Bully Lord

Part-73

James snorted, amusement flickering across his features.  "This system is as ridiculous as ever," he muttered to himself.  Challenge someone to a duel for a measly point in wisdom?  And a penalty that could potentially cripple his stats?  It was as transparent as the glass facade of the training center itself.

He glanced at Mili, his amusement fading.  Why bring him to a place like this?  Was this some kind of test, a way to gauge his newfound determination?  Or was there something more at play, something connected to the hidden world she seemed to inhabit?

"So," he began, his voice surprisingly steady, "what happens now?"

Mili met his gaze, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Now," she said, her voice firm, "you get to see what a real champion looks like. But joking aside, I came here to explain something—why I wasn't afraid of Ryan that day and why I didn't want you to get involved."

James shrugged, opting not to ask why right then. It seemed he would get that answer soon enough.

Mili led him towards the elevators in the sleek, modern lobby. They ascended in silence, and when the doors dinged open on the seventh floor, he was met with a sight far different than the glass and steel exterior. Here, polished stone floors gleamed under the soft glow of pendant lights, and the air thrummed with the rhythmic thud of kick meeting heavy bags.

The training area was divided into two sections by a transparent glass wall.  One side bustled with female students, their movements a blur of focused strikes and powerful kicks.  The other side housed the male trainees, each move displaying a level of skill that made James gulp nervously.

Mili paused in front of the section labeled "Kickboxing" emblazoned on a nearby board.  "This is it," she announced, her voice laced with a hint of pride.

James scanned the board, then back at Mili, his bewilderment growing with each passing second.  "This is... a kickboxing gym?" he finally ventured, the question tumbling out in a confused rush.  "Why are we here?"

Mili, instead of answering directly, turned towards the female section, her gaze fixed on a particular group.  She pointed towards them, a flicker of urgency in her eyes.  "Don't you remember?"

James squinted through the glass, trying to decipher what she meant.  He saw a group of women sparring, their movements precise and powerful.  One figure, taller and leaner than the others, stood out.  Her strikes were lightning-fast, her form flawless.  But James didn't recognize her.

"Remember what?" he asked, frustration creeping into his voice.  This cryptic game of hers was starting to wear thin.

Mili's gaze snapped back to him, her expression unreadable.  Just as he was about to press for an explanation, a voice boomed from behind them.

"Mili?  Is that you?"

James turned to see the source of the voice.  Standing there, a mix of surprise and amusement etched on her face, was a very beautiful middle aged woman.  She wore a black tank top and sweat pants, her features softened from the intensity he'd witnessed in the training session. But there was no mistaking her – this was the skilled fighter, the one who stood out amongst the rest. 

"Yes, Mom." Mili said.