Luna winced as she lowered herself into her desk chair, her body singing a full chorus of protest with every motion. She had never felt so sore and so alive at the same time.
Dinner had been a blur—mostly because she was trying to chew without triggering a twinge in her shoulder. Emmerich had tried to hide his worry with idle small talk, but Luna saw through it. She bid him a gentle goodnight with a lopsided smile, assuring him she'd survive day two of "Combat Purgatory."
Now, curled up in her robe, a steaming cup of tea on the table and Miso curled around her feet, Luna flipped open her leather-bound journal. The ink bled fast and fierce under her pen.
Today, I got bodied. Thrown. Flipped. Swept. Bruised. Emotionally and physically.
Cherry doesn't teach with words—she teaches with impact. Like, literally. Impact. Floor impact. She said "attack me," and I hesitated—which I now know is the equivalent of asking for a first-class ticket to the floor.
She's terrifying. But in a way that demands respect. She doesn't waste time. No sugar-coating, no soft landings. Just—"do it again." Every mistake is pointed out like it's offensive to her very soul.
But here's the thing: I'm learning.
I felt my mind shift mid-session. I stopped waiting to be attacked. I moved. I acted. I reacted. I failed. Then failed better. And once—I even countered. (…Okay, it lasted 1.2 seconds before she yeeted me into next week, but still. Progress.)
This hurts like hell. But weirdly… I want more.
Also: remind myself to put double pillows tomorrow. And ice pack.
Luna snorted softly at her own words, reading back over the rambling, chaotic energy of her entry. It was a mess—but it was her mess. Honest. Tangled with pride, pain, and the strange catharsis of movement.
She set her pen down, reached for her phone, and hit Kana's name.
The call rang twice.
"Luuuuna!" Kana chimed, clearly sprawled out somewhere cozy. "Wait—what's wrong?! Or is it just you calling cause you miss me and are sore from all that running?"
Luna groaned. "I am so sore, but not from running but from my first self-defense training, I think I merged with the earth. Kana, she threw me. Repeatedly. Like a potato sack."
Kana burst into laughter. "Tell me everything. Exaggerate as much as you want. I need this."
Luna launched into her overly dramatic reenactment—how Cherry moved like smoke and hit like thunder. How she was a 'ninja with a death wish for beginners.' How Luna tried to bluff confidence, only to get her wrist snatched mid-sentence.
"She poked my pressure points like she was checking if I was ripe!" Luna cried.
Kana was cackling now. "Oh gods—I can see it! And your face! Please tell me you at least got one good hit in?"
"…I countered once," Luna muttered, then perked up. "I had her! For a moment!"
Kana gasped. "The mighty Luna strikes back! Did the angels sing? Did time freeze?!"
"No," Luna deadpanned. "She knocked me flat five seconds later."
They both dissolved into laughter.
Eventually, the teasing faded into warmth, and Kana's voice softened. "Still, I'm proud of you, Lu. You're actually doing it."
Luna smiled at the ceiling, voice quiet. "Yeah… I am."
The call lingered in soft chatter until Luna finally yawned, cheeks sore from grinning.
"Alright, I'll let you go before I collapse entirely."
"Sleep tight, bruised warrior," Kana teased.
Luna chuckled. "Night, Kana."
She hung up, stretched carefully, and glanced back at her journal with a fond sigh. The soreness still throbbed in her muscles—but so did a sense of momentum.
This was only the beginning.
The next morning sun peeked in through the tall windows of the estate, golden and soft, but to Luna, it might as well have been the light of a cruel interrogator.
Groaning softly, Luna rolled onto her side and immediately regretted it. Her body screamed in protest—sore muscles, tender joints, and a profound ache in places she didn't know could ache.
But she had made a promise. To herself.
She managed to sit up, blinking blearily at the time. Too early. Far too early. But she was up. She was committed.
Three laps.
"Three laps," she mumbled like a cursed mantra as she pulled on her workout clothes and sneakers.
By the time Luna completed the third lap around the estate, it felt less like a run and more like she had waged a war against gravity—and lost. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her legs wobbling like jelly.
And with zero shame, zero pride left in her battered form, she hobbled to the staff hall and demanded a cane.
Not just any cane. A sturdy, polished cane with a bit of flair, because if she was going to limp, she'd limp with style.
She dragged herself to the breakfast table with all the dignity of a war veteran. Emmerich, already seated and sipping his coffee, looked up—and immediately stood.
"Luna," he said, concern overtaking his sharp features. "You… you need to lie down, not walk. Why didn't you sleep in?"
"I did my jog," Luna replied weakly, easing into the chair like it was made of broken glass. "Three laps. I think I saw my soul trying to leave my body on the second."
Emmerich blinked, astonished, then sighed as he gestured to one of the attendants. "Bring the Elight."
Luna raised a brow. "The what?"
