Although there's still some shouting and a few magic tricks, nothing at lunch is any more notable than what happened to Athena. She seems to have cheered up the minute she changed the topic to Juniper's garden, but her finger still brushes her ear every once in a while.

I decide to leave her alone for the rest of the day. Maybe it's an apology; maybe I just don't want to be tempted to pry any further. Either way, Trucy and Clay are plenty of company. Possibly more than I need touring the combat stations.

We agree on attempting hand-to-hand training first. It may be harder to do enough damage, but we can't guarantee we'll always—or ever—have weapons on us.

Practicing on the mannequins is mostly a series of the instructor adjusting my stance and telling me to be more aware of where I'm putting my weight, whatever that means. I don't do spectacularly well, although I'm better at keeping my wrists straight than Trucy.

It's a surprisingly long time before we're allowed to practice with partners. We're still not full-on sparring, but it's good to move forward. Although I have to take a few hits in return, the training is a lot more engaging. There's not much to observe about a dummy, but now I have a whole person, in motion, to try to figure out. More variables, more weaknesses. Also a lot more strengths, but let's not think about my bruises too hard.

They may not be as obvious as nervous twitches, but fighters still have little habits. My sparring partner has a hitch in her right hook, but only immediately after a left jab. I don't know if it's because of an injury, a memory, or none of the above, but it doesn't matter. In these situations, all I have to do is take advantage of it!

Right as her swing hesitates, I step into the punch and drive my own fist into her unprotected side. It's not enough to make her fall to her knees or anything, but at least I've done something.

A few hours of sparring, resting, and switching partners go by. Clay's the best fighter of the three of us, even though he's the only one that's not so great at picking out habits.

"Well," he says, picking himself up from his chair in the rest area, "I think I'm going to go check on Athena. You haven't caught a glance of her recently, have you?"

I shake my head, and Trucy thinks for a second before saying no.

Clay takes his jacket off the seat back but leaves it slung over his shoulder for now. "All right. It's not too big an area to search, at least."

"Good luck finding her." I take one more sip from the water fountain. "I'm going to check out the swords."

"Awesome. Trucy?"

She slaps her hat back on. "I think I'll go with you." She glances at me. "Have fun sword-fighting, Polly! I'll catch up with you in a minute."

Both of them are leaving? I guess I could go, too... But...

"Okay. See you then."

Surprisingly, I seem to be the only one approaching the sword station. I guess nothing's popular all the time, especially with only twenty-four of us trying to learn something.

The instructor leans heavily against the wall, his arms folded and his gaze on the ceiling. He slowly turns his head down as I approach, his natural-looking blonde curls sliding towards his forehead. He doesn't look much less bored with his eyes trained on me.

"Hello." I come to a stop at the threshold. "This stand is open for business, isn't it?"

He glances to the side. "I suppose so. Come on, then." He pushes his weight onto his feet. "Let's see what kind of mass you can handle."

I scan the short wall to my left. Ten swords, ranging from one that could count as a knife to a behemoth nearly the size of Trucy, hang uniformly from the notches in their ledges.

"Goldilocks! You don't appear thrilled to be taking on yet another green shoot. Had your fill for the day?"

I recognize the voice but turn around anyway. Stepping up to the station, hands hanging by his sides close enough to look a bit unnatural, is Simon Blackquill.

Eyes on the instructor, he taps his own forehead a couple of times. "I'd be more than willing to give this hatchling its first nudge from the nest myself."

I can tell from the instructor's eyes that he feels no need to put up a fight. "Great. I'm gonna grab lunch." Dropping his hands into his shorts pockets, he strides away, leaving me alone with Simon. A trained killer. Who's good enough with swords the instructor trusts him to teach me.

I... I'm about to get stabbed, aren't I?

My back to the wall of weapons, I inch toward the open aisle. "I-I'm in no rush. I can come back after the worker's ready to teach me, no problem. If you'll excuse me—"

"Silence!" Eyes flashing, he takes a noticeable step to cut off my exit. I'm dead. "You came here intending to learn the way of the sword, did you not? Do not take it so lightly, or I will cut you down myself! Should you find fault with my instruction after your first lesson, then by all means, wait for the worker with the golden hair." He slams his hand on the front counter. "But no sooner!"

...I guess I won't be leaving yet.

"A-all right." Ugh! I can't let him hear my voice breaking. Show no weakness. "All right! Let's get started!"

