Oliver was a fighter, no question about it. His bones were solid, his technique sharp, and his attacks charged with speed and force. Eden's body bore fresh evidence of his opponent's skill.

Oliver launched into a swift combination—a series of jabs leading into a low kick, just as he’d practiced in training. But there was one problem: Eden was anything but a training partner. With years of battle-hardened experience guiding him, Eden’s instincts, honed reflexes, and uncanny ability to read movements set him apart.

Eden stayed on the defensive though, seemingly content to counter Oliver’s strikes without rushing for the win. His aim wasn’t to knock Oliver out but to humiliate him. And when the chance came, he seized it.

Oliver left a momentary gap in his guard, and Eden snapped in, landing a crisp, echoing slap across Oliver’s face. The impact jerked Oliver’s head sideways, leaving him dazed for a split second. The room fell silent in shock before a wave of disbelief rippled through the crowd. Eden had not only held his ground but had slapped his opponent in one calculated move.

"Damn, your face is oily," Eden taunted, looking with disgust at his fingers.

Red with anger, Oliver unleashed a frenzy of attacks, aiming a spinning kick directly at Eden’s head. Unfazed, Eden closed in, blocking the blow with a guard that absorbed the hit before retaliating with two swift punches to Oliver’s leg and torso. These strikes weren’t random; Eden aimed to debilitate, targeting muscles and vulnerable areas to sap Oliver’s power and precision, forcing him into mistakes that would seal his downfall.

Oliver tried another low kick, but Eden blocked it with his foot. Realizing that his long-range tactics were backfiring, Oliver shifted his approach. Abandoning kicks, he focused on closing the distance and attempted to grapple with Eden.

"You're good, but not good enough," Eden remarked.

Oliver aimed to take Eden's leg. But when that didn't happen, he adapted, managing to land a blow to Eden’s chest. It had little effect on Eden's well-trained physique, but that brought confidence to Oliver. He then blocked one of Eden’s punches and successfully grabbed hold of him, moving his legs to destabilize Eden and send him to the ground.

Eden remained ice-cold under pressure. He angled his shoulder, slamming it into Oliver’s face with precise force, throwing Oliver off balance. In the moment that Oliver winced, Eden saw his opening and drove a powerful punch into his opponent’s abdomen, his entire body moving in fluid unison to deliver the hit.

With a sudden twist, Eden grabbed Oliver’s wrist, bending it sharply to force him forward, and followed up with a brutal kick to his abdomen before finally releasing him.

"Is this the strength of Blue Feather?" Eden called out, his voice carrying across the stunned room. "Arrogance has blinded you. I’ve had you all in the palm of my hand since the start."

Turning his attention briefly to the crowd, Eden raised his voice. "Some of you thought yourselves clever, eager to watch me suffer. But as you can see, that won’t be happening," he said, dodging another of Oliver’s wild pivot kicks, his stance fluid and relaxed.

In one swift motion, Eden swept Oliver’s feet out from under him, sending him sprawling to the floor. Without hesitation, he locked onto Oliver’s arm, executing a precise armbar and preparing to end the fight decisively.

"Stop! That’s enough!" Zincenko, the referee, called out.

Eden felt the impulse to finish his move but paused as Oliver tapped out, admitting defeat. Eden released his grip, leaning close to his opponent with a voice filled with scorn. "Where’s that arrogance now? Where’s the pride?" he asked, then stood up, scanning the crowd.

"So quiet now, aren’t you?" he shouted. "Were you here to see me fall, my dear colleagues? Or to witness my rise to glory?" His voice dripped with disdain. "Bunch of hypocrites."

Eden walked back toward Cole, his steps confident and unhurried. Behind him, Oliver staggered up, ignoring Zincenko’s offered hand and casting daggers at Eden’s retreating figure.

"Are you alright?" Janet asked, her voice quiet.

Oliver glared at her before turning to Andrew, his pride and temper both wounded. "They’re not typical fighters," he warned, his voice low. "Be careful."

Without responding, Andrew strode toward the center of the room to call his opponent.

