Kapitel 33: The Trials Begin
"So what are we doing here?" Arata asks, his voice breaking the silence as he looks around the expansive training ground. The vast open space feels almost unnervingly serene compared to the confined halls of the Queen's room. His eyes flicker with uncertainty as he studies Butter, who is now seated, her sleek fur catching the faint light filtering through the area.
Butter takes a deep breath before speaking. "I am your first Master," she says, her voice steady but carrying an air of seriousness that Arata isn't used to. He frowns, the words not quite registering.
"What do you mean?" Arata questions, his brows knitting together in confusion. He watches as Butter releases a quiet sigh, her eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing her words.
"My job here is to make you physically capable," she says, her tone firm but not unkind. Arata's confusion deepens, his mind racing to catch up with the gravity of her words. Butter's gaze shifts to the distance, her expression softening momentarily before she continues. "Just like me, Cheese, Uriel, Lance, and even the Queen herself, we'll all train you. We're here to mold you into one of those strong Ringmasters."
Arata's eyes widen slightly, the weight of her words pressing down on him. "What strong Ringmasters?" he asks, a trace of uncertainty lacing his voice. Butter's eyes meet his, and for a brief moment, there's an almost sad understanding in her gaze.
"Have you not read history?" she replies, a hint of disappointment evident in her tone. Arata shifts uncomfortably under her scrutinizing gaze. Butter sighs again, this time with a touch more frustration, before leaning down and licking her paws as if the motion calmed her.
"The strong Ringmasters were some of the first," she explains, her voice taking on a distant, almost nostalgic quality. "They achieved strengths that no normal humans could ever dream of. You could say they could go up against some of the strongest Undergrounders that exist right now."
Arata's mind races as he tries to digest the information. "So you're saying I'll be able to fight without transforming?" he asks, his voice tinged with both hope and hesitation. Butter's ears twitch as she nods, but the slight downturn of her mouth betrays the gravity of what she's about to say.
"But you still won't be able to defeat a Calamity Class or anything close to them," she says softly, her eyes sharp with a hard-earned wisdom. "No human can ever achieve that."
The words hang heavily between them, and Arata feels a pang of disappointment, but Butter's gaze holds him steady. "You need a Ring to defeat them," she adds, her voice steady. "Sadly, none of the Rings we have suit you." Butter's words settle like a final note, and as Arata processes it all, he nods in understanding, feeling the weight of the journey ahead.
"Any questions?" Butter asks, her gaze steady and unyielding as she locks eyes with Arata. He hesitates for a brief moment, his mind swirling with the weight of what's ahead, but then he shakes his head firmly. "No," he says, his voice calm but laced with underlying determination.
Butter watches him carefully before taking a deep breath, her chest rising and falling slowly as she prepares to outline his grueling schedule. "Your training for the next five days," she begins, her voice low and deliberate, "will be as follows: 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, running 100 laps around this room, punching me 100 times, and on the final fifth day…" She pauses, her eyes narrowing slightly as she gestures toward a square ring drawn on the ground. It's simple, not much more than a chalk outline, its corners soft and unassuming compared to the sharp, dangerous rings he's seen before. "You have to knock me out of that ring."
Arata's eyes follow her gesture, taking in the modest square. It isn't intimidating, but he knows better than to underestimate the challenge. He nods once, signaling his understanding. Butter's gaze hardens, her tone growing sharper. "You begin starting now! 100 push-ups today, right now! GO!"
Her command echoes through the open space, and Arata drops to the ground without hesitation, his hands bracing against the cold floor as he begins his push-ups. The muscles in his arms tremble with the strain, but he grits his teeth, determined not to falter.
Meanwhile, in another room, the atmosphere is thick with tension. Uriel stands tall, his silhouette dark and imposing against the dim lighting. Elio faces him, his jaw set with determination as he listens to Uriel's words. "Your job is to defeat me in 30 days, Elio," Uriel states, his voice low and firm, carrying the weight of a challenge that leaves no room for failure. "I won't hold back for even a single day."
Elio takes a deep breath, the air around him feeling heavier as he steels himself for the battle ahead. His heart pounds in his chest, but he doesn't let it show. "Let's fight then," Elio replies, his voice calm but resolute.
