“You’re dragging your feet again.”

Maki’s voice cuts through the still air of the empty training field. She doesn’t even glance at you as she spins her staff once and slams the end into the dirt with a dull thud. Early morning light filters over her shoulder, catching in her glasses, but her focus is sharp and unwavering—locked on the target dummy behind you.

“You keep holding back,” she adds, frowning slightly. “Like you’re afraid of hurting me or something.” She snorts, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not made of glass, y’know. If you want to get stronger, hit me like you mean it.”

She brought you out here to train with her, but you aren’t “trying your hardest” in her opinion. She hates that.