I step forward cautiously, my blade raised in a guard position, eyes locked on his.

His body is still, but I know better than to trust that.

Stay calm. Don't overthink. Just move.

I feint left, a quick step and flick of the wrist to draw him out, but he doesn't move.

Fine. I press forward, slashing diagonally toward his shoulder.

He parries cleanly, the steel ringing as he deflects my blade to the side and counters with a thrust aimed at my ribs. I pivot, bringing my sword down to redirect his blade away from my torso, and immediately follow with a quick upward slash aimed at his arm.

He steps back, just out of reach. I pursue, swinging horizontally toward his midsection. He meets it head-on, the force of the clash vibrating through my arms.

Precision, control. Every move feels perfect. What the fuck happened to 'I'll reduce my level to match yours'?

Before I can recover, he disengages, stepping in and aiming a sharp thrust at my chest.

Too close. I twist my body to the side, narrowly avoiding the strike, and retaliate with a low sweep toward his knee. He hops back, light on his feet, and as I rise, his blade is already coming down in a controlled chop toward my shoulder.

I raise my sword in a tight guard, catching the blow, and push upward to break his momentum. He spins off the rebound, his sword carving a tight arc toward my flank. I duck, the edge slicing through where my head was a moment before, and lunge forward with a thrust aimed at his abdomen.

He shifts his weight, sidestepping the attack, and delivers a quick riposte toward my exposed arm. I barely manage to redirect it, stepping back to reset my position.

He's reading me too easily.

I circle him, keeping my guard up. His expression doesn't change—calm, calculating. I tighten my grip, feinting another thrust toward his shoulder but transitioning mid-strike into a downward chop aimed at his thigh.

For a split second, I think I've caught him. But his blade meets mine with almost lazy precision, deflecting the strike before it can land. He counters immediately, his sword darting toward my neck. I raise my hilt, catching the strike and twisting sharply to lock our blades.

If I can force him into a bind…

But he anticipates it, disengaging before I can leverage the position. His blade is already sweeping low, aiming for my ankle. I jump back, the edge narrowly missing, and press forward with a quick series of strikes—high, low, then center. Each one meets his blade.

I can't keep this pace. I need to disrupt him.

I suddenly stop mid-strike, shifting my stance into a defensive posture.

His eyes flicker, just barely, as he closes the gap with a thrust toward my chest. I angle my blade and step off-line, letting his momentum carry him forward, and deliver a sharp swing toward his exposed back.

Got you now!

But he twists impossibly fast, catching my blade with his and forcing me back with a sharp push. I stumble slightly, regaining my balance, and we stand apart again, swords raised, staring at each other.

Damn.

Darius tilts his head, that faint smile playing on his lips.

"Again?" he asks, his tone calm, almost bored.

I nod, tightening my grip. But then something catches my attention… or more precisely, someone.

Houston materializes at the edge of the arena.

Darius senses him too. Without a word, he leans back, and the sword in his hand vanishes.

I shift my gaze to Houston, my brows furrowed in confusion. Is it over? Have three hours really passed?

"How was it?" Houston asks, his tone as measured as ever.

"Quite good, if I may say so myself." I glance at Darius, and we exchange a brief nod of mutual respect. "Not sure how much better I've gotten, but I certainly enjoyed it. So… the three hours passed already, or is there an issue?"

"Yes, they've passed," Houston replies casually, but then adds, "As for an issue? Well, an issue would be if you take too long to return. Your body is currently disconnected from your mind, and, well… that's not good long-term."

Right… and he drops that in the most casual tone possible.

I exhale and turn back to Darius, giving him a slight bow. "Well, I guess we'll continue tomorrow. Thanks for the patience."

Darius inclines his head slightly, the faint smile still lingering on his face. "It is both my duty and my desire." He glances briefly at Houston, his expression unreadable, lingering for a second before he vanishes from the spot.

I make my sword disappear and walk up to Houston. "So, what's next in the training plan?"

Houston smiles, a little too innocently. "Glad you asked. But instead of explaining, why don't I show you?" With a wave of his hand, a massive holographic screen materializes in front of me. It's easily five meters tall, and the letters are obnoxiously small.

I squint, skimming through it, but as I read further, my expression darkens.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"You… you've got to be kidding me," I mutter, my eyes widening as the absurdity of the plan unfolds. Each line is worse than the last.

I turn back to Houston, his face composed, but there's no mistaking the wicked grin he's trying—poorly—to suppress.

"You're not serious… are you?" I ask, locking eyes with him, disbelief heavy in my tone.

"Which part is troubling you?" Houston smiles, far too amused for my liking.

"Well, all of it. I mean, what the hell is rock punching until bone fracture? What the fuck?!"

"It's an innovative approach, yes," Houston says, stroking his chin as if contemplating. "And is it only punching? I'm fairly certain there are kicks, knees, elbows—perhaps even headbutts in there."

I stare at him, deadpan. Then, despite myself, I chuckle. "Alright. Good one. Where's the real training plan?"

Houston's surprise is palpable. "What do you mean? It's right there."

"Houston… Oh, please, enlighten me then. How the hell am I supposed to hold my own weight in the air over a magma pool for twenty seconds?"

"You'll go beyond full Overdrive for that. With your current stage progress, the new equipment, and the hot air currents lifting you, you should just barely manage it."

"Barely manage it? Before I fall… into the magma pool?"

Houston meets my gaze with an unflinching expression. "Don't worry. You won't die. Just try not to fall headfirst, and get out quickly."

I blink, the absurdity of his words settling in. "Let me get this straight. You're asking me to break every bone in my body and play hopscotch on molten rock? Are you going to quit the joke and explain what the fuck this means? And since when are we pushing beyond full Overdrive for training?"

