Training in the small demonstration room did not stop with the lesson on "look first, call first, retreat first."
The following afternoon, Yamashiro Takuma moved half the class there. As the children filed in, the white line was still on the floor, the brazier remained unlit as usual, and the bucket and wet cloth sat against the wall like a set of props everyone had seen before, but had not truly learned yet.
The moment Kiyo entered, he murmured, "Now whenever I see that line, my legs want to move backward on their own."
Morita Yu replied, "That means you finally understand it wasn't drawn there for fun."
Today's rules were simpler than the last lesson—and harder.
They worked in pairs: one observer and one executor. The observer could only watch and, after it was over, state what they had seen. They could not give reminders during the exercise, call out directions for their partner, or tell them to stop. Upon hearing the command, the executor had to call out their own escape route and make their own move. Even if the person beside them could clearly see they were about to make a mistake, they could not say that step for them.
"Why can't we remind them?" a child in the front row asked.
Yamashiro Takuma said, "Because when it's really your turn to move, there won't always be someone there to call that step for you."
As soon as he said it, the demonstration room fell silent. Even Kiyo stopped joking around.
Che stood in line, knowing full well what this lesson was meant to address. Over the past days, they had been practicing retelling, pauses, the white line, the leaf on the back of the hand, and breathing before the Fire Line. They looked like separate lessons,