Temple

This is set in the afternoon of the day Erind and Deen went to meet Myra at Cindy's. Similar to the previous two chapters which were sequential, the next three or so chapters will also be parts of one scene. This way, we can have more development for longer scenes and more weight to the interaction. As I’ve mentioned, I seriously want to exert effort in character development in this bonus content.

Hmmm, voices?

I gingerly stuck my head out the corner of the wall, peeking to check if Deen had any visitors. Or maybe her sister had some people over?

As a kid, I wouldn't show myself if Dad or Mom invited too many visitors into our house. It was so fucking tiring to interact with a whole bunch of people while keeping track of my faces—too complicated for little girl Erind. Then Mom would drag me out of my room to introduce me to this or that person, and everyone would joke that I was shy and all that crap.

This time, as a twenty-ish strong independent woman—who was also incidentally living rent-free in this house—Erind Hartwell was still sneaking around to avoid visitors.

Fortunately, it turned out there weren't any.

It was just the TV with its volume cranked to the max. Some kind of instructional exercise video from what I could hear. 

Was Deen working out in the living room? No way this was her older sister; I hadn't seen her do anything out here except walk either to or from her room.

Tiptoeing out the corridor, I saw that the living room had been cleared.

The huge L-shaped sofa, the plush armchairs, and the driftwood coffee table were transferred near the kitchen side, while the potted plants, lamps, and glass end tables were now by the entrance hallway. 

The sixty-inch TV above the fireplace displayed a muscular man with a black belt tied around the waist of his Gi—I knew this was the term for the martial arts uniform from my PE judo days in college. Instructor Guy barked instructions at the camera as if his life depended on it. Behind him were four people in similar attire mirroring his moves.

In the middle of the now open space was my blonde goddess of a best friend. Barefoot as usual and wearing just a sports bra and cycling shorts, both matching dark gray and expensive brands no doubt, she unabashedly gave it her all in working out. She kicked and punched the air, destroying her imaginary enemy with such an intense ferocity that I hesitated approaching her. I could hear the whoosh of the wind from her attacks. If those connected with a normal human, they'd certainly have a hole in their body.

Oh yeah. We did talk about practicing to fight after we returned home from Cindy's. But I wasn't sure if I wanted to join her exercise session just yet.

And so, I watched her for a few minutes.

This was the first time I had ever seen her long golden hair tied in a severe bun. She obviously did it so that strands wouldn't fly around and get into a mess as she worked out.

Interestingly enough, Deen's generous breasts—the fuck kind of adjective I came up with?—weren't jiggling as much as I expected.

That gave me pause. Never in my life had I imagined I'd ever string together those words in such a sentence. Weirdo thoughts crossing my goddamn mind...

In my defense, knowing the massive disparity between mine and Deen's boobs, it was reasonable to expect, after using the scientific method and studying Newton's law of gravitation, that there would be some...movement...that'd be going on. I refused to use the word 'jiggling' anymore. It might join the word 'bonk' in my dictionary.

Then I noticed that Deen's sports bra was particularly extra thick. Beneath the gray cloth material were other colors.

Mega duh! She was wearing like three of them to keep things in place. Here was my stupid ass thinking she managed to find state-of-the-art workout clothes or something. Maybe I should just stop staring at her because my mind seemed to go in random directions.

The next random bullshit that popped in my head was whether Deen had experienced back pain because of her breasts. I had an extremely curvy aunt on my mother's side—she might've been secretly adopted because her set of genes obviously wasn't passed on to the rest of the family—who always complained about her back. I heard Mom mention Aunt Jemma eventually had breast reduction surgery.

Deen's situation was far from my aunt's, so she probably didn’t have back pains. I’d say that would be a very weird thing to ask a friend. If she ever did have any, she certainly wouldn’t have them now. Super strength would allow her to carry fifty-pound-boobs—okay, that’s enough.

It might be best if I just watched a movie in my room or something.

