Changing People – Big Trouble
Flam had collapsed in the middle of the training grounds, drenched in cold sweat. He couldn't help reflecting on yesterday's self—the fool who'd boasted with absurd pride.
'I'm screwed. What do I do? I can't even grasp it.'
If it had been just him, he might have channeled his competitive fire into effort. But the problem was Portus, sprawled out nearby in the exact same boat. Fire and water. Pyrokinesis and hydrokinesis. Two abilities that could never intertwine, and they'd bragged about mastering a joint attack in not three months, not three weeks, but just three days.
A whole day and a half had already passed, with zero progress—not even a clue how to approach it.
At first, it had seemed simple. Just stand side by side, fire off techniques in the same direction, cross streams of similar power, and they'd blend into something resembling a combo attack. He'd figured even if it wasn't perfect, it'd at least look the part.
"Hey, Portus. Can I be straight with you?"
"You're thinking we should go beg for more time, right?"
"It won't fly, will it?"
"You don't think it'd bruise our pride?"
"Sticking it out three days with nothing to show? That'd be way more embarrassing."
Portus pressed a hand to his forehead at the sharp point, agreeing it rang true. He'd approached it without slacking, thinking it was doable, but reality was a far cry from expectations. This wasn't working. For the first time in ages, the two men who finally saw eye-to-eye groaned in unison.
"Did you hear? Pyrokinesis and cryokinesis actually meshed together."
"That's bullshit. You think that's possible?"
"They're doing it right now in the first-years' training grounds!"
The whispers of passing second-years reached their ears. Flam and Portus froze for a moment, then shot to their feet. What abilities with what? Pyrokinesis and cryokinesis? First-years pulling off what they couldn't?
They bolted from the spot. They had to see who'd done the impossible.
Moments later, arriving at the first-years' grounds, Flam and Portus let out a collective sigh. They'd half-expected it, and sure enough, there were Seria, along with the two ducal princesses, Irshu and Tarshu—the culprits.
"Seria! Focus!"
"Seria! You've got this!"
"I know, I know!!"
The method was bizarre, almost impossible to accept. Seria's red butterflies clearly pulsed with fiery energy, yet what they exhaled was chilling frost, trailed by dozens of razor-sharp ice shards. It defied all logic. The ice didn't melt, the heat didn't fade. Abilities that seemed utterly incompatible were coexisting. No—more than that, wielders who'd always been each other's weakness had pooled their power.
It wasn't perfect; the uncontrolled energies were obvious even at a glance. Seria, who could've managed by standing still and directing the butterflies, was sweating buckets as she dashed after them, guiding their path—proof of the strain.
"N-No more... I can't!"
Seria staggered, and the butterflies scattered wildly. The trailing ice plummeted to the ground—some shattering into flakes, the rest melting instantly into puddles that soaked the earth.
"We were so close."
"Just a bit more would've done it."
"Sorry... This is my limit. I can't push further—it's too much."
Control issues made real combat deployment impossible. It drained the user's stamina in minutes. One slip, and it could harm allies. Reckless all around. Even the intrigued onlookers saw it as a foolhardy stunt.
If perfect joint attacks were viable, why had no one done it before? They'd been theorized and tested, but results fell short. Studies showed honing individual abilities was far better—for spars or battles alike.
A one-shot technique at best. The epitome of inefficiency, flashy but offering little else when viewed coldly.
Yet Flam and Portus were utterly captivated by the sight.
"Miss Seria!"
Flam approached Seria, who'd slumped onto a bench to catch her breath.
"That just now—what the hell was that? How'd you pull it off?"
"Huh? Oh, uh... N-Nothing special. I just wanted harmony, so I matched my ability to Irshu and Tarshu's techniques as best I could. That's it."
"That's it? No, wait— that doesn't make sense."
"To be honest, I don't fully get it myself. I let go of thinking 'different.' No rivalry. Just one conviction: we've always been one. And at some point, the butterflies shifted like that. That's all I can offer."
This time, Portus spoke up from a distance. He'd suspected as much but still found it absurd. Especially since that very mindset had pushed him this far—it was a tough pill.
"You're saying I have to accept an ability diametrically opposed to mine? Something that grates on me just being nearby?"
"...At least, that's how it was for me. Right, Irshu? Tarshu?"
"We've been that way from the start."
"Seria's always been on our team."
"Eyes on one goal."
"Eyes on one reason..."
"Stop. Right there. Don't you dare say anything weird!"
Seria hurriedly reined in the twins and eyed the two men. She knew the look in their eyes now. And she realized she was giving that look not to them, but to Abel.
They had to know it too. Jealousy changes people completely, or so she'd heard. No need to poke the bear by bringing up Abel unprompted.
"...Accept an ability that's my polar opposite. My worst rival, basically."
"Not as competitors, but as partners to advance together..."
Flam and Portus locked eyes simultaneously. So they had to see this guy not as a rival, but a true collaborator?
Easy to say. Their abilities clashed, personalities polar opposites! They'd openly treated each other as rivals for years—next in line for the Phoenix and Sparrow houses. To pyros, losing to hydro was ultimate shame; vice versa for hydros.
Fellow first-years? Maybe. But colleagues or friends? Impossible.
'Damn it. This is insane. If the heart doesn't align, the powers won't either.'
'Be buddies with that arsonist? Get real.'
Amid the turmoil, both felt a strange relief—and it was the same one. Their goal had shifted from Seria to a different path. If they'd still been fixated on her, they'd be perfect foes; harmony would've been unthinkable, dead or alive.
"Uh... D-Did I explain it too complicated? Or is it just too far-fetched..."
"But Seria's right."
"Seria's words ring true."
"If the user won't harmonize from the start..."
"...the power has no reason to."
Reason agreed—it made sense. But emotion screamed: Really buddy up with that pyro? That hydro? No way!
* * *
"Alright. Let's try again."
The next morning, from dawn, Flam and Portus sat facing each other on the training grounds floor. They'd wrestled late into the night, trying to embrace the new path, opening their hearts.
"Portus, sorry for calling you 'water boy'."
"Me too for the 'arsonist' digs."
"So, when we use our abilities, I'll tone down my momentum to match your water flow."
"I'll do my best so the flames' splendor and power don't halve."
What the hell were they doing? Pride as top ability wielders rebelled. They couldn't yield pyrokinesis to hydro, or vice versa. Not to the Phoenix or Sparrow houses.
Self-loathing madness. But no other options. Advice from experienced senior Seria. Pride on the line, and yesterday's scene burned in their minds.
Fire and ice. That spectacle had stolen their senses, if only briefly.
"Okay. Forget it all—a fresh start."
"...How about a handshake now?"
"This is better than that."
"Damn it."
Expressions hideous, but to evolve from snarling rivals to partners, colleagues—they lightly hugged, cheering each other on for the road ahead...
"Like hell! Damn it! No way! This ain't it!"
"Couldn't agree more, you pyro!"
No dice with this guy! They kicked apart, sprawling backward, and burst out laughing unwittingly. Oil and water forever, but now they agreed on one thing perfectly.
"Handing the rear to each other? Nah, doesn't suit us."
"Obviously, pyro."
"So, only one way left."
If Seria, Irshu, and Tarshu bonded through understanding and compromise...
Theirs was singular: stronger! Flashier! Unite through rivalry!