The spinning- it wasn't natural. Nothing about it would have been, of course. But that was the worst feeling. She was standing perfectly still, or as still as she could when she felt like this, but it seemed as though she was spinning. It wasn't dizziness, where one feels as though their body remains unstable and in motion. No, Hermione was sure it was not dizziness. It was deeper than that- every element of her body- every organ, every cell- she could feel them twirling in place.

"Vortex dissipation complete," confirmed one of the Reis in the typical breathy monotone. She tapped a few keys on her console, and the control rods near the top of Hermione's tank began to retract. She fell forward, unable to keep herself upright any longer. Her forehead tapped the glass, which exploded outward. She collapsed onto the metal floor.

"What?!" shouted one of the Reis, conveying some sort of emotion. "How did she just break through?"

"She is not stable!" cried another. "Get a Tricorder reading!"

"There's no need for a Tricorder reading," said Artemis, walking serenely into the dimly-lit room. Hermione could see the calm on his face through the dull gold glow that covered everything in her vision.

"…What's… happening… to me?" she wheezed.

"You've received a slight overdose of Time Vortex energy. Normally, this would be fatal, but thanks to the application method we've designed, it should have little effect on your health."

"Everything's… bloody… spinning," Hermione gasped.

"In a few minutes, it will stop. Then you'll be headed straight to training."

"T…training? I… need a… medical bay!"

"Mrs. Granger, I'm sorry I was not able to inform you of the plan any earlier. We are using you as a testbed to analyze the effectiveness of Time Vortex energy as a performance modification for our agents."

Hermione found the strength to push herself up off of the floor, as the pain began to subside. As she stood, she noticed something odd about Artemis. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"So you're going to make this into a drug, and I'm the guinea pig?" she said, a little disgusted. She must have drawn her breath wrong as she said it, because it came out more like a squeak.

"Right on one account. You are the guinea pig, but I won't move ahead with the experiment if your results are less than optimal."

"I didn't want to become your pet project, Fowl. I just didn't want to get myself killed."

"I don't want to see you dead, either. That's why I did this, Mrs. Granger. Now, you may want to put this on," he said, drawing a tightly-folded uniform from behind his back. Hermione took it- realizing she hadn't been clothed this whole time- and began to put it on, until she noticed the tag.

"Artemis, this will never fit me. It's too small."

"I think you will find that it fits you perfectly, Mrs. Granger. Your AEGIS is already on the right arm, and I've programmed the coordinates of your trainer. If you feel like anything is going wrong, make sure to contact the head of Research."

With that, he activated his AEGIS and warped away.

Fits me perfectly, my arse. I haven't worn this size since I was- two and two were put together. He seemed taller, didn't he?

Hermione scurried over to one of the Reis, who did not seem particularly disturbed by being accosted by a naked test subject. She held out a hand, measuring from the top of the blue-haired girl's head to hers.

Taller. She's taller, too.

She then rushed to the side of her tank, which still had enough intact glass to view a reflection.

"Oh, god. I'm a sodding kid."

"Now who is 'suave'?" whispered one of the lab Reis, with the slightest hint of spite. She packed up some paperwork and left the lab with the few others, leaving Hermione alone with the shattered glass and her new uniform. Hermione gave herself another look, and began to slip into her clothing.

I haven't looked like this since I was twelve or so. All things considered, it could be worse. I could be eight. Or a newt. I really wouldn't want to be a newt.

She locked her AEGIS down over her arm and watched the device boot up, giving her a message that new coordinates had been added.

I guess I had better get ready for training. Knowing Artemis, it won't be anything ordinary.

