After June left, a few more students continued sparring. It seemed like this class was only really a class during the first half. Afterward, it turned into more of a group training session. Some people were still drilling and practicing moves. Others had moved on to weapons and were mock-dueling with wooden swords or hitting the armored targets along the walls. The instructor had moved toward the far end of the hall, where several students were practicing with shields and wooden weapons. He hadn’t told me I could leave the wall. He also hadn’t looked in my direction for several minutes. I remained seated beside Dishant Varma, albeit farther away than before. He sat with his arms crossed and an angry look on his face, still refusing to acknowledge me. After a while, several students wearing turbans and carrying ornate curved swords approached him. They looked like they were there to mock him. “Jaami-on-Jaami violence?” The boys laughed. Dishant’s arms tightened across his chest. “I told you. I’m Bharathi.” “Same thing.” They laughed again. Dishant looked very displeased by the group. One of them seemed to be at the center of it. He was surprisingly thin. His expensive embroidered clothes hung from narrow shoulders, and his wrists looked almost delicate beneath his sleeves. He stood very straight, though, with the kind of expression that made it seem like he expected everyone around him to know exactly who he was. The others naturally gathered around him. Whenever he laughed, most of them laughed too. Dishant exchanged a few more words with them that I couldn’t quite hear. More so because I didn’t care. Then they approached me. The thin boy stared down at me, then my nametag, then back at me. “Xu... Xu Xing?” The others immediately laughed. One of them repeated it. Another said something in their language and somehow managed to butcher it even worse. Oh. He wasn’t struggling to pronounce it, he was making fun of it. I didn’t feel like explaining the whole situation with the nametag again. They didn’t seem like the helpful type anyway. “Where are you really from?” one of them asked. “He’s Vanga,” the thin boy said. “Look at his nose. My father owns hundreds of them on his southern estates.” The others laughed. I looked back at Dishant, who was staring at the dirt between his feet. I looked at the thin boy blankly. I had heard the name Vanga several times now, but I still didn’t know exactly what it meant. At this point, my assumption was that it was some kind of ethnicity or kingdom that everyone seemed to think I belonged to. I didn’t respond. I did understand the word owns, though. He had said it so casually too. I looked at his jeweled sword and the expensive embroidery covering his clothes. “So you know how to fight?” another student asked. I looked toward him. He was even darker-skinned than me, with a white turban covering his head. His clothes were just as expensive as the thin prince’s, but they looked completely different. The embroidery along the edges formed geometric patterns, and the curved sword at his side had a broad silver guard and a dark leather grip. In my head I thought West African. But apparently West Africa didn’t exist in this world either. “Not really.” “You beat the Bharathi prince without much trouble.” He pointed at Dishant. I looked over. Apparently, not only was he an asshole, he was a royal asshole. “Oh. He’s a prince?” Dishant’s expression somehow became even more irritated. “Yes,” the thin boy said. He placed one hand against his chest. “As am I.” I nodded. He waited. I waited too. For some reason, this seemed to annoy him. I supposed he wanted me to ask his name or where he was from. I wasn’t particularly interested. Their presence was already making me uncomfortable. All of them were standing around me while I was sitting. Something about it gave me a strange, almost primal feeling of fight or flight. My eyes moved between their hands, their swords and their feet. I noticed which ones were close enough to reach me. I noticed the gaps between them. I noticed which direction had the most open space. Just normal thoughts pouring into my brain without me consciously looking for them. Outwardly, I kept calm. “Spar me,” the dark-skinned boy said. I looked up at him. “I don’t think I’m allowed. The instructor made me sit out.” He glanced toward the instructor. Then raised his voice. “Sir!” The instructor turned from the students he had been correcting. The boy gestured between us. “A few controlled exchanges?” The instructor looked at him. Then at me. His eyes narrowed. “One at a time. Light hands.” He pointed toward me. “And Mr. Xu, if you start harvesting organs