Emmerich looked at her gravely. "Elight. Top-of-the-line deep tissue massager. Recommended by specialists. If we'd known you were going to be trained by a walking human blender, I would've given it to you sooner."
Despite herself, Luna grinned. "Thanks, Dad. That actually sounds… life-saving."
Twenty minutes later, Luna was in her room, holding what looked like a sleek, alien device that vibrated like a tiny jet engine.
By the time she was done using it—thighs, back, arms, calves—her soreness had downgraded from prehistoric agony to moderate discomfort. She could actually walk without wobbling. She even left the cane behind.
Therapy came next.
Dr. Falne raised her eyebrows the moment Luna walked in, slightly stiff, slightly bruised, but walking unaided.
"Well," the therapist said with a knowing smile. "You look like someone who has survived the first day of training under Cherry."
Luna groaned dramatically as she sat down. "I did. Barely. I think I now understand why soldiers stare blankly into the void after coming back from the field."
Dr. Falne chuckled. "That bad?"
"She threw me. A lot. She told me to attack her, and I hesitated, and I was on the floor. Then I attacked again and—boom—floor. She's like... the wind. The wind that punches."
"And yet here you are," Dr. Falne said warmly. "You're walking. You're here. That means you're stronger than yesterday."
Luna tilted her head. "It's weird. I hated it. But I also… liked it. Because I'm learning. I'm thinking less and just moving. It's raw, but it feels like progress."
"It is progress," Dr. Falne said. "And don't forget—what we practiced? The breathing exercises? You can use them before training. Ground yourself first. Let your body and mind begin aligned, especially when trauma's in the mix."
Luna nodded, thoughtful. "That makes sense… maybe if I don't feel like I'm falling apart before the spar, I won't fall apart during it."
Dr. Falne smiled again. "Exactly."
Luna sighed deeply and muttered with a crooked grin, "Ninja training is hard…"
They both laughed—and as the session went on, Luna felt just a bit lighter, her confidence creeping forward, one bruised step at a time.
The second day of training…
Luna stood tall outside the underground entrance, dressed in clean exercise wear, her muscles already whispering protests from yesterday's ambush. She clenched her jaw and breathed deeply.
No cane.
No limp.
Just grit.
"I'm fine," she said before her father could open his mouth. "I walked here. I can keep walking."
Emmerich raised a brow, concern etched in every corner of his features. "That doesn't mean you're not hurting."
Luna smirked despite herself. "Pain is temporary. Cherry's judgment is eternal."
That earned a chuckle from Emmerich as they entered the facility.
The training room was the same as yesterday—spartan, clinical, and eerily quiet. Cherry stood in the center, her crimson hair tied back, tapping her watch like a drill sergeant who'd waited precisely three seconds too long.
Her eyes landed on Luna immediately. "Two minutes late."
"I jogged here," Luna muttered, walking faster as if her pride alone could erase time.
Before Emmerich could interject, perhaps to negotiate or plead some mercy for his aching daughter, Cherry cut him off without turning her head.
"No," she said flatly. "We're not taking it easy today."
Emmerich opened his mouth, brows knitting. "Cherry—"
"She needs to learn the limits of her body," Cherry said, crisp as snapping ice. "And how to push beyond it. Not in defiance, but in rhythm. In recognition. Her strength is hers, not something that should only appear in crisis."
Luna swallowed, heart thudding.
Cherry turned slightly to glance at Emmerich, her gaze sharp. "Coddling will only build fear in disguise. Worry turns into shackles."
Emmerich let out a breath, heavy and reluctant. "She's still—"
"Still your daughter," Cherry finished bluntly. "But before that, she was a survivor. Twenty-eight years without you. I think she knows fully well what it means to stand for herself."
The words hit like a slap. Luna flinched, even if subtly. Emmerich went still.
"That's—" Luna stepped forward, voice firm though tight. "That's mean. And rude."
Cherry turned fully toward her, eyes like glass and steel. "It's true."
Silence echoed for a beat.
"Worry," Cherry said, "is just another form of fear. And both will kill you faster than an enemy if you're not careful."
Luna stared at her, breath held.
Then she squared her shoulders.
"Fine. I'm here," Luna said. "I'm not quitting."
A faint smirk tugged at Cherry's lips. "Then let's begin."
Behind her, Emmerich remained, his fists clenched slightly at his sides. But he didn't speak. He didn't stay.
He turned and walked away.
Leaving Luna exactly where she needed to be—on the battlefield of her own strength, stripped of safety, but never alone.
The second session didn't begin with a warm-up. It began with a strike.
Cherry moved like a phantom, a blur that shattered stillness—her leg sweeping low, her palm jabbing toward Luna's shoulder. Luna barely ducked, her mind still catching up, and yet she instinctively rolled away, heart hammering.
"You stop, you lose." Cherry's voice cracked like a whip. "You pause, you fall."
