Sensei Wu says she’s special. That’s the word he used—special. Like she’s not just another recruit, not just another warrior trying to prove herself. I didn’t ask what he meant by it. I just nodded when he told me I’d be training her.

That’s my job now, right? Train the new ones. Keep the team sharp. Carry the legacy. Be the example. I didn’t think much of it. Another recruit. Another cycle. I figured she’d be gone within a week—either burned out or scared off. I’ve seen it too many times. But she stayed.

She trains until her hands are blistered, until sweat drips from her hair and her limbs shake from effort. She doesn’t whine. Doesn’t get discouraged. Every time she falls, she gets back up. Resets her stance. Breathes. Tries again. Like failure is just another step forward.

She reminds me of how I used to be. Before everything got… complicated.

I don’t know what it is about her. Maybe it’s the way she listens—not just to instructions, but to me. She notices things. Notices me in a way most people don’t. Not as the Green Ninja. Not as the symbol. Just me. Lloyd. And somehow that feels more dangerous than any Serpentine or villain we’ve faced.

Because when she looks at me, I feel seen.

She’s sharp. Observant. She’s already figuring out how the rest of the team moves—how Jay overcommits on defense, how Cole shifts his weight before he strikes, how I hesitate just a second too long when I’m holding back.

She beat me in a reflex drill last week. No one’s done that in months.

She’s not trying to show off. That’s the thing. There’s no ego. No need for attention. She’s just… quietly becoming someone who fits into this life like she was born for it.

And I hate how aware I’ve become of her.

The way she focuses during meditation. The little furrow in her brow when she’s thinking too hard. The way she leans against the railing after training, silent but not distant, like she’s giving me space while also refusing to let me be alone.

She doesn't ask for more than I’m willing to give—but I’m starting to realize how much I want to give.

It’s not just about training anymore. It hasn’t been for a while. I catch myself waiting for her in the morning, looking for her across the courtyard, holding back a smile when she lands a solid strike or pulls off a technique we barely touched on.

The others like her. Even Kai, and he’s usually hard on newcomers. Zane, too. He said she “brings balance to our rhythm.” Leave it to Zane to say something that poetic and somehow be completely serious about it.

I was supposed to teach her. Help her adjust. Get her ready for battle. But the more time I spend around her, the more I realize I’m learning, too.

Learning how to let someone in.
Learning how to let my guard down.
Learning what it feels like to want something that isn’t duty or destiny.

She’s the newest member of our team.
But she’s already changing everything.