The living table was indeed tamed. Mom and I loaded it into the car without any trouble, and it stayed perfectly still (aside from a low, annoyed growl) as we carried it into the kitchen and set it in place.

  "What’s next?" Hana asked eagerly.

  "Another friend’s place," Mom replied. "You two probably met her son on Friday. He was one of the newbies."

  "I’m not familiar with all of them yet," Hana said. "Most of them are new to me too; just like Max."

  Not long after, we pulled into the parking lot of a garden center.

  "Ah," Hana said, her eyes lighting up, "now I think I know who that boy was."

  The place looked completely normal. Too normal, which usually meant something was very wrong beneath the surface.

  "Creepy," a middle-aged woman greeted Mom. "Did you hear that... uh... you-know-who is back in town?" She stopped herself when she noticed us.

  "Voldemort is back?" Mom raised a brow dramatically.

  "Not funny."

  "It absolutely is, Flora," Mom chuckled. "And Omnia being here isn’t exactly a secret. People already know."

  Then Mom introduced us to each other.

  Flora was the owner of the place and clearly an old friend of Mom’s. She looked mostly normal, except for her hair, which was decorated with living flowers. With more colorful clothes, she could’ve passed for a hippie.

  She didn’t look like a fighter at all. She wasn’t obese, but her body was softer, fuller; nothing like the lean, battle-hardened women I’d gotten used to seeing.

  "It’s nice to meet you properly," Flora said warmly. "I saw both of you fighting on Friday."

  "Want to fight one of them?" Mom offered jokingly.

  "Oh no," Flora laughed. "These days I only wrestle soil bags. And I sometimes lose; curse my hips."

  "Then let’s see what you’ve got for us," Mom said.

  "I have work to do," Flora replied, shaking her head. "But Florian can help you."

  A few minutes later, a boy around our age appeared. I recognized him immediately from Friday.

  He was skinny, with long green hair that didn’t look like hair at all; it resembled blades of grass from close. He wore dark, punkish clothes, which made him look like a rebellious nymph going through a phase.

  "I’m Florian," he introduced himself simply.

  "Since you’re basically an expert," Mom said, "I’ll leave this to you while I see what your mother has in stock."

  She walked off with Flora, already deep in conversation.

  "I’m starting to think she just dragged us along on a paranormal shopping trip," I remarked. "First the table, now this. I really hope she’s not buying some flesh-eating monster plant."

  I liked Little Shop of Horrors, but I did not want an Audrey II in our living room.

  "My mom does have some weird plants," Florian said casually. "So I can’t promise anything."

  That did not help.

  He led us into a restricted area of the building; employees-only, at least on paper.

  At first glance, it looked like a greenhouse packed with countless plants. But the closer I looked, the clearer it became that none of them were normal.

  Strange colors, unnatural shapes, leaves that twitched when we passed. And a few of them were definitely growling.

  "What’s the plan here?" I asked.

  "So this is gonna be some kind of botanical battle?" Hana added.

  "Well, as you’ve guessed, plants will be involved," Florian nodded. "This one’s more like an obstacle course."

  "Cool," Hana grinned. "Is it dangerous?"

  "More painful than dangerous," he replied. "Also, I’d appreciate it if you kept quiet about the plants here. Not all of them are legal in this country."

  I wondered what kind of paranormal authorities he was worried about.

  "My mom built this a long time ago and used it for training," Florian continued. "This course is all about unexpected encounters."

  "Ah, because you can never really know what to expect from an enemy," I said.

  "Exactly," he nodded. "In the paranormal world, even someone you know can still surprise you."

  "So we just walk through while the plants attack us?" Hana asked. "Sounds like you want us to do your chores."

  "I wouldn’t complain," Florian smirked, "but it’s more complicated than that. You’ll need to dodge, parry, or strike, or whatever your instincts tell you. And you’ll have to react fast."