She was right. The coordinates took her to an area of the ship she wasn't familiar with- though she wasn't familiar with most of it, this deck in particular seemed strange. The design was radically different from the bridge or science decks. It must have been part of the modular storage sections she had overheard some Reis discussing. It certainly looked modular, with big blocky seams connecting segments that ran up and down the hallway. In front of her, squarely in the middle of its module, stood a door. A white piece of paper had been tacked onto it unceremoniously, and scrawled across it in rough pencil were the words

MARTIAL ARTS TRAINING

INQUIRE WITHIN

Artemis, you dumb clod. What am I supposed to do with martial arts? Why can't you just have me train with a proper witch or wizard? Is that too much to ask? Furthermore, why would he send me to some sort of unsanctioned training as opposed to something through the actual program? Does Regulations even know this exists? If they did, they'd surely have something to say about it.

Regardless of her misgivings, Hermione knew that following orders was probably the wise thing to do. If she did what the big man (or at least, now he was bigger) said, she might have a chance to get back to normal. She cautiously walked to the door, and gave it a knock. As soon as her hand touched the door, it gave a little- it was open. Hermione paused for a moment, waiting for a response. No one spoke, so she slowly, quietly pushed through.

The room was well-lit, but that certainly didn't make it an attractive place by any means. It was huge, as the storage modules were said to be, but it was quite empty. There were exactly two things in the room. Toward the center of the room, and just to the left, was a glass of water. To its right was its owner, who floated just above the floor. The man seemed to be meditating, as his arms were curved in toward his chest and his legs were folded over each other. He was dead silent- his cape, which flowed out from his oversized shoulder-pads, made more noise billowing softly underneath him than he did. He was clearly no ordinary human, of that Hermione was sure. Pointed ears and green skin did not a homo sapiens make.

"Um… excuse me?"

The man did not seem to acknowledge Hermione's presence. At her own risk, she slowly trod into the room.

Let's see here. Artemis nearly gets me killed, turns me into a child, and sends me to practice martial arts with a green man in the basement. If so much weren't at stake, I'd clobber him.

When she was about fifty feet from the man, she attempted to make contact again.

"Sir? Do you… do martial arts?"

The man made a sound, a simple, defiant grunt.

"Is that a yes?"

"I 'do' martial arts, all right," he replied. His voice was a deep, nearly animalistic growl. "But not for you."

"What? Artemis sent me here to-"

Without warning, the man disappeared from where he had been floating and reappeared directly in front of Hermione, arms crossed and scowling.

"One," he growled. "You're a little girl. I don't train little girls."

"Okay, I'm not actually a-"

"TWO," he continued, fuming, "you wear the tool of the oppressor."

"The what?"

He made a motion as if he was about to strike Hermione across the face, but the second he lifted his hand up, he held what he had snatched. Her Scouter. He waved it in front of her.

"They used these to kill everyone on my home planet."

"I'm sorry, it's standard issue! All of the Trans-Dimensional Analysts have one!"

"Too bad," he said, crushing it in his hand like it was made of paper. "Go get a new one."

"That's IT!" roared Hermione, who had finally had enough. "I've been knocked off of buildings, almost vaporized, subjected to science projects, turned into a kid, ordered to learn martial arts, and now I'm being harassed by a giant green elf! I've HAD IT!" She stamped one of her feet, which drove a dent through the metal paneling.

"Oh… oh, I didn't mean to do that," she stammered, her anger fading into fear.

"Okay, kid. That's impressive," said the green man. "Do you have any idea the kind of power you just demonstrated?"

"I… I broke the floor," gasped Hermione.

"That's not what I'm interested in. When you got yourself angry… there was a huge surge of latent ki energy. How does a kid like you pull that off? You're no Saiyan."

"What? Ki energy? But I thought they used Time Vortex energy…"

"Listen, I don't care how you got this way. You've got potential."

"That was a pretty quick change of heart, Mr…?"

The man chuckled a little, then giggled, then guffawed in riotous laughter.

"Kids these days. Kids these days! Har har har!"

"Uh, sir?"

"Listen up, kid-"

"I have a name, just like you do. It's not 'kid', it's Hermione Granger. Get it straight because I'm not repeating it."

"Whew," said the man, calming down from his laughing fit. "It's just hilarious, that you think I've had a change of heart."

"Wait, what?"

"That's right. I really have better things to do with my time than train some bratty little girl."

"But didn't you just say I had potential?"

