Chapter 2 - The First Arc
Viktor Vance chuckled—a low, gravelly sound that rumbled in his barrel chest. The six seated students shifted slightly, exchange of bewildered glances passing between them.
"Little girl," Viktor said, spreading his broad hands in a gesture of fake helplessness. "This isn't a playground. This is a house of iron. Leave before you hurt yourself."
"Put your hands up," Emma said.
Her posture was completely relaxed. Her hands hung loosely at her sides inside the oversized teal hoodie. She didn't drop into a traditional fighting stance. She stood straight, her weight evenly distributed across her arches, her breathing so shallow her chest barely rose.
Viktor’s smile vanished, replaced by an ugly flare of irritation. A child challenging his authority in front of his pupils was an insult he could not tolerate.
"Fine," Viktor grunted, stepping forward with his left foot. "A quick lesson in respect."
He didn't hold back. Viktor threw a straight right punch—a classic, powerful strike aimed directly at the center of her chest, delivered with speed designed to shock and intimidate rather than break bone.
The air hissed as his knuckle cut through the space between them.
Emma didn't flinch. She didn't step back.
In a fraction of a second, as the fist arrived inches from her chest, her left hand darted out from her pocket like a striking viper. Her palm slapped the inside of Viktor’s wrist, deflecting the blow outward by a fraction of an inch. Simultaneously, her right forearm swept upward, parrying his follow-up left hook with a sharp, bone-on-bone snap.
PA-PAK!
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The impact echoed off the high rafters. Viktor’s arm bounced off her guard. His eyes widened in absolute shock as his balance was momentarily disrupted, his weight caught on his toes.
Behind them, Sarah gasped, dropping the mop. The handle slammed against the oak floor with a deafening crash.