  "Alright," Hana said with a shrug. "Just don’t get mad if we wreck your plants."

  "They wouldn’t be here if it were that easy to get rid of them," he replied. Then he paused. "Actually, I should probably demonstrate first. Just so you know what kind of things to expect."

  "That would make things easier," I agreed.

  "Not exactly," Florian shook his head. "This isn’t a preset machine. These are living creatures. Which plants attack is completely random. There’s a good chance all three of us will have totally different runs."

  "Okay, that's interesting. So what are the rules?" Hana asked.

  "Normally, you’d have to clear all the rows," Florian said. "But that’s a bit much for beginners. This is training, not punishment. We’ll stick to the middle row and stop once we reach the other end."

  Then Florian stepped up to the edge of the middle row and took a slow breath.

  "Watch your footing," he said over his shoulder. "And don’t assume the plants only attack from the front. Expect danger from every possible angle."

  And then he stepped in.

  The moment his boot touched the soil between the rows, the greenhouse seemed to notice him. Leaves rustled without wind. Thick stems shifted, repositioning themselves like coiled muscles waking up.

  A bulbous plant to his left twitched and spat a glob of sticky sap toward his head.

  Florian raised his arm instinctively. Bark rippled across his skin, racing from wrist to elbow in less than a second as woody branches burst outward, weaving together into a crude shield. The sap splattered against it with a wet thwack, sizzling faintly as it began to smoke.

  He didn’t stop moving.

  A cluster of vine-things slithered up from the soil ahead, their tips splitting open into thorn-lined jaws. Florian snapped his hand forward, and a thick liana shot from his palm like a tentacle or a living whip. It cracked through the air, wrapping around two of the vines at once. With a sharp tug, he yanked them out of the ground, roots and all, and flung them aside.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  (Oh, and he was right when he said earlier that these things are hard to kill. The vines began to crawl back towards their original spot.)

  A low growl echoed from the right. A squat, cactus-like plant lurched forward on stubby root-legs, its surface bristling as the needles extended and vibrated.

  Thorns erupted across Florian's shoulders and chest, pushing through his clothes without tearing them, forming a layered armor of barbed growth. He barreled forward just as the cactus launched itself at him. The impact knocked him back a step, but the creature recoiled instead, impaling itself on Florian’s thorned plating with a dry, splintering crack.

  He shoved it off and kept running.

  The path narrowed, leaves overhead snapping shut like jaws. Something snapped at his ankle, and he jumped, twisting midair as roots burst upward to grab him. He slammed his palm into the ground on landing, and thick roots answered, surging up his leg instead, reinforcing his stance and anchoring him in place while the hostile roots snapped uselessly around his calves.

  With a sharp move, he sent those same roots outward, forcing the attacking plants back as if the ground itself had rejected them.

  Near the end, a cloud of glittering pollen burst from a flower taller than he was, drifting toward his face.

  Florian grimaced and covered his mouth and nose as broad leaves unfolded from his back, overlapping like scales and fanning the air violently. The pollen dispersed, swirling harmlessly away as the flower shuddered and closed, as if it was offended.

  A few steps later, he crossed an invisible line in the soil.

  The plants stilled.

  Leaves relaxed. Vines loosened. The greenhouse returned to its quiet, watchful hum, as if nothing had happened.

  Florian straightened, brushing dirt from his sleeve as the growths on his body slowly retracted, bark smoothing back into skin, thorns dissolving into nothing.

  He turned back to us with a small grin.

  "And that," he said, "was a calm run."

  Hana’s eyes were almost glowing.

  "Okay," she said slowly. "That does look fun."

  "Then it's your turn, I guess," he answered.

  "Would you mind?" She turned to me.

  "Ladies first," I replied, gesturing towards the obstacle course.

  "Thanks," she said, stepping forward. "Let’s see what we’ve got."

  The second she crossed the line, she ripped off her human face. The Oni face settled in, and with it came raw, brutal power.

