» One day later
"Well," Violet asked, stepping back from the platform and turning toward Callian expectantly. "What do you think?"
The man considered the machine's final score.
It was high. As high as it could go.
"You are quite proficient for your age," he admitted, his gaze lingering upon the machine for a moment longer.
And yet, her level was far below what he had expected. Fortunately—he could see precisely why that gap existed.
Bridging it though, would depend solely on her openness to change.
"Vander has taught you well," he continued, musing aloud. "Perhaps as well as he could."
Violet raised an eyebrow, folding her arms.
"You don't sound too impressed," Claggor remarked from the large couch behind them. "Vi's pretty good. I've seen her win loads of fights before."
Callian inclined his head.
"I do not doubt it," he said, gesturing the girl toward her adoptive brother. "Sit. Since you seem to favour boxing—let us talk theory."
Violet uncrossed her arms—her face falling into a frown.
She sat down, planting herself next to Claggor—draping one arm over the couch's backrest.
"What are the two main styles of boxing?" Callian asked.
"In-fighting and out-boxing," Violet answered promptly, mildly unimpressed.
"And which category do you fall into?"
"Out-boxing."
Callian tucked his hands into his pockets.
"Why?"
"Why what?" Violet asked, her frown deepening.
"Why are you an outboxer?" Callian repeated, staring down at the girl patiently.
"Because it's what I was taught," she replied, bringing her arm down to rest it on her leg. "I'm good at it."
"You are good at it," Callian agreed—then, sensing pushback—switched up his line of inquiry. "What stance do you favour?"
"Counter-punching."
"For the same reasons?" he asked, probing the girl gently.
This time, Violet hesitated—briefly.
"Yes."
Callian stared down at her silently.
He hadn't missed her momentary indecision.
"On your feet," he instructed, his mind made up.
He beckoned for the girl to stand.
"Let us spar."
Violet's blue eyes lost their brooding edge—glinting with anticipation.
She stood, following him into the open floor of the arcade.
"Now you're talking my language," she said, stopping a few paces opposite him.
"Rules?" she asked, raising loosely clenched fists.
"First to three clean hits," Callian answered, eyeing the girl's stance carefully.
"Seems a bit simple," she replied, her enthusiasm dipping slightly.
Her opponent raised his hands—mirroring her perfectly.
"We start—"
Midway through his declaration, Callian darted forward.
"Now."
Violet reacted instantly, stepping aside to meet him.
Her gaze flickered toward Callian's hands and feet—disconcerted by his unorthodox stance.
The man was left-handed. This wasn't going to be easy.
He was close now.
He spread his rear foot wide—firmly planted—poised to strike with either hand.
But he didn't—his unusual stillness making her uneasy.
Violet pivoted away safely—deeming it too risky to keep the fight on his terms. She didn't know his habits yet. She didn't have anything to exploit.
His right hand shot forward abruptly, testing the speed of her guard.
Expecting this, she batted the offending hand to the side and then sent her own straight past it—half-expecting to take the first point right there.
Her expectations withered a moment later.
She had been too optimistic. It could never be that easy.
The man simply tilted his head to the side—her counter missing his cheek by a hair's breadth.
She tried to draw the arm back in time to defend, but it was too late.
Callian's already recovered right hand collided with her exposed ribs.
The man backed off to reset the space.
"One," he said, rubbing the tips of his armoured knuckles softly.
Violet grimaced, stepping back to reassess the man before her.
He'd dodged that? And followed up with a right hook?
She'd underestimated him—somehow—and been baited into thinking she could score an easy hit.
He was good—probably better than her. No surprise there.
Violet dropped a fist and tapped it against the bruise—probing it gently.
His hit was far lighter than it should've been. Either he hadn't fully committed—or he'd gone easy on her.
It was probably the latter.
She raised her hand again and nodded in readiness.
Callian blitzed forward—instantly throwing a wide, powerful left hook.
Violet sidestepped—tilting her head out of its path.
Sensing an opening, she thrust her own rear hand forward—an explosive straight primed for Callian's exposed face.
The man bent forward—once again barely dodging her blow with a downright inhuman roll of the head.
His right hand slammed into the waiting elbow that lay guarding her bruised rib.
Her satisfaction didn't last long, however, as she was forced to backpedal awkwardly in order to avoid Callian's further, seeking uppercut.
He'd completely abandoned his guard to pressure her. And it was working.
She twisted her extended arm and sent a downward elbow toward his shoulder.
It wasn't exactly fair play—but he hadn't said she couldn't. Callian couldn't blame her for his own poor choice of wording.
To Violet's surprise—her opponent did not dodge away as she had hoped. He clearly didn't treat his reflexes as a crutch to fall back on.
This was going to be difficult.
Instead, he dropped even lower—below her elbow's downward reach—now practically crouching on the ground before her.
A knee to his chest would just leave her more open to a tackle. It wasn't an option.
She tried lowering her centre of gravity in order to defend against said tackle—one that she was confident was coming—knee or no knee.
Then, another right hook slammed into her side—far lower this time.
