Chapter 1: Training session
The last of the sunset bled orange and violet across the courtyard cobblestones, casting long, distorted shadows from the willows. Yoko felt the day’s chill seep through her uniform and into her back where she leaned against a weathered column, her focus entirely on the glowing runic diagrams floating above her textbook. Students milled about, their laughter and chatter echoing off the ivy-covered stone walls, while others honed their skills in the training rings scattered around the courtyard. The distant clang of practice blades from the ironwood grove was just white noise.
Click-click-click.
The sharp, rhythmic sound cut through her concentration. Heels on stone. A specific, familiar cadence.
Yoko didn’t look up until a pair of black stocking-clad legs entered her narrow field of vision. She let her gaze travel upward, over the hem of a short dress, past detached puffy sleeves, to find a playful smile waiting for her.
“Burning the twilight oil, Yoko? Exam’s not for two days.” Mydia’s voice was a melody of amused confidence. Her orange hair, partly pinned up with slender needles, partly cascading loose, seemed to hold the last of the sun’s light. Her fox ears twitched forward attentively.
“Preparation is discipline. The exam covers spectral parry theory. It’s not intuitive.” Yoko closed her book, the runes winking out. She kept her tone even, professional. It was a mask, one that felt thin around Mydia.
“Theory is boring. You know what’s intuitive? Actually doing the thing.” Mydia spun one of her chakrams on a finger, the polished metal catching the green of her eyes. “I’ve booked the Magic Dojo. Slot starts at nine. We could run a true simulacrum drill. No holding back. You in?”
Yoko’s heart gave a single, hard thump against her ribs. The Magic Dojo was serious. Its environments were unpredictable, its simulated combatants brutally adaptive. It was also utterly private. “A full simulation? That’s… advanced for a first-year review.”
“We’re not typical first-years. And you’re certainly not.” Mydia leaned in, a whisper of her perfume cutting through the scent of damp earth and old stone—something like sandalwood and mischief. “Come on. It’ll be fun. Promise.”
The word fun did things to Yoko’s carefully maintained composure. A flutter low in her stomach, a slight dryness in her throat. She nodded once, sharp. “Nine. I’ll be there.”
Mydia’s grin widened, her fox tail giving a satisfied swish. “See you then, sniper.”
Yoko arrived at 8:58, her boots silent on the obsidian floor of the Dojo annex. The air here was sterile, charged with latent magic. Mydia was already leaning against the archway of the main chamber, her silhouette dramatic under the cold magical sconces.
“Right on time. I like that.” Mydia pushed off the wall, her heels echoing as she led the way inside. “I took the liberty of pre-loading a scenario. Hope you don’t mind.”
The Dojo chamber was a sphere of seamless, dark material that could become anything. Currently, it was a neutral grey void. Yoko slung her rifle from her back, the familiar weight a comfort. “What parameters did you set?”
“Something pretty,” Mydia said, her smile all innocence as she tapped the control rune embedded in the wall. “You’ll see.”
The grey void dissolved. It didn’t fade; it shattered like glass, and reality poured in. Cool, night air washed over them, carrying the scent of wet stone, pine, and blooming night-blooming jasmine. Underfoot, smooth river stones replaced the obsidian, winding a path through meticulously raked white gravel. Ancient pines, their trunks gnarled and twisted, reached up towards a star-dusted velvet sky. A large koi pond, its surface ink-black and dotted with floating lotus leaves, reflected the soft glow of paper and stone lanterns. The silence was profound, broken only by the trickle of a bamboo shishi-odoshi clicking in the distance.
“A Japanese garden?” Yoko murmured, her sniper rifle held loosely at her side. Her eyes, adjusted instantly by the dojo’s magic, scanned the shadows between the rocks and pines. It was beautiful. Too beautiful. In the Dojo, beauty was always a prelude to violence. “What’s the threat profile?”