  The ground ahead erupted.

  A massive pitcher-plant reared up, its rim lined with jagged, bone-hard petals. It snapped shut where Hana had been standing a second earlier, but she met it head-on instead of retreating. She drove her fist straight into the side of its bulbous body.

  The impact landed with a deep, wet boom. The plant folded inward, rupturing as sap sprayed across the soil. Hana ripped her arm free and kept moving as if she hadn’t just punched a living bear trap into submission.

  Thick stalks swung at her from both sides next, club-like and fast. Hana caught one under her arm, muscles bulging, and threw the plant into its neighbor. Both collapsed in a tangle of snapping stems.

  Then the terrain changed.

  Thin, whip-like fronds slithered into view, striking too fast for brute force alone. Hana reached for her face again.

  "It's granny time."

  It was the Turbo Granny face's time to shine.

  She vanished.

  To us, it looked like Hana blurred forward, weaving between lashes of vine and snapping leaves with impossible speed. Plants struck empty air where she’d been a moment earlier. She ran along the edge of a raised planter, kicked off a wall of thick moss, and rebounded over a nest of snapping roots without ever breaking stride.

  A carnivorous flower tried to close around her midair.

  She tapped it twice on the way past.

  It collapsed a second later, petals crumpling from delayed impact.

  Near the final stretch, the temperature dropped sharply.

  A massive, kelp-like plant rose from a flooded trough to her left, its core pulsing. A moment later, it unleashed a roaring jet of water, dense and pressurized enough to carve stone.

  Hana switched faces mid-step.

  Scales shimmered across her skin as the Ningyo face emerged; sleek, aquatic, eyes reflecting light like deep water. The torrent slammed into her mouth and vanished, absorbed seamlessly into her.

  She skidded back a half-step, shoes digging into wet soil.

  "Thanks," she said. However, it was hard to understand because her mouth was full.

  The absorbed water surged back out through her lips as she twisted toward the next threat, a fire plant ahead that had already ignited, petals blazing like a bonfire. Hana puckered her lips for better aim.

  A compressed wave of water detonated from her cheeks.

  The flames died instantly with a violent hiss, steam exploding outward as the fire-plant sagged, blackened, and smoking.

  "I don't have to water it now. Thanks," Florian grinned.

  Hana slowed to a walk as she crossed the finish line.

  The plants settled again.

  She turned back toward me, her face returning to normal, hair damp, breathing steady.

  "Now it's your turn."

  I nodded and stepped up to the line, feeling the familiar, restless pressure under my skin.

  "Try not to die," Hana offered helpfully.

  "Don't worry, you can't die here," Florian corrected, "But it can be very painful if you lose."

  "Thanks, guys. That's really comforting," I said, then stepped forward.

  The plants wasted no time, like a living alarm system.

  The pot's soil to my right bulged, then exploded upward as a massive, green arm burst out of the ground. It was thick as a tree trunk, muscles defined like a bodybuilder’s, veins pulsing with chlorophyll. The hand opened wide and swung at me.

  I planted my feet (no pun intended) and charged my right hand, kinetic energy flooding my palm and forearm until my fingers vibrated.

  The slap landed successfully.

  My hand connected with the plant-arm’s wrist, and the stored force released all at once. The arm snapped sideways, burying itself into a row of thorny bushes, fingers twitching uselessly as it got tangled in its own strength.

  “Okay. That worked better than expected," I thought.

  I moved again... and nearly laughed.

  A wolf-shaped plant bounded out from behind a planter, snarling. It had sharp leaves for fur, glowing amber eyes, but most importantly, each paw ended in a flower pot. Ceramic. Beige. One even had a price sticker still on it.

  It skidded slightly as it charged, pots clanking against the floor.

  "Seriously? You like those rich people's dogs who are forced to wear shoes."

  The wolf leaped.

