The chirping of obnoxious birds ruins my little sleep-in, I lay on a patch of surprisingly comfy grass as the events of yesterday play in my mind, most notably a realisation I had: Landing a single hit on Big Ears might be impossible. After getting what could only be described as humiliated instead of trained for a few hours, my arms and legs gave out resulting in my current sleeping arrangement. She did say she could heal me so I could find better lodgings but decided that my pain then and now would be a valuable lesson. Jerk.
It's not all sadness and suffering as my sleep-in gave me time to think up ways to even the playing field. Currently, my training with her will be in the evenings as I have my job in town most days and she… well I don't know what she gets up to. If getting bullied in the evening is my only training, then I'm screwed, especially considering I can't train myself as I have no clue what to learn, and even if I knew what to learn I wouldn't know how to learn it. Thankfully, I have a suspicion that there may be someone in town who can help me, however getting his cooperation may be impossible.
I head into town, sore but determined, past the marketplace and straight to the docks where I knew I'd find my hopefully soon-to-be mentor Mr Oliver, considering it's my day off I expect him to be less than thrilled to see me. After trekking through the scattered about townsfolk who toil away and adventurers readying themselves to explore the talk of the town, the recently uncovered dungeon near Weh'le, I find him busy as ever repairing an older-looking boat by the far corner of the docks.
As I make my way to him, local fishermen and grunt workers, each of whom reeks of fish, salt, and sweat heckle me about my little episode at the pub. In between heckles they soldier through their labours, struggling under the harsh sun, cursing as their skin becomes tender to the touch and blisters on their hands chafe and pop. I pay their comments and immediate sun-induced karma no mind, my focus is on Mr Oliver and nothing else.
True to form he's working alone, commanding incredible strength to carry a ridiculous amount of heavy, tightly braided coils of rope to the worn-down ship. Unlike the other fishermen or grunt workers he didn't care for the brutal sun, nor the weight of what he lifts, it all appeared effortless. "Hey boss," I say, mentally preparing myself for a chewing out. He sighs, "What do ya want lad? Can't ya see I'm busy?"
I only get one shot to make my case, my best bet knowing him means no sugar-coating, and no trying to sweet-talk: just the truth. "Train me. I have a fight in a week and I have to win."
He looks me up and down, his sharp, grey, dim eyes scanning my character before turning back to the boat, his calloused hands binding rope together, "Why me? Ask a teacher in the militia or something."
"You're better than them, at least I think," I say, collecting my thoughts quickly through a deep breath of salty air to better explain my case. "I know you're physically tough, you served during the war and most people your age couldn't do such a demanding job let alone do it better than those younger guys. Also, the other day you could sense Big Ea - I mean Ahri's presence and even discern her gender despite not seeing or hearing her; so, I'm guessing your perception or something is outside the norm too." I sigh and look off into the distance, focusing on boats filled with adventurers and fishermen heading to God knows where, unable to make eye contact for my final bit of reasoning, "But above all that, I trust you. Maybe I'm being greedy considering you gave me a job too but I don't think anyone else would take this request seriously."
He turns to me, still effortlessly carrying the heavy rope over his shoulder. I take a deep breath preparing for any backlash that could come with his decision, I couldn't read his face which worried me until he finally said… "Alright."
"Thank you so much! I could probably squeeze in time during my break and - wait what?" I was too caught up in what I had to do next, not entirely registering his acceptance. "I said alright, ya ain't the first to ask to train under me and ya finally have a spark in those eyes. Not the stupid kiddy one you get when you want to know something, but a real fire."
"But why? Won't training me get in the way of business?" I ask.
"Ya never ask me for anything, big or small, so if you're asking for this, then I'll bet it's damn important. Give me the details later, for now; start liftin'" he says. I don't give him enough credit, he's hit the nail on the head, he's even sharper than I thought which fills me with hope for the rest of the week. Hope turns to dread as he tosses me the rope he was nonchalantly carrying, it's far too heavy, my legs buckle and I fall face first, I see stars thanks to the impact and wonder how a normal person could ever carry this.
At his instruction, my time at the shop is spent training instead of working. When I'm not training physically, I'm reading whatever I can on magic and the creatures that adorn the lands, from the adorable Yordles to terrifying dragons. As the lessons continue, we notice something strange, I progress much faster than anticipated, drills and techniques feel familiar and my strength and speed adapt quickly to whatever is thrown my way.
When we take breaks, he talks about how his life has been, mostly his time serving during the Noxian invasion and fighting alongside many seasoned warriors across the country, each tale accompanied by a lesson enriched with years of experience. I'd never seen him so open before, and it felt good to talk to him, even if he was still quite rough around the edges. He had a wife and two sons, the war, unfortunately, took them from him. Though his eyes were downcast when speaking about them, he didn't seem as bitter as I expected, rather he spoke fondly and wistfully as he recounted simpler times.
A few days in, during a particularly brutal sparring session, I felt a spark bubble up to my hands as my mentor pushed me to my limit. The spark peaked in my palm as my mentor's fist contacted my hand, crackling violently before bursting in a brief, dazzling but wild blue display, knocking me flat and zapping my mentor, giving him a tender burn across his knuckles. We were shocked and any apology I could muster was quickly deemed unnecessary, according to him as 'that's just how it is when fighting.'
As with all my training during the day, my mentor seems to know most things, likely sensing my guilt and curiosity he promptly explains: "Magic is everywhere in these parts, but humans rarely have access to it. But that spark... I've seen it once before during the war, some little rat zapped countless Noxians with a power similar to what you just did."
"As strange as it is, this isn't the first time this sort of thing has happened," I say as I recall a similar experience with Big Ears.
"Well, whatever it is, you're on ya own with it, I don't got any magic in me, don't got a clue on how to teach it," He informs while helping me up, prompting us to resume sparring.
Figuring out a way to utilise this power and unleash it on an unsuspecting Big Ears might be my ticket to victory. But Mr Oliver can't help, and I can't exactly have Big Ears teach me - I'll lose my chance to catch her off guard. I'm alone on this one, but with the books provided by Mr Oliver and their vast knowledge of the world and its magic, and perhaps by discretely observing Big Ears I may learn a thing or two.
Thus, my routine was set, Big Ears in the early hours of the morning taught me traditional fighting forms and techniques, the basics of magic and the importance of strategy - mostly finding your opponent's weaknesses and utilising them. Evening training with Mr Oliver was much simpler: lift heavy and when you think you're done, lift again, run until you reach a trance-like state, fight hard and often, and read everything you can.