Uriel lets out a low chuckle, the sound reverberating through the room. Even though his face is partially obscured, the grin in his voice is unmistakable. "Good," Uriel says, his tone dripping with anticipation. "I expect nothing less from you! BRING IT ON, BOY!"
The tension between them crackles like electricity, the air thick with the promise of a fierce and unforgiving battle as they prepare to clash.
Somewhere else, at the same time, the sound of a loud impact echoes through the air as Jennifer is sent flying backward, her body crashing into the ground with a harsh thud. "AH!" she gasps, struggling to regain her breath. The sharp pain coursing through her limbs is a brutal reminder of the power she's up against.
Miyoko stands tall, barely breaking a sweat, her eyes cold and sharp as she regards her younger opponent. A mocking smile plays on her lips as she taunts Jennifer. "What's the matter, Jen? You expect to save Ryuki with that strength?" she jeers, her voice dripping with condescension. "You're using Vamby, and still, you can't defeat me. What's the matter?!"
Jennifer, in her Ringmaster Bat form, feels the weight of Miyoko's words pressing down on her like a vice. She staggers to her feet, her breath ragged as she wipes a trickle of blood from her lip. "You've got to be kidding me…" she mutters under her breath, frustration bubbling up inside her. "What the hell do you and your brother eat to be this strong physically?!"
Miyoko's expression hardens, her eyes narrowing dangerously as she steps forward, her presence commanding and unyielding. "You should know," she says, her tone colder now, laced with a steely resolve. "I am Ryuki's older sister. I've endured training far more brutal than anything you've experienced. Unlike Arata, who went through light training, I was pushed to my absolute limits."
Jennifer's heart pounds in her chest as Miyoko's words sink in, but she refuses to back down. The weight of her connection to Arata only fuels her determination. Miyoko continues, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. "I planned to train him the same way, to make him just as strong as I am, but now… it seems he's somewhere on his own."
Miyoko's gaze pierces through Jennifer, as if seeing right through her. "That leaves you," she says, her voice lowering, becoming almost predatory. "You have to be the one to fight him. After all, you're supposed to be the girl he loves, aren't you?"
Jennifer's heart skips a beat at those words, a mix of fear and resolve flooding her veins. Miyoko raises her wooden sword, its edge gleaming ominously in the dim light. "So show me, Jennifer," she demands, her tone fierce and uncompromising. "Show me how strong you really are. Maybe, just maybe, I'll teach you the secrets of us Aratas."
The challenge in Miyoko's voice is undeniable, and Jennifer's muscles tense in preparation for the onslaught. "Will you pass, or will you fail?" Miyoko asks, her eyes burning with intensity. "Show me your true strength!"
With a swift motion, Miyoko lunges forward, her wooden sword slicing through the air with terrifying speed. But this time, Jennifer is ready. She grits her teeth, her hands steady as she blocks the strike. The force of the impact reverberates through her arms, but she holds firm.
"I won't fail!" Jennifer shouts, her voice filled with newfound pride and determination. Her eyes meet Miyoko's, and for the first time, there's no trace of fear—only the fierce resolve to prove herself worthy.
At the Queen's training grounds, the air felt thick with tension and exhaustion as Arata pushed himself to his limit. His arms trembled beneath him, and his breath came in ragged gasps as he collapsed after his 30th push-up. His entire body felt heavy, his chest heaving with effort as he lay there, unable to speak. His vision blurred, and every muscle screamed in protest. He had never felt this kind of exhaustion before.
Butter watched him closely, her eyes narrowing with a mix of frustration and concern. "Come on," she said, her tone firm but not unkind. "If you fall down like that, you won't be able to fight back. After all, physically, you're supposed to be the strongest of all the Ringmasters in your group. You can't just fall down."
Her words cut through the fog of exhaustion clouding Arata's mind. Slowly, painfully, he summoned whatever strength he had left. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to stay down, to let the fatigue overtake him, but he couldn't afford to quit. Not here, not now. With a deep, shaky breath, he planted his palms against the cold ground and pushed himself back up. His arms quivered violently, but he refused to let them give out.