"I did. You've got a lot of potential. For whatever reason, you're incredibly adept at channeling your ki. That's something even most adults can't master."

"Again, I'm not actually a kid."

"Whatever, kid. Just because you've got potential doesn't mean that I want to train you."

"Sempre Secum," said Hermione, discreetly waving her wand at a point behind the green man.

"What was that gibberish about?" he growled down at her.

"Well, you seem to be a fan of water. In fact, considering that the only item you have in this room- which I assume is your living quarters, considering that you've written a sign to hang on the door and its secluded nature would benefit your meditation- is a glass of water," explained Hermione, "I would say that you subsist entirely on it. Water is your only source of nutrition."

The huge green man seemed a little flustered, his bravado broken.

"Y-yeah, we Namekians only need water to survive. So what?"

"Well, I've just placed a charm on your glass of water back there that prevents it from holding any liquid."

"What?!"

"That's right. You can't get any more water, not from that glass. It's completely useless. And considering your distinct lack of social skills, getting a different cup to replace it would be quite the chore. You'd have to leave your precious meditation, you'd have to find your way through this labyrinthine ship- considering you don't have an AEGIS- and you'd actually have to develop the manners to ask someone to give you a glass. I don't think you're up to it, you slob."

The man was stunned. "I… I… I don't…"

"No, you do," smirked Hermione. "I'll lift that charm. Just as soon as you agree to train me."

The man looked around, as if he was checking to see if anyone was watching. He then looked back down at the girl and sighed.

"Fine. You've got me. I'll train you. It'd be a shame to let that power go to waste, anyway," he grumbled.

"Good," chirped Hermione with a smug grin. "Now, I'd really like to know your name."

He grunted, flexed his muscles, and was instantly surrounded by a mirage-like aura of superheated air. The blast from its appearance forced Hermione back a few steps, and made her draw an arm across her face to protect it from the stinging wind. The man floated aloft, carrying his aura with him, and came to a stop halfway between the floor and ceiling.

"The name's Piccolo, kid."

"Granger," she yelled back up, perturbed. "Hermione Granger!"

"Whatever. Kid Granger."

"Ugh," she grunted.

Piccolo shook his head and smiled.

"Okay. We're going to start with the basics. How are you at dodging?"

"Dodgi-?" she barely had time to disapparate away before a blast of energy from Piccolo's hands scorched the panel on which she had been standing.

It's going to be a long day, she thought.

***

A slight breeze picked up a piece of paper trash and sent it scooting along the basketball court, until it ran into the chain-link fence. For a moment, it clung to the metal, its little arms flapping, trying to get a grip. But the breeze died down, and the paper floated to the ground, defeated.

"Across a strange field- living paper runs away- a futile escape." Date Masamune tilted his kabuto forward a little, letting the visor droop over his one good eye. Underneath the armor's shadow, he could still see the girl standing impatiently across the court.

"Is poetry the only reason you called me over here? I have more important things to do than listen to poetry." Mikasa let her hands rest on her swords' handles, which protruded from the front of her 3DMG. The breeze returned, tossing the end of her scarf idly.

Date chuckled, scratching the edge of his moustache. "To think that this is a city. How wondrous they will become, no?"

"That's enough. I'm leaving. Just be glad I didn't kill you." She turned around, aiming her 3DMG at a nearby rooftop.

The samurai sighed. "The youth these days. Always in a rush. They will not even stay put for a fight."

Mikasa spun on her heels, facing Date again. "Oh, really?"

"I don't think I have much chance of reaching my team in a big place like this," he explained. "I would rather have one fair battle, than be ambushed as I wander aimlessly. I have seen you fight, young one. You have much promise. I wish to fight you- if I lose, it would be an honor to die by your blade."

I never really thought about how difficult it is for the fighters on foot to get around, especially in a large arena like this, Mikasa thought. Then again, it won't be too easy for me to find my team, either. If I had met at our table instead of training, maybe I would have overheard the plan for this round. Looks like I'll be doing things the hard way.

