Pupil 37: Self-defense Class

It didn’t take long for Zara to notice her new partner as she arrived at the park.

The girl didn’t even notice Zara approaching. She was busy showing off her skills to the kids who were watching her, awestruck as she punched a small rock and smashed it into pieces.

“Um ... hi,” Zara said, walking closer.

“Ah, you must be Zara,” the girl said, scanning. “I heard a few things about you.”

“Yeah, Zara Cromwell. Nice to meet you,” she said awkwardly.

“Quincy Marlowe,” the girl shook her hand; her grip felt ... off. As if something was wrong with her hand, but Zara couldn’t point out what.

Quincy was a peculiar sight, not as strange as Pixie from last week, though. Pale skin, sleek inky black hair with streaks of magenta purple, cut in an uneven bob that curled at her jawline. On top, it was styled into two high, horn-like buns on either side of her head. One visible eye, the right one, was a sharp, fierce violet, staring directly at Zara. The other eye was hidden behind jagged black-purple bangs. Her full lips were tinted deep purple, curved slightly in what might have been amusement. She was barefoot, with short yoga pants and a sleeveless top, which was quite odd regarding the cool autumn weather.

Maybe her augmentations work best when her limbs are exposed, Zara thought.

“Nice Juri cosplay,” Zara gave her a thumbs-up.

“Nice lesbo biker girl cosplay,” Quincy chuckled.

“You are going to fight?” The kids looked at both of them now.

“What about a fight?” Quincy assumed a battle pose, a smirk playing on her lips. The kids’ eyes widened in excitement, but Zara held up her hands in protest.

“We are surrounded by civilians. It would be risky,” Zara shook her head.

“Exactly,” one of the kids agreed.

“Party pooper,” Quincy snorted. Then the kids began to leave, except for the one who agreed with Zara.

“Hey, don’t you have something better to do than stayin’ here?” Quincy glared at him.

But without looking up, the boy just pulled out a clipboard with a list on it.

“Zara and Quincy,” he drew a checkmark beside each name.

“Um ... who are you, by the way?” Zara gave him a strange look. He appeared to be a young boy, maybe 14 or something close, but maybe just because he was shorter than both girls. He had long, raven hair, one could mistake him for a girl from far.

“Oh, sorry. I forgot to introduce myself.” He looked up awkwardly. “I’m Dorian Graves, and you girls will visit my grandmother’s workplace today. We also expect a bunch of other girls at the same time, so she sent me here to be sure that everyone will be here in time.”

“Aritimi’s other pupils will join us?” Zara arched a brow.

“Not exactly. Aritimi will explain it later,” Dorian answered.

“Aren’t you young for a job like this?” Quincy shot him a weird look.

“I’m actually eighteen, so no, I’m not,” he replied.

“Really?” Zara’s eyes widened. It looks like it was just his short stature and skinny build that made him look younger.

“I can show you my ID if you want,” he offered.

“No need for that. I believe you,” Zara assured him.

“Good morning, pupils,” Aritimi showed up behind them.

“Good morning, Miss Argento,” Dorian said sheepishly as he noticed her.

“Just Aritimi,” she gave him a hearty chuckle, “but that was cute.”

“Who are we waiting for?” Quincy asked impatiently.

“The daughters of some of my friends,” she replied.

“Whoa! Then we will have a whole army.”

“Not everyone will be here, just a few of them,” Aritimi answered, “by the way. Where are they now? Is everything alright with them?”

“Well, as I heard, Miss Lincoln offered to pick up the others and drive here with them,” Dorian responded.

“Great,” Aritimi rolled her eyes. “I hope everybody will be in one piece.”

As she finished, the screech of tires pierced the air, and Zoe Lincoln’s van rolled up and a few seconds later stopped in the nearby parking lot.

“She inherited her mother’s driving skills,” Aritimi shook her head slowly.

The door swung open.

A small group of familiar-looking women stepped out of the van.

The first to emerge was a woman in her thirties with the typical appearance of a librarian: blonde hair kept in a high bun, glasses perched low on the nose, and a prim beige cardigan that screamed “organized.” She waved politely as she stepped forward.

“Paige Elsher,” she introduced herself in a calm, almost soothing tone.

Zara blinked. She looked like a clone of Gretchen, the Master Scholar of the Lorekeepers, just minus the wrinkles and grey hair. That had to be her daughter.

