The Sparring

Kepyun woke Sakar for breakfast, his voice booming in the simple dorm room.

"I'm not hungry," Sakar mumbled while getting dressed, "and I'll be late for class. I'm heading straight there."

"You destroyed my heaven again!" Impersonating Sakar jokingly.

Sakar was a poor orphan, reliant on the school's modest provisions. His few belongings were plain, in stark contrast to Kepyun's side of the room, cluttered with weights and workout equipment.

They both worked for physical labor jobs from time to time.

Kepyun, also an orphan, managed to earn a bit more by treating his jobs as physical training, embracing the dual benefits of labor and exercise.

"Why skip breakfast? And why stick with the shaman classes?" Kepyun's concern was genuine. "No spirit's bonded with you yet, man."

Sakar stopped, his hand on the doorknob, the frustration evident in his voice. "It's about more than contracts, Kepyun. I have something to prove, to them and to myself."

Kepyun leaned against the post of his bed, muscles tensing under his tank top. "If you're set on it, I won't argue. But don't miss breakfast, especially not with the day you've got ahead."

Sakar smiled weakly, "Maybe today's the day I'll break through. Just a feeling."

Kepyun clapped him on the back, supportive despite his doubts. "Then go get 'em. But remember, missing breakfast is missing fuel."

With a nod, Sakar slipped out the door, his determination as threadbare as his clothes, leaving Kepyun to his morning routine, alone but impressed by his friend's stubborn resolve.

Sakar shot back, a little edge in his voice, "I'm not hungry. You should worry about yourself! It's not like you're any different."

In the fighting courses, some students had formed contracts with spirits, but Kepyun wasn't among them. Unlike Sakar, Kepyun had no desire for such bonds; he was a proud fighter who believed in relying solely on his own strength.

"Don't lump us together," Kepyun grumbled. "I choose not to make a contract. You can't make one."

"I'm not in the mood to argue," Sakar snapped, grabbing his jacket. "I'm really going to be late."

"There's plenty of time. Why the rush?" Kepyun eyed him suspiciously.

Grinning, Sakar confessed, "Today's class is outside. More... opportunities to appreciate the scenery, if you know what I mean."

Kepyun rolled his eyes, "You're a hopeless case, man."

With a defiant smirk, Sakar retorted, "Call it what you want. I'm outta here." He slung his bag over his shoulder and strode out, leaving Kepyun shaking his head in amused disbelief.

***

Sakar ambled over to the outdoor shamanism class, a sly grin on his face as he contemplated the day's lessons. The area outside the shaman courses building had been designated as today's classroom, a change that he welcomed not just for the educational content but for other less scholarly pursuits.

Mr. Yuri, their teacher, had a reputation for encouraging hands-on learning through sparring sessions. He believed that real-world practice was essential, even if it meant the students occasionally had to square off against each other. These weren't fierce battles, just friendly spars to help them grasp the finer points of shamanic arts.

As Sakar arrived, he noticed groups of students already gathered, laughing and chatting about the upcoming session. Unlike his classmates, Sakar chose a solitary spot on the ground. He lay back, feigning a casual pose as he scouted for the best angles to sneak peeks under skirts, all under the guise of just relaxing before class.

He was so engrossed in his surreptitious activity that he barely registered the voices around him, his focus solely on exploiting the opportunity provided by the crowded setting and his strategic position.

In the class, there was another solitary student, Olga, who stood out as the most strikingly beautiful student at Chicken's Head Academy. Aided by the wind spirit, she was often found absorbed in her books, seldom engaging with others. Her albinism gave her white hair and skin a unique, ethereal appearance that, combined with her poised demeanor, made her seem almost otherworldly. Despite the constant attention from numerous admirers, Olga maintained a distance, dismissing advances and unread love letters with an indifferent grace. Her extraordinary beauty was so pronounced that it left many to marvel if she was a living testament to some divine craftsmanship—an enigma in their midst.

Chicken's Head Academy allowed students the freedom of no dress code, which Olga utilized fully. She opted for a chic ensemble: a black knife-pleated miniskirt paired with a slightly frilly black shirt, accented by contrasting white buttons. To adapt to the warm weather, she rolled up her sleeves and unbuttoned the top two buttons, adding a hint of casual flair to her outfit. Her look was completed with knee-high black socks and matching black shoes, laced with white, which highlighted her unique sense of style perfectly.

Olga often wore eye-catching outfits without much concern for modesty. Her fondness for miniskirts and adventurous use of her wind powers during flights or while sitting in ways that might reveal more than intended led to much attention and commentary among her peers. This behavior prompted the boys in her class to whimsically wager on the details of her attire, further fueling her notoriety. Initially, the school newspaper labeled her simply as 'Flasher,' a moniker that the boys quickly modified to 'Pure Flasher,' which seemed to stick and even become a badge of peculiar honor in their eyes.

As Mr. Yuri arrived, the air among the students shifted to one of readiness. They quickly arranged themselves into a 'U' formation under his watchful gaze. Positioned at the periphery were Sakar and Olga, each one a solitary figure at opposite ends of the arch, facing each other across the curve. Mr. Yuri stood at the center point, effectively turning the formation into a classroom amphitheater.

"Good morning!" Mr. Yuri's voice boomed with an enthusiasm that matched his earth shaman's energy.

In unison, the students responded, "Good morning, teacher!" Their voices were a mix of respect and anticipation for the day's lesson.

"Today," Mr. Yuri continued, capturing their undivided attention, "as mentioned yesterday, we will engage in small sparrings. We're going to dive right in, so prepare yourselves. Your partners will be the ones directly opposite you in this formation. And for those facing me," he added with a hint of challenge in his tone, "you'll be trying your skills against your teacher."

The mood was electric as students tightened their stances, some nervously adjusting their clothing, others more eager, their eyes bright with the thrill of competition. Even the usually reserved Sakar and Olga seemed caught up in the moment, their usual solitude forgotten in the collective focus on the upcoming exercises.

"Let's not waste any more time," Mr. Yuri said, his voice a steady command. "Show me what you've learned, and more importantly, let's see what you can discover about your own capabilities today."

With that, the area filled with the sounds of preparation as pairs faced off, and the group facing Mr. Yuri readied themselves for a collective challenge against their teacher. It was more than just practice; it was a lesson in facing obstacles, whether they be classmates or challenges life might throw at them.

Sakar's anticipation was nearly palpable as he faced Olga, knowing that this sparring session was an unusual chance to interact closely under the guise of a class exercise, basically touch her. His excitement was a sharp contrast to Olga's calm demeanor; she seemed almost aloof, her focus solely on the task at hand rather than on her opponent.

Mr. Yuri, sensing the tension, positioned himself close enough to intervene if necessary but far enough to give them space to maneuver. He observed them both, his experienced eyes missing nothing.

"Are you both ready?" Mr. Yuri asked, his voice firm, cutting through the slight tension that had built up around them.

Olga's response was a simple nod, her expression unreadable, while Sakar's was a vigorous "YES!" that seemed to echo slightly louder than necessary.

Mr. Yuri, with a final nod of approval, signaled the start of their match. "Then begin!"