Butter's gaze remained on him, her sharp eyes widening slightly as she saw the raw determination in Arata's movements. She hadn't expected him to get back up so soon. Yet here he was, fighting past his limits.
Arata started counting again, his voice a hoarse whisper as he forced out, "Thirty-one…" His arms wobbled with every push-up, and sweat dripped from his brow, soaking the ground beneath him. But he kept going, one agonizing push-up at a time. His muscles burned as if they were on fire, the pain almost unbearable. Yet, despite the searing agony, he refused to stop. Each time his arms buckled and he fell, he gritted his teeth and pushed back up.
Butter's shock grew with each push-up he completed. She had expected him to falter, to give in to the pain, but Arata's sheer willpower was driving him forward. His face twisted in pain, his breaths turned to pained grunts, but he didn't stop. The sight of his relentless determination stirred something within her—a respect she hadn't anticipated.
By the time Arata reached his 100th push-up, his body was beyond its breaking point. His muscles had long since given out, and he was running on nothing but sheer willpower. His arms felt like lead, and every inch of him ached. But he made it. He pushed himself up for the final time, his body trembling violently, before collapsing onto the ground.
He lay there, utterly spent, his hands aching and sore beyond belief. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, the cool ground beneath him feeling like a small mercy after the torment he had just put himself through. He couldn't move. He couldn't even lift his arms.
That session…had taken six grueling hours. Six hours of pushing past every physical and mental barrier he had ever known. As Arata lay there, drenched in sweat and completely drained, a small, exhausted smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He had made it. Against all odds, he had made it to the end.
Arata slept for what felt like an eternity—twelve hours of deep, dreamless rest. When he finally opened his eyes, he found himself still in the same training room, though now there was a large spread of food laid out before him. The sight of it made his stomach growl loudly.
"Have it," Butter's voice echoed softly from above, drawing his gaze. She was perched on the ledge of a nearby window, her feline form bathed in the soft morning light, watching him with her usual calm detachment. "You need to eat. Today is the 100 sit-ups day."
Arata sat up slowly, his muscles still sore from the brutal push-up session, but the sight of the food instantly revived him. He looked at Butter, a small, grateful smile tugging at his lips. "Thank you for the food!" he said earnestly, his voice filled with appreciation before he began digging into the meal.
The food was simple but hearty—fresh fruits, leafy vegetables, and tender cuts of meat. He devoured it hungrily, the flavors hitting his taste buds like a lifeline after the exhaustion of the previous day. Each bite replenished him, his body slowly regaining its strength with every mouthful. When he finished, he leaned back and let out a loud burp, surprising himself with how much he had eaten.
Butter's lips curled into a slight smile, her eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. She said nothing, simply observing him from her perch. Arata wiped his mouth and glanced up at her, the question forming in his mind.
"So, what's your story?" he asked, his voice curious but careful. "Why are you helping me?"
Butter's expression didn't change, though her gaze shifted slightly, as if considering whether to answer. Finally, she spoke, her tone measured and steady. "The Queen believes that you are our hero and savior," she said. "If she said it, it might be true."
Arata nodded slowly, but he wasn't satisfied with that answer. He looked at her more intently, searching for something deeper. "But what about you?" he pressed. "What do you get from all this?"
Butter's gaze turned colder, her eyes narrowing as she licked her paws with deliberate slowness. Her voice, when she spoke again, was edged with a harsh honesty that caught Arata off guard. "In my honest opinion, I don't think you're capable of jack shit," she said bluntly. Her words cut through the air like a knife, and Arata stiffened at the harshness. But Butter didn't stop. "Even if you pass my trial, you won't be able to go past Uriel. And even if, by some miracle, you get through Uriel, it'll be impossible to complete Cheese and Lance's trials. They're far too complicated and difficult for you."
Arata's chest tightened at her words, but he kept his gaze steady on her, refusing to let her see the doubt creeping into his mind.
Butter continued, her voice taking on a casual, almost dismissive tone as she licked her paws again. "We all believe the same. Maybe Cheese sees things differently, but the others agree with me. We don't think you're capable of what the Queen hopes you are." She paused, her gaze drifting out the window for a moment before she continued, her tone softening ever so slightly. "But we don't go against the Queen's will. She's… sensitive. Gets grumpy pretty easily. And finding a new lair would be a hassle. So we just go along with it."
