Cheeky brat

A young man stands in front of a gate. Normally, it is securely closed, adding to the intimidating aura of the university with its tall stone walls and grave looking students. Today, however, the doors are swung open, revealing an expansive courtyard filled with rows of people.

Any other day, the kind of people who are standing in queue to the Royal Constabulary University would be a shocking sight. They are street rats, beggars and criminals; anyone can see they don’t belong within the walls of the polished school. Being from the poor areas of Serith and coming here is equivalent to walking into a police station with a dead body and the murder weapon in your hand. Today, however, is a special day.

The gates are open, accepting young and strong recruits regardless of background into a special educational program called Open Training for Constables, a hopeful prospect for every unfortunate soul in the slums.

Except for the young man, who can only stare at the ridiculously long queue and the informative posters on every available vertical surface announcing that the special program is five years long.

I don’t have time for this.

And so, he creates another path for himself.

Past the courtyard and plethora of buildings, which causes the young man to wonder how anyone can find their way in here, lies an open space with training equipment scattered about that look rather complicated. A little more than a dozen people, who he assumes are cadets, are sparring there, at least until they spot him.

“How did you get here?” one of them exclaims incredulously, like the young man had accomplished something unbelievable by dodging busy officers and sneaking through empty alleyways. The shout makes everyone else pause, lowering their swords to stare at him.

“By foot”, the young man answers drily. Another one of the sparring people, who he privately thinks resembles a carrot, snorts disbelievingly.

“This is not the charity program, sewer rat”, he sneers, causing the young man’s skin to prickle with anger from the derogatory nickname for people in the low class. Figures that they would think he was from the slums with his ragged clothes. “Walk back the way you came, the Special Corps is leagues above your skill.”

That, however, makes him perk up.

“This is the Special Corps?” he asks. The boy with the sneer furrows his brows.

“Are sewer rats deaf by any chance?”

“Honestly Cooper, lay off with the name calling will you?” a girl calls exasperatedly. She turns to the young man, ignoring Carrot face’s indignant glare. “Yes this is the Special Corps, can we help you mister…?”

“Mika”, the young man answers with a pleased smirk. “Can’t believe I found this without any trouble. Where do I register?”

This, predictably, causes some confusion, or anger in Cooper’s case, if Mika was to make an educated guess based on his constipated face. Then someone laughs, another boy standing close to the Cooper fellow.

“Blimey, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while”, he wheezes. “Let me get this straight, you want to register for the specialised program that trains only the best and brightest, accepting a whooping fifteen cadets out of two hundred, who previously to that have finished the basic training program that’s five years long?”

Mika sighs. While he was expecting that little detail to be thrown in his face, he is regardless a bit peeved by it.

“I’m way too talented to go through five years of basic training”, he says. “I want to enlist in the Special Corps.”

Carrot face snorts, raising his sword and pointing it straight at Mika’s heart.

“Prove it”, he challenges. Mika doesn’t need to be told twice, immediately unsheathing his two daggers at his side. Carrot face’s eyes widen at the sight. “Where did you…”

“Alright, I will prove it”, Mika interrupts confidently. “You’re all cadets of the Special Corps, right? Which means that if I defeat you, I’m also among the ‘best and brightest’?” He looks at the boy who had laughed at him with his last sentence, who seems torn between looking amused and wary.

“That is not even remotely how this works”, one of the cadets says, but is barely heard over the sound of Carrot face growling.

“You’re on kid”, he says, stepping away from the others and circling Mika until they are facing away from his comrades. Mika huffs a laugh.

“We’ll see who’s the kid when we’re done.”

“What in the world is going on here?”

Mika looks up from his newly defeated foe, a rather bulky boy who is currently groaning on the ground. Around him are people in similar states of disbelief and pain, some watching with ever growing bafflement, others looking like they are one step away from lunging at him with their fists. All of their heads snap to the booming voice and scramble to stand at attention. They share a look of horror at the sight of him, which Mika would have laughed at, if he wasn’t so bloody exhausted.

“I want to enlist in the Special Corps”, Mika says, causing the man’s hard gaze to turn to him, piercing grey eyes boring into his brown.

“Excuse me?” he responds flatly.

“I just defeated ten of your fifteen cadets in one-on-one duels”, Mika continues, undeterred.

