(Ditto POV)
Ditto had learned early that being useful was the same thing as being safe.
It became jackets because Cyrus forgot to bring one. Pillows because sleep mattered. Scarves because cold climates demanded it. When things went wrong, Ditto became shields, decoys, distractions, whatever shape bought Cyrus another second.
It was good at that, maybe a little too good.
The training room lights came up gradually, warm and neutral. No battle ring today. Just open space, padded floors, adaptive terrain. Cyrus stood in the center, arms folded loosely, Ditto rested over his shoulders in the familiar shape of a blue windbreaker.
Cyrus paused, "Ok Ditto lets start your training."
Ditto shifted, peeling away from him with visible reluctance. The jacket sagged, melted, then reformed into a lopsided version of Cyrus himself, too smooth around the edges, eyes slightly too large.
Cyrus winced and then chuckled, "Okay. Definitely not like that."
Ditto collapsed in on itself, rippling. It flickered through half a dozen shapes in quick succession, jacket, scarf, pillow, flat disc, blocky humanoid, but none of them solidified.
The room felt suddenly smaller.
"Hey," Cyrus said, stepping closer. "We're not fighting yet... calm down."
Ditto froze mid-morph, stuck halfway between shapes. A small ripple formed where its face would be. It wobbled, then stilled.
Cyrus exhaled. "You don't need to be anything right now."
The ripple deepened.
Ditto didn't respond, because he didn't know how to respond.
Cyrus straightened slowly. "Alright," he said. "Let's start simple."
He tapped the console at the room's edge. The floor shifted, panels rearranging into uneven terrain with low walls, raised platforms, and narrow gaps.
"Obstacle course," Cyrus said, "No mimicry. No copying. Just movement."
Ditto gave it iconic thumbs up shape, and then flattened itself into a smooth blue disc and slid forward.
At first, it did fine. It flowed under barriers, stretched over gaps, compressed to slip through tight spaces. The movement was efficient and clean.
Then Cyrus raised the difficulty, the platforms tilted. The walls rose unpredictably and pressure plates triggered sudden drops.
Ditto had to adapt faster, and with more precision, stretching thinner, moving quicker, becoming sharper around the edges.
Too sharp.
It clipped a rising panel and tore.
Not a clean split. A jagged rupture that sent part of its mass skidding across the floor.
Cyrus swore. "Pause, Stop!"
The room froze. Panels locked in place.
Ditto tried to reform immediately, instinct overriding injury. The torn edge quivered, struggling to pull itself back together while still moving forward.
"STOP," Cyrus said, louder now.
Ditto hesitated, but quickly stilled.
The torn mass reconnected slowly, unevenly. Its surface rippled, color dulling slightly, like it had lost saturation.
Cyrus knelt beside it. "You're overextending."
Ditto formed a small, shaky thumbs-up.
"Don't do that," Cyrus said softly. "Don't lie to me."
The thumbs-up sagged, melting back into a blob. Ditto's surface dimpled, then pulled inward, forming something like a face, simple, unfinished.
It tilted, uncertain.
Cyrus sat cross-legged in front of it, bringing himself level. "You don't have to prove anything."
Ditto rippled again, then suddenly lunged.
Not at Cyrus, but at the far wall.
It shot across the room, slamming into a raised platform, morphing mid-impact into a crude shield shape. The platform shattered against it, fragments skidding away.
Cyrus's breath caught.
Ditto held the shape for a moment—then collapsed, mass splattering slightly as it lost cohesion.
Cyrus was there immediately.
He didn't touch it at first. Just stayed close.
"So...you think your job is to take the hit," he said quietly.
Ditto trembled, but gave a nod.
"You think if you're always between me and danger, you're doing it right."
The blob shifted weakly, forming a tiny thumbs-down this time.
Cyrus huffed a tired laugh. "Yeah. Me too."
He reached out, resting his palm against Ditto's surface. It was warm—too warm. Overworked.
"But listen," he continued. "If you break, I lose you. That's not protection. I might be safe, but I lose a friend and companion... that hurts too"
Ditto stilled under his hand.
Slowly, carefully, it reshaped, not into gear, not into Cyrus, not into anything useful, Just into itself.
A simple, rounded form. No accessories. No function.
Cyrus smiled faintly. "There you are."
The lights dimmed slightly as the system adjusted to recovery mode.
They stayed like that for a while.
Then Cyrus stood. "Round two," he said. "But this time, we do it wrong on purpose."
Ditto perked, just a little.
Cyrus triggered the course again, but slower. Predictable.
"Move like you're unsure," he said. "Hesitate. Overshoot. Undershoot."
Ditto tried.
It stumbled, literally sagging in places, losing shape integrity as it adjusted too late. It fell into a gap and had to pull itself out slowly instead of flowing cleanly.
It wasn't pretty.
But it wasn't tearing either.
Halfway through, Cyrus introduced motion, low-speed projectiles, foam barriers that nudged instead of struck.
Ditto didn't shield.
It dodged.
Not perfectly. Not efficiently. But safely.
At the final obstacle, Cyrus stepped onto the course himself, moving opposite Ditto's path.
They nearly collided.
Ditto panicked, instinct flaring, and began to morph into a jacket.
"No," Cyrus said immediately, "Stay."
Ditto froze.
Cyrus adjusted his step instead, letting Ditto pass.
Nothing happened. No impact. No protection needed.
Ditto slowed, then stopped entirely, turning back toward Crus.
It formed a small shape, a lopsided heart. Not smooth. Not stable.
Cyrus laughed quietly. "Yeah. That."
When training ended, Ditto flowed back into its familiar jacket shape, but looser now. Not clinging.
As they left the room, Ditto shifted briefly, forming a small wave from the sleeve.
Cyrus caught it and squeezed gently. "You don't have to be everything," he said. "Just be you, I'll let you know when I need to to change it up."
The jacket tightened just enough to say it understood.