Healing System

Michael met her gaze. No trace of amusement or disbelief, just quiet consideration. He didn't answer immediately, didn't nod or shake his head. He just looked at her.

"You sure?" he asked. "This isn't the kind of road you turn back from."

Claire scoffed. "You think I made it this far by backing down when things got hard?"

"No," Michael said. "But there's a difference between surviving in a broken world and walking straight into the fire."

Claire stepped closer, arms still crossed. "Then teach me. Train me. Whatever it takes."

Michael studied her for a long second, then gave a short nod. "Alright."

That was it.

He wasn't going to decline her offer of help. After all, if he did, then she'd only end up getting herself killed somewhere down the line.

But now? There were other options he could explore.

They resumed walking, the street curving slightly before opening up into a small courtyard. A fountain sat at the center, its water gently trickling under the moonlight. Benches lined the edges, and vines curled up along the nearby walls.

Michael paused by one of the benches and sat down. Claire followed a moment later, sitting beside him without a word.

For a while, neither spoke. The silence wasn't uncomfortable; it just felt like the kind that came after something important had settled.

Eventually, Michael spoke again. "You're serious about getting stronger?"

Claire didn't look at him. "Yeah."

"Then we'll start tomorrow. Early. First light."

She nodded. "Got it."

"No complaints when your arms feel like lead and your legs stop working?"

"Already been through worse," she muttered.

Michael glanced over. "Good."

He leaned back slightly, eyes scanning the courtyard, the stars, the faint glow of the lanterns. This city had seen better days, and the people in it had too. But in a way, maybe that made it the perfect place to begin.

"You know," Claire said after a moment, "I didn't expect this."

"What?"

"That I'd be sitting on a bench with some half-immortal time traveler after spilling half my life story on a bridge."

Michael smirked. "Neither did I. But you're here. And that counts for something."

Claire nodded, then stood. "Alright, time for sleep. If we're starting tomorrow, I'm not dragging myself through it half-awake."

Michael rose too. "We'll start with conditioning. Basics. No point throwing fire if you can't stay standing."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Yes, master."

He flinched, getting some kinky memories as he gave her the side eye. "You can call me coach instead. Less cringe."

"No promises."

They walked together again, now heading toward the barracks. Their footsteps echoed faintly through the mostly quiet streets.

Claire slowed as they neared the door. "One more thing."

Michael stopped, turning to her.

"You said you care. About the others. About helping them. That still true?"

"Yeah."

"Then don't shoulder all of it alone." She gave him a pointed look. "You fall, they fall. And I'm guessing we can't afford that."

Michael met her gaze with a raised brow. "I don't plan on falling. I'll do what has to be done."

Claire shrugged and narrowed her eyes. "Just don't forget you've got people who are willing to help."

He nodded. "I won't."

With that, Claire turned and headed inside, the door shutting behind her with a soft thud.

Michael stood outside for a few more seconds, then looked at the stars again.

This is going to be a pain in the ass, isn't it...?

***

It was now dawn.

The sun barely crested the hills when Michael was already outside, sleeves rolled up, eyes scanning the empty training yard.

Claire showed up a few minutes later, hair tied back, expression neutral.

"You're late," Michael said.

"By two minutes," she replied, stretching one arm over her head. "Don't get dramatic."

He tossed her a wooden training sword. "Warm-up. Ten laps. Then we'll talk form."

She caught it with one hand. "You're really leaning into the coach thing, huh?"

"You said you were serious. This is what serious looks like."

Claire exhaled, then nodded and took off running.

Michael watched her pace. Not bad. She had the endurance, and more importantly, the will.

He gave her no break when she finished. Straight into form practice. Stance corrections. Repetition. Muscle memory.

Again.

Again.

Again.

By the time the sun was properly up, sweat dripped from her brow, and her arms trembled slightly each time she raised the sword.

Still, she didn't complain. Not once.

"Alright," he said finally. "Break."

Claire dropped onto the ground, breathing hard but steady. "You don't hold back, do you?"