The man raises his eyebrows at that, shifting his attention to his cadets, disappointment radiating off of him. Most of the cadets avoid his stare in shame.

“Is this true?” he asks.

“Yes Captain, no one has been able to defeat him so far”, one girl says, completely devoid of any emotion. It appears as she is the only one not burning with shame among the cadets, which doesn’t surprise Mika. Even after he had bested her, she had been dignified.

“And why exactly did you participate in a duel with a trespasser?” the captain asks, causing some of his cadets to flinch.

"Cooper started it, Captain", the same girl replies. Carrot face gives her a horrified look.

“I’m not a trespasser, I have come to enrol here, fair and square”, Mika says loudly, reclaiming the captain's attention.

“Special Corps is not accessible to the public, boy. It isn’t even optional for most of our students.” The captain sounds bored and Mika realises that he’s running out of time.

“I’m aware of the requirements”, he rushes to say, gesturing to the cadets. “They are students with exemplary skill who have been carefully picked to be accepted into the Specialised Program for Elite Constables. Not only do they have to be proficient in using the blade, they have to be physically fit and theoretically skilled to be approved.”

If the captain is surprised by Mika knowing the qualifications of a Special Corps’ cadet, he doesn’t show it, but he isn’t making any move to silence him, so Mika pushes on.

“Yet I have duelled ten of them and emerged victorious, which isn’t something an ordinary street rat can accomplish. I’m skilled far beyond the candidates of the Open Training program, and my talent would be wasted there.” Mika sheaths his daggers and stands in attention, albeit not as straight and disciplined like the cadets beside him, but he hopes he makes up for his posture with determination. “I don’t care how many people I have to defeat to prove it, but I belong in the Special Corps program.”

Silence stretches between them while he continues to stand straight, hands behind his back. He tries not to breathe too heavily while the captain considers him, which is difficult considering he’s been waving his daggers around and throwing himself into dodges the last half hour. Still, he’s been through worse. Far worse. And he will not back down.

The captain sighs and shakes his head.

“I don’t know how you thought this was going to play out, boy, but there’s a procedure we have to follow. You cannot simply walk into the Special Corps’ training grounds and fight your way into our program.” He sounds far too tired given his appearance, looking no more than thirty but with the air of someone with the same patience for youth as a grumpy old man.

“Oh come now Captain, surely you can be more creative than that”, Mika replies smoothly, hearing the cadets choking incredulously from his taunt. “After all, if students can buy their way in here, surely I should be able to fight my way in?”

“Bribery is just as effective as mockery”, the captain counters, seemingly unaffected by Mika’s accusation of corruption.

“Alright, since you don’t seem to believe me when I say it would be a waste of everyone’s time if I follow your ‘policies’, how about this?” Mika unsheathes his daggers again and steps into a fighting stand. “I duel you, and if I win, you make an exception for this poor little beggar.”

“And if you lose?”

Mika scoffs.

“Then I go back to the slums and die of leprosy, an infected knife wound or starvation at the tender age of twenty five”, he drawls, letting his lips quirk briefly. “I’d say that’s a pretty fair deal.”

The captain purses his lips.

“As you so eloquently put it earlier, Special Corps requires more than being skillful with the blade.”

“And I’m an eager student”, Mika says sweetly. “Besides, if I’m able to defeat you without any of your lot’s training, I reckon I will have some time to kill while the others practice. Surely I can study and run laps then.”

“Oh bugger, I don’t have time for this”, the captain snaps and draws his sword. Mika narrows his eyes at the sight of the razor sharp edges. Unlike the cadets’ blunt training swords, this weapon will hurt like a bitch if it grazes him. “I accept your ridiculous conditions, but I warn you: I don’t hold back. Even when it comes to foolhardy kids.”

“Hear that Carrot face, he thinks I’m a kid too”, Mika quips, never taking his eyes off of his grey eyed foe. He hears the Cooper fellow sputter in response.

"Carrot face? You're the one with a girl's name!"

"Got any problem with girl names Cooper?" a female cadet asks coldly.

"Um..."

“Oh so he can fight him, but when we do it, we get scolded”, someone mutters.

“Fifty pushups Cooper, Fox and Smith”, the captain barks, slowly advancing on Mika. “The rest of you, step back and try to learn something from today’s bloody training.”

