Chapter 14. Reflexes, Not Reason

The world around me did not just stop, it froze, turning into a dense installation suspended in time. The hum of the air conditioner in the corner of the hall and the creak of tatami underfoot vanished in an instant. I felt a strange lightness, as if the axis of gravity had been pulled out of me, and my consciousness drifted smoothly upward toward the high ceiling of the gym.

I came to a halt just beneath the beams and looked down. Below, in the middle of the bright blue mats, two figures stood frozen. One of them was Mr. Santiago, my instructor, locked mid-lunge, his face twisted with extreme focus, the muscles in his arms coiled into tight cords. And the second… the second was me.

A chill ran across what I now considered my skin. Was this it? A stupid death during training, and now my soul was being inexorably pulled upward, away from my mortal body?

Neon lines of system notifications surfaced before my eyes, hanging in empty air:

[Warning! Hostile actions against the Familiar detected]

[Tactical Mode activated]

A breath, if I was even breathing at all, escaped me in relief. My memory obligingly supplied the missing pieces: right, this strange option had unlocked when my [Trainer] leveled up. The description said it triggered automatically under threat and allowed analysis of the situation under conditions of halted time.

But why could I see the top of my own head? Did I grow some kind of third eye? My curator Danny, when reading my official ability assessment from the state registry, classified my abilities as weak control over physiology and consciousness. The latter usually implies telepathy. I had never dug into the depths of mentalism, but from books and films I remembered that powerful telepaths could create psychic projections for remote interaction. That seemed to be my case. Something like an ethereal periscope, transmitting the image directly into my brain. For now, that was the only logical explanation.

I tried to drift farther to survey the hall, like a free camera in a video game, but my body refused. I was anchored in place in midair about a yard above my own head. Still, the view was excellent. From this angle, for the first time, I clearly noticed a few silvery strands of gray at the back of my head. Damn, I really was aging. Somehow that stung.

My gaze shifted to Santiago. He was not standing still, he was moving, but at an incredibly slow speed, like a drop of thick honey sliding down glass. So it was not a full stop, but an immense deceleration. The system had given me a chance to build a defensive strategy for the [Familiar], that is, for my own body. And this time was not infinite. I had to decide, and fast.

Training footage from jiu-jitsu lessons surfaced in my mind. The key was stance. The math of combat here was simple: leverage. Use the opponent’s mass against him, turn his strength into his weakness. That was the only way to bring down someone significantly bigger and more experienced.

I felt it through my skin as invisible threads, thin as spider silk, began tugging at my muscles. My body below started to transform: knees bent slightly, the center of gravity shifted downward, the torso turned sideways, and my hands rose into a defensive position. All of it happened in the same viscous, slowed rhythm.

Then reality snapped back on.

Sound slammed into my ears, Santiago’s exhale, the rustle of his clothes. He lunged at me with the speed of an attacking tiger, but I was already like a wound steel spring. His momentum became my ally. I caught his arm, dropped my weight, and with a smooth, practiced motion flipped him over my back. The dull impact of his body hitting the tatami vibrated through my feet.

What came next according to the manual? Right, immediately take top position, secure him, and go for a submission.

But while I was running through theory in my head, reality moved faster. Santiago rebounded from the mats like a rubber ball. Before I could process the maneuver, he was already behind me. A yank, a sweep, and I was on my knees, his forearm locking around my neck like a steel ring. A powerful bicep mercilessly squeezed the remaining oxygen out of my throat.

My vision darkened, my pulse hammered in my temples. I had definitely seen in those videos how to escape a choke, there was some simple hand motion and a hip turn… but which one? My thoughts tangled, panic flooded my mind, and my lungs burned. Unable to resist any longer, I slapped the tatami three times in quick succession.

“The beginning was magnificent, Mr. Ross. I felt real experience,” Santiago said, instantly releasing the hold and stepping back.

I collapsed forward onto my hands and greedily, with a whistle, dragged the cool air of the hall into my lungs. My heart was pounding somewhere in my throat.

“And then…” the instructor thoughtfully adjusted his shirt. “Shall we go again?”

“Of course,” I rasped, getting up and wiping sweat from my forehead. “Just give me a minute… to catch my breath.”

Santiago attacked again, sharp and straightforward. I instinctively braced for time to freeze once more, for myself to rise to the ceiling, but… nothing happened.

[Tactical Mode: 0/1]

I see. The limit was exhausted, magic was over for today. Without the system’s assistance, I was just a guy against a professional. I had no time to think, Santiago skillfully took me down and pinned me to the mats with his full weight. I knew this position, knew what to do to break free, but my body would not obey. The trainer seized my arm and began twisting my elbow at a completely unnatural, terrifying angle.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Along with a sharp white flash of pain came panic. I tapped the mats again, surrendering.