It was hard to put my thoughts into words, almost like trying to describe a fog.

At first, my mind had been poisoned with the idea that trying to force my growth would ruin me, weaken my foundation, and leave me trembling before anyone who wasn’t infinitely weaker. The thought gnawed at me.

So naturally, after sifting through all the cryptic advice Infra had given me, I landed on a genius plan: if experience was what I needed, then an underground fighting ring would be perfect.

I mean, how bad could it be, right?

But I wasn’t entirely at fault for what came next. Infra, in its infinite wisdom, had conveniently neglected to tell me that anyone with even a sliver more experience could treat me like a chew toy. And of course, it waited until the last possible moment to reveal this crucial information.

So there I was, in the ring, practically shaking in my boots, humiliated in front of a dozen onlookers, as some guy in a creepy beak mask threw me around like I weighed nothing. Sure, I landed a hit or two, but who cared? For the entire fight, I was at his mercy. There wasn’t even a second where I felt in control, not even a shred of hope that I might turn things around. It was over as soon as it began.

When I woke up afterward, the usual sequence played out. That same blinding light overhead, the sterile, too-quiet room, and all the strange equipment hooked up to me. My head throbbed, and my muscles felt like they’d been through a grinder. But weirdly enough, being awake felt better than unconsciousness. At least now I wasn’t forced to relive every embarrassing second of that fight on an endless loop.

I pushed myself up into a meditative position, a habit I’d picked up that was almost second nature by now. Meditation wasn’t something I did because I enjoyed it; it was more like something I needed. Like a drug, except it didn’t ruin your life. It eased the pain, bit by bit, though it was clear the healing power of the Tecz was limited. Maybe it had something to do with my stage or type. Whatever.

Though, it wasn’t just meditation. Something about being alone, being shut off from the rest of the world, makes me feel at peace. It was something about tranquility.

Sighing, I forced myself to sit at the edge of the bed, letting my legs dangle off the side. Standing up was a monumental effort, but I managed. I had to find a doctor—maybe get some answers about my condition. I pulled back the curtains around my bed, only to be met with a shriek.

"AH!"

Before I could react, something hard—probably a bedpan—collided with my face, and everything went black again. What the hell was that? I couldn’t be sure since my vision was clear for about two seconds, but I swar I saw a person hunched over with little baggies in their hands.

What the hell was that all about?

⥁

By now, getting knocked out was a routine experience. But this was officially the second time a woman had knocked me out in a hospital bed, which, while not a lot in retrospect, still felt like something not many people could relate to.

Weirdly enough, I slept better after getting knocked out than I ever did falling asleep normally. Not the best strategy, but hey, it was something to keep in mind if I ever had trouble sleeping.

When I came to again, I cautiously pulled back the curtains around my bed, half-expecting another projectile. But thankfully, this time, I was greeted with the sight of empty, disheveled beds. Relief washed over me. No awkward nurse interaction this time.

I spotted my clean clothes neatly folded in a cupboard near the door. After slipping behind the door for privacy, I quickly changed out of the ridiculous hospital gown and into my clothes before heading out. The hospital felt eerily normal, almost identical to any other medical building, except for the view outside. Instead of city streets, it was all metal walls and dirt tunnels.

The place buzzed with activity. Nurses and doctors rushed around me, talking, shouting, crying, all absorbed in their tasks. Not a single one of them seemed to notice me. It was as if I didn’t exist.

Granted, I was in regular clothes, and maybe they were too busy, but still—it felt odd that none of them were even slightly concerned about the bruised and battered guy walking through the halls. Though it was strange that I saw no other patients, but that isn’t my place to speak.

I shrugged it off and navigated through the winding tunnels once more.

The underground maze was insane. Every turn revealed something unexpected—supermarkets, clubs, liquor stores, even libraries. It was like someone had tried to cram an entire city down here. I didn’t understand the point of it all, especially in a place filled with broke, fighting-obsessed maniacs, but maybe that was something I’d figure out later. For now, it just seemed like a bizarre waste of money and effort.

Along the way, I spotted some familiar faces. Enzo, the short boss-man, laughed and drank with a group of men in suits as they strolled through the tunnels. None of them gave me a second glance, though I could’ve sworn Enzo winked at me. My mind was playing tricks on me at this point.

The Savage, who’s name I wasn’t suprised by upon finding out, still wearing his tusk mask, was caught in a heated argument with the Tailor, clutching the ripped remnants of his armour like it was a personal insult.

And just outside the lodgings, I found Goblin passed out drunk, surrounded by bottles. No surprise there. It was barely noon, and already the guy had drunk himself unconscious. Seemed like everyone here had an alcohol problem.