The man's armoured knuckles sank painfully into the patch of flesh just above her hip.
Her guarding elbow wasn't able to extend so low.
Violet reeled, staggering backwards.
The hit was so precisely made that it might as well have been one in a million.
And it hurt. It hurt a fucking lot.
Callian hadn't pulled his punches this time.
Their silent observer, Claggor, winced in sympathy.
"Two," the man continued, immediately withdrawing.
He didn't mention her elbow attempt—likely didn't even care enough to complain.
Violet glared up at him through the pain.
She couldn't help herself.
He was good. Damn good.
Her mind raced—brainstorming a way for her to score even a single point against the master ahead of her.
She'd talked big yesterday. She needed to back it up.
Looking back on the first two rounds—she could see what had happened.
Every move he'd made against her was choreographed. That was why he had recovered so fast, so many times.
It wasn't just speed or reflex—though he did undoubtedly have both in droves.
He was predicting her every move. Perfectly.
The elbow had thrown off his game—if only briefly. She had no doubt it wouldn't work a second time.
She had one more shot at this left.
Unpredictability was her only way forward.
She gave Callian one, final nod.
He approached once more—as fast and undreadable as ever.
This time around, Violet didn't wait for him to make the first move.
The girl exploded forward to meet him.
She let her instincts take over.
She didn't try to overthink anymore.
She just acted.
Block. Jab. Hook. Pivot. Duck. Uppercut.
All dodged or blocked—barely.
But they were close. They felt far closer than before.
The two fighters sped up—weaving around one another in a frenzied, but somehow balanced tempo.
Callian matched her speed easily—still somehow leading the fight, but permanently set on the back foot.
A few, heated moments passed.
The two flurried back and forth across the space—their roles of attacker and defender now completely reserved.
Violet was finding a rhythm now—her movements gradually losing their chaotic edge.
Callian's eyes glinted.
The girl ducked pre-emptively—moving in preparation for a hook—again.
She lowered her rear hand—impatiently readying a strike of her own.
This was it.
Her opening was coming.
Too her alarm, the trajectory of Callian's hook wasn't what she had predicted it to be.
Violet's sharp eyes darted toward the adjusted strike—too slow to respond as it closed in on her unguarded jaw.
She stiffened—bracing for impact.
Then his fist stopped just short of her face.
"Three," he finished—slowly withdrawing his hand. "That last bout was praiseworthy."
Blood thundered in Violet's ears.
She suddenly became mindful of the pain burning in her side. Her face flushed from her sudden stillness—her sharp breaths becoming ragged.
"H-holy shit," Claggor stammered—the boy's words making his sister start in surprise. "Vi—that was incredible! I've never seen you move like that before!"
The girl pressed a hand to her side. His hit was going to leave a killer bruise.
"Sit," Callain ordered.
Violet did so gladly—limping over to reclaim the empty seat next to her younger brother.
"Violet," Callian started, clasping both hands behind his back. "I grew up in streets not unlike these. As such, I can fully understand why you prefer countering over being proactive."
He paused, fixing her with a knowing stare.
"But your physique does not suit this style of fighting. Nor do your instincts."
Violet looked away uncomfortably—fiddling with her wrapped hands.
"I know that already—it's just safer this way. Everyone down here has some kind of trick to pull. I can't properly react to that kind of stuff in time when I'm not even thinking straight."
Callian nodded slowly—before reaching into his coat.
"Then I suggest that you stop being so afraid," he replied, withdrawing a small, black-coloured bundle. "Overplayed caution will only serve to cripple you, Violet. You have your own cards to play."
He tossed the bundle toward her.
Violet's dominant hand snapped up, catching the overpowered throw easily.
She glanced down at it, confused.
Then her eyes widened in recognition.
"Your current height," the man continued, "whether your growth stops here or not—works in your favour."
"Uh, guys?" Claggor interrupted, leaning in to get a better look at what Violet now held. "What's that?"
"Hand wraps, I think," she replied, stretching one.
She frowned—her eyes narrowing in confusion.
"This material though—I've never felt anything like this before."
"Can I…?" Claggor requested, retrieving one of the two wraps hesitantly.
"It's smooth," the boy noted—surprised by its texture. "Stretchy too. And hard."
"Keep them," Callian said.
Violet's gaze shot upward.
"No catch?" she asked, her grip on the gift tightening.
A ghost of a smile crossed Callian's face.
Then his watch trilled noisily—and the sentiment vanished.
"Keep your options open," he answered—silencing the alarm. "You are an in-fighter at heart. Learn both styles. They will serve you well."
He turned to go.
"Callian?" Violet called. "Can we do this again sometime?"
The man halted—momentarily glancing back toward the two siblings.
"Perhaps," he replied, eyes shimmering briefly. "If I have the time."
✦ ✦ ✦
〘 A/N: This sequence was inspired by Count Dooku VS Obi-Wan & Anakin—I'm sure you can guess how. Oh, and feel free to roast me in the comments, because while I did do my best to make this realistic—I haven't ever boxed in my life. 〙