“Oh, you know.” Mydia was already spinning a chakrum on each hand, the blades whispering through the air. “Standard night infiltration drill. A few ninja-type simulacra. Low to moderate skill. Just to get the blood pumping.” Her tail swished lazily. “Ready?”
Yoko wasn’t, not entirely. The serenity of the garden was disarming, and Mydia’s casual tone was a hair too casual. She nodded, nevertheless, and began to channel her magic. A soft, cyan light shimmered around her boots. Kinetic propulsion—her signature. It let her glide, hover, and reposition with impossible grace. She melted into the shadow of a large rock, her rifle coming up to her shoulder, the scope eye becoming an extension of her will.
For a full minute, there was only the click of the bamboo fountain.
Then the gravel shifted. Not a footstep, but the faintest scatter of pebbles from three different directions at once.
“Contact,” Yoko breathed, her finger hovering over the trigger.
They came not from the path, but from everywhere. From the shadows of the pines, from the far side of the pond, even rising, silent and dripping, from the ink-black water itself. Not a few. Dozens. Their forms were sleek, clad in head-to-toe dark shinobi gear, only their eyes visible—glinting, soulless points of reflected lantern light. They moved without sound, a flowing wave of controlled menace.
“Mydia,” Yoko said, her voice tight. “This is not ‘a few’.”
“Whoops,” Mydia chirped, not sounding sorry at all. She was already moving. “Guess I mis-set the slider!”
The first ninja reached her. A weighted chain shot out towards her legs. Mydia leapt, not just over it, but into a fluid aerial cartwheel, her chakrams becoming blurs of silver. One flashed out, deflecting a shuriken aimed for Yoko’s perch. The other sliced through the chain mid-air. “Looks like they’re into binding!” she called out, laughter in her voice.
Yoko fired. A crack of magical energy, not a bullet, but a concussive bolt of force. It struck a ninja in the chest, flinging him back into the pond with a splash. She immediately pushed off with her magic, gliding sideways to a stone lantern as two more replaced her target. She was a ghost, a red-haired wraith in the night, always moving, always firing. Each shot was precise, economical.
Each shot was precise, economical. Yoko moved like a breath of wind, her magic letting her skate from lantern to rock to the low branch of a pine. Below, Mydia was a cyclone of orange and silver, her chakrams carving arcs through the dark forms that swarmed her. The clang of metal on metal, the wet thud of a good hit, Mydia’s exhilarated yell—it was chaos, but it was their chaos.
They were holding. More than holding.
Yoko squeezed off another shot, watching a ninja crumple. A flush of confidence warmed her chest. They were a good team. A lethal pair. She saw an opening, a path through the scrambling figures to link up with Mydia near the koi pond. She pushed off with her magic, gliding low and fast over the gravel.
It was a trap.
The moment her feet touched down, the air around her seemed to crystallize. From the ink-black shadows beneath a stone bridge, three weighted bolas whirred into the twilight. They weren’t aimed to kill. They were webs.
Yoko tried to pivot. Magic flared at her heels. Too late.
The first bola wrapped around her ankles with a vicious thwack, the hard leather weights snapping together, the thin, incredibly strong nylon cord immediately tangling. Her magic sputtered out. The second caught her wrists as she brought her rifle up to block, the weights whipping around and binding her forearms together with brutal efficiency. The rifle clattered to the stones. The third smashed into her back, knocking the wind from her lungs and wrapping around her torso, pinning her upper arms to her sides.
She went down hard on her knees, a grunt of shock and pain forced from her lips. The bonds were tight, professional, leaving no room to slip a finger, only to strain against the unyielding pressure.
“Yoko!” Mydia’s voice shattered from a battle-cry to a snarl.
Seeing Yoko captured did something to her. The playful glint in her green eyes vanished, replaced by a feral glow. She growled, low in her throat, a truly vulpine sound. She became a blur, abandoning all defensive posture, her chakrams seeking only to cut a path to her friend.
