Blades

As I momentarily break away from Isadora's relentless defense, I steal a glance at the clock. "8:21," I note with a mix of relief and dread. Just under eight more minutes to hold out. I can do this. I'm glad Isadora's been preoccupied with her coconut, but I know it's only a matter of time before she puts it down and gets serious.

I focus back on Isadora, the familiar weight of the sword in my hand grounding me. It's time to mix things up, try every technique I've mastered, and maybe even improvise a bit. "Alright, let's dance," I mutter to myself, a determined grin creeping onto my face.

I start with a series of feints, darting in and out of her reach. Each movement is precise, calculated to test her reactions. I swipe low, then high, my blade cutting through the air with a whoosh. Isadora reacts with the same unflappable calm, her sword a silver blur as it parries my strikes.

Next, I try a more aggressive approach, a rapid succession of thrusts aimed at finding any gap in her defense. My arms move in a blur, pushing the limits of my mana-enhanced speed. Isadora's movements are a symphony of perfect counters, her sword deflecting my attacks with an ease that's both awe-inspiring and infuriating.

I step back, panting, and try a different tactic. I feign a strike to her left, only to quickly change direction and aim for her right. But Isadora the immovable object, seems to read my intentions before I even act, her blade meeting mine with a resounding clang.

"Come on, Isadora, give me something here," I plead under my breath, half-joking, half-desperate. I launch into a flurry of diagonal slashes, each one more forceful than the last. Her sword is there, always there, an impenetrable wall of steel.

As Isadora takes a final sip of her coconut, I notice there's no more water left. In a swift motion, she drops the empty shell, dodging one of my attacks with a grace that belies her stoic demeanor. She then raises her sword, her posture shifting into something even more aggressive, and in a flash, she's charging at me.

"Shit, I shouldn't have given her that footwork technique," I curse under my breath. The impact of our swords meeting sends me skidding backwards. Isadora's strength, coupled with her flawless technique, is a formidable force.

In a blur, she launches an attack aimed at me while I'm still in the air. I quickly conjure a mana shield to block her strike. The shield shatters on impact, but it buys me just enough time. I land with a heavy thud, my feet barely keeping me upright.

Sighing deeply, I gather all my mana, focusing it on boosting my speed. This is it – all or nothing. With a burst of energy, I dart towards Isadora. She reacts instantly, her body bending backward at a 90-degree angle in an impossible dodge.

"I got you now!" I exclaim, a grin spreading across my face. I bring my sword down in a powerful slash, but Isadora, still in that unbelievable position, manages to block it. "Ah, I knew it was too good to be true," I mutter, frustration mounting.

Isadora doesn't waste a moment; taking a deep breath, she unleashes her own speed. The platform cracks around her feet, a testament to the sheer force of her movement. She's keeping up with my mana-enhanced speed, her sword a whirlwind of steel that forces me on the defensive.

"Shit, shit, shit!" The thoughts race through my head as I barely parry her relentless strikes. Each clash sends a shiver through my arms, her power seemingly inexhaustible. I'm struggling to keep up, my every move a desperate attempt to fend off her continuous assault.

"H-hey, Isadora, can you slow down a bit—" I blurt out, barely dodging a swift horizontal slash that whistles past me. Okay, okay, focus. She's accustomed to seeing me fight with this technique. Time for a change-up. She might be a sword genius, but martial arts? That's a different game.

I shift my footwork, opting for something less predictable, more erratic. Isadora lunges to my left, expecting me to be there, but I'm already moving to her right. She pauses, her eyes flicking down to my feet and then back up to my face. A rare moment of hesitation from her.

"What's the matter, Isadora? You can't decide where I'm heading?" I taunt her with a grin. This technique is simplistic at its core—it hinges on the opponent's focus on my movements. If Isadora stops trying to predict where I'm going, she could easily strike me. But her curiosity, her desire to understand and replicate techniques, that's my advantage here.

I can practically see the gears turning in her head as she watches my movements. She's trying to decode my new footwork, and I know it's only a matter of time before she mimics it perfectly. That's when the real fun begins.

As I dance around the platform, my steps a chaotic pattern of misdirection, I can't help but let out a low chuckle. The moment she thinks she's got it, that's when I'll throw her off balance. She'll try to use the technique against me, but since I know it inside out, I'll be one step ahead. The confusion on her face when her new trick fails... I can't wait to see it.

I keep moving, a whirlwind of feints and unpredictable steps. Isadora's focus is entirely on my feet, her sword momentarily forgotten as she tries to mirror my movements. It's almost comical, watching the typically unflappable Isadora trying to figure out something that seems so foreign to her.

"Come on, Isadora, you're getting it!" I encourage her mockingly, dodging another one of her strikes with ease. My plan is working—she's so caught up in understanding my footwork that she's not attacking with her usual precision.

Isadora, now attempting to mimic the footwork technique, makes a swift turn to her left, aiming to slash at me. She's expecting her move to confuse me, thinking it will make me turn left as a reflex. But I already anticipate this and turn right instead. I can't help but silently laugh. Hahahaha, this is going to be fun.

With each attempt, Isadora tries to use the footwork to her advantage, but it never quite works out. She repeats the pattern, turning and slashing, but each time I'm already a step ahead, countering and dodging with ease. It's almost like a dance, one where I know all the moves and she's just trying to keep up.

After a few more tries, she pauses and looks down at her feet, then shifts her gaze to mine. She tilts her head, a rare sign of confusion from her. She scratches her head, clearly puzzled. It's evident that she knows she's performing the technique correctly, but she can't fathom why it's not having the desired effect on me.

