The dining hall was buzzing again, but this time with a thick tension. All eyes followed Zane as he stood his ground. The air felt heavier, almost like the moment before a storm hits.
Suddenly, the trainee with four arms—thick, bald, and built like a walking mountain—called out again, his voice loud and mocking.
"Hey! Scrawny!"
Zane turned slightly at the call, his expression calm.
But he didn't see it coming.
Four fists slammed into him all at once in a brutal, synchronized punch—like a battering ram. His body lifted clean off the ground, flying several meters across the hall before crashing down hard. His back hit the floor with a heavy thud, the sound echoing through the wide space like someone had dropped a bag of bones.
Laughter erupted.
"Hah! What the hell? He's so damn weak!" the four-armed trainee jeered, walking toward Zane with heavy steps that made the ground thrum faintly. "The way he was talking earlier, I thought he had the backing of a god or something!"
Zane groaned and pushed himself up slowly, his arms trembling as he fought against the ache in his ribs.
'Damn, this dude packs some serious punch, but it's nowhere near Onilia's'
His nose bled-a thin line of crimson dripping to the floor. Still, he stood.
He wiped the blood with the back of his hand and sneezed the rest out with a sharp breath, then looked up.
Now, face-to-face with the four-armed brute, Zane didn't flinch. The four-armed trainee towered two and a half meters tall, two arms on each side and reddish-brown skin.
Nenis watched silently from her seat nearby, arms crossed, her lips pressed in a thin line. Her eyes followed every movement. Deep down, she couldn't see any version of the future where Zane would ever surpass her. But… something about the way he stood now—it wasn't the same boy from before.
He was still scrawny. Still bruised. But he seemed different.
Zane tilted his head, his expression calm, almost bored. Meanwhile, Onilia watched with a frown.
"You're pretty slow, aren't you?" he muttered, locking eyes with the larger man.
The trainee blinked, surprised.
"No matter how many times you hit me, I won't really die," Zane continued, his voice low but steady. "Even if I do, the Master will just revive me. That means I've got time. Plenty of it."
He stepped forward, just once, enough to make the four-armed man instinctively shift his weight. For the first time, he couldn't tell if he was bluffing or just stupid.
"Throw me around. Smash my skull into the floor. Go ahead," Zane said, now channeling his best imitation of a villain's voice—deep, threatening, and theatrical. "But remember this... one day, when you least expect it… I'll strike. And when I do, you'll know your end has come."
The room went quiet. Everyone froze. A few jaws dropped. Some glanced at each other nervously. Others swallowed hard.
They all knew it—Zane was a persistent bastard. He wasn't the strongest or the fastest, but he had a very unrelenting spirit.
Even though they outclassed him in every way, he always carried himself like an equal. Like he belonged here.
Zane turned without another word and started walking away, his footsteps slow, his back straight, like he'd just delivered a prophecy. His hand trembled slightly at his side, but no one noticed. He wasn't completely fearless.
The four-armed trainee stood there, fists clenched. He didn't know whether to strike again or leave it be. One thing was clear, though:
He didn't want to spend the rest of his days in this place with his guard always up.
The four-armed trainee was about to say something when a calm but sharp voice cut through the air.
"Zane, why are you wasting your time on a pointless argument? Just come have a seat," Onilia called out.
Just like that, the air in the room shifted. A few trainees blinked in surprise as they remembered something they had somehow forgotten.
She was quiet—too quiet.
Usually, Onilia didn't let anyone get close to bullying Zane. She'd always been there, stepping in before things escalated. She didn't even need to say much—just her presence was enough to stop most of them. But today… she had watched everything happen and didn't lift a finger. She didn't even flinch when Zane got punched.
A few of them started to exchange glances, suspicion creeping in.
'Are they on bad terms? No… look at how friendly she sounded just now.
Then why didn't she interfere? Could it be... No way. There's no chance she actually believed Zane could win against that trainee, right?' Nenis thought, her eyes narrowing slightly as she watched the two of them.
Zane dusted himself off and walked over, his steps relaxed like he hadn't just been knocked across the room. He sat down opposite Onilia, grabbing a strange fruit from the tray and biting into it.
"You said you weren't coming," Onilia said, her tone cold but not entirely distant, it was clear she was still upset. "So why did you change your mind?"
"No reason," Zane shrugged, still chewing. "Just felt like it."
She stared at him, her eyes unreadable. "Who is Ariel?" she asked suddenly.
Zane didn't respond right away. He was too focused on the food, digging in like he hadn't eaten in days. He was munching on something red and squishy, completely unfazed.
"Huh? Did you say something?" he asked with his mouth full, barely glancing up.
Onilia frowned, then leaned forward slightly, her voice sharper this time.
"Why did you let him punch you? You could've dodged it. It's clear there were a few things you could've done to put up a fight. So why give him the satisfaction of thinking you're weak?" she asked, changing the topic.
She was serious now. Given how hard Zane had been training lately, he shouldn't be a pushover, at least not to the trainee he just faced.