Her words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken truths. Arata absorbed them quietly, the weight of the challenges ahead pressing down on him even more now. Butter's cynicism stung, but deep down, it fueled a fire within him—a burning need to prove her wrong, to prove all of them wrong.
He clenched his fists, feeling the soreness in his muscles, but also the steady return of his strength. He wouldn't let their doubts define him. No matter how difficult the trials were, no matter how much they underestimated him, he would find a way to prove himself.
"What about this Sheena person?" Arata asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and a bit of hesitation. The name had come up in whispers before, but now, with everything he was learning, he needed to understand more. Butter's eyes shifted slightly, her usual aloofness replaced by a flicker of something deeper, almost reverence.
"Sheena…" Butter's voice softened, and for a moment, she seemed lost in her own memories. "That is a common goal for all of us," she said, her tone quieter than usual, as if even speaking the name required a certain level of respect. "I spent the least time with her, but she was amazing in the short time I did. She took care of every one of us Undergrounders. She was… like a mother to all of us." Butter's eyes seemed distant as she spoke, her usual sharpness replaced with a rare vulnerability. "That includes me, Lance, Thronjaw, Cheese, Uriel, and even the Queen."
Arata watched her closely, noting the rare crack in her usual demeanor. The way Butter spoke about Sheena was unlike anything he had heard from her before. There was no sarcasm, no biting remarks—just a deep, genuine admiration and perhaps even a hint of longing.
"For fifteen years," Butter continued, her voice steady but heavy with emotion, "we've been gathering rings just to revive her. We won't stop now. We can't. In fact, once my training with you is completed, I'll be bringing a new ring soon. That should complete the set of ten rings we need for the revivification process."
Her words hung in the air, filled with purpose and determination. Arata could feel the weight of what she was saying—the sheer magnitude of their mission. Fifteen years of relentless pursuit, all for the chance to bring back someone who had meant so much to them. The dedication, the sacrifice—it was all starting to make sense now.
He nodded slowly, absorbing the gravity of it all. Butter wasn't just training him because the Queen willed it—there was something far more personal driving her, something that connected all of them. Sheena. Even with the doubts Butter had about him, her goal remained unwavering. This wasn't just about Arata's training; it was about something bigger, something far more profound.
Arata's gaze remained on Butter, a newfound respect growing within him. He could feel the weight of their shared mission pressing down on his shoulders, but instead of fear, it ignited a fire within him. He was part of this now—whether they believed in him or not. And if Sheena was as important as Butter made her out to be, then he would do everything in his power to help them succeed.
Butter looked back at him, her eyes narrowing slightly, but there was something else there now—something that resembled hope, buried deep beneath her guarded exterior. Arata didn't say anything more, but his silence spoke volumes. He understood.
"Let's begin with your sit-ups," Butter said, her voice firm but not unkind. Arata nodded, steeling himself for the next part of his grueling training. He positioned himself on the ground, took a deep breath, and began his sit-ups. The first few were manageable, but by the time he reached thirty, his legs started to tremble, the burning pain shooting up his muscles. His body betrayed him, and he collapsed onto the ground, panting heavily.
Butter's eyes narrowed as she watched him struggle. "Come on! That's not all, right?!" Her voice was sharp, cutting through his exhaustion like a whip. Arata lay there, unable to move, the weight of his own body feeling unbearable. His muscles screamed for rest, his mind foggy from the strain.
Butter, however, wasn't going to let him off easy. She jumped down from her perch, pacing around him like a predator circling its prey. "Do you think when you're attacked by someone like Thronjaw again, you'll survive?!" she demanded, her voice filled with a cold urgency. "Do you think you can protect your friends and family by just lying down like this?!"
Arata gritted his teeth, Butter's words cutting deeper than any physical pain. Thronjaw. The memory of that terrifying encounter flashed in his mind—the overwhelming power, the helplessness he had felt. He couldn't allow that to happen again. He couldn't afford to be weak. With a grunt of determination, he forced himself back up, his legs shaking violently beneath him, but he stood firm.
