The alloy doors groaned as the locks disengaged.

ka-chhnk~

Inside the walls, mechanisms stirred, gears shifting, pistons retracting. A hiss cut the air as the seams bled vapor.

At first it was heat—waves of it pushing outward, prickling Don's skin, carrying the sting of iron and salt.

Then the mix shifted as the room fought to cool. White vapor rolled outward, clinging low, the sudden drop frosting the tile under his boots.

The fabric of his jeans dampened in patches, seams darkening before the chill stiffened them. His shirt stuck faintly against his chest.

Don exhaled through his nose. 'Should've changed into training gear.'

The doors ground wider until the opening was large enough to step through. Xiao didn't hesitate. Hands still tucked neatly behind his back, he moved forward into the vapor as if it weren't there at all.

Don followed, boots crunching over the thin ice settling across the floor. Moisture left a sheen on his sleeves, edges heavy with cold bite.

The mist was thick enough that Xiao's figure blurred ahead, reduced to a shifting silhouette and the steady sound of his shoes against metal.

Then Xiao's voice carried forward, calm and unhurried. "I hope we didn't come at a bad time, Anastasia."

The name landed heavy. Don's gut tightened. Confirmation, clean and brutal. 'So that's who he meant.'

Before the thought could settle,

CLAP—!!

The sound was like a missile detonating mid-air. A wall of pressure ripped through the space, a shockwave that shrieked in Don's ears and slammed into his body.

The vapor didn't just scatter—it vanished, ripped apart in a violent spiral, stripped clean until the air itself seemed swept bare.

Don ducked his head, arms shielding his face. Even so, the gale shoved him back three steps, boots screeching against alloy. His shoulders rattled under it.

Xiao didn't move. He raised one hand against the blow, looking away from the source, his suit snapping violently in the artificial wind. But his frame didn't shift an inch.

The wave passed in seconds. Just as quickly as it had come, it was gone, leaving only a hollow stillness in its wake.

Don lowered his arms. The damp cling of his shirt was gone, dried stiff by the heat that had followed the shock. His pants felt heavier, fabric starched by the sudden shift. But he ignored all of it—because his eyes were on the figure ahead.

At the center of the chamber stood Red Star.

Sports shorts, red and black. A sports bra that left no illusion about the frame beneath—toned, military, every line of her cut by sweat and strain. Black hair tied tight, no room for vanity.

Her chest rose steady with each breath, the faint luminescence in her eyes marking her for exactly what she was.

Her stare was flat, unamused, as it locked on them.

First Don. She looked him over top to bottom, no change in her face, as if measuring his worth with nothing but silence.

Then Xiao.

The difference showed instantly. Her lips pressed, gaze narrowing into a frown. She clicked her tongue once.

"Hmph. So you can keep a promise, William."

Xiao only patted at his suit where the blast had ruffled it, brushing fabric back into perfect lines. His smile stayed intact. "Oh come now, Anastasia. Do you truly think so little of me?"

"Yes." Her voice was flat. Absolute.

Don stepped forward, eyes narrowing, his voice cutting across.

"Xiao? …Promise?"

Red Star's eyes cut to Don.

"He didn't tell you?"

Her words carried no warmth.

Don glanced at Xiao, who didn't lose an ounce of composure. He smoothed the lines of his suit, fingers brushing down the sleeves as if that was all that needed his attention. A low chuckle followed.

"You make it sound as if I've tricked the boy into something beyond his grasp. I merely felt it best for you to state your wants personally."

She turned a hard side-eye on him. He met it with the same shameless smile as before, the one that seemed carved in place, like he'd done nothing wrong and never would.

Don's gaze moved between the two. The tension wasn't his, but he felt it anyway.

Red Star muttered something under her breath—harsh consonants, unmistakably Russian. He caught the shape of the word even if he didn't need a translation: bastard.

Her attention swung back to him. "Since the snake is tongue-tied—here's the deal, malchik."

The Russian word stung less for its meaning than for its delivery.

"In exchange for me training one of the students at this—" her eyes flicked toward Xiao again, "—sukin syn's school, he promised me any student I want."

Don's eyes narrowed instantly. They shifted to Xiao.

Xiao sighed lightly, still not looking his way. "She means the apprenticeship program. Second year into third. Nothing unusual."

Red Star gave a curt nod. "Is same thing."

Don's mouth pressed thin. 'Not really'. But aloud he asked, "Won't I be busy with the UPSDF program by then?"

Xiao answered smoothly, "As a new enlistee you'll only be gone for at most six months. And even then, they allow weekends home."

Red Star cut in before he could respond. "As you are now, forget about surviving the UPSDF beyond entry levels."

The tone wasn't cruel. It was worse. Flat certainty.

Don narrowed his eyes again. He didn't argue. There was no point. She had the strength to make that kind of judgment. He didn't—yet. So instead, he said, "That's why I'm here."

Her lips curved into the faintest smile. A nod followed. "Good."

Her hand shifted to her hip, her posture hardening. "I warn you, I will not go easy on you."

"I'd expect nothing less," he answered.

The smile deepened by a fraction, then faded as Xiao turned toward the door.

"Well. It seems I can leave you two to your own. I'm sure you have much to discuss about the boy's future training."

Without another word, he strode out. Both of them watched his back until it vanished past the frame.

Red Star lifted her chin toward the ceiling. "Close the room. Begin raising conditions. Level by level. Increase every twenty minutes."

The digital voice answered at once. "Instruction received. Commencing."

Don's brow furrowed. He felt it already—the air subtly shifting, pressure whispering against his ears. "Wait," he said, stepping half forward. "Aren't we supposed to plan this first? Set out a schedule? I didn't—"

"Excuses." Her word cut him short.

The voice chimed again. "Atmospheric adjustment initiated."

Red Star kept her gaze locked on him. "The only way to know where you need improvement is by testing your limits."

He resisted the urge to sigh. Already, the atmosphere pressed faintly against his shoulders, the weight of the air turning heavier.

"I get that," he said, glancing down at his damp, stiff clothes. "But I'm not exactly dressed for training."

Her eyes slid down him, slow. Then she stepped closer, her frame towering over his despite the inches he'd gained. Both hands landed firmly on her hips, her stare carved from stone.

"Then strip."

Don blinked once.

"…Huh?"