"Fine. I accept your challenge. But I'm not going to go easy on you."

"And neither will I," said Date, sliding his katana out of its sheath.

Mikasa dropped down into a crouch and exploded forward, pushing away from the pavement with blistering speed. She drew her swords, and raised them both over her left shoulder, preparing for a horizontal slash. She saw the samurai take a step backward, shuffling his feet slightly.

What's he up to?

The scout released the potential energy she had stored in her muscles, and her blades ripped through the air toward their target. In an instant, the air would be filled with the sound of shattering metal and tearing flesh… but those sounds never came. Mikasa felt her swords jump in her hands as a pure, resonating tone echoed across the drab pavement. Her swords had been stopped, both blades serenely still against Date's katana.

"W…what?" she gasped, stunned that his defense actually worked. "How? You're just a normal human. That sword isn't special, either!"

Date gave a strained smile. "You're very strong- that much is clear. But you are not trained in fighting other swordsmen." He rotated his sword so it pointed toward the ground, then tilted it backwards, causing Mikasa's blades to slide off and crash into the ground. With a flick of his wrist, his katana was at the back of her neck.

"Again," he said. "This time, focus on technique."

"I thought you said you weren't going to go easy on me," huffed Mikasa, feeling the cold metal at her back. "Why don't you kill me now?"

"I told you. I do not have any hope to win. I desire an honorable defeat, and I intend on receiving one at your hands. If it means I teach you a few lessons, so be it."

He withdrew his sword and took a few steps back, once again returning to his ready-position. Mikasa picked herself up, gripping her swords tighter than before. She rushed him again, swinging from the right this time. Again, Date lifted his sword, blocking an attack that should have broken through his defense. As soon as the swords connected, Mikasa leapt back, avoiding making the same mistake twice. Date stepped forward as Mikasa retreated, now on the offensive. For the briefest moment, she saw his remaining eye scan her sword, before he pressed his weapon against hers- preventing her from attacking.

"You may be fast and strong, but if you do not know how to fight your enemy as an equal, one day you will fail."

Mikasa knew she could push his sword away at any time- the gap in strength between him and her was wide. But she waited, knowing that the man was in full preacher-mode. He continued his sermon.

"You see, there is more to a swordfight than fluidity, and the power behind one's blade. A battle always comes down to physical ability and skill, and often is a conflict between the two. Physical ability helps, but the warrior who uses their skill to the fullest always has an edge over brute force."

Mikasa slowly eased back on her swords, letting the katana inch closer. For a moment, Date applied more pressure to his blade-that was her chance. Mikasa dropped to the ground, rolling forwards. The samurai stumbled forward, no longer having an opponent to lean into. He twisted around in time to block another one of Mikasa's all-out slashes.

"If you're going to teach me lessons, tell me something I don't know," she growled. "Like how you can block this!"

"Simple science," said Date. "A katana is a curved blade, like an arch. It is an architecturally stable structure. An arch is capable of supporting a great deal of pressure. Every slash with a sword has a fast and slow portion- a blade travels fastest at its tip, and slowest at its base. By placing the most convex- and therefore, most stable- part of my sword at the slowest point of your swing, I can then move the blade up and hold your strike back."

"You put that much thought into it?"

"That is how skill can match physical ability."

Mikasa hopped backwards again, keeping one sword forward to hold Date at bay. With the other, she blocked his counter-attack.

"Okay," she grunted. "I'll believe that's what's keeping your sword from shattering. But how can you hold my attacks back? I'm stronger than you, I know it!"

"That is simple," said the samurai. "Proper footing."

Mikasa flicked her wrist, knocking his sword back. He assumed his ready-stance again, keeping his sword up. The scout's eyes flickered with understanding as the wind caught her scarf again.

"Date Masamune, I've learned my lesson."

"Then show me."

