.
Her own smile was creeping in again—the kind that only appeared in a real fight.
Since her brother, no one had pushed her like this.
Leo, meanwhile, was panicking beneath the surface.
He didn't understand what was happening.
Every time she moved, his body responded.
Not from thought... Not from memory.
It was deeper. Older. His limbs flowed like they were remembering a rhythm he never learned, like someone else's instincts were buried in his bones.
And Raphael's pace was increasing. Faster. Harder. Almost feral.
And now, she was enjoying it.
Her eyes glittered with that dangerous shine.
"YOU'RE DOING TOO MUCH!!" Leo shouted suddenly, voice cracking in panic.
She grinned.
But he moved.
His stance shifted before he even realised it. His stick rose, caught her attack from the side, and in a blink, he slid his foot across the wooden floor—not to hurt, not to knock her down hard, but just enough to sweep her weight off-center.
Her footing broke and... slipped.
And as she stumbled backwards.
Leo gasped.
His hand shot out—pure instinct—and grabbed her by the collar before she hit the floor.
Raphael blinked, her expression breaking out of the wild excitement she'd been lost in. "I—I'm sor—"
But her weight kept moving.
And the collar—already loose from the heat, the movement, the friction of her swings—shifted with it.
The pull of gravity tugged the collar wider, and then—
Slip.
The collar gave.
The momentum of her body had been stronger than the hold of the fabric. The edge of her robe loosened, slid over her shoulder, and fell forward just enough—
To reveal them.
The soft rise of skin.
The flawless curves.
The mountains!!
The Mountains no clouds were blocking it... just pure white pale mountains with a pink cherry tree on tip...
Leo didn't react.
Because he couldn't.
His mind simply... paused.
Everything else—the fight, the sound, the moment—it just froze.
He wasn't even breathing.
Just warmth. Flesh. Swaying ever so slightly from the movement.
Natural.
Perfect!!
Leo's pupils narrowed like pinpoints. His lips parted slightly. His breath hitched in his throat. His heart slammed in his chest so loudly he thought she might hear it.
And his eyes—his poor, helpless eyes—couldn't look away.
He knew it was wrong. He knew he should turn. Should back up. Should say something.
But his brain wasn't working anymore.
It was just him.
His face, frozen. His eyes, helplessly drank in the sight.
And then—
Raphael blinked.
And realized.
Her face exploded in crimson.
"A-AHH—!!" she let out a small, embarrassed squeak as she instinctively covered herself and dropped to the ground, curling into herself and trying to tug the loose fabric back into place.
Leo finally snapped out of it.
His eyes widened in horror. He let go—no, launched his hand away from her collar like it was fire. But the damage had already been done.
She hit the ground softly.
But the bounce—
Oh god, the bounce!!
Leo's mind went blank again for a second as the motion of her body carried through, the soft curves trembling before finally settling. His brain didn't even register the fall—just the movement, the sway, the shame, the sheer heat rushing to his face.
"..."
"...."
Silence.
Even the air in the room felt awkward. The wood beneath them creaked like it was holding its breath.
Leo stood frozen, face pale and red all at once, hands twitching slightly at his sides.
Raphael stayed on the ground, refusing to lift her head. Her hands clutched her robe tightly, as if it might run away on its own.
"...I'm sorry," Leo finally said, voice so soft it barely came out.
But she didn't answer.
Just stayed there.
Flushed.
Humiliated.
And somehow… still breathtaking.