again, all of you are carrying equipment back into storage.” A few students nearby laughed. I wasn’t entirely sure if he was joking. The dark-skinned boy grinned. “Yes, sir.” The group immediately started talking loudly amongst themselves. I couldn’t understand most of it. They were laughing, but somehow their laughter still felt like plotting. I stood anyway. Their entire group was taller than me. The boy in the white turban removed the sword at his side and handed it to one of his companions. The tallest boy took it. He was easily the tallest among them, long-limbed and lean, with another sword already hanging from his own waist. Unlike most of the others, he hadn’t said much, he just smiled and laughed along with whatever they were saying. The dark-skinned boy stepped into an open space, and I followed him. The others said something to him excitedly. He laughed and waved one hand dismissively. Dishant remained sitting where he was, watching us with his arms crossed. “What’s your name?” the boy asked. I actually didn’t know. But before I could think about it, I said: “Xu.” He laughed again. “Is it really?” I didn’t answer. It was the same reaction every time anyway. Instead I asked. “What’s your name?” “Abdul Rab Min Mandí.” He smiled. “Rab is enough.” I nodded and assumed a stance. Rab put his left fist out. It took me a moment to realize he wanted me to bump it. As soon as our fists touched, I saw his right hand flying straight toward me. My shoulders turned instinctively and my head dipped to the outside of his punch. Without thinking, my left fist flew upward beneath his ribs. The same place I had hit Dishant. Rab took a few steps back, still holding his stance. For a moment, I thought he was fine. Then he put one hand out, shook his head and slowly dropped to one knee. The others looked genuinely shocked. Then they exploded into laughter. I realized whatever Rab had tried had been planned. They hadn't expected me to respond that way, though. Part of me was genuinely shocked too. Another part of me noticed something else. This was fun. Rab held his side and made a long— “Wheew.” Then he started laughing. One of his friends walked over, still laughing, and slapped him on the back. Dishant said something to Rab in a different language. I couldn't understand it, but it sounded mocking in tone. Rab answered immediately. Neither of them looked particularly friendly while saying it. Rab grinned at him. Dishant didn’t. Then the tall boy stepped forward. “Let me try.” Rab looked at him and laughed. “Go on, Amir.” So that was his name. Amir handed both swords back to Rab and stepped into the open space. I still couldn’t tell if they had originally come over to bully me or if this was just how they had fun with one another. “Uh. I guess.” Amir was much taller than me, with longer arms and legs. As soon as we faced each other, he brought his hands up. Then reached forward and placed his palm against my forehead just above my guard. He smiled. The other boys laughed. I looked at him. He pulled his hand back before I could touch it. Then he did it again. Oh. He was pointing out the comical difference between our reach. I looked at his stomach. His liver was completely covered. He had obviously watched what happened to Dishant and Rab. But every time he stretched his arm out, he left a huge gap through the middle. The third time his hand came toward my forehead, my left hand knocked his arm inward and held it against the side of his own head. This forced his body to turn away from me, slightly exposing part of his back. He quickly tried to back out and readjust his arm and body to escape the pin. As soon as his torso turned back toward me, I could see the center of his stomach wide open. My right fist went straight down into it. His breath disappeared. Amir folded forward and fell into the dirt. For a second, I thought I had hurt him. Then he started laughing hysterically. It sounded a little painful, but he was definitely laughing. The others started another commotion. Rab walked over, slapped palms with him, then used the grip to help him back up. “Are you okay?” I asked. Amir nodded while still holding his stomach. Before he had fully recovered, another boy pushed past him. “Move.” He was shorter than Amir, but noticeably bulkier, sporting thick arms, broad shoulders and a heavy chest. There was enough resemblance between him and Amir that once they stood near each other, I realized they were probably related. The stockier one looked older, but not by much. He looked at both of his friends I just dropped, then towards me. “You’ve one trick.” “What?” He pointed at his ribs. “Hit the body.” Rab