Here's a fun fact no one tells you about training arcs: they suck.
Not just metaphorically. Not just emotionally. They suck in the way a sentient vacuum might suck up your hopes, dreams, and dignity, and then burp out your unresolved issues.
Case in point: me, lying face-first in sacred grass after failing a basic Echo Technique called "Silent Step." The technique? Supposed to make your footsteps vanish. My result? Somehow louder footsteps. Sonic boom-level footsteps. The grass flinched.
"Try again, Glitch Goblin," Spoon chirped from a safe distance on top of a boulder. He'd decided to take the role of my official training coach after the System Tournament announcement. Why? Unclear. Possibly out of spite. Possibly because he lost a bet with Fluffernox.
Belladonna lounged under a shade tree nearby, sipping something ominously floral and pretending not to be impressed. She failed. Mirielle had brought snacks. Aureline was quietly scribing magical notes with an alarming level of judgment.
"I can't do this!" I flopped onto my back, arms wide like a Renaissance painting of defeat. "I'm not meant for silent footwork. My soul is made of clumsy."
"Your soul is made of sarcasm and poorly repressed trauma," Belladonna corrected gently, and not unkindly.
Spoon fluttered down to perch on my chest. "And caffeine. Never forget caffeine."
Inner Me Voice: This is fine. Totally fine. Just a regular reincarnation journey. Everybody has a training arc where their internal monologue becomes sentient and critiques them mid-roll.
"We need to focus," Spoon said, his expression now uncharacteristically serious. "The other Echo candidates will not be playing fair. Especially Mask Boy."
"You mean the one who hissed at me during the last ritual and said 'Only one glitch may live' like we were in a fantasy-themed reality show?" I said.
"Exactly."
"Right. So just defeat the corrupted avatars of ancient prophecy. Easy. Should I bring snacks or a tactical crying strategy?"
Belladonna raised a hand without looking up. "Tactical crying works best after the stabbing."
Mirielle nodded. "Seconded."
Aureline: "Documented."
Fluffernox chose that moment to juggle three cursed apples and one goblin. No explanation.
Day Two of the Training Arc.
It only got worse.
Spoon introduced a new drill: Echo Reflex Memory Repetition. The point? React to distorted memory fragments pulled from alternate timelines and parry them with your own emotional stability.
Ha. Haha. Ha.
Have you ever tried blocking a memory of yourself sobbing in the rain while your alternate girlfriend dumps you for your alternate best friend? While another version of you eats cake angrily in the background? All while a spectral copy of your dad gives a performance review?
"This isn't training. This is therapy with extra steps!"
"Welcome to Echo combat," Spoon said. "Where your trauma punches first."
My combat partners for the day? Glitched Echo illusions of myself with cool titles like:
Emperor Kael (he had a cape made of dreams)
Sad Boy Kael (he just sat there and sighed)
Harem King Kael (no comment)
I was outnumbered. Not just physically. Existentially.
Day Three: Desperation.
"Maybe I should fake a magical coma," I whispered to the nearest squirrel.
"You already did that in Chapter 39," Spoon reminded me.
"Fine. Magical narcolepsy then."
"Still counts."
Belladonna finally stood, stretching in that annoyingly graceful way that said, I'm about to school your entire bloodline.
"Let me spar with him," she said.
Spoon: "Kael might cry."
Me: "Kael will definitely cry."
Five minutes later, I was crying. But also learning. Because apparently Belladonna was very good at knife-based motivation.
"You only hesitate when you're thinking about being liked," she said, flipping me onto the training mat. "Stop thinking. Start being."
"Okay, Master Yoda."
"Who's Yoda?"
"Nevermind. Wrong timeline."
By the end of the week, I had:
Learned three techniques (two on purpose)
Accidentally invented a new form of Echo-shouting
Kicked myself in the face via magical ricochet
Gained a level in Existential Endurance
The worst part? I was kind of getting better.
"Proud of you, kid," Spoon said one night as we watched the stars.
I glanced at him. "Even after I turned your bath into sentient slime?"
"Especially then."
We sat in silence. The training field behind us still glowed faintly with Echo residue and Belladonna's last spellwork. The night was quiet.
"I don't know if I want to win this tournament," I admitted softly.
Spoon didn't answer right away. Then:
"Then win it on your terms. Glitch it if you have to. But don't run."
Inner Me: He's right, unfortunately. Being emotionally supported by a magical utensil is embarrassing, but also correct.
And just like that, the training arc turned from mild regret... to maybe the start of something real.
Next Time on Yes, I Was Reborn. No, I Don't Want a Harem. Stop Looking at Me Like That:
Chapter 73: "Flirting Is Not a Combat Style (Except When It Is)"
Kael enters his first pre-tournament skirmish. Accidentally flirts. Accidentally wins. Accidentally gains a fan club. Spoon facepalms. Belladonna plots murder. Aureline starts selling t-shirts.