Michael sat down across from her. "No point. Holding back gets people killed."

Claire looked at him through narrowed eyes. "That what happened last time?"

He was reminded of the previous timeline, where he had failed to save the people during the tournament. In turn, the demon wiped them all out with a literal nuke.

Nonetheless, Michael didn't answer. Not directly.

"Something like that," he said.

They sat there for a while, not speaking. Just letting the morning settle around them. The air had warmed slightly, but not much. The ground was still cool beneath them.

Claire eventually tilted her head back. "Feels like the world's holding its breath."

"It is," Michael said. "We're in the quiet before the storm."

"How long before it breaks?"

He looked up. "Soon."

Claire was quiet after that. Then she stood, brushing dirt from her pants.

"Then we've got a lot of work to do."

Michael stood too. "That we do."

***

They resumed training soon after.

Michael didn't bother easing her in. There was no point. In his experience, the best way to carve out strength was through consistent pressure.

"Footwork," he said. "You're still putting too much weight on your back leg."

Claire adjusted, trying to shift her balance.

"Better. Now again."

She repeated the basic pattern again and again, the wooden sword cutting through air in tight arcs. Michael corrected her angle when it got sloppy, told her to reset when she lost rhythm. It wasn't glamorous training, but it was necessary.

By the time midday hit, she was soaked in sweat, hair clinging to her forehead, face flushed from exertion.

"How long are we going today?" she asked between breaths.

"Until I say stop," Michael replied, arms crossed.

Claire grumbled but didn't argue. She took her stance again, knuckles tight around the hilt of the sword.

She was a mage. However, if he trained her as a mage, then she'd only end up as a glass cannon. This was the best option he could come up with in the end.

Michael gave a faint nod. "Good. Now we move on."

He stepped forward and demonstrated a quick combination: three strikes, one low feint, then a pivot to the side.

"Try it."

Claire followed the movement. Sloppy.

"Again."

She reset, went through it once more, but it was still wrong.

"You're hesitating on the feint," he pointed out. "Commit, or it won't work when it matters."

Claire scowled, lips pressed into a thin line. "Hard to commit when you're guessing where to step."

"That's why we're training, not going for each other's throats."

He stepped beside her, slowed the motion down, and walked her through it again, showing where her hips needed to rotate, how her lead foot should pivot just enough to carry momentum without compromising balance.

"Think of it like a chain," he said. "Each link needs to connect. One weak link, the whole sequence falls apart."

Claire grunted. "Right. Chains. Got it."

It took her another twenty minutes, but eventually, the combo flowed better. Still not sharp, but serviceable.

Michael gave her a rare nod. "Not bad."

Claire didn't smile, but the tension in her shoulders lessened.

"You keep this up," he added, "and I might actually teach you something flashy next week."

Claire glanced sideways. "What, like shooting light beams?"

He deadpanned. "No. You're not there yet. You can barely swing properly."

"Harsh."

"I'm just being honest."

She didn't argue that one.

Another hour passed.

Eventually, Michael called for a stop. Claire collapsed onto the grass, stretching her arms out and staring at the sky.

"My everything hurts."

"That's the point."

"You really know how to inspire someone, huh?"

Michael sat down near her, his own posture relaxed but alert. "I'm not a cheerleader. You want encouragement, go find someone else. You want strength, keep getting up."

Claire let out a breath that was somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. "You're lucky I already decided to follow you."

He didn't respond. Just stared at the sky for a moment. The clouds had started to form overhead. Thin wisps, but a sign the weather would turn by evening.

They sat in silence again.

Michael eventually pulled a canteen from his coat and tossed it to her.

She caught it with tired fingers. "Thanks."

Claire drank it and then plopped onto her stomach, laying on the ground comfortably.

He glanced toward her, admiring her glistening, sweaty body all over.

And to his surprise, she turned around and flashed a small smirk toward him before neatly adjusting her bra.

"Do you want to give me a massage?"