I cover my mouth to hold back my laughter. Hahaha, she's so confused, and it's absolutely priceless. The great Isadora, always so stoic and unshakable, is now lost in a technique that she's executing perfectly. But the trick isn't just in the technique itself—it's in knowing when and how to use it, and that's where I have the upper hand.

"Having trouble, Isadora?" I tease, barely containing my amusement. "It's not just about the steps, you know. It's about reading your opponent."

She continues to try a few more times, her movements now slightly hesitant as she attempts to unravel the mystery. But every time she thinks she's got it, I'm already outmaneuvering her, using her predictability against her.

It's a strange reversal of roles. Usually, Isadora is the one setting the pace, dictating the flow of the fight. But now, in this peculiar game of cat and mouse, I'm the one leading, and she's the one trying to catch up.

Isadora abandons the confusing footwork technique, her face set in a rare expression of determination. Instead, she dashes at me with full speed, totally disregarding my movements. "Ah, fuck!" I curse internally, swiftly changing my stance to parry her attack. But the force is too much; her blow drives me into the ground, dust flying up around us. "Shit, I think she might be mad," I realize, scrambling to regain my footing.

Before she can launch another strike, I hastily conjure up three mana shields. They shimmer into existence, giving me just enough time to roll away and stand up, trying to put some distance between us. But Isadora is relentless. She's already right next to me, her sword raised for another strike. I brace myself to block, but the impact is too much—my sword snaps in half. "Oh, fuck, dammit, Isadora, that's not cool," I mutter, staring at the broken blade in disbelief.

I glance at the timer: 3:36. "Okay, just three more minutes for a draw," I remind myself, trying to stay focused despite the adrenaline pumping through my veins. As Isadora charges at me again, I call out, "Hey, why are you in such a rush? Are you that desperate to win?"

In a feint, I pretend to slash with my broken sword. As Isadora positions herself to parry, I use the element of surprise to my advantage. In one fluid motion, I punch her in the gut, sending her flying backward. She's momentarily caught off guard, her usually impeccable balance disrupted.

While she's mid-air, I attempt to slash at her with the broken sword, but somehow, she manages to block it. "I have no idea how she does that," I think, amazed. But I'm not about to let this opportunity slip away. As she's about to land, I kick her in the leg, unbalancing her further. Then, pretending to slash again, I quickly change the trajectory of my sword and land another punch.

Isadora stands up, her stance firm and composed. She studies the broken remnants of my sword, then, with a sense of fairness I've come to admire, she reaches into her pouch and retrieves a second sword. With a swift motion, she shatters her own blade, evening the playing field. "Hmmm, this is why I like Isadora," I muse internally. "Fair and uncompromising, even in the face of restrictions."

"Hey Isadora, let's go all out, what do you say?" I propose, feeling the excitement build within me. "You can use aura just to match me. Two minutes left." She nods, a silent agreement, and coats herself in a thin layer of aura.

I can't help but grin as I amplify my own abilities with both aura and mana. The anticipation is palpable as we both rush towards each other, our combined force fracturing the platform beneath our feet. I can't hide my exhilaration. Why is it that, in this world, despite the pain and frustration, combat feels so exhilarating, so right? Is it this new body, or something else?

Isadora's swordsmanship becomes a whirlwind of confusion, creating illusions of herself in separate locations. I mirror her technique with my gloved hand, sparks flying as I catch her sword. Her eyebrow arches in surprise. "Be careful," I warn playfully, maintaining my grip on her sword. It's a risky move, but dropping the sword now would mean certain defeat.

Without warning, I punch her in the gut. She underestimates the strength behind my strike but doesn't falter, instead delivering a swift sidekick that sends me crashing down. She leaps, attempting a downward strike, but I use a quick technique to evade before launching a counterattack, kicking at her leg and aiming a strike at her stomach.

Isadora lunges, aiming a punch at my stomach. I can see it coming—a telegraphed move in this high-speed dance. With a swift counter, I deflect her fist and swing my broken sword toward her. But she's quick, slithering away in a snake-like motion that's both elegant and deadly.

She counters with a low strike, trying to stab at my leg. I react instinctively, my right arm shooting out to punch her sword away. The metal clangs against my gloved hand, a shower of sparks flying. We're locked in this exaggerated exchange of blows and counters, each move more dynamic than the last.

We continue, our movements a whirlwind of action. She feints high; I duck and swipe at her feet. She jumps, twirling in mid-air, and aims a kick at my head. I lean back just in time, feeling the rush of air as her foot whizzes past my face.

I retaliate with a series of rapid thrusts, trying to break through her defenses. She parries each one, her blade moving in a blur, deflecting my attacks with a grace that's almost infuriating.

Isadora's fighting style is a mix of precision and fluidity, like watching a deadly ballet. She's unpredictable, her strikes coming from angles I barely anticipate. I'm forced to adapt, to think on my feet, using every bit of skill and instinct I've honed in this world.

In a final, desperate bid, I leap, bringing my sword down in an arc aimed straight at her. But Isadora sidesteps, her movements a blur. She counters, her palm striking my chest, sending me tumbling backward. I hit the ground hard, the air knocked out of me.

As I lie there, trying to catch my breath, Isadora stands over me, her sword raised for the final strike. But before she can bring it down, Professor Don's voice rings out, clear and authoritative. "The duel is over, it's a draw!"

Lying on the cracked platform, I let out a long, exhausted breath. A draw. I've managed to hold my own against one of the best sword fighters I've ever encountered. As I push myself up to a sitting position, I can't help but smile, despite the aches and pains that scream through my body.