Next came a young woman in a classic aviator outfit with vintage pilot goggles perched on her forehead, fitted bomber jacket over khaki trousers, and lace-up boots. Her reddish-blonde curls were slightly messy.

“Amelia Aldridge,” she said with a tight nod.

Definitely Piper’s kid, Zara thought.

Next up: mimes. Yes, actual mimes.

One of them wore a red beret, the other a blue one. Their faces were painted in pristine white, expressions frozen in goofy smirks. Even their black-and-white striped outfits matched perfectly.

“Béatrice Marchand.” Said the one with the red beret.

“Geneviéve Marchand.”

Renée’s daughters. No doubt about this, Zara thought.

Then came a tall, a bit more mature woman with a rich brown complexion and jet black hair that shimmered in the sunlight. She reminded Zara of a younger but slightly less athletic version of Aritimi.

“Clara,” she said simply.

Normally, Zara would have assumed that she was Aritimi’s daughter, but she knew that Aritimi had no kids at all. Plus, she recognized Clara from the pictures Curtis shared in the group chat from their vacation last year. She was Curtis’ mother.

“Nice to see you, Aunty,” Clara said, giving Aritimi a big hug.

At last, the driver hopped out of the van, hands on her hips, her frosted tips bright in the morning light. She wore a zipped-up hoodie, yoga pants, and oversized sunglasses.

“Zella Lincoln,” she said cheerfully.

She had total soccer mom vibes, just like her mother, Zoe. Zara didn’t meet her in person, but she often saw her pictures in Zoe’s study. She was much older than Zoe’s son, Mark, somewhere in her mid-30s. Mark said that she is pretty much Zoe’s younger duplicate, with the same personality.

“Alright, everyone is here.” Dorian checked the last name on his list.

“So ... what exactly are we doing today? And why are all of them tagging along with us?” Zara asked, gesturing subtly toward the group of newcomers.

“Today, you’ll all be attending a self-defense session,” she said.

“What? I love fighting, but I already went through a martial arts class before,” Quincy raised an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t like this. You will learn to use your augmentations against any type of enemy. Take it as an advanced martial arts class where everyone has superpowers and the enemies are monsters,” Aritimi replied and turned to face the whole group.

“Some of you may already know,” she continued, “that there was a ... situation two weeks ago. An attempted kidnapping involving the children of several of our unit leaders.”

“Did I hear, fighting monsters?” Amelia asked, and she seemed to be confused. Aritimi ignored her.

“So, to prevent that from happening again, you’re all joining the others for today’s class. Consider it mandatory, and very much for your own good.”

“Fantastic,” Zella muttered under her breath. “Can’t wait to roundhouse kick some annoying bitches during Mark’s next match.”

“Self-defense is not about roundhouse kicking those who annoy you,” Paige corrected gently, adjusting her glasses.

“Excuse me, but I’m a pilot, not a fighter,” Amelia raised her arm timidly.

“You are working for the HSA. Monsters can target you at any time, regardless of which part of the HSA you are working in,” Aritimi replied. “I already asked the HQ for years to make martial arts training mandatory for every employee to prevent things like what happened two weeks ago. I chose you girls for today because none of you has received proper martial arts training so far.”

“Khm,” Dorian cleared his throat, “I double-checked the list, and everyone is here. We can go now.”

“Excellent,” Aritimi nodded. She then lifted her hand, drawing a smooth circle in the air. In seconds, a shimmering orange portal flickered into existence.

Through the portal, they stepped into a spacious dojo with thick mats lined up on its polished wooden floor. Along the walls, weapons and gear were neatly arranged: staffs, swords, punching bags, and other more obscure equipment that the modern monster hunters don’t even use since a long time.

“Okay, this place is kinda sick,” Quincy admitted, glancing around.

But then ... they noticed them.

Near a door stood a trio of young, porcelain pale-faced girls in typical gothic lolita dresses. They looked like child-size antique dolls come to life: flawless and pale skin, each with large, almost comically big, blue eyes that barely blinked. One had long, silky black hair and a pitch-black dress with a high lace collar and bell sleeves. Another had white hair. Not white-blonde, it was unnaturally white, as if someone had dunked her head into a bucket of white paint. Her dress was white as well. The last one had long, straight, blood-red hair and a scarlet dress adorned with tiny black bows.

The black-haired one stepped forward and offered a small, elegant bow.

“I am Desdemona Graves,” she said softly, deliberately.

“Drusilla,” said the white-haired one with a polite nod.

