In the morning, Teo had passed Milo in the hallway and simply told him that Salvatore wanted to see him after his morning workout.

"In his office, don’t forget, Milo. He said it’s not urgent, just after your workout," said Teo.

Milo walked beside him. "Why?"

Teo shook his head. "I don’t really know."

Milo just nodded and said thank you, then spent the entire exercise session thinking about it instead of focusing on his form.

He wasn’t in trouble. Probably. Alben had stopped trying anything after he locked the door last night. And he hadn’t done anything wrong since their last conversation.

He had been careful. Very careful, actually. Maybe too careful, because he really hadn’t touched anyone.

Finally, he finished his run. He rested a bit under a tree and wiped his face with his sleeve as he walked down the corridor toward the office.

He felt his stomach tighten. He didn’t feel the pain in his muscles, his mind was wandering.

His shirt was damp, and he probably should have asked if he could wash up first, but nobody had said anything about that, and he didn’t want to be late.

He knocked.

"Come in."

Milo walked slowly inside.

Salvatore was behind his desk with a coffee cup near his right hand and his phone in the other. He didn’t look up immediately when Milo came in.

Milo stood right in the middle of the room. He was still breathing slightly harder than usual from the workout. He put his hands at his sides and waited.

Salvatore scrolled through something on his phone, read it, and set the phone face down on the desk. He picked up his coffee and took a sip, glancing out the window for a moment. Then he turned his attention to Milo.

He looked at him for a second without speaking.

Milo was flushed from the exercise, his hair pushed back unevenly, his shirt wrinkled. He stood straight, but his hands kept wanting to move, and he was forcing them to stay still.

He looked tired and alert at the same time. He was trying to appear more composed than he felt.

Salvatore set his coffee down.

"Sit," he said.

Milo swallowed hard, he walked over nervously and sat in the chair across the desk.

"You did listen to me, that’s good. You stood up for yourself. That’s actually nice progress. I just don’t understand why you’re afraid to touch people. They said you avoid them," Salvatore said.

Milo opened his mouth, trying to analyze the root of the problem. "I... was just doing what you said. You said I shouldn’t let people—"

"I know what I said."

Milo closed his mouth.

"I’m not angry," Salvatore said. "I need you to understand so you won’t have problems in the future." He leaned back slightly in his chair.

Milo looked at Salvatore seriously.

Salvatore continued. "You stood your ground with Alben. That is exactly what I wanted."

Milo still looked at him carefully, trying to figure out where this was going.

"That part was good," Salvatore continued. "That was the point. But avoiding all physical contact is not the point. There is a difference between protecting yourself and refusing to be near other people."

Milo looked down at his hands. "I just... I wasn’t sure..."

"Now you know. Someone handing you something isn’t a threat. Someone trying to get you naked when you’re not comfortable with it... that’s a threat. You can tell the difference."

"Yes..." Milo said quietly. "I think I just got nervous and was afraid I might lose my finger."

Salvatore chuckled. "I know. That’s why we’re talking about it now."

He picked up his coffee again. "You need to be able to function around people. You need to sit in a room, shake a hand, pass someone in a corridor. That’s not dangerous. That’s just normal."

He looked at Milo steadily. "What I taught you was for specific situations, not for every situation."

Milo nodded slowly. "Yes..."

"Do you understand the difference?"

"Yes. I think so." Milo was quiet for a moment. "I’m sorry..."

"Stop apologizing for things that don’t require an apology. Just adjust."

"Yes, Sir."

Salvatore finished his coffee and set the cup aside. He was quiet for a moment, looking at Milo with tenderness.

Then he said, "Stand up."

Milo stood, a little uncertain.

Salvatore came around the desk. He stopped a few feet in front of Milo and looked at him with a straightforward expression.

"Hit me," he said.

Milo stared at him. "Sorry?"

"Punch me. Hit me in the chest."

Milo looked at Salvatore’s chest, then back up at his face.