Mikasa nodded, and took off running in the opposite direction. At full speed, the scout was a khaki blur. She had her target clearly in sight- the ball court had two goals, each taller than the high chain-link fence. The scout jumped upward, arcing toward the one closest to her. She tucked her legs in, rotating in mid-jump- the samurai now directly below and ahead. Her feet touched the backboard, and her curled-in legs erupted with their full force, pushing her away at inhuman speed. The goal itself gave out behind her, its tall post bending against the force of her lower body. With split-second reflexes, Mikasa extended her swords to her sides, twisting herself into a high-g spin.

I picked up this one from that sulky captain of mine. This ought to do it.

Her swords became a vortex of death, a thin disc of reinforced metal rending the air asunder. Date extended his katana to block, but it became trapped in the spinning swords. It was ripped from his hand and flung across the court, as Mikasa's tornado tilted along its horizontal axis. There was a brief bark as metal met metal, and a warm splatter as blood was propelled by the hurricane of blades. Mikasa twisted her body in the opposite direction, halting her attack. She landed, and stumbled from dizziness.

I… I did it.

She turned and confirmed that she had indeed defeated Date. He knelt on the ground, right arm severed from his body. He held his remaining hand over the wound, though it wasn't much use.

"W-well, that's it then. You… ruined my footing… and stopped me from blocking...gah! Good… job. If… youaaghhh… could bring me my sword-ack!- I would appreciate it."

Mikasa regained her balance and sprinted across the court, snatching the dying man's sword and carrying it back to him. She placed it at his knees, and he nodded to acknowledge his thanks.

"Before… I go," he said weakly, "I want you to think about why you fight… you say you must… fight, to survive… but consider… those that fight for more than that… oh!"

Mikasa frowned. "I'm fighting because that's how you get by. If you don't you die. What part of that don't you understand?"

"I… understand," he gasped. "But… is it not nobler… to fight… to make a difference? Isn't that… what your friend… would have wanted?"

"Do you mean Eren? Is that who you mean? Do I really talk about him that much?"

The samurai did not answer her question. He picked up his sword and jammed it under his armor and through his stomach.

"Goodbye," he coughed as he pulled the blade back out. He set it on the ground in front of him, and as he collapsed, he gave it a push. It slid until it bumped into Mikasa's boots.

He wanted me to have it? It would be rude to turn down a dying man's request, I guess.

She picked up the sword and found a patch of unruly grass growing in a crack in the court's pavement. She wiped the blade clean on the foliage and returned to Date's body, which was sitting in quite an impressive puddle of blood. Mikasa carefully unfastened the sword's sheath and tied it down to her 3DMG's left box, making sure that it didn't interfere with the cables or launchers. She turned and fired her anchors at the top of a five-story apartment nearby, clicked the triggers, and flung herself upward. Mikasa spun to look down at the court as she landed, watching the red splotch in the middle grow slowly.

The man was convinced he had no hope of winning, yet still told me that my reason to fight was wrong. How can he claim to be right? In order to survive, one must fight. That is what a fight is, after all- it is the barest, most primal form of survival. 'Fight to make a difference'. It's possible, but not practical. The world is too large a dark room for a small light to illuminate. Why am I waxing poetic all of a sudden? Is it this sword? I sure hope not.

Something small interrupted her train of thought by falling onto her head. It bounced as it hit, which at least ruled out bird droppings. Mikasa channeled her annoyance into snatching it out of the air, not giving it a chance to touch the ground. She cupped it in her hands, examining it closely. It was something weighty wrapped in white paper- a little unraveling revealed it to be a pink, heart-shaped metal emblem, with gold trim.

What's this supposed to be? It certainly doesn't have anything to do with Date. Or me, for that matter.

A closer look revealed that there was text on the paper, reading

SECOND STREET BALLROOMS

I'd bet that's where one of the VIWs is. I need to find my team before I try anything, though. Who knows how dangerous they could be?

Mikasa slipped the paper and the heart into a pocket. She crossed the roof, contemplating the path she would take along the streets and above the roofs.

"Crazy samurai," she muttered. "Thinks he knows how to fight well. I sure did show him." She paused for a moment, and did some counting. "Wait… that's…. oh, no."