Arin walked back to his assigned quarters with heavy footsteps, the echoes of the earlier fight still pounding inside his skull. The memory of that last punch—how easily he lost control, how much power surged through him—made his fist tremble. He glanced down at his hand. Slight bruising. Not from being hit…
From being stopped.
"…too close," he muttered.
Perin, the strange lion-bear creature, was curled up in his hoodie pouch, softly snoring with a tiny whistle noise that sounded like a squeaky toy. Arin gave it a light flick on the forehead.
"Hey. Don't snore like an old man."
Perin snorted, rolled over, and drooled on his shirt in retaliation.
By the time they got back to the small room, the sky was already turning deep blue. Arin threw himself on the bed with a dull thud. Perin jumped onto his chest, circled three times for absolutely no reason, and plopped down like a fluffy rock.
"…You know," Arin whispered, staring at the ceiling. "I don't even understand myself. What am I?"
No answer came—except for Perin farting quietly in his sleep.
"…Bro."
Exhaustion dragged him under faster than he expected.
Knock knock knock!
Arin groaned awake with messy hair. After yesterday's chaos, he half-expected someone to shout at him or recruit him into a secret experiment again—but no. Silence. Only a small note under the door:
"Be at the MEU training arena by 9 AM. – Commander Aisha
P.S. Don't be late again."
Arin yawned, stretched, then looked at Perin.
"…You need a bath."
Perin blinked at him like, No I don't.
"Yes. You stink like fried socks."
Perin dramatically flopped sideways like he had been mortally wounded.
"Stop acting. Let's go."
The next ten minutes were absolute chaos.
Perin refused to get into the bath.
Arin chased him around the room.
Perin clung to the ceiling like a koala-ninja.
Water splashed EVERYWHERE.
A shampoo bottle was used like a weapon.
In the end, Arin had to bribe him with a piece of leftover bread.
Perin sat in the bathtub with a dead-eyed expression, foamy ears sticking sideways.
"You look ridiculous," Arin laughed.
Perin splashed water into his face.
But after the bath, Perin's fur was extra fluffy like a tiny cloud. He proudly climbed onto Arin's shoulder with majestic swagger, as if he had just survived war.
Arin wore the MEU-issued coat, simple but comfortable. It had his new temporary ID stitched:
ARIN – TEMPORARY RECRUIT
He whispered to himself, testing the name again.
"Arin… yeah. That's me now."
The morning streets were slowly waking up. People were sweeping storefronts, some were preparing stalls. Arin noticed everyone wearing different colored badges—rank, profession, or unit maybe.
Perin sniffed the air from his shoulder, tail wagging slightly.
That's when Arin stopped.
He saw a man holding a round piece of bread stuffed with a golden fried patty. Steam rose from it, and beside him, a bottle of bright red sauce sat open.
"What… is that?" Arin asked like a caveman discovering fire.
The stall owner, a cheerful man with a band tied around his head, turned. "This? Brother, this is the legendary city-saver! The soul of the streets! The undefeated champion of breakfast! VADA PAV!"
"Wada… paw?" Arin repeated, confused.
"Vada PAV," the man corrected with passion. "Only half piece for 10 Grams. Try it—you'll ascend to another realm."
Arin gave him the money. The man prepared it with flair, slapped the patty inside the bread, poured spicy sauce like it was sacred nectar.
Arin took a bite.
His eyes widened.
"…Oh… oh… WHAT IS THIS MAGIC?!"
Perin also demanded a bite with aggressive squeaks.
Arin nodded, mouth full. "Yamee… very tasty… I never eat… thing like this before…"
The seller leaned forward smugly. "First Vada Pav, then addiction, then loyalty."
Arin gave a thumbs-up with sauce on his cheek.
Full stomach, slightly nervous, and Perin sitting proudly like a battle-captain on his shoulder, Arin stood before the massive metal doors of the training arena.
He inhaled once.
First training session… let's see how bad this gets.