"What, are you afraid? If I say this entire training schedule has a purpose, is safe, and will make you stronger, is that enough for you? Or do you want me to ramble on about the breakthrough I made in understanding and manipulating your body's regeneration? Or how I've mapped every single muscle and structure in your body to make it stronger? Or how pushing beyond Overdrive is the most effective way to strengthen your neural pathways and body simultaneously? Shall I go on?"

I stare at him, forcing myself to calm down as I take a deep breath. "Regeneration? You want me to break my body, fix it, and break it again in cycles? This… it's easy to write down on paper, Houston. And maybe it is the best way, but what the hell do you think I am—a machine? You're asking me to do this session for what?" My eyes flick to the screen. "Seventeen hours a day! Seventeen hours at this intensity every fucking day?!"

Houston sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Let me make one thing perfectly clear. I am not your master. I am not your teacher. I'm a tool for you to use. Nothing else. Ultimately, every decision lies with you and you alone. You don't want to do it? Fine. You want the watered-down version? Sure, I can give you that."

I stare at him, my eyes locked on his for several seconds. I sigh and glance back at the screen and read it seriously this time.

The plan is detailed, alternating between physical and EM training, with some sessions combining both. Seven hours remain unaccounted for, and since I only need three to four hours of sleep, that leaves me with at least three hours to do as I please. There are also several breaks spread throughout the day—three hours of recovery and meditation interspersed at intervals, an hour for hunting and eating, and… two hours of sparring with Ayu?

"Sparring with Ayu?" I say, raising an eyebrow as I look at him.

"Yes. While it offers slight benefits for you, it's primarily for her. I want to create a training plan for Ayu too," he pauses, hesitating before continuing. "I have ideas that could significantly enhance her abilities, build on her current strengths, and push her potential further." He takes a breath. "Would you allow me to do that?"

A plan for Ayu? I briefly consider it. If it can help her…

But then another thought surfaces. How do I even introduce Houston to Ayu? The conversation about our abilities will inevitably come up, and I… I don't want to lie to her.

I take a deep breath, forcing my thoughts to settle. I will take care of that when the time comes.

"What's this plan about?"

"The main focus is for Ayu to sustain a lesser version of Overdrive, one she can control on her own," Houston begins, his tone matter-of-fact. "Based on the research I've been conducting, it should be theoretically possible for someone at her Stage Progress to maintain up to a 25%-35% Overdrive without requiring a secondary entity. It will demand immense mental resilience and comes with risks, but if Ayu can master it—considering her sensory-based ability—her combat effectiveness and survivability will improve drastically."

A lesser version of Overdrive? It makes sense, but the dangers…

I hesitate. Ayu wants to grow stronger, no matter the cost. That much was clear from our talk last night. She doesn't want to rely on me. She wants to stand on her own.

"Alright," I finally say. "If you think it's for the best. Now, back to my case… While I can tell you've put a lot of thought into this plan… it won't be easy for me to go through it all. The pain… Are you sure, Houston? Are you sure this is the best way for me to get stronger?"

Houston exhales, his gaze steady but not without a hint of weariness. "I know I'm pushing you hard… maybe even coming across as an asshole right now. But yes, from a purely cold, scientific perspective, this is the best way. Still, as I said before, don't do anything you're not willing to commit to. Maybe start with a trial—give it a shot. If it's too much, I'll adjust and go with the lesser alternative."

I let out a sharp breath, trying to steel myself.

"Well, fuck it then. Let's make a masochist out of me," I mutter, shaking my head.

"Good. Now that you've decided, there's one thing I should mention that might make it slightly easier," Houston adds, his tone lightening just a fraction. "I might—emphasis on might—be able to reduce your sense of pain at certain points. Don't hold your breath on it; I've never done this before. It's incredibly complex, and I may only manage to lessen the sensation in specific pathways."

My eyes widen slightly. First regeneration, now this… Houston is on a damn spree of breakthroughs.

I nod, my lips quirking into a faint, humorless smile. "If you can, great. If not, I'm no stranger to pain at this point. Worst case, I'll just picture Ayu's lovely face when my feet hit molten lava," I chuckle dryly.

Houston forces a thin smile, but there's guilt in his eyes. I can see it, even if he tries to mask it.

"Okay. There's one last thing I want to talk about before you leave."

Hmm? I notice a shift in his tone. Softer, more hesitant.

I remain silent, giving him the space to continue.

"It's about us."

Us? Why does this sound like the opening line of a breakup?

I say nothing and let him go on.

"How do you feel after I gave you control of Overdrive and limited our interactions to night talks?"

"Feel? I guess… okay."

"I see. Well, from a purely scientific perspective, my results show your combat awareness has improved by over 34% since then. You come up with better strategies, make fewer mistakes, and approach combat overall much better."

I blink. 34%? That… that's a lot for such a short time.

"So… now that you can access this virtual world, our interactions might increase. But… I think we should still keep them limited."

My brows furrow slightly. "What do you mean?"

"As I said before, I'm just 'the car,' a tool for you to use and grow stronger. And we should stick to that." He pauses, his expression softening, almost bittersweet. "No more night talks. There's someone else who deserves that time with you now," he adds with a faint smile. "As for us, we'll have short, 10-minute meetings after each spar with Darius, and that'll be it. Is that okay with you?"

I open my mouth but hesitate. My chest tightens for reasons I can't quite place. Damn it, Houston… after everything… I exhale sharply, forcing the feeling away.

"…If that's what you think is best." My voice is steady, though there's an edge I can't quite mask.

"Alright," he says, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I know this will sound hypocritical, but… good luck with the training."

I open my mouth to respond, but before I can say anything, the scene shifts.

When I blink, I'm staring up at the rough stone roof of my cave.

I let out a long sigh. This… fucking nerd.

I softly smile.

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