“Demelza,” the redhead added, giving a slow, unsettling smile.

Zara blinked. “Are these ... kids?”

Then Desdemona turned to Dorian. “Is everyone accounted for, dear?”

“Yes, Mum,” Dorian replied with a nod.

Zara did a double take. “Wait. Did you just say Mum?”

“Indeed he did,” Aritimi said casually. “Desdemona is his mother.”

Zara’s eyebrows shot up. “But ... she looks like she’s twelve.”

“She’s thirty-eight,” Aritimi explained. “All three of them are around the same age. Their stature is the result of inherited developmental issues.”

As Zara took a second glance at them, she noticed that their bodies had more mature curves than those of kids. It was just hard to notice at first glance because their gothic clothes concealed their shapes.

“Thank you for assuming I’m twelve,” Desdemona gave her a chuckle. “That’s the oldest people have assumed me to be so far.”

“That’s gotta be weird,” Quincy grinned. “Your son grows taller than you, and you still look like you’re in elementary school. Do people think that you are his girlfriend when they see you two together?”

“For a few years, yes, but now they think I’m his little sister,” Desdemona replied casually.

“Wow! It must be bad.”

“Then what should I say?” A voice suddenly cut through the room. It was small, high-pitched, but sharp.

The group turned toward the source, but at first, all they saw was a dainty porcelain doll perched on a velvet chair at the far end of the room. Dressed in an ornate black dress with extra-small embroidered roses, it looked like an exhibit in a vintage toy museum.

Then the doll blinked.

“Oh my god,” Zara whispered. The other girls, aside from Quincy, weren’t that surprised.

Aritimi stepped forward, smiling warmly.

“Etheldreda! You’re looking positively terrifying as always.”

The doll-like woman gave a pleased hum and tipped her tiny head.

“Pupils, allow me to introduce your instructor for today, Etheldreda Graves,” Aritimi said, gesturing toward the miniature woman. “Local martial arts expert, grandmother of Dorian, and mother to our gothic trio.”

Even at age 57, Etheldreda stood only 60 centimeters tall. Her black hair was like an ocean of obsidian. Her blue eyes were the same as her three daughters’. Overall, she looked more like a possessed doll than a very small human, and her slender frame didn’t help.

“I hope you’re all ready to learn something useful today,” she said, voice small but commanding.

They all nodded.

Aritimi chuckled as Etheldreda hopped off the chair. “By the way. Still not nominated for the Guinness World Records as the shortest adult woman?”

Etheldreda sniffed. “No. Augmented humans aren’t eligible for entry.”

“Unfortunate,” Aritimi said with a wink. “You’d look great in their photo book.”

Zara, still trying to recover from the surreal family dynamics, leaned slightly toward Quincy.

“This day’s getting weirder by the minute,” she whispered. She thought Tomato and her meat-puppet redhead army would be hard to top, but this one is close.

“And that’s why I like it,” Quincy whispered back with a grin.

While Etheldreda stood in her miniature regal poise, the other girls, excluding Zara and Quincy, had already swarmed around her with enthusiasm.

“Miss Graves!” Amelia chirped. “I haven’t seen you in years! Remember that time you babysat me and you got stuck in our washing machine?”

“Yes. You put me in there because I didn’t let you eat sweets for dinner.” She said, folding her hands primly in front of her skirt.

“Well, I was five and full of rage!” Amelia laughed.

“I have a story too,” Paige said, snorting. “I tried to mail her to Abu Dhabi, like Garfield used to do with Nermal.”

The others giggled and chimed in.

Zella even cracked a rare smile. “You’re shorter than a Goblin, and yet somehow scarier.”

“I take that as a compliment,” Etheldreda said, her lips curling.

As the girls talked about their memories, Zara leaned back with Quincy and Dorian.

“Must be weird. Having a mom who looks like a creepy kid from a gothic horror and a grandma who resembles a cursed porcelain doll.” Quincy looked at Dorian.

Dorian gave a slow shrug. “It’s not as weird as it looks. I mean, I’ve never really known anything else.”

“You turned out pretty normal,” Zara said, eyeing him curiously.

“I got lucky,” He nodded. “I’m short, sure, but I ain’t no dwarf. Just ... vertically challenged.”

“You sound like Irish,” Zara chuckled.

“You mean Miss O’Neil? Yes, she was here with the other pupils yesterday. She was so disappointed when she noticed that even my mother and aunts were a little bit taller than her,” Dorian chuckled.