Mika snorts despite himself. For being a fearsome elite group of bluecoats, they sure are entertaining. The next thing Mika knows though, the captain’s sword swishes past his head, Mika only narrowingly dodging it by rolling to the side. Their crowd and surroundings fade away, only leaving a young man dressed in rags and a strongly built captain in the black Special Corps uniform with their weapons drawn.

The captain is far faster and stronger than the cadets. His attacks rain down on Mika like a merciless hailstorm. Some of the cadets had proved to be a challenge; Mika was already winded before fighting the captain. Now he feels like his muscles are gonna snap with every parry, the crossing of steel sending shockwaves through his body.

He wasn’t joking when he said he wouldn’t hold back either, Mika is already sporting multiple scratches just a few minutes in. He manages to send a kick to the captain’s stomach, but otherwise he’s on the defensive, and as the kick did nothing to slow down the onslaught, Mika is starting to feel slightly desperate.

I don’t have time for this.

He thinks of the reason he’s here, the hatred that after years is still burning hot in his veins, and uses that surge of adrenaline to deflect a blow, ignoring the way it makes his right wrist crack from the strain, and uses the momentum to swing around the captain and push his shoulder with his upper body. The captain, out of balance from Mika’s manoeuvre, avoids stumbling by rolling away, which gives Mika a handful of seconds to come up with a plan.

Mika swirls around to the moving form of his foe and tries to rack his brain for an outlandish enough strategy that he will be able to use to turn the tide. He is too fast for Mika to make any offensive movements. Deflecting blows and using the momentum is out, the captain is too strong for him to get any hits in without breaking his bones. Simply blocking and being on the defensive is a losing game too; even though Mika prides himself in his tenacity, he is not a rested and well-fed individual, and the captain will certainly outlast him.

It’s not enough.

The captain has already turned around and is raising his sword. He knows this move, a slash downwards and then quickly to his side, the force putting a strain on Mika's arms and wrists when he blocks it. Clever, considering his right wrist is still aching from the stunt he pulled earlier.

It’s too much.

Mika moves to block the strike with his daggers, the metal singing as the weapons collide.

It is nothing. Just survive.

When the captain takes half a step back to slice Mika’s side, he moves to block it with both his daggers. At the very last second, he moves his right hand along the length of the sword. He feels the captain’s sword collide with his dagger and his left arm is swiftly pushed away, granting the sword access to his left abdomen. He feels the steel sink into his flesh and then…

It stops.

Because while his left dagger had tried to slow down the incoming blow, his right dagger had moved to the captain’s exposed throat.

They stand like that for a breath, frozen in their stalemate. Then the captain pulls back his sword and Mika groans, dropping both his daggers as he puts pressure on his left side to stop the blood.

“That was a careless move”, the captain says while sheathing his sword, causing Mika to chuckle through gritted teeth.

“I’d take a sword to my gut any day to survive”, he replies, trying to keep himself upright through exhaustion and pain. “Pride and sensibility means nothing in the face of death.”

“This is a duel, not a fight to the death.”

“Well yeah, otherwise that pretty neck of yours wouldn’t be nearly as peachy, and I imagine my little scratch here would be a bit more macabre.” Ignoring the captain muttering “cheeky brat”, Mika closes his eyes briefly and takes a steadying breath, letting the adrenaline drain from his system. When he feels like unconsciousness isn’t lurking beneath the surface anymore, he opens his eyes. “Out there, in the real world, none of us would be so lucky.”

Despite the trace of annoyance in his brow, the captain inclines his head to that, a ghost of an amused smile playing on his lips.

“We had a deal, Captain”, Mika continues, his heart pounding with trepidation. “What’s it gonna be?”

“Anyone else would have escorted you off the property and banned you from joining the constabulary ranks for life”, the captain says carefully. “Some would have even killed you for your insolence.”

“And you?”

The captain shakes his head, but his eyes are glowing dangerously. If Mika hadn’t known better, he would’ve described the look as mischievous.

“I unfortunately made a deal with a street rat”, he says, sounding resigned but looking anything but. “Very well boy, I will accept you into my squadron.”

Mika’s relief almost makes him miss the way that statement causes a few cadets to gasp in surprise. The captain smiles conspiringly.

“Welcome to the Special Corps, kid.”