** DOUBLE UPDATE! JUMP BACK A CHAPTER IF YOU HAVEN'T YET READ **

The morning had been a change of pace, putting things lightly. 

JinJu could feel the toll lack of real exercise has taken on her legs when they’d been told to go on a warm-up jog, and hoped sincerely it wouldn't take too long to get back into the swing of things.

The weapons’ rooms before that though, had gotten her so buzzed she’d barely minded. She was considering breaking in at night, slowly building up a new collection for herself and taking the Huangs' stuff from right underneath their noses. They probably wouldn't miss it, considering the sheer amount of other toys they had to play with.

Everything kind of made her and Chanyeol’s old stuff look like stage props, though. She’d found herself a new set of knives, blades differing in shape and length and whatnot; Chanyeol had found himself a new club, one made of impressive black steel, with wicked studs covering the heavier end. Knives were mandatory for everybody— Yong had gone on a tangent about their importance, of which JinJu felt she was already very well versed in, and thus had no reason to listen to.

Jongdae had surprised her with his choice. A sabre of the same black material as Chanyeol’s club, curved and lethal-looking. The blade was cruel just to look at; she couldn't imagine anybody getting impaled with the thing. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that, though. Jongdae didn't strike her as the ‘comfortable with murdering’ type.

After drills, they’d formed the loose circle around the floor, which was suitably covered with the same flooring one would find in a boxing ring. The gathering was a bit weird, and had given off a cult-y vibe to JinJu (she’d once walked into a cult meeting— long story, but the similarity was so clear it was slightly distressing). 

Then, Kris had thrown JinJu into the deep end— with Lay, no less.

She didn't mind Lay, not really. He was a Defective, technically, so she didn't really distrust him. He’d actually turned out to be a bit of an oddball, rather than aloof and mysterious as he’d initially come across as. Ilosian values— namely, the lack of tension between Defectives and Walkers and Shifters— were a bizarre, foreign concept that JinJu was working on wrapping her head around. She’d accepted Baekhyun and Jongdae, sure; and still, the idea of more was stressful. 

With Lay though, it was more she couldn't relax around him, because she knew this secret about him that he’d decided not to tell anyone else. It was of too much gravity for her to feel secure in keeping it. He’d carelessly entrusted her with information that she, in all honesty, had no desire to be aware of. That was what set her on edge, not the man himself.

The prospect of fighting him was nerve-wracking though. He was sub-human, for crying out loud.

Thankfully, he hadn't sped up to the point which she knew he was capable. He was strong though, strong enough that JinJu had realised early on that she did not want to be hit— dodging had been the best option, but it was definitely a tiring one.

Watching Chanyeol glare at Suho, tensing for a fight, she decided she’d take another hour of it over watching the showdown playing out before her.

She hoped Suho would get his whipped, and that was, logically, the more probable outcome. But JinJu still couldn't help worrying, gnawing subconsciously on her lip as the two engaged in a ridiculous stare-off. 

Then, as though a telepathic decision had been made unbeknownst to the rest of the group, they rushed toward one another.

Both had started out trying to land blows on the other, little grunts of frustration sounding as the other would duck or dodge away or even catch or deflect the hit before it could make contact. 

Chanyeol finally got a good grasp on Suho’s elbow after a particularly sloppy swing, grabbing it with both hands and using the leverage to tug the Walker towards him, kneeing him in the gut, then hooking the foot behind to knock both his knees in. Suho growled as he went down, one arm swinging around Chanyeol’s neck; the pair were sprawled on the floor moments after, brawling, for lack of better words.

This time, punches made contact, every dull thumping noise and grunt or growl of pain making JinJu twitch minutely. Beside her, she could see Baekhyun was the same, gaze riveted on the pair, worry clear in the thin, pursed set of his lips.

Soon they staggered back to their feet, Chanyeol having kicked Suho off him and risen fluidly, his eyes appearing darker than before, and enraged. 

Suho had a sudden burst of energy, apparently, launching himself at Chanyeol with a roar, and bringing his elbow down directly on the other’s face. Chanyeol stumbled, falling to the ground, and JinJu’s breath caught in as he raised a hand to his nose, his fingers coming back wet and red.