Before I could turn around and leave, I noticed Instructor Guy on TV perform spinning kicks, yelling on-screen how viewers at home could follow him. Deen would notice me standing behind her once she spun around. It was too late to run back to the corridor, so instead, I decided to approach her.

I made as much noise as possible with my fluffy pink slippers so she wouldn't think I was creepily observing her—Deen insisted on buying this cutesy footwear for me even though she was well aware I wasn't into girly stuff.

"Erind!" she called out, stopping mid-kick.

I waved at her as I came closer. "Wow, you were really serious about practicing, huh?"

"Want to join me?" Getting the remote on the armrest of the nearest couch, she paused the TV and finally silenced the incredibly loud Instructor Guy. "We have plenty of space for the two of us here."

"Hmmm...I'm good."

"You did promise we're going to practice fighting."

I nearly smirked as I recalled Deen's relentless efforts to extract this promise from me earlier. She made me swear over and over again that I half-expected her to make me sign a contract with my blood. She must've really wanted to one-up Myra. "Yep, I did,” I said. “I haven't forgotten my promise. It's just that I'm not in the mood right now."

Deen frowned. "Don't wiggle out of this."

"I'm not, I swear," I said. "How about I just watch you for now, and then after dinner or something we can practice fighting. Like, you know, actually fight each other instead of just following along a video."

She perked up at my suggestion. "That's great! We can jog to the empty part of Poblacion Verde so we'll have plenty of space and privacy. The living room is too small for a sparring match," she said, looking around her. "I'm looking forward to it," she added with a big smile.

"You're just saying that because you’re excited to beat me."

"What are you talking about? You're stronger than me, faster too, and like—"

"Oh, come on. I see that twinkle in your eyes, Ms. Competitive," I said, teasing her. "Stop making it sound like you'll be on the losing end even if you know you'll surely win." That was actually a favorite tactic of mine. It wasn't 'humblebragging'; not sure what was the correct term for it.

Deen placed her hands on her hips and demanded, "What are you talking about?"

"Let's be serious here," I said. "I may be stronger than you, but there's no way I could land a hit with your Guardian Angel on your side."

"I am serious," she said as she vainly tried to wipe the obvious grin on her face. “You’ll win our match later.”

"I-I, um, I don't know much about fighting," I stammered, switching to my timid side. "You know that. I don't think that, um, that I can take advantage of my strength and speed." And that was true. I wasn't just humoring her.

I suspected I'd have a hard time in our spar later that my own competitive side was starting to rear its ugly head. I don’t want to lose! There had to be a way to get around her Guardian Angel's bullshit so that I’d have a chance at beating her. Otherwise, it'd just be a stalemate at best—and ties weren't good enough. In a competition, I wanted someone to lose.

And that someone wasn't going to be me.

"That's why you should practice with me," Deen said, gesturing to the TV.

"No! You'll just laugh." I hoped she wouldn't remember I had been in more fights than her. Life and death ones at that. But it was also true I didn't have experience with martial arts, and I didn't want to make a fool of myself. I literally couldn't recall anything from my judo class in college other than my increased hatred for physical contact.

Myra did say it was best not to engage in close combat when fighting an Adumbrae. Grappling an opponent who could be severalfold stronger than me was quite dumb. However, in Deen's case, she was right—I was so much stronger than her. Maybe the way to win against her was to get a hold of her.

And how the fuck am I going to do that? The freakin' Guardian Angel would know about my plan anyway.

"I promise I won't laugh," Deen said. "If I do...erm, you can punish me."

"Punish you?" I raised a brow.

"Yeah, just think of a punishment for me if I break my promise." She gave me a thumbs-up as if she came up with the world's brightest idea. "Don't splash me with water though."

"How about you continue with your practice instead of thinking about weird stuff." Not that I was one to talk given the things in my mind earlier.

"Or you can drench me if that's what you really want. Like throw a bucket—"

"Just practice already!"