Ace and I trained constantly. When I told him I was struggling with my fighting style, he stepped in immediately—like the good brother he was, and still is. But he never went easy on me. He fought hard, rough, and honest, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

  Every time I tried to commit to my pipe, my instincts betrayed me. Fox Slayer pulled the fight back toward itself, dragging my focus to the blade and forcing Ace to block instead. The pipe lagged—too slow to matter. Ace would duck beneath the swing, let it smash into the dirt, and by the time I wrenched it free, the moment was gone.

  In a real fight, that opening would’ve been fatal.

  That was how Ace beat me. Every time.

  Worse, he kept finding gaps I didn’t even know existed. To me, my guard felt perfect—tight, disciplined, complete. To him, I was wide open. He was genuinely shocked that I couldn’t see it.

  When things got heated, I’d drop the pipe without thinking and rely on Fox Slayer alone. I fought better that way—cleaner, faster. I was used to a single weapon.

  Ace hated it.

  Doing that defeated the entire point of his help. He could point out every flaw, every habit that would get me killed—but neither of us had a solution. I grew frustrated. This wasn’t like mastering my father’s fighting style. I didn’t know how to change my mother’s without feeling like I was erasing her.

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  I’d never met her. Yet through stories, through the weight of her name, I knew she’d been kind. Strong of heart.

  Did I even have the right to reshape what she left behind… or was I just hiding behind her legacy to excuse my own weakness?

  Those thoughts followed me to Makino’s bar.

  “What weapon did you use in your old world?” Ace whispered, sipping from a juice box identical to mine.

  “I didn’t really have a style,” I whispered back. “I just swung a huge black staff around. Relied on raw power—jutsu, mostly.”

  “What are you two whispering about?” Makino asked, narrowing her eyes.

  “Nothing sinister,” Ace said far too quickly.

  She laughed, smiling. “You’re good boys, after all.” Then she turned back to him. “Ace—how are your manners coming along?”

  He straightened. “I said ‘thank you’ the other day. And I was dressed nicely.” After a pause, he added mockingly, “This juice is excellent, my lady.”

  Makino laughed—but something lingered behind her eyes. Something unspoken.

  I noticed.

  “Makino,” I asked carefully, “what’s wrong?”

  She startled. “I was hoping to wait a bit longer, but… Woop Slap and I are going to the capital of Goa.”

  Ace’s expression twisted instantly.

  She explained that supplies were being negotiated to continue rebuilding the bar. The capital had taken damage too, and materials were scarce. I felt anger stir in my chest—at the nobles hoarding resources while good people struggled—but even then, I understood it might not be pure malice.

  Makino wanted us to come along.

  “I want you to see that they’re people too,” she said gently. “They have emotions. They can change.”

  Ace scoffed. I said nothing.

  For one brief moment, I believed her—because I wanted to.

  That moment would change everything.