Sweat poured down his face, his breath ragged, but he dropped back into position and began again. His entire body protested with every movement, the soreness in his muscles turning into a searing, relentless ache. But he didn't stop. Every sit-up was a battle against his own limits, each one harder than the last. He groaned through the pain, his face contorted with effort, but he refused to give in.
Butter's watchful eyes never left him, her presence a constant reminder of the expectations weighing down on him. She didn't offer any words of encouragement, only silent judgment as she waited for him to falter again. And he did—over and over. He would collapse, gasping for air, and Butter would sneer, her voice laced with biting remarks that fueled his frustration. Then, he would grit his teeth, find the strength somewhere deep within, and start again.
This relentless cycle continued for what felt like an eternity—six long, grueling hours of pushing past his physical limits, collapsing, and rising again. By the end, Arata's body was drenched in sweat, his muscles numb with exhaustion. He could barely feel his legs anymore, and every breath felt like it might be his last.
Finally, his energy gave out completely. His vision blurred, the world around him spinning as he fell back onto the ground. This time, he didn't get up. His body simply refused to move, no matter how much his mind screamed at him to keep going. Darkness crept into the edges of his vision, and before he knew it, he slipped into unconsciousness, the world fading away as his body succumbed to the exhaustion.
Butter watched him for a moment longer, her expression unreadable. Then, with a quiet sigh, she turned and leaped back onto her perch, leaving Arata to rest.
Another 12 hours of sleep did little to soothe Arata's aching body. He awoke in the early morning, muscles stiff, his entire body protesting with every small movement. As he rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the grogginess, Butter approached with food again, placing it beside him without a word. The routine was beginning to feel painfully familiar.
Arata sat up slowly, forcing his sore limbs to cooperate. He glanced at Butter, but she wasn't looking at him. Her expression was distant, and there was an air of resignation around her. Still, the hunger in his stomach drove him to eat, and he began chomping down on the food as if it were the only source of strength keeping him alive.
Butter let out a long, tired sigh as she watched him eat, the sound filled with a deep sense of frustration. It wasn't just Arata's struggle that weighed on her—it was the burden of responsibility, the nagging doubt gnawing at her. It was almost as if she had already given up on him. Her sharp eyes, usually filled with biting critiques, were now dulled with disappointment.
Once the food was gone, the lap training began. Arata pushed himself to his feet, each step feeling like he was wading through thick mud. His legs still burned from yesterday's punishment, but he gritted his teeth and started running. Lap after lap, his breath grew more ragged, his body protesting louder with every movement. By the time he reached the fifteenth lap, his legs buckled beneath him, and he collapsed onto the ground.
Butter didn't mock him this time. She simply watched in silence, her tail flicking with irritation. Her disappointment was palpable, hanging in the air like a heavy fog. She didn't even offer any sharp remarks—just a quiet, defeated question that cut deeper than any insult.
"Why am I stuck with you?" she muttered, more to herself than to Arata. Her usual aloofness had cracked, revealing the strain training him was taking on her as well. Butter, despite her sharp tongue and unyielding demeanor, was beginning to lose faith. The toll on her mental state was evident in the way her shoulders slumped, her once-bright eyes dimming with each day that passed.
But Arata, stubborn as ever, refused to stay down. He clenched his fists, pushing past the pain, and dragged himself back to his feet. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to stop, to rest, but he ignored it. He couldn't afford to give up—not when so much was at stake. He began running again, his legs wobbling beneath him, his steps uneven and shaky. The laps blurred together, his mind focused solely on putting one foot in front of the other.
Butter remained silent, watching him with a mixture of disbelief and frustration. She couldn't understand why he continued to push himself when it was clear he wasn't making progress. The doubt in her mind grew stronger with each passing hour, her belief in the Queen's choice dwindling.
The hours dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity. Arata's vision blurred with exhaustion, his body drenched in sweat. His legs felt like lead, barely responding to his commands. But he kept going, refusing to let his body win. He stumbled through lap after lap, his determination the only thing keeping him upright.