"You're Cole, right?" Andrew gazed directly at him. "Blue Feather is not just one person. Why don't you come to play a little as well?"

Cole locked eyes with Eden, and when the latter nodded, he smiled.

"If you insist," Cole replied joyfully.

Zincenko stepped in, examining both fighters as he had before. “Are you sure?" he asked Cole.

Cole nodded.

"Ready?” Zincenko asked.

Cole extended a hand to touch gloves, but Andrew refused, eyes locked in icy focus.

"Fight!" Zincenko ordered.

Andrew closed the distance between himself and Cole, intent on venting the frustration radiating from Blue Feather’s defeat. With Oliver’s loss weighing on their pride, there was no more room for underestimating opponents. Janet watched intently, her fists clenched as Andrew took control, landing a few solid hits on Cole. Yet, each successful blow came at a cost.

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"Andrew’s going to lose," Oliver muttered under his breath, audible only to his teammates.

Janet glanced at him, puzzled, but Oliver’s gaze remained fixed on the fight, a deep frown etched on his face. Somehow, he knew—perhaps because of the uncanny calm Cole exuded, or maybe the gut feeling that stemmed from his own defeat.

As Andrew swung in for a right hook, Cole disrupted his balance with a quick kick to his leg. Before Andrew could recover, Cole followed with a feint left-side kick, drawing Andrew’s guard. But the kick had no force behind it, and Andrew’s eyes widened as Cole’s real attack—a powerful right-side kick—whipped towards his head.

Andrew barely managed to raise his arm to block, but his stance was compromised. Though he softened the blow, the kick landed squarely below his ear, rattling his focus. Before he could regain his footing, Cole surged forward with a front kick that hit Andrew square in the abdomen, sending him stumbling backward and then collapsing to his knees, clutching his midsection.

"Enough!" Zincenko barked as Cole moved to close in.

"I showed you mercy," Cole spat out, looking down at Andrew before turning and walking calmly back to Eden.

Frustrated, Oliver didn’t waste time checking on his defeated teammate. Without a word, he made his way to fulfill his bet, transferring the 10,000 credits with a hard glare. "Blue Feather members always keep their word," he announced, his voice echoing through the gymnasium.

Eden turned, meeting Oliver’s stare with a smirk. "Blue Feather sure talks big—and always schemes for victory, no matter the cost. If there were no audience here, you’d never pay up." Eden’s voice was loud enough for everyone to hear. "You caused this scene, so drop the self-righteous act."

Oliver’s eyes narrowed as he smiled coldly. "I’ll remember you, Eden."

"I’m counting on it," Eden replied smoothly before facing the crowd. "Thank you all for witnessing this event. To the teachers, the medical team, and everyone who cheered today—I’m grateful for the chance to announce the rise of our Light of Dawn workshop." He gave a slight bow to Zincenko, then, without another look at the crowd, he and Cole exited the gym, heading directly to class.

The day’s recruitment had served its purpose, and Eden’s only real targets were few. Raul was one of them. If he wanted to join, he’d know where to find them.

As they settled back in class, Cole turned to Eden, a spark of eagerness in his voice. "When can I bring my friends in to join us? You told me to wait a few days ago."

Cole was a veteran in VR gaming, and his network was extensive. Many of his friends were already active in Ahartohaim, but Eden had held him back, biding his time for reasons that Cole couldn’t quite grasp.

"Tell them to be ready—they can join us tomorrow," Eden replied calmly, leaning back and closing his eyes.

* * *

Later that day, at 15:52, Eden checked his watch as he stepped out of his car, adjusting his new suit as he approached the towering Hell Lurkers HQ.

The building, a sleek ten-story complex on a main street, housed all the essentials of a powerhouse guild: training rooms, offices, dorms, and even a private gym. As he entered the lobby, Eden felt a surge of purpose. It was time to make his move.

Jason’s office was predictably on the tenth floor, offering a view that commanded respect. Sunlight poured through the glass wall behind Jason Forbes, casting a sharp silhouette that highlighted the strength beneath his tailored suit. As Eden stepped in, Jason rose from his desk, his presence imposing yet calculated.

