Path of the Unmentioned: The Missing Piece

The bell rang, sharp and loud. Cutting through the noise of the cafeteria.

Chairs scraped the floor. Trays clattered.

Students stood up in clusters, talking and laughing as they made their way toward the exits.

Kyle stayed seated for a moment longer, his eyes fixed on the folded note still in his hand.

With a quiet breath, he slipped it into his pocket.

Dragging himself to his feet, he muttered, "Combat drills... great."

He took a few slow steps toward the exit.

Then he froze.

'Wait... Mira Farrow?'

—

Students were lined up in rows. Most already sweating under the weight of their practice gear.

The Combat Training Hall buzzed with noise. Grunts, groans, and the soft thud of boots against dirt. The air was hot and heavy with effort.

Kyle lay flat on his back in the grass, arms spread wide, chest rising and falling.

His combat suit clung to his skin with sweat. His hair was damp. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to stop moving forever.

Instructor Hale had once again vanished and left them under the care of Anastasia. A decision Kyle regretted more and more with each passing minute.

He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. Staring up at the celling like it had personally wronged him.

"Damn you, Hale…" he muttered under his breath.

—

Meanwhile, far away from the noise and suffering.

Inside a cool and quiet office on the other side of campus…

Instructor Hale leaned back in a plush chair, legs kicked up on the desk.

A steaming mug of coffee rested in his hand, and the smell of roasted beans filled the room.

"Ahhh," he sighed with satisfaction. "Anastasia is such a great assistant. She handles everything so well."

He sipped slowly, eyes closing in comfort. "I should let her take over more often. Gives me time to relax."

Then, out of nowhere, he sneezed. Loud.

"Eh?" He sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "Weird. Is someone cursing me?"

He looked around, shrugged, and smiled.

"Nah. Who would curse their favorite instructor?"

Still grinning. He leaned back deeper into his chair, humming a happy tune as he took another sip.

—

Back on the training field. It was a very different scene.

Kyle was still sprawled out on the ground, arms limp.

Next to him. Reo lay in the same state, his arm flopped over his eyes like he'd given up on life.

A little further down the row. Luna was face-down in the grass, unmoving.

"I can't feel my legs," Reo groaned.

"I don't wanna feel mine," Luna mumbled, her voice muffled by the ground.

Kyle didn't speak. He just kept breathing. Maybe if he stayed still long enough. They'd forget he was here.

Then a sharp, no-nonsense voice cut through the air.

"Everyone, pair up! Sparring practice begins now!"

Anastasia.

Groans echoed from all directions. No one had the energy for more.

Kyle let out a long sigh. Finally. Sparring might be less painful than the endless running.

Maybe he could pick someone chill. Someone who'd go easy on him.

He turned his head toward Reo, ready to ask him to team up.

But before he could say a word, a shadow fell over him.

A hand rested firmly on his shoulder.

He froze.

Slowly, like a man staring into his own doom. Kyle looked up, and there she was.

Anastasia. Towering over him, arms crossed. A smile on her face that made him want to run.

Her long black hair was tied back in a high ponytail, and her bright crimson eyes sparkled with the kind of joy only sadists felt during training.

"You're with me, Kyle," she said sweetly.

His soul left his body.

"What?" he croaked, voice dry.

"You heard me," she said, smirking. "Up."

'Why me?!' Kyle screamed inside his head. 'I just want to sleep!'

Out loud. He forced himself to sit up. Every part of his body screamed in protest.

"Professor, with all due respect—"

"None taken," she cut in, still smiling. "Now grab a practice sword."

Next to him, Reo. The traitor that he was. Snorted loudly. "Good luck, man."

Kyle shot him a glare full of betrayal and promises of future revenge.

Then, dragging himself upright like a zombie. He grabbed one of the wooden swords from the rack nearby.

What followed was a nightmare.

Anastasia didn't go easy. Not once. She didn't hold back. She didn't slow down.

She struck with the speed of a viper and the precision of a master swordswoman.

Every hit felt like a small explosion on his bones.

Kyle tried to block. He tried to dodge. He even tried to beg for mercy at one point. None of it worked.

By the time the session ended. Kyle was a wreck.

When Anastasia finally clapped her hands and announced the end of practice.

Kyle dropped his sword like it weighed a hundred pounds. His arms were jelly. His legs barely worked. He wasn't even sure he was breathing right anymore.

He stumbled off the field and met up with Reo and Luna, who looked almost as bad as he felt.

Reo clapped him on the back. Nearly knocking him over.

"So," he said with a grin, "How was your private lesson?"

Kyle didn't even answer. He just glared at him.

Luna laughed. "I've never seen someone get hit that many times in ten minutes. You looked like a training dummy."

Kyle groaned, rubbing his sore ribs. "I hate everything."

Reo threw an arm around his shoulders. "Hey, cheer up. At least you got special attention from the Crown Princess herself."

Kyle's eye twitched. "I'm going to sleep for a week."

Luna grinned. "Good luck with that. We've got Advanced Mana Theory at dawn."

Kyle's soul, already battered and bruised, left his body again.

—

Back in his cozy office. Instructor Hale sneezed once more.

"Huh," he muttered, rubbing his nose. "That's the second time…"

Shrugging. He leaned back in his chair again. "Must be dust."

———