  I overloaded my legs and launched sideways, the world blurring as I cleared several meters in a blink. I managed to slam my thigh into a table that had some slithering, snake-like roses on it. It was painful, but it worked. The wolf overshot me, scrambling awkwardly as the pots slipped on damp soil.

  Before it could recover, I charged my arms again, grabbed it by the scruff of leafy growth between its shoulders (hoping that nothing was hiding inside), and threw.

  The kinetic release sent the plant-wolf flying like a green missile, straight into the still-struggling arm-creature. The arm instinctively clenched, wrapping around the wolf as vines and fingers tangled together into one furious, immobilized mess.

  I sprinted for the finish.

  But the ground shook.

  Roots burst upward directly in front of me, forming into a towering humanoid shape made entirely of gnarled tree roots and packed earth. Its torso twisted as it rose, shoulders broad, arms thicker than my legs. No face, just a knotted mass where a head should be.

  It took one step toward me.

  I acted quickly and slammed into it chest-first and immediately wrapped my arms around its torso, focusing all my tactile telekinesis into this move. When I made contact, I felt its structure: where the roots were tight, where the soil was loose, where the weight was poorly balanced.

  I dropped my center of gravity and pulled.

  The ground beneath its feet betrayed it as I redirected its own mass. The root-giant stumbled, and that was all I needed. I twisted, lifted, and released the stored kinetic force through my grip.

  The creature tore free of the soil and flew sideways, crashing into a reinforced planter with a thunderous crack. Roots snapped. Dirt rained down.

  I staggered at first, but then crossed the finish line.

  Behind me, everything began to settle. The plans all crawled back where they came from, even the rooted big guy.

  "Damn... these guys were indeed tough," I panted as the adrenaline finally wore off and my legs remembered how tired they were supposed to be.

  "Good job, both of you," Florian said, nodding with clear approval. "You handled it well."

  "Thanks, but... uh..." I glanced back at the carnage of roots, pots, and angry greenery. "We’re not going back through that again, right? My lungs are still on fire."

  Florian chuckled and waved us over to a narrow side path, separated from the obstacle course by a tall metal fence.

  "We can walk back safely. No bush ambushes, I promise."

  Relief washed over me as we followed him. A few steps later, he sat down on a nearby bench.

  "After a short break, we can run it again if you want," he offered.

  "Yeah," Hana said, stretching her shoulders. "I’d be up for that."

  We sat down as well, letting the silence settle for a moment.

  "I’m curious," I said eventually, turning to Florian. "Your mom is an old friend of my mother?"

  "Yeah," he replied. "Since the very beginning. Why?"

  "I barely know anything about Mom’s past," I admitted. "She kept it pretty locked up for a long time."

  Florian hummed thoughtfully.

  "Oh, she’s got a lot of old friends. Hold on."

  Before I could ask what he meant, he jumped up and sprinted off. A minute later, he returned, holding something carefully in both hands.

  "This was one of my mom’s favorites," he said, handing it to me. "Most of her old friends are in it."

  It was a framed photograph.

  Flora stood in the center, smiling warmly, surrounded by a familiar collection of faces: Mom, Jürgen, the twins, überfrau, Judge, Marge, and several others I didn’t recognize but somehow felt important.

  Hana leaned closer.

  "Wait," she blinked. "Is that Omnia?"

  "Yeah," Florian nodded. "After her famous fight with Creepy Carol, she hung around with her and the rest of them for a long time."

  Hana stared at the picture, stunned.

  "Why didn’t you ever mention that your mother was friends with Omnia?" she asked. "Most people would brag about that nonstop."

  Florian shrugged.

  "I don’t care much about other people’s opinions," he said simply. "Unless it’s my mother’s."

  I understood that more than I wanted to admit, so I stayed quiet.

  Something about the photo caught my attention. I couldn’t stop looking at it.

  I didn’t realize it then.

  But later, now that I know what I know, I would understand why that picture mattered so much.

  It was the first image I’d ever seen of my mother and my father together.