"Welcome, I’m Jason Forbes," he said, extending a firm hand.

Eden met his gaze, unfazed, and shook his hand. "Eden Ivera. A pleasure, Mr. Forbes."

"If you truly have what I’m looking for, Mr. Ivera, then the pleasure’s all mine," Jason replied, gesturing toward a plush sofa.

Eden smiled, unbuttoning his suit as he settled comfortably. "Then I’ll make myself useful and surprise you."

Despite his suit, Eden wore no tie, preferring a more open-collared look—polished yet unrestrained, a hint of the unconventional edge he carried with him.

"Haha, I hope you’re right," Jason replied with a grin.

"Mr. Ivera, can I get you something to drink?" Paj offered courteously.

"A black tea, if you have it," Eden responded, a slight smile playing on his lips.

“I have just the thing,” Paj replied, returning the smile before exiting the office.

A moment of silence followed, during which Jason studied Eden with a discerning gaze, sizing him up from head to toe.

"Mr. Forbes, I value my time, and I imagine you do as well. Let’s get straight to business," Eden said, leaning forward.

Jason mirrored his motion, gesturing for him to continue.

"I understand that you’ve been sending teams into Ahartohaim in search of a cure. I happen to have something from there—a mushroom, to be specific. This mushroom has the potential to cure your sister’s cancer. However, the healing process will take time. I assume her condition is critical, so I’ve come prepared with a temporary solution as well."

Jason’s gaze sharpened, his attention fully focused on Eden’s words.

"In Ahartohaim, when a person is transferred into the game, illnesses don’t follow. Upon returning to reality, their health conditions revert to what they were before—but this means that in-game, her tumor won’t advance," Eden continued, letting Jason absorb the implication.

"So, if my sister plays Ahartohaim, her life isn’t in immediate danger?" Jason asked, his voice measured but hopeful.

"It’s a short-term solution, but yes. This would buy her time until the mushroom’s effects take hold. She’ll need to progress through the levels quickly to increase her playtime allowance. And she mustn’t stay in-game for more than two days consecutively, or—"

"The cooldown will prevent her from logging back in for a full day," Jason interjected.

"Exactly," Eden confirmed with a nod.

Just then, Paj returned, setting down their tea and coffee.

"Please, go on," Jason urged, looking intently at Eden. "But I need to know—how can you be certain this mushroom will work?"

"Mr. Forbes, Ahartohaim is full of secrets. I was a Beta Tester and specialize in potion-making. That’s as much as I can reveal. You’re welcome to have it tested in a lab to verify its properties. I’ll also provide the necessary administration method and dosage. If you have a Trading Device, we can complete the exchange now."

Jason thought for a moment. "But to trade, we need an item exchange, don’t we? What would be equivalent?"

"It’s an edible item; a roast chicken will suffice," Eden replied, taking a calm sip of his tea.

Jason and Paj exchanged a quick glance, a flicker of surprise passing between them.

“Paj, bring me a Trading Device and a roast chicken,” Jason instructed, then turned back to Eden. “Mr. Ivera, if this truly can heal my sister, then you’ll have the 100 million we discussed. But I’d need to see undeniable proof of the cure’s success first."

Eden shook his head, his expression confident. "That won’t be necessary, Mr. Forbes. I’m not here for money. I can earn my own wealth. What I want in return is a favor, if you’re open to it."

Jason’s brow lifted. "A favor?"

"Yes. I’m establishing my own workshop, and in researching the competition, I learned a lot about your Hell Lurkers. Your group isn’t just a workshop—it’s like a family, a true brotherhood built on loyalty. That kind of camaraderie is rare, and I respect it deeply."

Jason’s surprise softened into a genuine smile. "Mr. Ivera, you’ve done your homework."

"Strictly within ethical bounds, Mr. Forbes. You have my assurance."

Jason nodded, clearly intrigued. "And what might this favor entail?"