He saw the subtle adjustnts they made in the middle of fights, the split-second decisions that turned a losing position into a winning one.
And he learned.
He learned how to read an opponent’s stance, how to predict their next move based on where their feet were positioned and how their shoulders were angled.
He learned the difference between a feint and a real attack, the way a fighter’s eyes would flicker just before they committed to a strike. He learned about timing, about patience, about waiting for the right mont to counter instead of just rushing in blindly.
He learned that fighting was not just about strength or speed or even abilities. It was about understanding. About knowing your own body and your opponent’s body and the space between them.
Tatehan had never had formal training. He had never spent years in a dojo or a gym learning these things the way these fighters had. Everything he knew about combat had been learned on the fly, in the middle of life-or-death situations where there was no ti to think, only to react.
But now, standing here and watching them, he realized that he had been missing sothing fundantal. He had been relying on his abilities to carry him through fights, using Gravity Manipulation and Phase Shift and Kinetic Absorption to compensate for his lack of actual technique. And it had worked, mostly, because his abilities were strong enough to make up for his deficiencies.
But it was not sustainable. Not in the long run.
If he kept fighting the way he had been, eventually he was going to run into soone who was not only powerful but skilled. Soone who knew how to fight properly and could exploit the gaps in his knowledge. And when that happened, his abilities alone might not be enough.
He needed to get better. Not just smarter, not just more creative with how he used his powers, but actually better at the fundantals of combat.
And watching these fighters, seeing the way they moved and adapted and controlled the flow of a fight, was the first step.
Tatehan stayed there for the full forty minutes, his eyes tracking every movent, his mind cataloging techniques and strategies and little tricks that he could try to incorporate into his own fighting style. He did not interrupt. He did not offer advice or comntary like so fighters had expected. He just watched and absorbed.
And by the ti the session ended and the fighters began to disperse, heading off to clean up or grab food or rest before the next round of training, Tatehan felt like he had learned more in those forty minutes than he had in all of his previous battles combined.
One of the fighters: the one who had won three tis in a row, walked past him on the way out, pausing just long enough to nod respectfully.
"Thanks for watching, Battle Commander," he said.
Tatehan nodded back. "Thanks for the lesson."
The fighter blinked, clearly confused, but he smiled anyway and continued on his way.
Tatehan stayed where he was for a few more monts, staring out at the now-empty training field, replaying everything he had just seen in his mind.
He had a lot of work to do.
But for the first ti in a long ti, he felt like he actually knew where to start...
He had a gym in the spaceship. If he would be able to find a way to get to live in his spaceship again, he would be able to access it daily and work out there.
———
After leaving the training field, Tatehan began to head toward the clan’s dical room, deciding to visit the nurse who had given him the pistol all those weeks ago.
She had said it was for Kael, and honestly, the pistol had been really helpful. More than helpful, actually. It had probably saved his life at least once, maybe more.
The nurse was kind of old, but not old old. She was sowhere in that in-between stage where you could tell she had been doing this for a long ti, had seen more than her fair share of injuries and ergencies, but still had the energy and sharpness to keep going.
Her hair was streaked with so grey, pulled back into a practical bun, and there were lines around her eyes and mouth that spoke of years spent smiling through exhaustion.
Tatehan had taken that pistol and gone on to upgrade it into the Devastator Hand Cannon that now sat in his inventory, and boy, was it a good weapon. Damn effective. It had helped him blast and explode the second behemoth monster to shreds, tearing through its armored hide like it was nothing with the help of others firing too. Without that cannon, he probably would have been crushed, trampled, or worse.
So yeah. He owed her.
The dical room was quiet when Tatehan arrived, the sterile sll of antiseptic and clean bandages filling the air. The space was small but well-organized, with rows of dical supplies neatly stacked on shelves, diagnostic equipnt making low sounds softly in the corners, and a few treatnt beds arranged along the walls.
The nurse was currently attending to a soldier who had been injured on one of their patrols. The man sat on the edge of one of the beds, his shirt off, revealing a nasty gash running down his side. It looked like sothing had clawed him, deep enough to draw blood but not deep enough to be life-threatening.
The nurse worked with efficiency, cleaning the wound, applying so kind of gel that made the soldier wince, and then wrapping it tightly with fresh bandages.
Tatehan stood at the door, watching her work. She moved with the kind of calmness (with so bit of precision) that ca from doing this hundreds, maybe thousands (an exaggeration but it was possible) of tis before. No wasted motion. No hesitation either. All there was, was steady, competent care.
It was when the nurse noticed that the patient she was treating kept glancing over her shoulder, his eyes fixed on sothing behind her, that she turned to see Tatehan standing at the door.
Her expression shifted imdiately, surprise flickering across her face before it softened into a warm smile.
"Well, look who it is," she said, her voice carrying a hint of amusent. "Co in, co in. Have a seat while I finish up here."
Tatehan stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and moved to one of the chairs set against the wall. He sat down, folding his hands in his lap, and continued to watch as she worked.
She finished wrapping the soldier’s wound, securing the bandage with a final piece of dical tape, and then stepped back to inspect her work. Satisfied, she gave the soldier a pat on the shoulder.
"You’re all set," she said. "Keep it clean, change the bandage every day, and if it starts to look infected, you co back here imdiately. Understood?"
The soldier nodded, pulling his shirt back on carefully. "Yes, ma’am. Thank you."
"Don’t thank . Just don’t do anything stupid that gets you hurt again."
The soldier grinned sheepishly, muttered another thanks, and then headed for the door, casting one last curious glance at Tatehan before stepping out into the hallway.
The door slid shut, and the room fell quiet.
The nurse turned to Tatehan, wiping her hands on a clean cloth, and leaned back against the counter. She studied him for a mont, her eyes sharp and assessing, and then her smile widened.
"Long ti no see," she said.
Tatehan smiled back. "Yeah. It’s been a while."
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