“By the way, how does that work? Your mom and grandma are all so tiny.” Quincy raised a brow.

“Well,” Dorian said, keeping his tone matter-of-fact, “it’s because of my grandmother’s condition. See, she was born that way because of her mom’s augmentation, which caused growth issues for Grandma as a side effect. Later, she wanted to be a mother as well, but the doctors didn’t even let her try to have a baby. They said the pregnancy would be too much burden for her body, not even talking about birth.”

“So then ... how?”

“Surrogacy,” Dorian explained. “The doctors used her egg cells, but another woman carried the pregnancy. Same with my mom. She didn’t carry me either; the medical risk was too high even in her case.”

“Wow. Modern technology saved this family tree.” Quincy whistled.

Zara shook her head slightly, half-impressed. “And I thought my life was complicated.”

“At least nobody tried to put you in the dryer because you wouldn’t let them have cookies for breakfast.” Dorian smiled faintly.

“Yet,” Zara muttered and smiled back.

They looked over at Amelia, who was reenacting how she’d put Etheldreda into the washer as a child.

A few minutes later, Etheldreda clapped her dainty hands once, the sound oddly commanding despite its softness.

“That’s enough reminiscing, girls,” she said. “Line up. It’s time we show you how to fight.”

The room stilled. Everyone turned as Etheldreda took a step forward, her tiny shoes tapping softly on the floor.

Quincy, never one to bite her tongue, blurted, “Uh, no offense, but how exactly are you gonna show us how to fight? Like, do you punch knees or what?”

The group collectively inhaled through their teeth, but Etheldreda simply smiled—a wide, serene thing that somehow managed to be both matronly and menacing.

“Allow me a demonstration,” she said smoothly. “Desdemona, darling?”

“Yes, Mum.” Desdemona stepped forward.

“Lift me.”

Without hesitation, Desdemona picked up her mother with practiced ease and gently placed her on her shoulder. Etheldreda perched there like a gothic parrot, lacing her fingers over her knee.

Then, suddenly, Desdemona’s body stiffened. Her eyes went vacant, her posture rigid. When she moved, it was with a cold, graceful fluidity, like a marionette. Her lips moved in perfect sync with her mother’s.

“Thanks to my augmentation,” Etheldreda said, her voice doubled through Desdemona’s mouth, “I possess a neural tissue transplant from a Driving Dove. A most charming little monster. It allows me to control others through direct contact.”

“Cool! That’s a freaky power,” Quincy muttered with an amused grin.

“And it gets better,” Etheldreda added. She tapped her heel once against Desdemona’s shoulder. Instantly, the silky fabric of her dress rippled and twisted, the folds weaving into the shape of a black axe that she had to hold with both hands. The material itself didn’t seem to get less in quantity, which meant she stayed clothed as if nothing had happened.

“I can even access my daughter’s Silkling augmentation while riding her,” she said proudly.

Quincy grinned widely. “Okay, that’s cool, aaaand a bit creepy. Wanna go a round, doll lady?”

Zara’s eyebrows shot up. “Quincy, are you...”

Too late. Quincy had already dropped into a combat stance.

The others quickly scrambled to the edges of the room, forming a circle as Desdemona, still under her mother’s control, stepped into the center, her silken axe gleaming ominously.

“Begin,” Etheldreda said.

Quincy lunged forward, throwing sharp jabs, a spinning kick, and a feint. But Desdemona moved with inhuman speed and grace, ducking, pivoting, and weaving. Her counterattacks were fast and surgical. One quick swipe and Quincy’s right arm fell to the mat.

“What the hell?!” Clara screamed.

Another slice, left arm. Then a pivoting spin, and both legs were gone in a blur.

Quincy collapsed like a sack of potatoes, now just a limbless torso on the mat. Still grinning.

“Calm down!” she called out cheerfully as chaos broke out among the girls. “It’s all good!”

“But you’re...!”

“No blood?” Zara said, calm as ever. She crouched next to Quincy, examining the clean stumps. “This must be her augmentation.”

“Yup!” Quincy beamed from the floor. “Lost all my limbs and my left eye in a bad monster fight a few years back. These bad boys...” she nodded toward her severed limbs scattered around her, “ ... were produced by my Extremity Entity grafts. Kinda like jellyfish limbs with a nervous system. Grow ‘em back when needed.”

Right on cue, her shoulders twitched. New limbs began to bloom from her joints, the skin slightly lighter and glossier than the rest of her body.