The arena grounds were already buzzing when I arrived. Soldiers from various units were training, sparring, calibrating weapons, or just watching with folded arms. I stood there awkwardly for a moment, unsure where to go next. Then I heard footsteps behind me.
It was Aisha, arms folded, expression unreadable.
"About yesterday…" she said, eyes briefly shifting away. "I may have… pushed too aggressively."
I shrugged. "It's fine. Wasn't your fault."
(Yes, it was, I thought.)
Aisha exhaled slightly, annoyed at herself more than me. "As for the man who stopped you — his name is Om Sai. Top combat authority in this region."
A slight pause.
"He doesn't usually step in," she added quietly. "So take that however you want."
"Why is he involved in my training?" I asked.
"Because someone made a request for a private evaluation… for you," she said. "Go. He's waiting."
She stepped aside and nodded toward a separate pathway. "Your training session is in a restricted division. A special request came through. Someone wants to evaluate you personally."
"Someone?" I repeated. "Who?"
"You'll know when you see him," she said, turning away. "Good luck… you'll need it."
I followed the path alone. The further I walked, the quieter it got. Normal training noise faded. Eventually, I reached an enclosed arena behind thick steel gates covered in hazard markings.
The door opened with a loud creak.
Inside, sitting casually on a broken combat dummy like it was a comfy chair, was the man from yesterday.
Long black hair slightly messy, sleeves rolled up, eyes half-lidded like he hadn't taken anything seriously in years. He looked like someone who could sleep mid-battle and still win. His presence felt heavy… but also weirdly relaxed.
His head tilted slightly when he saw me.
"Ohhh," he said lazily. "So this is the rookie musclehead who almost turned our commander into modern art."
My lips twitched. "…Modern art?"
He smirked and jumped down from the dummy, landing with a casual thud. Only then did I notice a vicious-looking scar at the side of his neck—like deep claw marks from a massive beast. Whatever left that mark had tried to rip his throat open.
But he was still alive. Still calm. Still smirking.
"Name's Om Sai," he said, cracking his knuckles. "Age 21. Strongest ranked entity in this zone. People around here call me a hero, an idiot, or a walking hazard—depends on their mood."
He pointed at me with his thumb.
"And you must be Arin. The anomaly. The problem. The interesting one."
My chest felt weird. Not in fear. Just—pressure.
Om Sai grinned wider, like this was the most entertaining thing in his week.
"So…" He spread his arms like welcoming me to a show. "Welcome to your special training. Personally requested and approved."
"By who?" I asked.
He winked.
"By me."
With that, he cracked his neck slowly — crkkk — and casually threw a black band toward me.
"Put that on," he said.
I looked at it. A training limiter bracelet.
He smirked. "Congrats. You're officially in Om Sai Bootcamp — survival not guaranteed."
A faint chill ran down my spine.
Before I could question it, he clapped his hands once. The ground trembled as various training modules activated around us — moving boulders, rotating pillars with blades, even platforms floating above spikes.
…What kind of training ground IS THIS?!
He casually pointed around. "Warm-up."
"…Warm-up?" I repeated.
He nodded. "Yeah. Survive ten minutes in that. No Echoform. No Astra burst. Just your body."
I blinked. "This looks like a death trap, not warm-up."
"Exactly," he replied cheerfully.
I sighed. "You're insane."
He flashed a grin that was way too excited. "That's what my doctor said."
Before I could react, a gigantic rotating hammer swung toward my head.
I barely dodged.
"What the—?!"
"Tick-tock!" Om Sai called out while stretching lazily like he was sunbathing. "If you die here, you're not worth teaching!"
I leaped over spinning discs, ducked under moving pillars, rolled aside as a set of spikes shot from the floor. My body moved instinctively — faster, sharper. Training or no training, my survival instinct kicked in.
Ten minutes felt like an hour.
But I endured. Barely.
He finally clapped. All traps stopped mid-motion.
"Not bad," he said.
I dropped to my knees, panting. "Not… bad? I almost DIED!"
"Yeah, but you didn't," he shrugged.