Salvatore was a broad man. He was wearing a dark shirt and stood with his arms hanging loosely at his sides, completely relaxed, looking at Milo calmly.

"I... Sir, I don’t want to hit you."

"I know. Do it anyway."

Milo, truly confused, raised his right hand slowly. He formed a loose fist.

He looked at Salvatore’s chest again. His expression made it clear he was certain it was a bad idea.

He tapped Salvatore on the chest. It was barely a tap.

Salvatore looked down at where the fist had landed and then back up at Milo’s face.

"Was that a punch," he said, "or were you checking if I was hollow?"

Milo’s face turned pink. "I didn’t want to hurt you."

"You won’t hurt me. Try again."

Milo pulled his arm back slightly and tried again, harder this time but still restrained, still clearly pulling back.

Salvatore’s hand shot up, grabbed Milo’s wrist, and twisted it. In one smooth motion, he yanked Milo and threw him to the floor.

It was too fast. Milo was stunned.

The next second, he was on the floor, staring at the ceiling, with Salvatore’s knee beside his hip and his arm pinned above his head.

Salvatore pressed his knuckles against his chest slowly, as if trying to stab him. "How many times have I killed you?"

"Sir..." Milo tried to struggle. His heart was suddenly racing.

Salvatore released him and stood up straight. "Get up."

Milo got up. He was breathing harder now and hadn’t expected to hit the floor.

"Again," Salvatore said, motioning for Milo to hit him again.

Milo clenched his jaw and swung.

Salvatore redirected the blow without apparent effort, and Milo stumbled forward a step. He turned around.

"So weak. Again."

It was an insult. This time Milo tried to be faster.

It didn’t help.

Salvatore grabbed him quickly and pinned him to the desk.

"Sir!" He felt the pain in his wrist. He felt his chest against the cold desk, his arm folded behind him. He had to tap the desk with his free hand to signal for release.

Salvatore let go.

"Again."

Milo gasped. He turned around. His expression had changed. The embarrassed flush from earlier had shifted to frustration and anger.

He studied Salvatore’s arms and shoulders, trying to read his movements before acting.

He moved faster. He aimed lower than before, trying to slip past the guard.

Salvatore shifted left, caught his elbow, and threw him.

Milo hit the floor again, this time on his side. He lay there for a moment. His heart was pounding.

"Up."

Damn... Milo got up.

He went again.

And again.

Each time he tried something slightly different. Each time Salvatore dealt with it without breaking a sweat or changing his expression. He never hit Milo back.

He just neutralized, redirected, pinned, and let go, over and over, with the same calm patience.

And it made Milo even more desperate.

At some point, Milo stopped worrying about looking foolish and just focused on landing the punch. It became a problem he was determined to solve.

He came in from the side, he tried feinting one direction before switching, he tried getting low.

Nothing worked.

Eventually, Milo stopped moving. He was standing in the middle of the office with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily, his legs shaking slightly from the effort.

His shirt was soaked through. His hair had come completely loose.

He hadn’t landed a single hit.

Salvatore stood across from him, breathing normally, looking mildly interested.

"Done?" he said.

Milo straightened up slowly. He nodded, still breathing heavily.

"Good," Salvatore said. He picked up his phone from the desk and glanced at it briefly. "I’m going to train you. Starting this week. Every morning after your workout, you come here."

Milo wiped his face on his sleeve. "Train me?"

"You not only have to be strong, but you also have to be able to fight." Salvatore looked at him. "You have no technique. You have no instinct yet for reading what someone else is about to do. You just throw yourself at them."

Milo fell silent.

"If you fight someone the way you did with me today, you’ll die in a second."

"I think so," Milo said, realizing how weak he was. He was still catching his breath.

"You can do better. I’m sure you can."

Milo looked up.

Salvatore didn’t make a big deal out of it. He just stated it as a fact.

But for Milo, it was a sign of trust. He felt a glimmer of hope within him, that he could do it.

"Go wash up and have breakfast. We’re going somewhere today."

"Somewhere?" Milo asked.

"We’re going to try to use your ability."