laughed. “You didn’t notice the second one?” “Same trick. Different hole.” Amir was still bent forward trying to breathe. He raised one hand without looking at him. “Go fuck yourself, Qasim.” Qasim grinned. “Mind your tongue when speaking to your elder brother.” Amir finally looked up. “Two years is hardly older.” “Still older than you but two years.” “Yet you're only two grapes tall.” Rab burst out laughing. Qasim looked offended for about half a second. Then pointed toward me. “Watch closely, little brother. You may finally learn something useful without a sword in your hand.” “I hope he drops you on your head.” Qasim smiled. “That’s no way to speak to family, especially when they are about to teach you a lesson.” “You’re always teaching when nobody asks.” Qasim ignored him and stepped in front of me. “One more.” “Uh. Okay.” He immediately took a very tight guard. Both fists against his temples. Elbows tucked down against his ribs. There was almost nowhere obvious to hit. He was expecting me to hit him in the body. I gently threw a punch. He took it on his guard. I threw another. Same thing. His defense looked really solid. But the rest of him looked stiff. His weight was heavily loaded onto his back leg, and every time I hit his guard, it was surprisingly easy to move his entire body. I threw another punch with my right hand. But instead of punching, I grabbed his left wrist and pushed his guard across his body. He leaned backward even more than he already was. As soon as his rear foot started stepping back to catch his weight, my right foot hooked behind it. I turned him in the opposite direction. His leg couldn’t follow. Qasim gently fell onto his side. He looked genuinely surprised. The entire group went quiet for half a second. Then Qasim grinned. Everyone cheered. Including him. Rab rushed toward me and grabbed both of my shoulders. Then he started shaking me while practically jumping in place. “He’s so good!” His expression looked completely sincere. Amir was still rubbing his stomach, but he had started looking at me differently. “No, really. Tell me where you learned this.” He glanced at my stance. “This is not how the Zhanghua fight.” “Is this how Vanga fight?” The Prince asked. “No,” Qasim said as he stood and dusted off his clothes. “He wasn’t hiding in a tree waiting to ambush us.” The group laughed again. I still didn’t understand the joke. But I could tell it was racist. Rab said something to him in their language and the two immediately started arguing. Somewhere in all of that, I finally learned the thin prince’s name: Ibrahim. But they called him Ibo, Prince Ibo. He hadn’t fought at all. Judging by how thin his arms were, that was probably a good decision. I glanced toward Dishant. He was watching Rab shake me by the shoulders. A few minutes earlier, these same boys had surrounded him just to laugh about his defeat. Now they were crowding around me, praising me for doing it. Rab looked toward Dishant. Dishant’s expression hardened. Rab smiled at him, but his smile felt more like he was trying to mock him. Dishant muttered something under his breath. Those two in particular seem to have some kind of ongoing grudge against the other. When Dishant noticed me staring at him, he looked away. The boys were friendly, at least, they were now after I hurt them a little bit. I couldn’t deny that I enjoyed their excitement and the exchanges. I couldn’t even tell if what I was doing was normal or not. Everything had just seemed so obvious once I stood in front of them. Rab tried to hide a punch behind a friendly gesture, but his ribs were open. Amir kept reaching for my forehead, but every time he did, the middle of his body opened. Qasim protected everywhere I had hit the other two, but he became so stiff that moving him seemed easier than hitting him. I didn’t remember being taught to do this. But it just felt so obvious, like fitting the square block in the square hole. Rab was still asking me questions when the laughter around us began to quiet. Someone with an intense energy was approaching. I looked over. It was the boy who had sparred with June earlier. Mamoru. His white uniform was still damp with sweat, and a dark bruise had begun spreading beneath his chin where June’s heel had struck him. His eyes scanned over the three boys I just sparred before his eyes settled on me. Rab stopped shaking my shoulders. The others slowly moved aside. Mamoru stopped several steps away and bowed deeply “Sir,” he said, “would you allow me the honor of a round?” The conversations around us became strangely quiet. I looked behind me. No one was there. He was speaking to me.

Chapter 19- Obvious Answers