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Chapter 9: The Blade That Remembers, II
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... ly.
But everything changed after that night.
He stopped holding back.
We trained before the sun rose. My grip was still sloppy. My footing off. But he no longer corrected me with words. He corrected me by striking. Hard. Swift. Relentless.
"You're waiting for time to protect you again," he barked as I hit the ground for the fifth time that morning. "It won't."
"I'm not—"
"You are. I see it in your posture. You move like someone expecting the world ...
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