A few days later the morning sun cast its golden light over the remnants of the tournament arena, now a wasteland of shattered stone and broken dreams. The corrupted fighters had all recovered, their minds free but their bodies battered and bruised. The once-proud structure that had hosted champions and spectators alike was now unrecognizable, a grim reminder of the battle fought within its walls.

Far from the ruins, in the small house they shared, Towan and Elliot were already awake, sticking to their strict morning routine.

“...98… 99… 100!” Towan grunted, pushing himself up from the ground with the last ounce of strength he had. His arms trembled, sweat dripping down his face as he rolled onto his back, breathing heavily.

“Done,” he declared, glancing at Elliot, who was finishing his own set of push-ups.

“That’s it for the morning,” Elliot said, rising to his feet and stretching. His movements were precise, disciplined, a stark contrast to Towan’s more rugged and energetic demeanor. “Let’s head inside. I’ll get started on breakfast.”

Towan groaned, sitting up and rubbing his arms. “I still don’t get why you’re so eager to cook every day. We could just have something simple—like bread or fruit.”

Elliot shot him a sharp look. “Because last time you cooked, we almost didn’t have a kitchen anymore.”

Towan grinned sheepishly, recalling the memory of flames licking the ceiling and smoke filling the room. He had been so sure his improvised recipe would work… until it didn’t. “Hey, that was one time!” he protested.

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“Once was enough,” Elliot replied flatly, walking toward the house.

They entered the modest kitchen, the scent of sunlight filtering through the windows. It was simple and functional, though it bore a few scorch marks that stood as evidence of Towan’s infamous incident. Elliot moved efficiently, gathering ingredients from the pantry while Towan plopped down on a chair, watching.

“You’re really getting the hang of this,” Towan said, resting his chin on his hand. “Who would’ve thought the quiet guy would be the chef?”

Elliot ignored the jab, cracking eggs into a bowl. “And who would’ve thought the loud one would be the disaster in the kitchen?”

Towan chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Fair point.”

As Elliot worked, the sound of sizzling filled the air, accompanied by the comforting aroma of a simple but hearty meal. Towan’s stomach growled loudly, earning him a smirk from Elliot.

“Maybe you should use that energy for training instead of eating,” Elliot teased.

“Hey, I did my hundred push-ups, same as you,” Towan shot back. “If anything, I’ve earned this breakfast.”

Elliot rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the faint smile tugging at his lips. Despite their constant banter, their mornings had become a ritual of sorts, a moment of normalcy amid the chaos of their lives.

As they sat down to eat, Towan glanced out the window, his gaze lingering on the horizon. “Do you think Master will be back soon?” he asked, his tone quieter than usual.

Elliot paused, looking up from his plate. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But until then, we’ll keep training. That’s what he’d want.”

Towan nodded, his usual grin replaced with a more serious expression. “Yeah. We have to get stronger. For him. For us.”

The two ate in silence for a moment, the weight of their determination hanging in the air. Outside, the world was waking up, but for Towan and Elliot, the day’s work had already begun.