The very first day is hard. Extreme, even.

The first thing the headmaster tells us is that knowledge is useless without understanding. He says we have to build on this knowledge, have strength to understand.

Have strength to fight.

And this is a fighting school! Words get you nowhere. You have to prove yourself.

So here I am, initiation. I am not reassured by the height of the cliff before me. The whipping wind stings my eyes and face and I feel numb. Not just because of the cold.

The teacher tells us about the rules, how you can forfeit, how you can lose. (But I don't plan to lose.) And he tells us that we must find our inner strength. Despite the cliche, I grit my teeth and I think of the belt on my hip, loading me down with the shuriken that I feel I would fare best with. But I don't look down. Instead I look to my opponent. A girl, c***y, dark hair blowing in the wind and a smirk on her face. She is pointing the barrel of some atrocious monster of a weapon at me. It is all bulk and weight and excess storage compartments and I think I could use that to my advantage. So I feint a spinning kick and I trip her, cutting the hem of her shirt with my blades. And I continue, putting all my energy into my attacks. I have no defense, so I must not let her have an opening.

I finally pin her down, get a good grip on that weapon. I flip it, point the barrel at her.

I hear my name, and a voice say "Victory," and I let go. I feel as if I had won a war.

The girl gets up, and shakes my hand. No spite at all in her laughing brown eyes.

"Nice fight. Think we could be team mates?"

I pause. "Sure."