A few girls turned green. Clara audibly gagged.

“Ughhh,” Béatrice whispered, “why did it squish like zat?”

As the last limb reformed, Quincy pushed herself upright and flexed with pride.

“See? All good. And now I got fresh limbs.”

Meanwhile, Etheldreda elegantly hopped off Desdemona’s shoulder like a circus acrobat. The moment she touched the ground, Desdemona’s blank expression melted into one of deep exasperation.

“Ugh, Mum. My back. And my hips. You could warn me before making me do backflips and axe lunges.”

“Stretch more, dear.” Etheldreda gave her a motherly pat on the knee.

Quincy popped her neck and bounced on her toes. “Okay, that was sick. Let’s do this class.”

“Then let us begin.” Etheldreda clapped her hands once more.

“Hey, Dorian. Did your grandma know about Quincy’s augmentation before she began hacking off her limbs?” Zara whispered to him.

“Um ... probably.”

Etheldreda began her lecture.

“In a self-defense scenario,” she began, “your goal is not to win, but to escape.” She pointed toward her own eye with a tiny finger. “Eyes. Throat. Knees. Groin. Achilles tendon. Hit fast, hit hard, then run. There’s nothing wrong with knowing your limits. Sometimes the best you can do is just survive.”

She pivoted neatly on one heel.

“But,” she continued, “if escape is not an option, and you must fight...” She gestured toward the training dummies behind her, each one heavily damaged. “Then your goal is to end it. You exploit weaknesses, break balance, and use your augmentations to disable your opponent as efficiently as possible. Mercy is for later. Survival comes first. The monsters fight this way, and you have to fight like a monster too. You can’t fight against monsters without turning into one. That’s why you girls got your augmentations in the first place.”

Time moved strangely under her instruction. Morning turned to early afternoon in the blink of an eye. It also didn’t help that their tiny instructor wanted to see everyone’s moves one by one, multiple times.

By the time the group was panting, sweaty, and sore, Etheldreda was still pristine, like she’d never moved at all.

“How does she look so clean?” Zara muttered, “I wish my clothes could stay this clean that long.”

“It’s because her clothes were made by my mother’s Silkling powers,” Dorian answered. “It functions as an additional layer of skin. It can look good and allows you to move without issues. My aunts have this augmentation as well, but they can’t change the color of the clothing they make, and Grandma doesn’t want red or white clothes.”

“Hmm, I hope I will be able to do something like that in the future,” Zara said. “I could save a lot of money by growing my clothes from my skin.”

Then Etheldreda clapped.

“Now,” she said, “time for the real test.”

They followed her through a hallway at the back of the dojo, down an old staircase. They descended until they arrived at a locked metal door that resembled something from a bunker rather than a dojo. With a hiss, it opened as Desdemona typed a password in to reveal a small subterranean arena with rows of seats for the spectators.

“This,” Etheldreda said, her voice echoing lightly, “is where augmented hunters spar. But today, you won’t be fighting each other. You will fight monsters.”

“Ooooh, actual monsters?” Zara’s eyes lit up.

Quincy rubbed her hands together with a grin. “Now this is my kind of extracurricular.”

The rest of the girls weren’t so thrilled.

Paige, arms crossed, frowned hard.

“Wait, real monsters? That wasn’t in the plan.”

Aritimi stepped forward with her usual calm smile. “Don’t worry. I selected monsters from the Crypt. They have human-level intelligence, and they are no longer as hostile as they were long ago. They’re tame, cooperative, and know when to stop. Think of them more like special sparring partners. And since monsters have good durability and regeneration, you don’t have to hold yourself back against them.”

“That doesn’t make this less terrifying,” muttered Amelia.

“Why do we even have to do this?” Paige asked again, more annoyed than scared now. “We’ve been doing fine so far. Isn’t this overkill?”

Etheldreda’s expression didn’t change, but her tone took on a firm, final edge. “This self-defense class is mandatory. You are part of a monster-hunting society. If you fail today, you will be required to return every day until you pass. I’m a very patient woman.”

There was a long pause as the girls took that in.

“Now take a breath and get ready. The first match begins in five minutes. Paige will start.” Etheldreda announced with a smirk.

“I hope mine will be big.” Zara cracked her knuckles.

“I hope mine’s a big ol’ tentacle guy.” Quincy elbowed her with her new elbow.

“Wouldn’t that be your dream date?” Zara smirked.