He smirks. "Very well. You may call me Sensei if you wish, though my name is Simon Blackquill."

Call him what?

In a few steps, he slips around the other side of the sword display and returns with a long, thin blade.

"I'm Apollo Justice." I swallow but stand my ground. "Now, you're not planning to literally cut me down, right? That would be breaking Training Center rules, after all."

Simon barely manages to sheath his sword before he starts roaring with laughter, banging his hand on the counter a few more times. "And what, pray tell, would they do to me? Send me into the arena in shackles? I would only feel more at home."

"Wh-what?" Does he seriously plan to...?!

Grinning, he rubs his chin. "Rest assured, your extremities will stay intact if you don't give me reason to shorten them."

Stepping again to the front of the sword display, he pauses and selects a blade that's just a bit on the small side. "The most common sword provided in and around the Cornucopia is closest to this size. Shall we see if you can handle it, Justice-dono?"

Although extremely intimidating, Simon is definitely an expert. I guess the instructor wouldn't have left me with anyone else—although that man's professionalism is definitely questionable. He's content to get Trucy started when she arrives, though.

I pull back for a minute, although I don't take my eyes off the practice dummy or my hands off the sword.

"Justice-dono."

Trying to keep my breathing under control, I turn my head. Simon stands with his arms at his sides, his expression as unreadable as usual.

"Do you believe you're capable of defending yourself?"

I push aside the burning in my arms. "Against what?"

He frowns, his chewing feather downturning. "Whatever or whomever you may face in the arena."

"That's hard to say, isn't it?" I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to picture some of the past tributes and mutts. "They can throw anything they want at me, and I've hardly had a life of training."

His eyes flash. "And are you foolish enough to think you can protect anyone else if you cannot even protect yourself?"

I glance past him at Trucy but turn back to the mannequin. "I'll only be able to protect them for a little while, won't I? Of course, I'll do my best to keep them safe while I can, but... in the end..." Trucy, Clay, Athena, Juniper, Robin, Hugh... and everyone else. If I'm going to survive this, they're not.

"Only one warrior will stand." Simon turns his back to me. "And you intend for it to be you?"

"I... would like that, yes."

"Hmph," he says. "And I had hoped we wouldn't be working toward such conflicting purposes."

I lift up my sword again. "You want to be the victor?"

He looks at me over his shoulder. "Every samurai needs both a katana and a wakizashi. He has to know when it is right to fight for his life... and when he must hurl it away from him."

I can't figure out half of what he said, and the other half was still unclear. "Was that a no...?"

He huffs, looking straight ahead once more. "There are much more important things to fight for than one's own life, Justice-dono."

"Of course." I swallow. "But it's hard to fight for them if you're dead."

With a roar of laughter, he finally faces me. "I suppose it depends on the path you've chosen, hmm?" He straightens up. "There is no turning back for me, however. I hope that you will find reason to aid me—" his palm rams into the tabletop—"for I can guarantee that you will not live. Whether you would prefer to struggle for your own freedom only to fail, or to die a noble death? That is up to you."

I can't focus on my sword at all anymore, nor can I push off the fatigue in my arms. I sheathe it and lay it on the counter. "Wh-what are you planning?"

He throws a glance at my sword before resting his gaze on me. "The victor of these Games will be Cykes-dono."

"Athena?" It makes sense, considering what he said to her earlier. "Why her?"

With a low exhale, he turns his face to the side. "You could say that I owe her."

"Her personally? She told me you studied under her mom..."

"Ah." He smirks. "Did she also mention that I murdered her mother?"

"Wh-wha..." In my shock, I barely register my bracelet tightening. "What?!"

He glowers at the wall again. "She was an excellent mentor, and I repaid her by cutting her down." There goes my bracelet again—but I can't for the life of me spot any tells. "I've been destined for death since then, regardless of how I fight in that arena. As such, the best I can do is ensure the victory of another—and who better than the poor daughter of the woman I killed?"

He faces me, expression stony. "So then, what will you do? Struggle against every last one of us in the faint hope that you may live? Or will you work together with me, with Cykes-dono, with others, to save the life of an innocent girl?"

...!

"Justice-dono!"

Why did my bracelet react at "innocent"...?

"I'll think about it," I manage, rubbing my wrist until the tension dissipates.

He turns around. "Do inform me when you're finished 'thinking,' yellowbelly. Perhaps then I shall continue your training."

With that, he walks away, leaving me to stand here bewildered and teacherless.