Zane didn't have an immediate answer.
He slowly raised his head to meet the gaze of the man standing before him. Even that small movement felt like lifting a mountain—his muscles screamed, and his instincts howled at him to keep his head down.
But he fought it.
He looked up at Daikyn Zodiache. The man didn't glow. He didn't hover. He didn't unleash any divine pressure or killing intent. And yet, he felt like the very center of the universe—unmoving, eternal, and absolute.
The silence stretched.
"Honestly…" Zane began, his voice low, yet firm. "…there's nothing I could give you that you don't already have."
And that was the truth.
There was a reason the Errors hadn't run rampant and consumed all existence - they were held in check by the Creators, those unfathomable architects of the System who maintained the delicate balance of reality itself. Among all beings, only the Creators outranked the Errors in raw power, making these cosmic anomalies the second most terrifying force across the multiverse. Daikyn Zodiache, though only the fifth most formidable among the Errors, commanded dominion over countless dimensions - including the entire multiverse that contained Earth. So what possible bargain could an unranked Player, not even a speck in the grand design, hope to strike with such an entity?
Absolutely nothing.
A few of the kneeling trainees dared to glance up, curiosity replacing fear for a moment. Zane inhaled deeply, then spoke again.
"But if you let me go, in return…" he said slowly, with a slight pause, "…I'll be the sixth person to complete your training."
The words struck like a thunderclap across the silent hall.
Gasps escaped some of the trainees, even though they tried to hold them in. A ripple of disbelief swept through them. Every single one of them had entered this place hoping—desperately praying—that they could become one of the rare few to finish the Master's training. But deep down, most had accepted it was impossible. They weren't chosen heroes or legendary warriors. They were just desperate souls with no other path.
Yet this boy just declared it like it was a certainty.
"Is he serious?" one trainee whispered, still on his knees, voice barely audible.
"I've always thought he was crazy... but this? This is next level delusion," another muttered, eyes darting sideways to catch a glimpse of Zane.
Their voices were hushed, but laced with disbelief.
He had crossed the line.
Nenis, kneeling a few feet away, clenched her fists.
Nenis had been turning over Onilia's words for weeks. Though she couldn't imagine Zane surpassing her, she'd resolved to give him the benefit of the doubt. But today's recklessness bore no resemblance to the cunning strategist who'd outmaneuvered the instructor's test five months ago. She had planned to wait - to give Zane all the time he needed to prove himself before throwing Onilia's misjudgment back in her face. Yet here he was, blade drawn against impossible odds, signing his own death warrant before the entire training hall. That's why she'd intervened. Not just to save him, but to show Onilia how terribly wrong she'd been about what Zane was capable of.
Daikyn's expression finally changed.
His head tilted ever so slightly, and his eyes, cold and ancient, narrowed.
"Do you understand what you're saying?"
His voice carried a note of irritation now—like an emperor being mocked by a street rat.
Thousands upon thousands of years had passed, and no one—not a single soul—had completed his training. Not even the five who completed it would dare to speak with as much confidence and certainty as Zane just did.
Zane didn't flinch.
"As long as I keep reviving, I'll make it through," Zane said, his voice firm, steady—almost defiant. "I have a reason I can't give up."
A hush fell over the trainees.
"But it won't always be so," Daikyn said coolly, his voice echoing through the massive stone chamber like a grim truth unraveling. "At some point... you won't revive."
His words were casual, but they struck like thunder.
Zane's brow furrowed slightly.
"Haven't you noticed?" Daikyn continued, gaze shifting toward a body lying motionless on the training floor. "The trainee whose head you cut off—he hasn't come back. There is a condition to reviving on this planet. It is quite simple, I have to approve of your revival."
The room froze.
A cold silence crept over them like a shadow stretching through the hall. Dozens of trainees turned in unison to the fallen boy. His body remained still, blood dried against the floor, his head lay a few inches away, his eyes were opened but empty—soulless.
"Wait… what?" a trembling voice whispered.
One of the trainees spoke up with panic in his tone. "He said on the first day… that as long as we don't commit suicide, we'd keep reviving. He said we couldn't die!"
"I heard the same thing," another murmured, his face pale as a sheet.
"You did hear that," Daikyn said with eerie calm, folding his arms behind his back. "And it was true... back then."
His eyes locked onto Zane again.
