Hajin leaned against a tree at the edge of the clearing outside the capital walls, arms crossed, while Juna worked through her forms thirty feet out in the flattened grass.
She had come out of the evolution faster than before, so her white hair whipped behind her every time she changed direction.
The silver claws took the sun as she cut through targets that were not there, each strike clean, precise, barely moving the air.
"You are staring," she called without breaking the sequence, "so either come fix my stance or do the thing you came out here to do."
"Your stance is fine," he said, not moving off the tree.
'She is still getting used to it,' he thought, watching her feet over-commit on the sharper turns.
Her new speed had outrun the muscle memory she built at her old level, which was a problem that fixed itself with repetition.
'Another week,' he thought, 'and her feet will catch up to the rest of her.'
