Yami allowed Hatsu a short break to rest and eat something. Gratefully, the boy stumbled over the the wall and practically collapsed against it. He'd been forced to control things more quickly without dropping any accuracy, and his head was swimming in agony. To make matters worse, every time he seemed to come close to matching the demon's speed, he moved faster.<br/><br/>Yami spared him thoughts of training while the boy dug into his doggy bag and pulled out a sandwich. He guzzled it down, but not so fast as to make him sick. When the sandwich was gone, he drained about half his water bottle. The demon gave him about thirty seconds to just sit before bringing him back to training.<br/><br/>"Hatsu," he said, and was pleased to see the boy immediately become attentive, "at your current level, you're suited best to mid-range battle. You're not strong enough yet to fight long-ranged, and your weapon and half your abilities are just about useless in close range fighting."<br/><br/>He looked at the boy seriously. "If I train you endlessly in one fighting method, you'll become dependent on it. So for a while, I'll show you some techniques for hand to hand combat before we switch to some accuracy training."<br/><br/>"Hand to hand combat?" Hatsu asked sceptically. "How in the world--"<br/><br/>"I'm well aware I can't touch you," the demon interrupted curtly. "But since we are connected, I can send messages to your mind to make you think we're making contact. You will feel all of the pain, but receive none of the injury."<br/><br/>Hatsu raised his eyebrows at the sheer convenience of such a method. "First, stand," the demon commanded, he himself was already doing so. "There are several techniques I can show you to incorporate your abilities into hand to hand combat, but you will fail if you are dependent on them. Have you ever fought before? Brawling, karate, anything?"<br/><br/>Hatsu took a stance. "I don't claim to be a master or anything like that, but I had to grow up an orphan in the slums for the first fourteen years of my life."<br/><br/>Yami took a similar stance. "Street fighting then? Very well. I'll follow your style at first." When people were street fighters, they often had no official training and as such, developed their own techniques that fit their physical capabilities. Sometimes just the advantage of your opponent not knowing how you approached things could turn a match. Remembering how the hunter had fought earlier, Yami assumed the boy was the type who constantly evolved his style, and used whatever he saw around him to his advantage. Being in a big, empty room like this would be disadvantageous to the boy. "Go."