All it took was a plane crash, and Kise Ryota was no more.
Strangely enough, he didn't feel sadness, only regret. Regret for not checking his engine beforehand. Regret for missing out on his friends with his job as a pilot. Regret for not spending t...
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"Stand up, one more time Mikaël," the raven-haired man ordered in fluent Japanese, voice smooth and gentle with a definite edge to it.
Ryota panted, his sham grin nowhere to be seen he gritted his teeth. A hand on his knee while the other rested on the ground he propelled himself up, awkwardly standing up. His footing was unstable, making him slightly totter from side to side— much like a newborn learning to walk before he steadied his standing.
The hand previously resting on the floor rashly went through his damp green locks, pushing them out of his face before grabbing the hem of his shirt and wiping his face off the sweat. He closed his golden eyes, trying to regulate his breathing and the pace of his heart before snapping them open, letting a flurry of indigo course through them as he ingested every one of the moves shown to him, making them his.
"Thank you— for your guidance," he managed to answer between uneven pants as he readied his fighting stance. His right foot gently glided against the floor in a semi-circular motion soon taking place behind his left one. He raised both his hands, his breathing got more regular and exhaled.
The braided man smirked, he didn't adopt any fighting stance, merely observing the teen's movement and nodding to himself. As expected, he mused, waltzing closer to the teen. His hands rested behind his back as he swiftly made his way over to take a closer look at the boy's position.
"You are truly gifted, Mikaël," the petite man praised, his sharp eyes carefully scrutinizing the boy's form. He walked around the green head, soon standing behind him and without warning sent his small body forward for a powerful kick in the back—in the teen's blind spot.
Ryota's shoulders tensed at the impact, his body jerked forward and in what appeared to be used practice both his hands reached for the floor, cushioning his fall. It went quickly, but his body answered faster than his mind ever could and reflexively he rolled on the ground, easily standing right back up to turn and look at the Arcobaleno.
Fon chuckled, both his hands clasped behind his back he didn't appear fazed or disheveled in any sort from his previous kick. "Gifted," he reiterated as he walked closer to Mikaël, "but a bit overconfident nonetheless," the Storm drawled, making the green head's stance momentarily stiffen before it turned more guarded.
Ryota nervously listened to the martial artist, taking every one of his words like a sponge, trying not to miss any of them or their undertone.
Fon paused, his brown eyes boring into Mikaël's golden irises before the Arcobaleno pulled a brilliant smile. "Let's take a break," he said, spinning on himself to go to his older pupil. The smile on Fon's face turned more genuine at the sight on his calm student's figure.