I glared. "Is this training? Or murder?"
"Murder is Plan B," he replied.
He led me to a silent platform deep in the arena, surrounded by strange Astra resonance stones.
"Sit," he ordered.
I looked at him. "We're meditating now? That's a whiplash from death parkour."
His expression suddenly turned serious. "Astra isn't just power. It's emotion, memory, will. If your mind cracks, Astra consumes you."
He tapped his neck scar. "Happened to someone once."
I stared.
He continued, "You unlocked Echoform out of instinct. Good. But instinct without control is destruction."
He crouched before me. "Your first real lesson: feel Astra. Not as power. But as presence."
I closed my eyes.
I felt… something.
A quiet hum. A whisper across my skin. A pulse.
"Good," Om Sai murmured.
Then he punched me in the stomach.
"BWAAH—WHAT THE FU—"
"Focus," he said calmly as I struggled to breathe.
"HOW IS THIS MEDITATION?!"
"Pain helps concentration," he smirked.
"YOU'RE INSANE."
"Already confirmed."
He punched me again — lighter this time.
"Breathe. Stay inside the calm."
Somehow, I managed to hold on to that faint hum inside me… even as he kept "personally assisting my focus."
When I thought it was over, he tossed a tablet at me.
On it: diagrams of Astra types, energy flows, hazard levels, and forms.
"Study," he said, lying down like he was about to nap.
I raised a brow. "You teach theory?"
"No," he replied. "I just hate dumb students."
I sighed and started reading.
By the time I finished, my body was sore, my lungs burning, and my mind buzzing.
Om Sai sat up and cracked his fingers.
"Good warm-up," he said. "Time for Lesson Four."
I blinked. "Wasn't that all?"
He grinned, stepping onto the sparring platform.
"Nope. Now… hit me."
My pulse spiked.
This is where I die, I thought.
And then I stepped forward.
I stepped forward.
No hesitation. No holding back.
My fist shot forward with everything I had — full power, straight to his face.
WHAM.
Om Sai caught it with one hand.
For a moment, I smirked.
Then—
BOOM.
All the force I unleashed suddenly slammed back into me like a truck. My feet left the ground, body flung backward as if I'd punched myself.
I tumbled, rolled, and skidded across the arena floor.
My jaw clenched. What the hell—?!
I sprinted back and went for a high kick to his head. Faster this time. Sharper.
Before my kick even landed—
CRACK!
He punched me directly in the mouth mid-motion.
I flew back again. Hard.
Blood dripped from my lip.
I wiped it with my thumb.
"This keeps happening," I muttered.
Om Sai tilted his head, scratching his ear lazily. "Your battle IQ is like a broken calculator—looks useful, but gives random nonsense."
I twitched. "You shut up, bastard. I'll show you how it's done."
He raised a brow, amused. "Oh? Angry mode activated?"
I rushed in again — but didn't attack him directly this time.
Instead, I jumped and slammed my fist straight into the ground with everything I had.
BOOOOOM!!!
The arena floor cracked open. Dust exploded outward. A massive chunk of rock burst into the air like a flying boulder.
Without missing a beat, I spun and kicked it hard — sending it hurtling at Om Sai like a meteor.
He didn't move.
BOOM.
Same as before — right before impact, the massive stone suddenly jolted backward like it hit an invisible wall — flying away from him and crashing to the opposite side.
Om Sai crossed his arms. "You look frustrated. Like a monkey stuck in a puzzle box."
My teeth ground together. My fists were shaking now — but not from fear.
I sprinted again — but this time, I didn't throw a heavy punch.
Just a quick jab. Barely serious. Almost lazy.
Tap.
It landed.
Right on his chest.
His eyes widened a fraction.
He stepped back.
Just one step. But it was enough.
Silence.
A grin slowly grew on my face. "Got you…"
Om Sai paused for a long second, hand resting casually on the spot I hit.
Then he let out a slow whistle.
"…Interesting."
Om Sai dusted off his chest where my punch landed, his grin widening like he'd found a shiny new toy.