Chanyeol’s back was to Suho, hunched over, dark hair falling and concealing his face to JinJu. Suho, meanwhile, was striding over, the picture of smug triumph, an irritating smirk curling his lips. JinJu looked frantically at Chanyeol, then stopped; because Chanyeol, too, was smiling, grim and well aware of his approaching opponent.

Suho was close, close enough to make the final hit, but he was cocky— he wanted to draw it out, wanted to humiliate Chanyeol. He paced around, reached down as though to jerk Chanyeol’s head up, perhaps spit some sneering words into his bloody face.

Chanyeol’s arms reached out, too fast for Suho to comprehend what was happening; before too long he was groaning on the floor, Chanyeol’s long arms wrapped around his neck in a chokehold.

It was all over for Suho. He went limp in defeat, face flushing due to both embarrassment and his mounting anger, about which he could do nothing about, could not act on.

“Well,” Yong said, breaking the silence. “I guess that’s a wrap.” 

Chanyeol released his grip on Suho, stepping back and sniffing uncomfortably. “Could I, uh, could I get a tissue or something?”

Kris gestured for him to come over; there was a cupboard on the far back wall, a first aid cupboard that he sat the other down in front of and began pulling out icepacks and whatnot. At Yong’s insistence, everybody began to shuffle out of the gym and back up to the house, shooting curious glances Chanyeol’s way as they went. JinJu and Baekhyun were reluctant, but Lay urged them along.

“Jongin,” Yong called out, and the stragglers— the group of Shifters— all halted. “I said just Jongin. Rest of you can scram.” 

One week into Yong’s little training camp, Jongin trudged down to the gym, making a mental list of all the things he’d rather do.

Jongin would rather be at some royal press conference. He’d rather be cleaning his brother’s quarters after a particularly rowdy night. He’d rather be the heir to the throne— hell, he’d rather be King (and while to some that would've sounded an alright gig, it was the stuff of Kim Jongin’s nightmares). Jongin would rather be back on the bus, or Gem’s boat; he’d take a date with the hostile Defective girl, likely murder attempts and all, over walking down to do extra training with Yong.

Actually, perhaps that last one was a bit drastic.

The point was that Jongin considered this boot camp to be a low point of his existence, and the fact that Yong had decided to tack on extra, one-on-one sessions to the deal was sending Jongin spiralling further into the depths of despair. 

To be fair, extra training had been carried out with himself, Sehun, Luhan and Baekhyun in rotation, daily— what didn't sit right with Jongin was how much more fruitful their sessions seemed in comparison to his. 

Luhan was praised over and over again for his aim; Jongin knew he shot for sport, regularly, had even done it with him once (Jongin, alas, was not a good shot). He was becoming a sniper of sorts, as ridiculous as it sounded, and Yong and Kris had started him on archery. He’d done that before too, so Jongin was expecting another onslaught of Luhan-directed compliments before the next week was up.

Sehun's only strength before was his athletic ability in terms of pointless, rich kid sports, like polo. Yong had decided the kid had a strong arm, and had said he’d be unstoppable once he learnt how to use it properly. Jongin, though he didn't really care, had even heard whisperings of Baekhyun’s agility and speed.

Watching how the others hacked expertly at the practice dolls in group training, how everybody had a niche, and a rapidly expanding repertoire of ways to kill and main and win, Jongin truly felt useless. He’d always hated the nickname— so what if he preferred to stay out of the Kingdom’s affairs?—but now he’d accepted it in gloomy resignation.

Sure, he still tried. He had to, the world depended on it, as surreal and even pretentious as that sounded. Jongin wasn't entirely hopeless— the problem was, he wasn't anything special either. It seemed that everybody else had a purpose, like they played an important role as an individual in the team dynamic. Jongin consequently felt like deadweight.

They’d been at the Huang’s place for around a week, training day in and day out. Kris had told them they had three weeks before they had to get moving again. Jongin secretly thought it would be better if, when that time came, he just stayed behind.

Evenings were generally rest time. They’d train as a group in the morning, then Yong would take the four, one after the other, for private sessions. The others were tr