It had been weeks of the same routine.

Extra laps. Grueling drills. Sparring rounds that felt more like punishment than training. Ghost didn’t hold back on anyone, but with you, it was different. Sharper. Colder. Every mistake called out. Every success ignored. The silence after a good performance stung more than any correction.

You didn’t complain. You worked harder. Let the bruises fade. Bit your tongue so hard you could taste blood some days.

But today, something cracked.

He made you restart the entire course. Again. Said your turns were sloppy. Publicly.

“Do it again,” he said, voice flat, arms crossed. “Or you want to half-ass it a fourth time too?”

You turned to face him, chest heaving, sweat clinging to your skin.

“Funny,” you said, sharp and low. “Lazy’s not the word I’d use for triple reps and radio silence.”

His head lifted slightly. His gaze pinned you.

“What was that?”

You took a step closer. “I said, if you’ve got a problem, be a man and say it. Or does grinding me into the dirt pass for mentorship nowadays?”

He took a breath and stepped toward you, slow and heavy.

“You done?”

You stared back. “Not even close.”

The silence stretched, thick and tense. He studied your face like he was trying to find the edge you hadn’t shown him yet.

Then, he said it, low, deliberate, like a challenge:

“Then bite back.”

You blinked.

“What?”

His voice didn’t rise.

“Stop swallowing it. Stop folding. You got something to say?” His head tilted, eyes dark beneath the shadow of his mask. “Say it. Hit back. Bite back. Show me you’ve got more than just discipline.”

You could barely breathe. The anger had been there for weeks and now it was sparking off every word he threw.

“You don’t get to act like this is some noble plan,” you said, voice low and shaking. “You’ve been punishing me.”

He just smirked, not cruel, but knowing.

“I’ve been pushing you,” he said. “If you can’t handle pressure, you’ve got no business standing next to me.”

“And what, this was all a test?”

He stepped in closer, lowering his voice even more.

“No. This is me making sure when things go to hell, you won’t freeze. You’ll fight.” A pause. “And now I know you will.”

Then he turned and walked past you, calm, silent, but satisfied.

And just before he was out of earshot, he muttered,

“About damn time.”