Toru’s thoughts raced as he considered the possibility of running into Musabori again. With the main scenario of the trials now underway, the stakes had risen, and Toru knew that the challenges ahead would be even more dangerous. Musabori was likely still out there, recovering from their last encounter and perhaps even seeking vengeance. Toru couldn't afford to let his guard down, especially not now when the competition was at its peak. As he made his way along the orange-hued coastline, the sun dipping low on the horizon, he reached the entrance of a dense forest. The shadows of the trees stretched long and dark, a contrast to the warm glow of the setting sun. He decided to push a little farther into the forest before finding a place to rest. The tranquility of the forest, combined with the soothing sounds of the waves crashing in the distance, made it seem like a safe haven. Toru didn't think he’d be attacked in a place like this.

He eventually found a small clearing, where he could finally take a breather. He laid his head on a pile of leaves, the ground beneath him soft and cool. For a moment, he allowed himself to relax, staring up at the sky through the gaps in the foliage above. The rustling of leaves and the distant cries of seabirds filled the air, lulling him into a sense of peace. But that peace was shattered in an instant when he noticed the twin barrels of a shotgun pointing directly at his face. His heart jumped into his throat, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead as he realized he was mere seconds away from having his head blown off.

"Wait, wait! We should team up!" Toru blurted out, his voice shaky but urgent. The shotgun wavered slightly as its wielder considered his words, giving Toru a sliver of hope that he might avoid a gruesome end.

"Go on," a voice replied, cold and calculating, but with a hint of curiosity.

Toru scrambled to gather his thoughts, his mind racing as he tried to find the right words to save his skin. "I have no doubt the others are already forming alliances. It only makes sense, especially since victory isn’t exclusive to a single person," he said, hoping to appeal to logic. "The official rules allow for a minimum of 10 participants to advance each iteration of the trials. We’d have a better chance if we work together."

There was a pause, and Toru’s heart pounded in his chest as he waited for a response. He knew he had a point; the trials were brutal, and alliances could mean the difference between survival and elimination. But there was also the matter of trust, and Toru was painfully aware of how thin that could be in a competition like this.

"Then, what’s stopping me from teaming up with someone of renown?" The voice was colder now, the skepticism clear. Toru’s hope began to crumble as he realized that his captor was weighing the benefits of simply killing him and seeking out a more prestigious ally.

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The dread that had been building in Toru’s stomach suddenly solidified as he recognized who was holding the shotgun. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, and a single, desperate thought echoed in his mind: "I am cooked."

Standing over him was none other than Hitomi Satow, known as the Black Sheep of the Satow family. Her reputation preceded her, and not in a good way. The Satows were a family of immense power and influence, known for their potent elemental abilities and their dominance in various fields, from logistics to peacekeeping. But Hitomi, despite her lineage, was an anomaly—a black sheep. Her skills in science were rumored to be subpar, but her cognition, specifically her control over anemokinesis, or wind manipulation, was formidable.

Hitomi Satow

Title: Black Sheep of Satow

Science: ??? (C)

Cognition: Anemokinesis (B)

Toru’s mind raced as he weighed his options, each one fraught with risk. He had to choose his next words carefully, as they could very well determine whether he lived or died. He considered three possible approaches:

* "Ah yes, the Black Sheep of the Satows!" —→ Definitely get shot.

* "We can be of use to each other." —→ Moderate chance of getting shot.

* "I will become your servant!" —→ Low chance of getting shot.

The first option was almost too tempting to pass up. There was something amusing about acknowledging her infamous moniker right before getting a shotgun blast to the face. But Toru quickly dismissed the thought—now wasn’t the time to indulge his gallows humor. Survival was the priority.

The second option seemed reasonable enough. If he could convince her that they had mutual benefits to gain from an alliance, he might just walk away from this encounter unscathed. But he knew there was still a significant risk that she’d see him as disposable.

The third option, though demeaning, offered the lowest chance of immediate death. Offering to become her servant would require swallowing his pride, but if it kept him alive, it might be worth it. It was the safest bet, and in a situation like this, Toru couldn’t afford to gamble.

As he weighed these options, Toru couldn’t help but find the absurdity of the situation slightly funny. Here he was, a skilled fighter who had taken out dozens of competitors, now contemplating how best to grovel for his life. There was something almost poetic about it all.

But the time for humor had passed, and now Toru had to make a choice. His goal was clear—he wanted to win, to advance in the trials, and to survive. Whatever decision he made would have to serve that goal, even if it meant humbling himself before the Black Sheep of the Satows.