CHAPTER TEN: ORDINARY ISN’T ENOUGH

The dojo buzzed with quiet energy as Taylor stepped onto the worn mats, her muscles still sore from the previous day’s session. She knew she shouldn’t be training every day—Ted had even mentioned it once—but the aches in her muscles healed faster than normal. Or was she imagining it? Either way, said man stood at the center of the room, his usual gruff demeanor tempered by the sharpness in his gaze. If he’d noticed her odd recovery speed, he didn’t say anything about it.

“You’re late.” 

Taylor winced, glancing at the clock. She was only five minutes late, but Ted had no patience for lateness. “Sorry,” she muttered, setting her bag down and wrapping her hands.

“No need to apologize,” Ted replied flatly. “But you’ll make up for it.”

Taylor nodded, stepping onto the mat and into her stance. Warm-ups came first—grueling drills of kicks, punches, and bouts of shadowboxing that tested her stamina and speed, leaving her gasping for air. But soon enough, they were sparring.

“Keep your hands up,” Ted barked, taking in every misstep as though she were an open book.

Taylor adjusted her guard, her arms trembling as she deflected one of his strikes. She feinted left and threw a jab, but Ted parried it with ease, stepping into her space with a quick counterpunch aimed at her ribs. She twisted just in time, his fist grazing her side instead of landing flush.

“You’re hesitating,” Ted reprimanded calmly. “Trust your instincts, kid. Stop second-guessing yourself.”

Her breath came in short bursts as she circled the sparring ring, sweat dripping down her temples and pooling at the base of her neck. Her legs burned, her knuckles throbbed beneath the wraps, but she stepped forward again. This time, she launched a quick combination of punches. One of her strikes connected, grazing Ted’s jaw.

He gave her a small nod of approval. It was fleeting. In the next instant, he shifted his weight and swept her legs out from under her in one fluid motion.

Taylor hit the mat hard, a grunt escaping her as the air was knocked from her lungs.

“Better,” Ted said, extending a hand to help her up. “But you’re still holding back.”

Taylor frowned, dropping her hands slightly. “I’m not holding back,” she said, her tone defensive.

Ted raised an eyebrow as he circled her. “Not intentionally, maybe. But your attacks lack conviction. Either you’re overthinking, or you’re too caught up in what you used to be able to do.” His expression hardened, and his voice dropped slightly. “Either way, it’s dragging you down.”

The words cut deep. Taylor hated how easily he could read her, how quickly he exposed the doubts and fears she tried so hard to bury. The absence of her powers was like a phantom limb, always there, always reminding her of what she used to be capable of. Without them, she felt like she was running at half-speed, always one step behind.

Ted didn’t give her time to dwell on her thoughts as he stepped closer, his voice softening but losing none of its edge. “Look, I get it. You’ve got a terrible past—you wouldn’t be here pushing yourself this hard if you didn’t. But whatever you were before? It doesn’t matter now. Focus on the fighter standing in front of me. The one here, today.”

Taylor exhaled slowly, forcing herself to nod.

“Again,” Ted commanded, stepping back onto the mat and gesturing for her to attack.

Their sparring sessions had grown more intense over the past few weeks. Ted rarely pulled his punches, and Taylor had the bruises to prove it. But she pushed herself harder each time, desperate to prove she could keep up. And it was paying off. Her balance was better, her punches carried more power, and her reactions were quicker—but it wasn’t enough.

She knew it, and Ted knew it.

Launching another flurry of strikes, she forced Ted to stay on the defensive. And though her movements were fluid now, more clean, Ted was always one step ahead. His counters came quickly, his blocks solid, and his footwork impeccable.

“You’re still telegraphing your punches,” Ted said, sidestepping her next strike and tapping her lightly on the shoulder with an open palm. “A trained opponent would see that coming a mile away.”

Taylor gritted her teeth, adjusting her footing and trying again. Her frustration simmered just beneath the surface, but she pushed it aside, focusing on keeping her movements tighter and doing her best to minimise the tells that gave away her next move. She couldn’t afford to let her emotions cloud her judgment.

For every successful hit she managed to land, Ted countered with two more. A jab to her shoulder, a light sweep of her legs—just enough to throw her off balance without knocking her down completely. He was testing her, pushing her limits without letting her collapse under the pressure.

When Ted finally called for a break, Taylor collapsed onto the bench, her chest heaving as she wiped the sweat from her brow. 

“You’ve come a long way,” Ted said, standing over her with his arms folded across his chest. “But physical skill is only half the battle. The rest? That’s up here.” He tapped his temple for emphasis. “Until you get your head straight, you’ll always be swinging at shadows.”

Taylor glanced up at him, her brow furrowed. “How do I do that?”

Ted shrugged, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “That’s for you to figure out. Start by asking yourself what you’re really fighting for.”

The question lingered in her mind long after she left the dojo that night. What was she fighting for? A neighborhood? Redemption? A sense of purpose? Control?

As she walked through Gotham’s dimly lit street, the skyline stretched out before her, jagged and imposing against the night sky. The city pulsed with life, its lights flickering like stars in the darkness, but it was also suffocating, and a constant reminder of how small and fragile she felt.

But then she thought of the Narrows. Of Marla, Evan, and the others who were starting to look to her for guidance. For protection, even. She thought of Ted’s words, of the fire in his eyes when he pushed her to be better, mingling with her own doubts and frustrations.

Ordinary isn’t enough, she thought, stopping on a footbridge overlooking the city. It never has been.

She clenched her fists, the faint ache in her muscles grounding her in the present. She wasn’t Skitter or Weaver, and she would never be Khepri again. But she was still Taylor Hebert, and she had faced worse than this before.

As the wind whipped through the streets, carrying the faint sounds of Gotham’s ever-present chaos, Taylor steeled herself for the challenges ahead. 

One step at a time, she told herself. One step at a time.