Capítulo 19: Evasive Movements

I quickly plastered on a smile. "Eighty percent off? Sounds great Auntie, you've got a heart even kinder than my face. Thanks a bunch. Everyone knows this Lucas only buys fish from Auntie's stall."

After all that commotion, we finally finished our shopping. On the way home, I turned to Ava and couldn't help but sigh. "I've got to hand it to you. In just a month, everyone knows about the pretty, polite girl who frequents the market. Meanwhile, I've been here for three years, and barely a handful of stall owners recognize me."

Ava waved her hand modestly. "You're exaggerating. I mean, that fishmonger auntie gave you a discount pretty effortlessly."

I rubbed my chin, grinning. "It's the result of countless battles of words over the past three years. Nothing too impressive."

——

Back at home, I quickly changed into something more comfortable and got ready to start cooking. Not eating at the dojo tonight had left me starving.

While I was prepping ingredients, Ava appeared from her room, now wearing a cozy black long-sleeved top that subtly accentuated her figure, paired with gray joggers. She had rolled up her sleeves, revealing delicate, fair wrists, and tied her silky black hair into a ponytail.

Watching her move around naturally, I couldn't help but zone out for a moment.

We chatted and laughed as we prepared dinner together—I chopped veggies, she handled the stove. It was one of those harmonious scenes I'd dreamed of in my youth: cooking side by side with someone who gets you, building something together.

But as I got older, I started to wonder… could people really set aside their inner barriers, the realities of life, and give their hearts to each other?

And even if such harmony existed, how long could it last? I couldn't help but take a pessimistic view. Could someone like me, who's more practical and guarded, ever experience such pure emotion?

"You're already chopping the ingredients?" Ava said, snapping me out of my thoughts as she tied on her apron. "I'll start cooking the rice then… Hmm? Is something on your mind?"

I shook my head and smiled. "Nothing, just zoned out for a second. Here, you can use this cutting board. My dish isn't complicated, so I'll just assist you."

With my help, Ava skillfully chopped and sliced the vegetables. I watched in awe, admiring her knife skills. "Wow, impressive. I can't hope to match that. Do you always cook for yourself?"

She shrugged. "No choice. After graduating, I had to fend for myself. Eating out's expensive, so I started cooking. Especially when the pandemic hit, and I couldn't go back home. I had all the time in the world, so I just kept practicing."

"I respect that. I picked up some cooking skills during the pandemic too, but I'm nowhere near as good as you." After finishing the prep for the steamed fish—cleaning, scaling, and gutting it—I turned to her. "Alright, I'm almost done with my part. Need any help on your end?"

She wiped her forehead. "Almost there. I just need to stir-fry, and the rice is almost done."

With our teamwork, we soon had a feast of three dishes and a soup laid out on the table.

"This home-style stir-fry is layered and rich, and the aroma alone is fantastic. Let's see how it tastes…" I took a bite, nodding in satisfaction. "Mmm. Spicy, tender, and just the right balance of flavors. Chef Clearwater, I am humbled by your skills."

Ava flushed, a bit embarrassed. "Alright, alright, no need to be so dramatic." But the sparkle in her eyes showed her delight.

"Now, these garlic sautéed greens… the freshness is unreal. My steamed fish has some serious competition tonight."

She rolled her eyes at me and took a piece of the steamed fish. Her eyes lit up. "Wow. This is delicious. Lucas, you've got real talent here!"

I tried a piece myself, nodding thoughtfully. "Thanks. Yeah, I got the timing right on this one. Not bad. Looks like Auntie didn't sell me short."

We devoured everything, chatting and laughing. I even brought out a few cans of drinks. By the end, there wasn't a crumb left.

I leaned back with a coconut drink in hand, savoring the last remnants of the meal. Tomorrow, I'd be back to my strict meal plan… Even the best balanced diet gets old when it's three times a day.

Ava leaned back, her eyes half-closed, seemingly deep in thought.

"Lucas, I was supposed to be the one thanking you, but somehow… it felt like a team effort instead?" She broke the silence, sounding a bit unsatisfied.

"Ava, the point of gratitude is the intent behind it. And the point of celebration? Sharing joy together. Whether it feels sincere depends on the heart of the people involved. Today, hearing your good news genuinely made me happy. So, how about this celebration—did you pick up on my signal?"

She raised her drink to mine, and she chuckled, clinking her bottle against mine. "Yeah, I got it. But did you pick up on the gratitude I wanted to show?"

Her bright gaze caught me off guard for a moment, making me hesitate to respond casually. After a beat, I leaned forward, smiling earnestly. "Loud and clear. Some feelings are best expressed through gifts, and others… through actions. To me, someone willing to cook for me is an incredibly warm gesture. It reminds me of a dream I had as a kid—to share a meal like this with someone who understands me. Uh… got carried away there."