Luna stumbled, breath caught, eyes wide. Her ribs already ached, and her legs were jelly barely strung together by pride. But that voice—that merciless rhythm of movement—forced her up again.
"I can't stop." The thought slammed through Luna's skull like a drumbeat. "I mustn't stop."
Cherry didn't let up. She didn't bark orders or offer comforting words. She attacked. She pressured. Every move she made was deliberate, forcing Luna to move, to think, to survive.
And yet, even through the flurry of strikes and sweeps, Luna could see it: Cherry wasn't breaking her. She was forging her.
"You think pain means weakness," Cherry murmured during a brief breath between attacks. "Wrong. Pain is proof that you're still here."
Another strike. Another dodge. Luna's muscles screamed, her mind blazed, and every time she faltered, Cherry was there, pressing her harder, faster.
"You're not training to fight," Luna realized mid-pivot, dodging a mock jab at her throat. "You're training to move when fear wants you frozen."
That's when Luna began to listen—not to Cherry's words, but her body, her angles, the tempo of her assaults.
Cherry lunged. Luna didn't freeze. She side-stepped—barely.
Cherry's elbow shot forward. Luna instinctively dropped, rolled, staggered.
The room became a blur. The only things clear were her burning lungs, the thundering of her pulse, and the voice in her head:
Keep moving. Keep surviving. Keep living.
Time lost meaning.
Yet, pain stayed.
And when Cherry finally stepped back, lowering her hands, Luna fell to one knee, panting like she'd run a hundred miles underwater.
Cherry, as composed as always, barely ruffled, looked down at her with something almost—almost—like approval.
"Same time tomorrow. Rest early." She turned. "You're starting to learn."
Then, without a single look back, she walked away, casual as if she'd just finished grocery shopping.
Luna watched her go. Or tried to. Because the moment Cherry left the room—
—Luna collapsed.
When she came to, the scent of lavender soap and freshly laundered sheets tickled her senses. Her head throbbed slightly, but the softness beneath her told her she was no longer on cold tile.
She blinked, confused, until she saw her ceiling.
Her room.
Someone had changed her. Tucked her in.
The blanket was folded with surgical precision, and the small glass of water on her nightstand hadn't even been touched.
Her limbs ached as if she'd fought a war.
She shifted—and found a note beside the glass. Her father's handwriting.
"You did well. Rest. I'm proud of you. –Dad"
Luna exhaled.
With every limb trembling like a leaf in a storm, Luna pushed herself upright on the bed, her arms protesting even the slightest movement.
"Ughhh… can someone please help me before I turn into a statue?" she called out, voice half-muffled into a pillow.
Moments later, two of the maids appeared with gentle smiles. "Miss Luna, shall we assist with the massager?"
"Yes, please, I can't even lift my arms to threaten anyone with sarcasm right now."
The maids chuckled softly as they helped position her and began using the Elight muscle-deep massager on her arms and back. Luna groaned—a sound caught between agony and bliss.
"That's it… right there… I think I'm about to cry from joy."
After several minutes, she finally sighed in relief and slumped against the cushions like a noodle. "Okay. I can feel my soul again. Barely. Now… food?"
"We'll bring your dinner here, Miss," one of the maids said. "Anything you want?"
"Literally anything that doesn't involve me walking to the dining hall," she replied dramatically. "But nothing too chewy. My jaw muscles might file for resignation."
Once they nodded and left, Luna tapped her phone open and texted her father:
Luna:
Hey Dad, sorry I'll be eating in my room tonight. My limbs are a rebellion away from full mutiny.
It didn't take long for the response to come.
Emmerich:
Wait for me. I'll bring my dinner up and join you.
Luna blinked, then smiled.
Luna:
Okay—but you better not check if I eat my veggies. I reserve the right to eat like a gremlin when injured.
Emmerich:
Understood. No veggie surveillance.
Pulling on a loose hoodie, Luna groaned again as she stood up and wobbled over to the little round table near her window. The maids were already bustling in with trays, silver cloches, and tea. The comforting scent of grilled fish, soup, and rice wafted around her, making her stomach roar.
"Easy," Luna muttered to her midsection. "Food is coming."
And right then—
Knock. Click.
Emmerich stepped into the room, still in his neatly pressed slacks and rolled-up sleeves. He carried his own tray and a warm look in his eyes.
"Someone said she's hungry enough to eat a chair?" he teased.
Luna slumped dramatically over the table. "I swear, my stomach is chewing on itself. Please tell me you brought dessert too."
Emmerich set down his tray and chuckled. "Depends. Will you eat your vegetables?"
Luna narrowed her eyes. "What happened to no veggie surveillance?"
He raised both hands in surrender. "Fair, fair."
As the two settled down to eat, Luna, bruised and aching but glowing with the comfort of her father's presence, felt something quiet bloom inside her again—
A warmth not even Cherry's relentless training could crush.