"Well… not as a Padawan in the creche," Braze admitted with a grin, voice light.
"I was always in trouble—grounded more times than I can count. I hated being cooped up."
He closed the distance with fluid precision, stepping into the exchange as if it were a game—one he had every intention of winning. His footwork was measured, effortless, a hidden rhythm guiding his approach. Each movement spoke of discipline wrapped in instinct, a practiced balance of structure and spontaneity.
Braze didn't block in the traditional sense. Instead, he
redirected, letting the force of the blow skim past his guard with minimal resistance. His
Seikūken was subtle, an invisible sphere of control barely extending past his reach, keeping the battle within a range where he tried to dictate the tempo. Every motion was a ripple in that sphere—redirecting, absorbing, countering without wasted movement.
His defense was neither rigid nor passive; it flowed like water over stone. Ryūsui Seikūken in practice—his awareness honed to the moment of contact, dodging not by distance, but by the finest margins. A breath too late, and he'd be struck. A fraction too soon, and he'd lose the energy in transition. But Braze had learned the
art of last-moment evasion, conserving effort where others spent it recklessly. It was
everything he practiced with
Kahlil Noble
with Soresu refined in to un armed combat.
Braze didn't resist force with force—he
redirected, turning aggression into opportunity. A push became a pull. A strike lost its impact as its force bled into nothingness. He was already moving before the next attack landed, slipping into Drystan's space with a counter of his own, applying the
Paradox of Defensive Offense—blurring the lines between defense and attack, exploiting the gap between intention and action.
His mind was clear, his emotions centered, the combat a game of movement and measure rather than raw power. And yet, beneath the playfulness, there was a growing awareness—of Drystan's breathing, the way his weight shifted before committing to a strike. The
Circle of Awareness refined itself with each exchange, narrowing Braze's focus until he wasn't just reacting—he was anticipating.
Timing. Distance. Flow. The
Harmony of Form and Flow.
He wasn't only trading blows. He was learning, adjusting— moving towards
controlling the fight.
And he was
enjoying it.
"You'd be right," he confirmed, seamlessly shifting from
softness to solidity throughout his limbs. His movements flowed like water, supple yet coiled with intent. In a single, fluid motion, he
maneuvered a leg behind Drystan, setting the trap with deceptive ease. As balance threatened to shift, he drove forward, aiming a sharp, decisive elbow toward Drystan's chest—an attempt to unseat him with both precision and controlled force.
Braze Kai'el