I scratched my head, embarrassed. "Your future partner will be lucky. I feel privileged to have had the chance to taste your cooking."

She looked at me with a quiet, unreadable expression, and after a long pause, a soft smile appeared. "I'm glad you appreciated it. Thank you for being so sincere."

She stood up, stretching, and the movement highlighted her graceful silhouette. I had to look away. "Time to do the dishes. Don't tell me you're leaving me to do it all?"

"No way. We'll split the work, and it'll be done in half the time."

As we washed the dishes together, we chatted about the upcoming holiday. "Just two weeks till Christmas. Are you going home for New Year?"

"I'd like to, but it's been almost a year since I saw my family. Problem is, the tickets are crazy expensive now, and it doesn't make much sense to leave my rented room empty for so long. How about you?"

"My parents are often abroad, but they spent a few months at home when the pandemic hit. Now they're itching to travel the country again, so I'm free to stay put."

"Wow, sounds nice… I envy that kind of freedom—ouch." Ava suddenly cried out. I quickly turned to see what had happened.

She'd cut her finger while washing a knife, a small bead of blood welling up. I looked at the wound and said, "It doesn't look too deep. Wash it, and I'll get a band-aid."

Finding a small band-aid in the bathroom, I saw Ava standing there, waiting. I opened the packaging and handed it to her. "Not too painful, right?"

"Mm, it's fine." She fumbled a bit, trying to wrap it around her finger.

"Right-handed, huh? Here, let me do it." She nodded silently.

I gently took her hand, holding it steady as I wrapped the bandage around her finger, then blew on it. "All done. My handiwork's pretty good, huh?"

She seemed dazed for a second, looking at her bandaged finger, then at me. A few seconds later, she snapped back and poked my nose. "Since your handiwork is so impressive, I'll leave the rest of the dishes to you."

"Of course. I can't let an 'injured' person handle any more work."

After that, it felt like our relationship grew a little closer, even if only slightly.

During Christmas, she baked a small cake, and I got her a little gift in return. But beyond that, we didn't share any more moments like that night in the kitchen.

Even though the thought of dating this beautiful roommate crossed my mind more than once, I knew it was unlikely that someone like her would fall for an average guy like me. Not even a single accidental encounter with her changing clothes or anything remotely thrilling happened.

Winter also killed any hope of Ava lounging around in a tank top or anything for me to admire. Sigh… despite my teleportation adventures, life keeps reminding me to stay realistic.

In fact, the person I've had the closest contact with recently isn't anyone special—it's my martial arts instructor, Master Takayashi, who's been pounding me daily since we started combat training.

———

"Damn, Master Takayashi's punches are brutal…" I muttered, rubbing my bruised face while sitting by the wall.

Two weeks ago, we finally started the long-awaited combat training.

But it didn't go down the way I imagined—no jumping straight into sparring. First, we spent a week practicing endurance, deflection, and evasion.

On top of our daily basics, we had to endure continuous hits, from light taps to hard punches, standing still and learning to absorb the pain.

Then came deflection—learning to shift angles and dodge in a split second to minimize impact. As for evasion…

I sat on the bench, wincing as I touched my bruised face. Two weeks ago, we finally reached the phase I'd been eagerly waiting for: live combat training.

But it was nothing like I imagined. I'd thought I'd just strap on some protective gear and dive right into sparring, but nope. That wasn't even close.

Instead, we started with a full week of body conditioning—learning how to take hits, disperse force, and dodge. Brutal. Besides the usual drills, I had to let my whole body get pummeled. They started light but kept increasing the intensity, forcing me to stay still and bear the pain until I got used to it.

After that came lessons on how to release tension, shift angles, and reposition mid-hit. The goal was to train my body to instinctively deflect incoming force by timing my breathing at the exact moment of impact.

But dodging practice? That was pure torture. Wearing thick gloves, Master Takayashi transformed into a merciless punching machine.

He unleashed an endless barrage of fists—shadow punches flying so fast they blurred. Out of ten hits, I was lucky if I managed to evade one or two. And while he held back enough to avoid serious injury, each blow still hurt like hell.

By the end of two weeks, I'd been thrashed around enough to finally build a bit of muscle memory. I could dodge maybe one of his direct punches, only to get floored immediately by the next combination.

Each night, I'd drag myself home with a face swollen like a pig's, only to be met with Ava's laughter. Still, the results were undeniable.

Every bruise proved the progress. Master Takayashi even started breaking down the technique of "Eighteen Crushing Falls" move-by-move, embedding each skill into my bones with his no-nonsense, hands-on approach.

After a few days of tolerating the hits, he started blending offense and defense, merging combat and body conditioning into one chaotic mess of a lesson. I was the punching bag, the training dummy, as he violently demonstrated how to adapt in real-time, weaving in grappling techniques with each attack.

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