"Well, well," he said, stretching his shoulders, "looks like your brain finally made a phone call to your fists."
I stayed silent, breathing heavily—but alert.
He rolled his neck. "Let me hit you with some wisdom, kid. Not literally this time… probably."
I stayed in stance.
He raised a finger. "Lesson one: power without control is like farting in an elevator. It affects everyone—including you."
I blinked. "What… kind of comparison is that?"
"An educational one," he said seriously, then smirked. "Heavy punches? You threw them with zero flow. All muscle, no intent. So the force snapped back when rejected."
"Rejected?" I repeated.
"Yeah," he nodded. "Power has direction. If your opponent's strength, will, or technique is higher, your energy returns to you like a failed bank loan."
He kicked the broken stone beside him lightly—it crumbled. "That little jab before? It wasn't just weak… it was clean. Controlled. Focused. Your intent and motion aligned for a second. So it stuck."
I stared at my fist.
He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Lesson two: Astra and Echo aren't about being stronger. They're about understanding rhythm, pressure, and emotional flow. If your punch doesn't have your will… it's just exercise."
My gaze turned sharp.
"So I'm supposed to… control everything?"
He laughed. "Nope. You're supposed to stop thinking like a hammer and start acting like a blade. Strike where it matters."
I stepped forward again. "Then let's continue."
He raised a brow. "Oh? Fired up already?"
I clenched my fists. "I'll land another punch."
He held up two fingers. "Land three, and I'll teach you a secret about Astra flow."
My heartbeat spiked. "Deal."
He grinned, stepping fully into stance for the first time.
The air shifted.
It wasn't casual Om Sai anymore.
Something cold and sharp filled the space around him—as if the atmosphere tightened.
He's serious now.
But I didn't back down.
Perin, watching from the edge of the arena, tilted its head—eyes reflecting anticipation.
I exhaled once.
Then I charged.
I lunged.
This time, I didn't just swing wildly—I aimed. I thought about every movement. I listened to Om Sai's words.
Control. Intent. Flow.
Om Sai didn't move much.
He just watched.
I feinted left, struck right—but he tilted his head slightly and dodged.
I pivoted and sent a clean jab toward his ribs—he blocked it lazily.
I spun and kicked toward his leg—he stepped aside like avoiding a puddle.
But I didn't stop.
Breathing steady, I readjusted my stance.
My heartbeat synced with my steps.
Left. Right. Jab. Duck. Step in—punch.
Tap.
It landed.
Then another.
Tap.
And one more.
Tap.
Three clean punches, one after another, right to his chest and shoulder.
I stepped back, breathing heavily.
He didn't even blink.
No damage. No flinch. Nothing.
It was like punching a relaxed mountain.
My fists trembled—not from fear, but frustration.
He looked down at the spots I'd hit… and gave a small nod.
"Huh," he said casually. "Not bad."
"That's it?" I snapped. "I hit you three times!"
"Yeah," he replied. "But it was like being kissed by a sleepy butterfly."
My eye twitched. "You—"
He held up a hand. "Relax. You passed the test."
I blinked. "Passed?"
He stepped closer, his eyes suddenly sharp—not mocking for once.
"You landed focused hits under pressure," he said. "Even if they didn't hurt me… they landed. That's step one."
I silently processed that.
Om Sai cracked his neck. "But don't get cocky. If I wasn't going easy on you, you wouldn't last three seconds."
I didn't argue.
He shrugged and turned away. "Training's done for today."
"That's it?" I asked.
He looked back with a grin. "Be grateful. You survived your first day with me. Most don't."
With that, he stretched lazily and walked off like he'd just finished a casual jog.
I stood there breathing heavily, fists sore… but my mind burning.
Perin hopped onto my shoulder, curious.
Was I frustrated that my punches did nothing?
…Yes.
But for the first time…
I'd hit someone this strong, and they had acknowledged it.
Even slightly.
Somewhere deep inside, something flickered—
Not fear.
Not pride.
But hunger.
This was just the beginning.