My walk took me through some strange paths, I couldn’t even tell where everything was in reference to the places I’d been to already, except the lodgings I guess. This place was weird.

I dragged Goblin back to our room and dropped him onto the floor before collapsing onto my bed.

It had already been three days since my fight, which to my dismay resulted in me missing payday. Which sucked for reasons I didn’t entirely understand. Why did I even need money down here? Everything essential was provided for free. It felt like cash only existed to fuel the rampant gambling and drinking addictions.

According to Enzo's assistant, our pay follows a simple formula of the number of wins we have, times ten plus five. I can say with full confidence that the plus five was only implemented to make sure no one goes fully broke.But it still stung that my pay was a pathetic five bucks, or whatever the currency was called.

And let’s not forget the looming debt to the hospital outside. With interest piling up, I was probably headed straight to jail if I didn’t find a way to make some serious money. Forget about the Academy; I’d be lucky to avoid prison.

Goblin stirred and woke up, groaning. His recovery was swift as he meditated, slapped himself awake, and downed some mystery liquid from a small bottle he pulled out of nowhere.

This was my first time seeing someone else meditate, though it wasn’t all too shocking. Obviously others did it, but it was still fascinating to see .

“Where do you even get those things?” I asked, half-joking, trying to break the awkward silence. “I want to be able to pull stuff out of thin air too.”

He shot me an unimpressed look. “Win a fight, and I’ll think about it.”

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

Well, there went my hope of ever living down that loss.

“You know, I—” I started, but he cut me off with a raised hand.

“I don’t want to hear it. Not only did you get slammed, but you got slammed by a guy only two spots higher than you in rank. I thought you were weak, but I didn’t think you were that weak.”

That hit harder than it should have. All this time, I’d convinced myself that I lost to some seasoned veteran, maybe someone a hundred ranks higher. But no, just two. That stung.

“Look, it was my—”

“I bet three hundred and fifty Kelts on you! Three hundred and fifty! That’s a sixth of my paycheck, you idiot! You cost me a ton of money!”

Kelts. Interesting.

So that’s why he was mad. For a second, I thought maybe he actually cared. Nope. Just a gambling-addicted, alcoholic, rude, loud, and generally unpleasant roommate.

I sighed and laid back down, eyes closed, tuning out whatever rant Goblin was on now. After a while, the room went quiet. Then, after what felt like forever, Goblin spoke again, his voice softer this time.

“You had a few good moves, though. Who taught you how to fight?”

I opened one eye and looked at him. A small, strained smile tugged at my lips.

“After I awakened my Heartile, I told Infra to show me a simple fighting style. So I practiced Setkai for a while—on pillow dummies.”

Goblin scoffed. “I didn’t ask for your life story, idiot. Just the name. Also what the hell is in-inf…whatever you said!”

The smile dropped. “Setkai,” I mumbled. “I think.” I chose to ignore his stupidity, if I brought up his trouble with pronunciation I probably wouldn’t be able to live my days out in peace.

Goblin scratched his head, deep in thought, and I could see the gears turning. Then he laughed, spitting bits of saliva from his burned side.

“That old thing? How the hell does your chip even have something that outdated?”

“Is it really that old?”

“Old? My great-grandpa learned that style back when he was a student at a local training academy. They stopped teaching it because it’s useless outside of training. You really thought you’d win using that junk?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure that’s not the only reason I lost,” I muttered under my breath.

I frowned. ‘Infra, why the hell did you give me an ancient fighting style?’

Ouch. I knew I wasn’t strong, but being compared to a school kid? That was a new low.

I glanced back at Goblin, who was still mumbling to himself. This was a nightmare. My body was weak, my Heartile was too low in stage, I didn’t even have a typing, and my fighting style was apparently a joke.

I was an absolute mess. No wonder Infra didn’t bother explaining much. I wasn’t worth the effort.

"Stop," I said, cutting Goblin off mid-ramble. "Just stop talking."

For a fleeting moment, I thought I saw something like pity in Goblin's eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. He stood up, grabbing his own worn fighting attire, the dark leather armor creaking slightly as he moved. Without a word, he yanked open the closet and threw my armor toward me. It landed in a heap at my feet.

"Let’s go," he said, already heading toward the door with an air of finality.

"Where?" I asked, hesitating as I picked up the armor, running my fingers over the scuffed plates before slowly folding them.

“To teach an old dog some new tricks,” he replied, not even bothering to turn around as he pushed the door open with a creak.

⥁

The training room we entered was massive, even by this world’s standards. The ceiling seemed impossibly high, casting long, heavy shadows across the space. It was like everything here was built to dwarf a person. I couldn't shake the feeling that the owner of this place had something to prove—maybe compensating for some inadequacy.