It made her reckless. It made her obvious.
As she leapt over the pond, a shimmering net of kunai, each trailing a filament of that same ghostly nylon, erupted from the water’s surface. It was overwhelming. One kunai tangled in the loose strands of her hair, jerking her head back. Another wrapped its line around the wrist of her chakram hand, yanking the weapon from her grip. Lines snagged her boots, her other wrist, her tail. Each individual pull was manageable, but together they were a spider’s embrace, every frantic struggle only weaving the web tighter.
With a final, furious cry, Mydia was dragged down, landing on her side beside Yoko. She thrashed, her fox ears flat against her skull, her fangs bared. “Get off! Let go, you cheap simulation hacks!”
But the shinobi were already on them, moving with silent, impersonal efficiency. Four surrounded each girl. Strong hands gripped their shoulders, forced them from their knees onto their stomachs on the cool, smooth river stones. A knee pressed into the small of each girl’s back, not cruelly, but with immovable authority, holding them prone.
Yoko could only turn her head, her cheek against the stone. She saw Mydia, still struggling, her furious green eyes meeting hers. Her own heart hammered against the tight cords around her chest. This wasn’t part of the drill. This was… different.
The shinobi worked quickly. The chaotic web of lines was gathered, organized. The cord from the bola around Yoko’s torso was drawn up between her breasts, pulled tight over her shoulders, and then cinched down her back, creating a harsh, restrictive harness that dug into the soft flesh of her breasts and accentuated their shape against the stone beneath her. It was shockingly intimate in its precision.
Then they took her already-bound ankles. The line connecting them was pulled up, forcing her knees to bend outwards, and then tied off to the harness at her back. A classic, inescapable frogtie. Her legs were bent double, splayed, her thighs straining against the bond. She was completely prone, utterly displayed. A hot, confusing wave of shame and something else, something darker and more thrilling, washed over her. Her focus, her discipline, shattered into a thousand splintered thoughts.
A glance to the side confirmed Mydia was receiving identical treatment. The playful huntress was now trussed in the same severe harness, her own curvy form emphasized by the tight nylon. Her tail was bound down along her leg. She had stopped growling. Her breaths came in quick, sharp pants, her eyes wide, fixed on Yoko. There was no mockery in her face now, only a stunned, electrifying awareness.
"Mydia, this is a little extreme compared to my normal training sessions"
Yoko managed to say, her voice breathless and hoarse.
Mydia craned her neck to look at Yoko, her green eyes dark with desire. "Well, it's supposed to be difficult ! Actually, I Mmmgpphh !?" Mydia opened her mouth to continue , but a ball gag was suddenly forced between her teeth, muffling her words. She let out a muffled protest, but it was too late. The gag was secured tightly behind her head, leaving her unable to speak. The mysterious shinobi made sure that Mydia's hair was free of the gag strap and allowed to flow freely.
He also ensured that her fox ears were not hindered or covered by any part of the rope or gag. Mydia's eyes widened as she realized she was now completely at the mercy of these skilled ninjas. She tried to struggle, but her bonds held firm, and she could only squirm and wriggle in place.
A crotch rope was threaded between Mydia's legs, but was not anchored off yet.
Yoko's eyes widened slightly at this, as she had clearly not expected it. "Pause exer -gmmph," she grunted as a purple ball gag was shoved behind her teeth. Again the shinobi took care to ensure that Yoko's hair was not caught under the gag as it was tightened and secured.
Yoko's eyes watered slightly as the gag forced her jaw open, making it difficult for her to speak. She looked over at Mydia, trying to communicate with her eyes. " Mmphh!" Yoko tried to speak, but the gag muffled her words, making them unintelligible.
Mydia's eyes widened as she saw the crotch rope being threaded between Yoko's legs. She tried to speak, but her own gag muffled her words as well. "Mmphh... Mmmmphh!" she protested, her eyes pleading with the shinobi.