“Oh, and there are two more things you need to know,” Etheldreda announced with an ominous smile.

“The first is that you will have to do the fight naked,” Aritimi started, which made the other girls, aside from Zara and Quincy, groan uncomfortably.

“Yes, I know this is mostly Timi’s stuff, but since this training is about how to use your augmentations in a fight, you indeed have to do it without clothes. Not just to be natural and other exhibitionist stuff, but not to ruin your clothes during the fight,” Etheldreda explained. This one actually helped to calm them down a little bit.

“What is the second thing?” Zara asked.

“It’s the punishment,” smiled the mini-mistress. “If you fail, you will be punished.”

Then Aritimi summoned a small wooden box from a portal. She opened it, and it was filled with small cards.

“That’s a game that we often played with my sisters at our birthday parties and other events when we fought our tamed, pet monsters,” Aritimi said.

“If you fail, you will have to pull a card from this box, and the card will decide your punishment,” Etheldreda grinned, like a mini Aritimi.

“Uh ... what kind of punishments are we talking about?” Paige asked.

“Well, we had a lot of wild ideas with my sisters back then; after all, we were horny teens. So as you can guess, they are mostly sexual,” Aritimi explained.

The sounds of discomfort got louder among the crowd.

“It’s just for extra motivation,” Etheldreda added, “Because we knew that repeating the exam wouldn’t motivate you girls enough.”

“Ah, this feels much better,” Aritimi let out a small moan as she removed her jumpsuit. Her bare body was a sight to behold. Clara turned her head away from her naked aunt after a few seconds. Dorian, on the other hand, was completely mesmerized by the naked huntress.

“Paige, get ready,” Aritimi urged.

She just rolled her eyes, but as she noticed that the door closed behind them and was locked, she began to comply. She only stopped with the undressing when she reached her bra and panties. They were lacy and white.

Then, she continued and unclasped her bra, her heavy breasts bouncing free as they were released from their cage. She stepped out of her panties with a blush, folding them neatly beside her outfit that she placed on an empty seat.

Her tits were not firm. They were natural, a bit saggy, but it was the sign of their naturalness, with pink nipples that stood out like tiny buttons on a cushion of soft flesh. They swayed gently with each step she took. She was blessed with a full figure, with wide hips and a round ass that made her waist look more thinner. Her pubic hair hadn’t been trimmed in a while and formed a soft, blonde triangle that looked like a treasure trove hidden in the jungle of her thighs.

She moved a bit strangely without her high heels. Her glasses were the only thing that she kept on.

“You should take those off as well,” Aritimi said. “It’s a liability. Just one punch to your face, and your eyes are filled with shattered glass. Safety first, Paige.”

“I can’t see without them properly. I will get some contact lenses later to solve this, but I will need them now to see my opponent.”

“Alright,” Aritimi nodded, “but be careful.”

“The monsters are here, Timi?” Etheldreda asked.

“Yeah, I brought them here a few hours ago to get ready. They are in the waiting room now,” she answered.

A low rumble could be heard through the place as the metal gate on the far side of the room began to rise.

“First match: Paige Elsher versus Shirayume.” Etheldreda’s tiny voice echoed.

“Let’s get this over with,” Paige said dramatically and stepped into the arena, her breasts swaying with each step. “My Knowtopus-augmented brain can function better than a normal human’s or monster’s brain. I just need to calculate when to dodge and where to attack.”

From the opposite gate, the air grew colder. Mist curled in from beneath the door as it slid open, and out stepped a tall, regal figure, a Yuki-onna.

Shirayume moved like falling snow: graceful, quiet, and deliberate. Her pale blue hair flowed like water, reaching her knees. Her skin shimmered with a faint frost, but her eyes were colorless, almost pearlescent. Her breath came out in a gentle mist. She wore a flowing yukata of silver and icy blue, with snowflake embroidery.

First, Shirayume bowed politely in front of Paige, who responded with an awkward nod.

“Begin,” Etheldreda called.

Paige immediately dropped into a defensive posture, her mind whirring with calculations. She analyzed Shirayume’s stance, the angle of her arms, and the twitch of a shoulder, predicting each move before it even started.

The Yuki-onna moved in, her arms lashing out with casual grace. Paige dodged. Again. Again. She was smooth, nimble, even elegant. When Shirayume conjured an icy staff in her hand and began a series of spinning strikes, Paige ducked, almost hitting herself in the chin with her breasts, and weaved through each one with perfect timing, never touched.