But after 10 grueling hours, his body finally gave out. He had only managed 78 laps—not even close to the hundred required. His legs buckled once more, and this time, he didn't have the strength to get back up. His vision darkened, his mind slipping away as unconsciousness claimed him. He hit the ground hard, his body completely spent, unable to move any further.
Butter watched him, her tail twitching with frustration. The weight of disappointment settled heavily on her shoulders, and she turned away from him, unsure if there was any hope left for him.
.
After a deep, 14-hour sleep, Arata awoke groggily, feeling a dull ache in every muscle. His body, though slightly rejuvenated, was still sore and sluggish. Butter stood nearby, her usual indifferent gaze fixated on him. "78 laps, 22 more remaining, then we'll move on to punching me 100 times," she stated matter-of-factly, her tail flicking with a strange calmness. Arata nodded silently, rising slowly from the ground, his joints creaking with every movement. The familiar sight of food greeted him once again, and without hesitation, he began eating. Each bite felt like a necessity rather than nourishment, and he quickly devoured the meal in a few minutes.
Despite his exhaustion, something was different today. After finishing the food, Arata stood up, shaking off the remnants of sleep, and started running. His pace was quicker, more determined. The laps came easier this time—perhaps because he was so close to the end of this particular trial. His breath was still ragged, but there was a newfound energy fueling him, a spark of determination that hadn't been there the day before. In just an hour, he completed the remaining 22 laps. A stark contrast to yesterday's grueling pace.
His legs trembled as he came to a stop in front of Butter, but there was a flicker of pride in his chest. He had pushed through. Butter, however, showed no sign of acknowledgment. Instead, she positioned herself in front of him, her posture casual yet challenging, as she wagged her tail.
"Punch me," she commanded, her voice cold and unwavering. "And don't hold back."
Arata clenched his fists, his swollen knuckles protesting even as he prepared to strike. He took a deep breath, summoning all the strength he could muster, and threw a punch at Butter with every ounce of force he had. The impact was immediate—a sharp, jarring pain shot through his hand as it collided with her body. It was like hitting a wall of solid metal. Arata recoiled, gasping as the pain surged up his arm, and he cradled his hand instinctively. His knuckles throbbed, and when he looked down, they were already swollen and red.
"What the fuck…" he muttered, his voice strained with disbelief. The pain radiated from his hand, making him wince with every movement. It felt like he had just punched a slab of iron, not a living being. Butter, however, remained unfazed, her expression unchanged as she stared down at him.
"Not strong enough," she said with a cold, detached tone. "STRONGER."
Arata gritted his teeth, frustration boiling inside him. He raised his fist again, ignoring the sharp pain in his hand, and punched her a second time. The result was the same—his hand collided with an unyielding force, sending another wave of agony through his already swollen knuckles. He hissed through gritted teeth, his fingers trembling from the impact. It was as if his punches had no effect on her at all.
Butter stared at him, her gaze as calm as ever. "This is how strong an Undergrounder is, Arata. You can't fight them hand-to-hand. So I will be your punching bag for 98 more punches."
Arata grimaced, clutching his throbbing hand. The swelling had already worsened, making it difficult to move his fingers. "Fucking hell…" he muttered under his breath, frustration and disbelief evident in his tone. He glanced up at Butter, his eyes narrowing. "What are you made out of, tungsten or some shit?"
Butter didn't respond, simply watching him with that same detached look. Her silence was a reminder of the monumental challenge ahead, one that no amount of complaining would lessen. Arata sighed heavily, knowing that there was no choice but to continue. The road to becoming a Ringmaster was going to be a long, painful one, and this was just the beginning.
Arata stood there, fists clenched, sweat dripping down his brow. The relentless cycle of punching Butter continued, the impact each time sending a sharp jolt through his body. His knuckles were raw, red, and swollen—barely able to withstand the punishment he was forcing them through. Yet, despite the agony, he kept swinging. Each punch felt more futile than the last. Butter didn't flinch, didn't move an inch. It was as though he was striking an immovable object.
