Only one month remained before the tournament.
The late afternoon sun spilled across the training yard, painting the ground in a warm orange glow. Einar stood bent forward, palms on his knees, panting like a dying engine. Sweat dripped down his neck, sliding into the collar of his shirt, making it cling to his skin.
Dean, of course, wasn't even sweating.
He stood with his arms crossed, a calm breeze ruffling his hair as if even the wind respected him.
"One month before the tournament," Dean said sharply.
"So stop thinking about anything else. Focus."
Einar inhaled deeply, raising one shaky hand.
"Yeah, yeah… the tournament… got it."
But his eyes weren't on Dean.
His eyes weren't even here.
'Ever since I came back… everything feels wrong. The fighting… the whispers… the streets look like they're waiting for something to explode.'
'Rita and Paul think I don't hear them, but I do. I hear everything. And I hate it.'
Dean clicked his tongue.
"Einar."
No response.
Dean leaned closer and waved his hand in front of Einar's face.
"Hellooooo. Earth to Einar. Anyone alive in there?"
Einar flinched.
"…I'm alive! Don't wave at me like I'm a goldfish."
Dean squinted.
"You're acting like one."
Einar narrowed his eyes.
"…Is that supposed to be motivational?"
"If it gets you to focus? Yes."
Einar groaned loudly and threw himself onto the ground.
"This is hopeless…"
Dean crouched beside him, serious now.
"Einar, I know what's on your mind. The gangs, the conflict, the news… But listen closely: you can't go anywhere near that. Not now."
Einar sat up slowly.
"I get it. I do. But—"
Dean cut him off with a glare.
"No. No 'buts.' You're strong, but you're not that strong. Some of those people have special abilities. You don't. If you try to interfere, you won't even understand how you died."
Einar clenched his jaw.
"I could have an ability if someone would bother to train me."
He shot a very pointed look at Dean.
"Someone like you."
Dean's eye twitched.
"And for the thousandth time… you are not ready."
He tapped Einar's forehead.
"Do you like living? Then stop asking."
Einar slapped Dean's hand away.
"Stop treating me like a child!"
"Then stop acting like one," Dean replied instantly.
Einar's mouth opened—then closed.
He hated how Dean always won arguments in one sentence.
Dean stood and brushed off his pants.
"Awakening an ability is dangerous. One wrong move, and—"
He drew a line across his throat.
"Don't do that gesture while looking so relaxed!" Einar shouted.
Dean smirked.
"Just trying to create a realistic image in your mind."
Einar threw a pebble at him.
Dean dodged it without even looking.
But the frustration inside Einar didn't fade.
He stared at the ground, fists trembling.
'Why him? Why does Dean get to decide? Why does he get to be strong? To know the secrets? To choose who he helps and who he ignores?'
There was something else—something he had been afraid to ask.
And today… he finally broke.
"Sensei."
Dean stopped stretching.
He didn't turn around, but Einar saw his shoulder tense.
"…Yes?"
Einar swallowed.
"Why don't you help stop the Tigers gang? Why don't you arrest them?"
Silence.
Then—
Dean snorted…
And burst into loud, uncontrollable laughter.
Not polite laughter.
Not amused laughter.
This was the kind you hear from someone who thinks you just asked the stupidest question on earth.
"You—You think—HAHAHAHA—ME?! Helping a gang?!"
He doubled over.
"Oh, Einar… you're killing me."
Einar puffed his cheeks.
"I'm being serious!"
Dean wiped his eyes.
"So am I. Listen, both gangs are wanted criminals. There are bounties on Rita, on the Tigers—on everyone. Why would the UN send me to save criminals?"
Einar knew that.
But it wasn't enough.
Not even close.
He asked again—quieter, heavier:
"Then why does the UN let gangs exist at all?"
This time, Dean didn't laugh.
His expression darkened.
He took a slow breath and sat down beside Einar.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then—
"Because, Einar… the UN benefits from them."
Einar froze.
"…What?"
Dean gazed at the sky.
"Gangs control parts of the underground economy. They move money, weapons, information. They do things officials can't do publicly. Some of them are… tools."
Einar's stomach twisted.
"Tools…? They're people."
Dean shook his head.
"Not in the eyes of the ones in charge."
He continued:
"Some gangs feed the UN intel. Some perform quiet operations. Some keep other dangerous factions in check. And when a gang outlives its usefulness…"
He snapped his fingers.
"…they vanish."
Einar shivered.
The world suddenly felt bigger.
Darker.
Uglier.
'So Rita… Paul… even the Tigers—they're all pieces on someone else's board?'
He clenched his fists tighter.
Dean noticed.
His voice softened.
"That's why I won't let you near them. Not yet. The world is more complicated than you think."
Einar looked at him with burning eyes.
"Then I'll become strong enough to understand it. Strong enough to change something."
Dean smirked.
"Ambitious. I like that."
He patted Einar's head.
"Good luck. You'll need it."
Einar swatted his hand away.
"Stop treating me like a kid!"
Dean laughed again.
"When you stop acting like one, I will."
Einar groaned and threw another pebble.
Dean dodged again.
The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the ground.
Training wasn't over.
The world wasn't simple.
And Einar…
He wasn't done yet.
Not even close.