(Arata Meets His Trainers & Spars for the First Time)
The morning air was crisp, and the training field stretched out under the rising sun. The scent of damp earth and distant city life lingered in the air.
Arata stood in the center, his small hands curled into fists, trying to steady his breathing.
Five warriors surrounded him—the people who would shape his future.
Each one watched him carefully, assessing him in their way.
He swallowed hard.
Their gazes felt heavier than the heat of the sun.
Zetsubo stood beside him, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable.
“To train you properly,” he said, “we need to know where you stand.”
Arata nodded, determination burning in his chest.
“One at a time,” Zetsubo continued, “each of them will fight you for three minutes—they’ll hold back, of course.”
Hold back.
Even so, Arata’s gut twisted.
He wasn’t naive—these weren’t ordinary fighters.
Still, this was his chance.
He clenched his fists and took a deep breath.
A sharp-eyed man stepped forward first. His stance was casual, but his gaze was piercing—like he already knew everything about Arata just by looking at him.
“My name is Grundor,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “I study battles, plan strategies… and if you ever want to win a fight, you’ll need to use your head first.”
He cracked his knuckles.
“So let’s see if you’ve got any instincts.”
Grundor didn’t move.
Arata hesitated. Then, without thinking, he rushed forward, throwing a punch.
Grundor sidestepped with ease.
Arata spun and swung again—miss.
He gritted his teeth, shifting stances. Grundor wasn’t attacking.
He was watching.
Testing him.
Arata tried again—a kick this time. Nothing.
Grundor barely even acknowledged it.
“…Not bad for a kid,” Grundor muttered. “But if that’s all you’ve got, you’ll be eaten alive out there.”
Grundor smirked and patted Arata’s head. “You’ve got potential—but right now? You’re predictable.”
A towering man with arms like tree trunks stepped forward next, cracking his knuckles.
Unlike Grundor, he looked excited.
“Omega.” His deep voice rumbled like thunder. “I don’t do strategy. I don’t do tricks. I hit things. Hard.”
He stomped his foot.
“I don’t expect you to hurt me, kid. But let’s see if you can handle a hit.”
Arata’s heart pounded.
Omega lunged.
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Not fast, not tricky—just raw power.
Arata barely ducked as a massive fist swung past his head, the force alone making his hair whip back.
“Whoa—”
Omega grinned. “What’s wrong? You scared?”
Arata clenched his fists.
No. He wouldn’t be scared.
He charged forward, aiming a punch at Omega’s stomach.
His fist connected—and did absolutely nothing.
Omega raised an eyebrow. “That it?”
Before Arata could pull away, Omega gently—but **firmly—**tapped his shoulder.
Arata staggered back, nearly losing his balance.
A single tap had almost knocked him over.
“…You’re gonna need muscle, kid,” Omega said, laughing.
Arata stood frozen.
Omega cracked his knuckles. “Next time? Try harder.”
The moment Omega stepped back, a blonde blur zipped past Arata, making him stumble.
When he turned, she was already behind him.
“Too slow.”
A grinning girl twirled her twin sai's, bouncing on her heels.
“Name’s Beatrix—but you can call me Sound Breaker.”
She winked. “I’m fast. You’re not. Let’s see if you can touch me.”
She vanished.
Arata barely saw the flash of movement before something tapped his shoulder.
He spun—but she was already gone.
Another tap—this time on his back.
Then his arm.
Then his forehead.
He swung wildly, frustration boiling up. Nothing.
“You’re way too slow, little guy,” Beatrix teased. “C’mon, at least try!”
Arata gritted his teeth.
If he couldn’t hit her normally…
He’d have to fake her out.
He pretended to stumble, making it look like he lost balance.
For a **fraction of a second—**Beatrix hesitated.
Arata swung.
And missed.
By an inch.
Beatrix whistled. “Not bad!”
She gave him a playful punch to the arm. “You’re slow, but at least you can think.”
Arata was breathing hard.
He had never fought someone with that amount of speed.
Beatrix smirked. “Don’t worry. I’ll make you faster.”
The only one who hadn’t stepped forward yet was Kate.
She sighed, crossing her arms.
“I don’t like fighting kids,” she muttered.
Zetsubo raised an eyebrow. “And yet, here you are.”
Kate sighed again.
“…Fine.”
She motioned for Arata to come at her.
“Show me what you’ve learned.”
Exhausted, but determined, Arata charged in.
Kate sidestepped effortlessly.
He swung again—she redirected his strike with just a flick of her wrist.
Arata stumbled.
Kate shook her head. “You’re too aggressive.”
Arata clenched his fists. “I have to be.”
Kate watched him carefully.
“You think being strong means throwing yourself at people?”
Arata hesitated.
Kate sighed, softening slightly.
“If you keep fighting like that, you’ll get yourself killed.”
Arata swallowed.
Kate folded her arms. “You need to learn when to fight—and when to wait.”
Arata barely had time to breathe before the last figure stepped forward.
Spiffy didn’t even get into a stance.
“You tired yet?” he asked, unimpressed.
Arata clenched his fists. “No.”
Spiffy raised an eyebrow.
The moment Arata moved, Spiffy grabbed his wrist, twisted, and threw him onto the ground.
Hard.
Arata gasped as the air rushed out of his lungs.
Spiffy crouched down. “Here’s a tip, kid.”
He pressed his knee onto Arata’s chest, pinning him easily.
“If someone’s stronger than you, don’t fight fair.”
Spiffy stood, dusting himself off.
“I give him a week,” he muttered.
Arata lay on the ground, breathing hard.
Everything hurt.
He felt weak. Small. Helpless.
And he hated it.
Zetsubo walked forward, looking down at Arata.
“Well,” he said.
Arata stiffened.
Then—Zetsubo grinned.
“You’ll do.”
Arata blinked.
“You mean…?”
Zetsubo nodded. “Training starts tomorrow.”
Arata’s body ached.
But deep inside, something burned.
He’d prove himself.
No matter what.