Goblin had led me from the barracks to this cavernous training room, reserved for those of us ranked below one hundred. It was filled to the brim with equipment: rows of weights, racks of sleek, unfamiliar machines, sparring dummies, and countless weapons gleaming under dim lights. Strange pieces of technology I didn’t recognize were tucked into corners, giving the whole room a mechanical hum that thrummed in my bones.

The walls bore the scars of countless battles, gashes and holes marking them like ancient war wounds. This place had seen more blood and sweat than I could fathom.

At the room's center was a replica of the main arena, encased in a massive steel cage. Goblin was already standing inside it, fully armored and waiting, surrounded by a chaotic scatter of weapons strewn across the floor around him.

I hurriedly strapped on my own armor, the pieces fitting awkwardly on my body, as if they were foreign to me, even after all this time. Rushing into the cage, I took my place opposite him.

For a long moment, Goblin simply stared at me. His eyes, dark behind the slits of his mask, seemed to evaluate my every flaw, every weakness. His voice, when he finally spoke, was devoid of the earlier levity.

“To put it bluntly,” he said, his tone like a hammer striking cold iron, “you’re incapable of winning a fight at your current level.”

“No shit,” I muttered, rolling my eyes, already feeling the sting of his words.

“Shut up,” he growled. The air around him shifted, charged with a fierce energy that prickled against my skin. This was no longer a game. “I said current level.”

He bent down, picked up a long wooden staff, and threw it at me with a sharp flick of his wrist. I caught it clumsily, nearly dropping it as I inspected it. Just an ordinary piece of wood. Though I wondered if it was real or not. I don’t remember seeing a single tree on the outside.

“Normally,” he continued, his voice cold and controlled, “I’d break you down entirely and rebuild you from the ground up. But we don’t have that luxury right now. You need a weapon, and we need to find it fast.”

I raised my hand instinctively to ask a question, only to freeze under his sharp glare.

“You're not in a classroom,” he snapped, his patience wearing thin.

I bit my tongue. The last time I tried to ask something, he practically bit my head off. Still, I couldn’t let it go.

“Why can’t I just fight with my body?” I asked, gripping the staff tighter. “I don’t see anyone else using weapons.”

Before I could blink, his aura surged, wrapping around me like a vice, squeezing the breath from my lungs. It felt as though the room itself was shrinking around us.

“You haven’t even awakened your Heartile typing,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re not even at the first minor stage. You think you can fight with your fists against people who have surpassed you in every way?”

The weight of his power crushed me for a moment longer before it abruptly vanished, leaving me gasping for breath.

Minor stage? Heartile typing? None of that made sense, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it. I needed to focus.

“Fine. So, what now? You gonna show me how to fight with this stick and see if I can keep up?” I asked, raising the staff in front of me, trying to steady my voice.

“Not quite.” Goblin’s voice was calm now, almost too calm. He slid his mask down over his face and picked up a wooden sword, its weightless balance making it clear this was more for training than real combat. His muscles tensed as he moved into a fighting stance, his aura crackling subtly around him. “We’re going to do it the efficient way.”

I swallowed hard, already dreading his answer. “And what’s that?”

“I’m going to beat you senseless until you find a weapon that helps you survive a hit,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, right before he lunged at me with terrifying speed.

I barely had time to react. Gripping the staff with both hands, I raised it high and charged forward, trying to meet his attack head-on. I didn’t know what I was doing. My muscles screamed in protest as I swung the staff down with all the force I could muster.

The staff hit the ground with a dull thud, a fraction of a second before I was sent flying. The impact of Goblin’s strike hit me like a freight train, and the next thing I knew, I was sprawled out on the floor, my body aching from the hit.

“Fail,” Goblin said coldly, his shadow looming over me. He tossed an axe at my feet, its heavy blade glinting ominously under the dim lights.

I groaned, clutching my ribs as I pulled myself up to my feet. Regret began to creep in—why had I followed him here? But even as my body protested, there was a fire in my chest that refused to die. Some irrational part of me wanted to keep going, to push past the pain.

I gripped the axe in both hands, the weight of it solid in my grasp. No. I wasn’t going to give up. Not now. Not ever.

With a roar, I charged at him again.

I might not be talented, but I wouldn’t allow that to stop me. Who cared if I got knocked down a hundred times? Or even a thousand? I would rise each time, stronger than before. My mind was set, my path unshakable.

If I had to endure endless pain, if I had to get beaten to a pulp by this masked monster, so be it. One way or another, I would reach my goals—even if it meant learning from someone like Goblin.