"During your early days on Zoic, I allowed you to die freely. I wanted you to grow used to the idea of living without fear. But I never said it would last throughout the training."
Daikyn's voice dropped, low and weighty, each word laced with finality.
"So tell me, Zane," he continued as he began to walk toward him—slow, deliberate steps that made the stone floor groan under his power. "Now that your life is truly on the line... how do you plan to complete the training?"
Zane was still on one knee, his head tilted just slightly upward, staring back into the eyes of a being that could crush him with a thought. A faint light filtered down from the ceiling—perhaps artificial, perhaps cosmic—but it did little to warm the chill now seizing every trainee's spine.
The others stared, breath held, hearts racing. Death—something they'd long pushed out of their minds—had returned like a monster in the dark.
They had laughed through fatal wounds, mocked broken limbs, even joked about their own decapitations.
But now... now it was real.
Now, death had meaning again.
"Your point, Master?" Zane said simply. Three calm words. No tremble in his voice. No fear in his eyes.
Nenis blinked in confusion. "What?"
The simplicity of Zane's response stunned them. It wasn't arrogance. It wasn't bravado. It was... acceptance. A life lived in pain had made him numb to fear, even in the presence of a being who could erase him from existence. Almost every moment of his life had been a struggle of life and death, putting his life on the line was nothing new to him.
'A survivor?' Daikyn realized. 'I see. He's been living with death long before he arrived here.'
The Master's lips curled in the faintest hint of amusement.
"Very well," he said at last. "I'll send you back to your planet."
He turned to leave, his body shimmering with cosmic light. The temperature seemed to shift, the ground trembled faintly. Just his presence leaving the room felt like the air was being pulled out of their lungs.
"Bear this in mind Zane, the moment I deem you unworthy, I'll destroy you and everything related to you."
Then, as he began to vanish into a ripple of light, he added: "Dazai, come with me."
And just like that—they were gone.
The hall remained silent. The other trainees remained kneeling, not out of respect... but out of sheer, bone-deep fear.
Zane exhaled softly, then rose to his feet.
"I'm telling you," muttered a trainee with antenna-like protrusions in place of ears, "whenever that bastard starts acting weird, it never ends well."
He spoke with a grim tone, eyes locked on Zane's back as the boy silently walked out of the open training grounds.
Onilia glanced briefly at Nenis, her eyes narrowing with curiosity. Then, without a word, she stepped out and followed Zane.
"Zane," she called, her voice soft but firm as the crisp wind blew her hair around her shoulders.
Zane paused for a heartbeat, shoulders tensing, then resumed walking—this time slower, as if waiting for Onilia to catch up.
Onilia's gaze lingered on his back. He's changed. Just days ago, he would've cracked some absurd joke or said something so ridiculous she'd feel the urge to throttle him. Now… he hadn't even smiled once since the morning.
'What kind of dream did he have?'... she wondered, biting her lower lip. Should I ask him? Or would that only make it worse?
She caught up beside him, keeping pace. They walked in silence, their boots crunching lightly against the mountain path's dusty gravel. The late afternoon sky was painted with strokes of orange and crimson, casting long shadows that danced between the jagged stones and sparse trees on the mountainside.
After a few minutes of quiet, Zane finally spoke.
"Thank you… for standing up for me," he said quietly, eyes fixed on the path ahead. He didn't glance her way.
The words caught Onilia off guard. She blinked, then looked at him with something close to concern.
"It's… no problem," she replied, unsure what else to say.
He had attacked another trainee earlier, risking backlash from the group. But he hadn't done it recklessly—he'd counted on her to keep things under control. He had trusted her to stand behind him. He calculated every possibility before descending the mountain. If the Apex trainees really did attack him, he had planned to use the Instructor against them supposing Onilia hadn't stepped in. Though, the possibility of that happening was extremely low.
They didn't speak again as they climbed the mountain.
Once they made it to their apartment, Zane headed upstairs going straight into his room without hesitation.
"Come to think of it," he muttered to himself, glancing around the empty space, "I didn't bring anything here. And I've got nothing to take back either."
He strode to the corner, grabbed the dense iron weight belts, and strapped them to his forearms with practiced ease.
"I better put on some weight before I head back to Earth," he continued, tightening the last buckle. "Wouldn't want to feel like I'm floating."