Zane paused, his hand halfway to his mouth.
"The nail that sticks out gets hammered down," he said simply, before returning to his food.
"The what now?" Onilia blinked, genuinely confused.
Zane gave a small smile, a rare thing on his face.
"Let that weak version of me live in their heads," he said, biting into something that looked like a chunk of grilled meat. "I'm looking forward to the day they realize that version of me never existed."
Onilia stared at him, unsure whether to call him an idiot or a genius. His words lingered in the air like smoke—soft, but impossible to ignore.
Just as she opened her mouth to speak again, the heavy doors at the back of the dining hall creaked open.
Everyone turned.
A man walked in, no aura or sound. His footsteps were silent, like he was walking on foam. He had sharp eyes and a face that seemed to have been carved from stone. His presence alone silenced the room.
"My name is Marius Dazai," he said, his voice strong and smooth, echoing across the hall like a blade being drawn. "I'll be your instructor from now on—until you finish the first part of your training."
He didn't spare anyone a second glance. No smile. No welcome speech. Just straight to the point.
A chill ran through the room.
It was clear—playtime was over.
"Huh," Marius sighed, casually rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at the group before him. His eyes were cold and sharp, like he had seen this scene a thousand times and already knew how it would end. "Honestly, why do I keep doing this when it's clear most of you are going to die anyway?"
He let the words hang in the air, and several trainees shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
"Anyway," he continued with a shrug, "your training starts tomorrow."
"What? I thought we weren't starting until two days from now!" the four-armed trainee blurted out, his voice loud and annoyed.
Marius stopped.
His body barely moved—but his eyes slowly turned toward him, and the room seemed to freeze.
At that moment, the four-armed trainee swallowed hard, like someone who had just signed his own death warrant.
"Rule number one," he said, his voice as calm as still water. Then, without warning, he raised his hand toward him and flicked his finger.
Just a flick.
But in the blink of an eye, the four-armed trainee's entire body exploded with a loud, sickening pop—as if he'd swallowed a grenade. Green liquid splattered across the room, splashing onto the floor, the walls, even some unlucky trainees nearby. Bits of his uniform fluttered to the ground like torn leaves.
For a second, no one moved.
Then panic hit.
"What the hell?!"
"He was Alpha rank!"
"He's not reviving—why isn't he reviving?!"
Zane, mid—chew, paused for half a second when Marius flicked his figure, then he resumed chewing.
'So that's the instructor? What kind of monster did the Master release?'
Screams and gasps filled the air. Chairs scraped backward. Eyes darted around wildly. The smell of scorched flesh and chemical-like ooze stung their nostrils. Everyone had seen death in this place—but this was different. Everyone died here... but they always came back.
But not him.
He was gone. Just like that.
Marius didn't even flinch. His voice sliced through the chaos like a blade.
"Don't interrupt me when I'm speaking."
The room fell into stunned silence.
The realization hit hard: this man could really kill. No revival. No second chances. One flick—and it was over. It terrified most of them to their bones.
Some trainees sat frozen, too scared to even breathe loudly.
Nenis, on the other hand, leaned back and picked up a shiny red fruit from the table. She bit into it slowly, crunching it like she was enjoying a front-row seat at a brutal play.
"Gather at the same place you first arrived—before sunrise tomorrow," Marius said, his voice steady and final. "Come late... and... well, I'll leave that to your imagination."
He turned and walked out without another word or sound.
No one dared to speak after he left. The only sound left in the room was the soft, deliberate chew of Nenis as juice dripped from her fingers like blood.
Onilia narrowed her eyes as she watched Zane from across the table. The room was still tense after what had just happened—most of the trainees were shaken, barely able to speak. Yet Zane sat there, calm as ever, as if none of it affected him.
To her surprise, he wasn't deep in thought or trying to process the horror they'd all witnessed. No. He was focused entirely on something else—chewing on a bone and trying to fish out the last bit of meat stuck between it.
He held the bone up, twisting it at different angles, then stretched out his tongue, trying to reach the tiny scrap stuck in the middle like it was the most important thing in the world.
Onilia blinked, stunned. "Are you... alright, Zane?" she asked, her voice gentle but laced with concern.
Zane glanced up, still chewing. "Shouldn't I be?" he replied casually, before going back to licking the bone like a kid refusing to let candy go to waste.
"You weren't even the slightest bit scared of the instructor?" she asked, genuinely confused now. Some of the other trainees were down on their knees yet...
"He just blew someone up with a flick of his finger... and you're sitting there gnawing on a bone like it didn't even happen."
Zane finally gave up on the stubborn meat and dropped the bone onto the plate with a sigh of defeat. He leaned back in his chair, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and said, "Which instructor?"
Onilia frowned. "What do you mean, which instructor? The man who just walked in and—"
Zane cut her off, shaking his head slightly. "The only instruction we received was to climb this godforsaken mountain and rest for two weeks. Until the Master himself tells me who's in charge, he's just another stranger with a god complex."