It was hot. Not weather-hot. Body-hot. Like the kind of heat that came from sparring mats and tightly packed breaths.
I ducked under Rin's roundhouse and barely managed to block the follow-up jab. The MMA + Jujutsu class was always a sweatfest, but when Rin was your sparring partner, things got brutal.
"Come on, Orion! You hit like a drone with low battery!" Rin shouted, her ponytail flicking across her shoulder as she moved in for another combo.
I grunted and raised my arms to block the incoming elbow. "And you sound like my sister before coffee," I snapped back.
Block. Step back. Counter.
She faked a punch, twisted, and swept my legs. I hit the mat with a thud.
"Okay... that was fair," I muttered, catching my breath.
Rin stood over me, smirking. "Need help up, champ?"
"Nah. I'm chillin' here. It's comfy."
Another roll, and I was up. My knuckles brushed my knees. We reset. Instructors stood nearby, nodding approvingly at our pacing.
Now, this is where I break the fourth wall, dear reader. Yeah, you.
Here's a tip: never underestimate someone half a foot shorter than you with an attitude twice your size. Rin's been doing this since she was ten. I, on the other hand, only started because I thought it'd help me stay "fit and emotionally stable."
Spoiler: it mostly just makes you sore and emotionally unstable because Rin exists.
Anyway—back to the ring.
We circled each other like it was a scene straight outta a post-apocalyptic action anime. Her eyes narrowed. She lunged again—this time with a jab-cross-uppercut combo. I weaved left, right, blocked the uppercut, but she rolled around and went for a leg lock.
"Nice try," I grunted.
Twist. Grab. Shift weight. I countered with a grappling move I'd learned just last week, managing to pin her shoulder for half a second—just enough to break her hold.
She groaned and flipped us both. My back hit the mat again.
"Stay down, rookie," Rin whispered.
"You talk too much," I shot back.
Momentum shift. I twisted, elbowed lightly (as light as MMA rules allowed), rolled behind her, locked her arm, and then—bam—an over-the-shoulder throw.
Rin hit the mat. Hard. Her grunt was loud.
I blinked.
"Did... did I win?"
She looked up at me, dazed for just a second, then grinned. "I'll give you that. Lucky shot."
We sat back against the mat edge, both panting. Our instructor clapped, muttering, "Not bad, you two."
"Water?" I offered.
She nodded, chugged half a bottle, then we both changed quickly and walked toward the on-campus coffee shop before class.
"Damn. My shoulder's gonna hate you tomorrow," Rin mumbled, massaging it.
"You tried to kill me with that sweep earlier."
"Part of the charm."
We reached the little café, tucked between the biolabs and the digital library—a cozy corner with neon-brew signs and recycled wood furniture. I ordered my usual: iced caramel synthebrew with oatmilk. Rin got black coffee like the maniac she was.
We sat near the window. The view? A dusty courtyard with a shattered combat dummy in the corner.
"So," she said, blowing on her drink, "you asked about my folks before, yeah?"
I nodded.
"My parents are still in Southeast Asia. Mom's a systems engineer at one of the older megacity walls. Dad used to be combat patrol, but he's off-duty now. Arthritis."
"Huh. That's... kinda chill, actually."
She sipped again. "My sister though—different story."
She looked out the window.
"She's stationed in Australia. Assigned to Outpost L-6. Heard about that one?"
"Only in whispers. That's the place where all the weird flux readings come from, right?"
"Yeah. Radiation spikes, energy anomalies, random comm blackouts. She's a field recon officer for Nexus anomalies. The real deal."
"Damn."
"Last I heard, something malfunctioned in their shielding systems. Her team had to shut down the perimeter barrier manually. They survived, but it messed them up."
I didn't know what to say, so I just sipped my drink.
"She's okay, though," Rin added. "Tough as nails. But she told me something strange. Said the radiation there feels... alive. Like it responds to emotions. Or fear."
"That's messed up."
"She thinks the Collapse changed more than the Earth. She thinks it changed how reality works."
I nodded slowly. "Well, considering we've got people like Rob levitating cargo ships, she might not be wrong."
She smirked. "Orion, the optimist. Rare sighting."
"I'm just saying... reality's overrated."
"True."
We finished our drinks. The sun filtered through the glass in dusty slants.
Classes were about to begin, and our brief break from the chaos was over. But those moments—the fight, the coffee, the honesty—felt more real than the lectures ever could.
Sometimes, the best syncs weren't in Nexus training rooms.
Sometimes, they were across a table, over bitter coffee, and bruised shoulders.