The Academy's Terminally Ill Side Character-Chapter 61: Hand-to-Hand Combat Class [3]

Lena glanced at me briefly, her sharp demeanor softening—just for a second.

"Don’t worry," she said quietly, her voice low enough that only I could hear. "We’ll take it one step at a time."

I gave a small nod, still trying to wrap my head around everything.

Somehow, I’d managed to avoid embarrassing myself too badly earlier... only to end up getting what looked a whole lot like special treatment. Right in front of everyone.

Great. Just what I needed—more attention.

"Since I don’t know how you usually fight," Lena said as she stepped back and folded her arms, "I want you to attack me. Freely. Show me what you’ve got."

That was the first thing she said to me as we began what I could only assume was her idea of a "practical introduction" to hand-to-hand combat.

Truth be told, I’d never been in a real fight before.

Not in this world.

Not in my last one either.

Still, I couldn’t just stand there and look clueless. That would be worse.

So, going with the only thing I vaguely remembered, I slipped into a basic boxing stance—something I’d picked up from watching late-night TV back home. Feet shoulder-width apart, fists raised, elbows tucked. It felt... surprisingly natural.

Lena gave me a small nod, signaling me to begin.

No time for second-guessing.

I lunged forward and threw a straight punch, aiming right at her midsection. I focused on her abs—figured it was a safe enough target—and put everything I had into it. My weight, my momentum, my frustration.

The result?

She didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even blink. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓

It was like punching a warm, immovable statue.

I stared at her, wide-eyed, while she looked down at me calmly—like a teacher watching a toddler swing a foam bat for the first time.

"...Good form," she said, her tone casual. "You’re not completely hopeless."

Not completely hopeless?

I couldn’t tell if I should be proud or insulted.

But then she sighed and looked at my hand, like she’d just remembered she was talking to someone who needed the basics.

"You’re not hopeless," she repeated, "but you definitely need guidance on how to attack someone."

I mean... yeah. Fair.

"First of all, remember—straight punches shouldn’t be aimed at the abs."

Wait, what?

I thought that was the best place to hit. Isn’t that what you do in fights?

Apparently not.

"And it’s not just about your arms. Punches come from your whole body."

Huh?

Didn’t I put my whole weight behind that punch?

Ah—right! I suddenly remembered something from an old anime I used to watch. The character twisted his waist, stepped in, used his whole core for power.

What was the name of that anime again?

I watched all three seasons... How could I forget the name now?

No, focus. Now wasn’t the time to reminisce about anime.

"You’re lacking overall strength," Lena said bluntly, cutting through my thoughts. "It would be best for you to focus on training your body and learning the fundamentals before sparring."

So basically... I was going to be the class punching bag.

Nice.

Her next words came with a rare softness, though her expression stayed composed.

"But there are plenty of grappling techniques that don’t rely on raw strength. So don’t be discouraged, Cadet Rin Evans."

She was trying to cheer me up, but somehow, it still stung.

"That’s right, Rin," she added quickly—maybe too quickly, and with a sudden drop in her formal tone. "Not everything is about striking. You’ll be fine."

Wow.

She was so thrown off by how sad I looked, she slipped into casual speech for a second.

"Yes," I muttered, trying to keep my face from crumbling even more.

I didn’t need to look around to know the male students were glaring daggers at me. And why wouldn’t they? Professor Lena walked up to me and, without hesitation, reached out to adjust my stance.

Her hands were firm but careful—shifting my elbows, repositioning my feet, tilting my hips slightly forward.

"Like this," she said.

I tried to focus on what she was saying.

I really did.

But all I could feel was the heat of her attention and the weight of twenty jealous stares burning into my soul.

So yeah.

First class of hand-to-hand combat?

A humbling experience.

Lena stepped back after adjusting my form, giving me a once-over with her sharp eyes. She didn’t say anything right away, just circled me slowly, like a sculptor studying an unfinished statue.

"Better," she finally said. "But don’t lock your knees. Stay loose. Tension kills speed."

I nodded stiffly, trying to remember to breathe.

"Try again. Slower this time. I want to see your movement."

Right. I could do that. Hopefully.

I took a deep breath and stepped forward, replicating the same punch—but this time, focusing on the movement instead of brute force. I twisted my waist like she’d said, pushed off my back foot, tried to let my whole body flow into it.

My fist stopped just shy of her midsection.

Lena nodded once, seemingly satisfied.

"That’s the idea. Punching isn’t about hitting hard—it’s about timing, technique, and precision. Strength helps, but it’s not the foundation."

I lowered my hand slowly, my arms already starting to feel a bit sore from the repetition.

She tilted her head slightly, watching my breathing, probably evaluating how winded I looked after just one real attempt.

"Your stamina needs work too," she said, blunt as always. "But that’s normal for beginners."

Normal. I’d take that.

"Alright, switch stances. Let’s work on your guard next. Keep your hands up—not just to punch, but to protect your face. You don’t want to eat a jab because you dropped your lead hand."

I tried to follow along as she demonstrated, her movements fluid and economical. There wasn’t an ounce of wasted energy in the way she moved. She wasn’t just strong—she was disciplined. Everything had purpose.

I copied her stance, adjusting my posture little by little under her watchful gaze. She moved around me again, occasionally tapping my shoulder, wrist, or knee to correct something.

It was weird.

Getting this kind of attention from someone like her—someone everyone seemed to either fear, admire, or both—felt... surreal. And a little stressful.

Not that the others were making it any easier.

Every time she reached out to fix my form, I could practically feel the other students fuming behind me. One of the guys even muttered something under his breath.

I didn’t catch it. Probably for the best.

"Hey, focus," Lena said sharply, snapping me out of my thoughts.

Her eyes locked onto mine. Not cold—but intense, unwavering.

"You’re here to learn, not to worry about what others think. If you get distracted during a fight, you’ll lose before you even throw a punch."

I swallowed hard and nodded again.

"Good," she said, stepping back. "We’re done for today. You’ve got the basics to practice on your own. Work on your form, your balance, and get used to how your body moves. We’ll build from there."

That sounded... promising.

I stepped back, lowering my fists with a small exhale. My arms were trembling slightly—not from fear, but from effort. It wasn’t much, but I’d done something today.

As Lena turned to address the rest of the class, I took a step back and tried not to collapse on the spot.

"Alright," she called out to the others. "Pair up. Drill the movements I showed you earlier. Cadet Evans, you’ll observe for now."

Observe.

Got it.

I was fine with that.

Watching sounded great.

Watching didn’t involve getting punched in the ribs.