For what felt like an eternity, Arata pounded his fists against Butter, the dull thuds echoing in the empty training grounds. His breath came in ragged gasps, his vision blurring as exhaustion crept in. He had lost count somewhere around sixty punches, his mind numb with the endless cycle of pain and determination. Each hit felt weaker than the last, the fire in his muscles slowly extinguishing.
Butter's voice, calm and indifferent, cut through the heavy silence. "Tomorrow is the final day," she said, her gaze drifting toward the window where night had fallen. The moonlight cast a cold, silver glow across the room, highlighting the sharp contrast between Arata's struggling form and Butter's unwavering stance. They had been at this for hours, and yet Butter remained as still and unyielding as ever. It was as though Arata's effort meant nothing to her.
Arata panted heavily, slumping down to the ground, his body aching in ways he didn't think were possible. He looked down at his battered knuckles, bloodied and bruised, feeling a deep sense of frustration wash over him. Butter, as usual, remained unfazed. Her voice, devoid of any warmth or encouragement, echoed in the room. "Tomorrow, after I'm done being your punching bag, you'll fight me. I will fail you. The end."
Her words were like a heavy weight on Arata's shoulders. She didn't even try to hide her belief that he would fail. It was as if she had already given up on him, just like he feared. As she turned to leave, her footsteps light and deliberate, Arata felt an overwhelming sense of defeat. Butter had dropped something beside him—a simple handkerchief.
"Wrap it around your wounds," she said over her shoulder, her tone flat. "I don't want to look at your sorry state tomorrow."
And with that, she walked out, leaving Arata alone in the dimly lit room. The silence was deafening, the air heavy with the weight of his failure. He stared at the handkerchief in his hands, its soft fabric a stark contrast to the brutal reality he was facing. Slowly, he began to wrap it around his torn knuckles, each movement a painful reminder of how far he still had to go.
As he finished tending to his wounds, Arata leaned back against the wall, exhaustion finally taking hold. His mind raced with doubts, frustration bubbling to the surface. Was all of this in vain? Was he really just wasting his time, pushing himself to his limits for nothing? Butter's cold words echoed in his mind, feeding the doubt that had been creeping in ever since his training began.
The training grounds, once a place of hope and purpose, now felt like a cage—a place where he was trapped in an endless cycle of pain and failure. Arata clenched his fists again, wincing at the sting in his knuckles. He couldn't let this be the end, not after everything he had endured. But as he sat there, alone and bruised, it was hard to ignore the growing fear that Butter might be right.
As Arata rested against the wall, the room seemed to grow colder, and the silence deepened. The faint, rhythmic drip of water from a leaky pipe punctuated the stillness, amplifying the tension in the air. Just when the weight of exhaustion felt unbearable, a familiar voice cut through the quiet.
"I spot a little guy with a lot of trouble."
Arata's head snapped towards the door, his eyes squinting in the dim light. There stood The Queen, her presence commanding and serene, yet filled with an air of undeniable authority. Arata's initial reaction was a mix of surprise and weariness. "You here to mock me as well?" he asked, his voice rough from exhaustion.
He stretched his legs out, trying to relieve some of the pain from his aching muscles, and reached for the nearby bottle. He took a swig of water, savoring the cool relief it provided. As he looked up, The Queen approached him with a calm, almost ethereal grace. She sat down beside him, her movements fluid and deliberate.
Without a word, she gently took his battered hand into hers. A soft green aura began to glow from her touch, enveloping Arata's injured knuckles in a soothing light. The warmth of her magic contrasted sharply with the cold ache in his hand. Arata looked at her in confusion and curiosity, his fatigue momentarily forgotten.
"What are you—" he started to ask, but The Queen placed a finger gently on his lips, silencing him. Her eyes, filled with a deep, comforting wisdom, locked onto his.
"What is troubling you, Ryuki Arata?" she asked softly, her voice a calming balm in the midst of his turmoil. The Queen's touch, though gentle, carried a weight of authority that made Arata's heart pound with renewed hope.
"You are strong. Don't give up," she continued, her words like a warm embrace against his inner doubts. "Every single fight that you have had, did you ever give up?" Her question was a challenge, a reminder of the perseverance he had shown in previous battles.
Arata shook his head, his resolve hardening despite his exhaustion. The Queen's gaze never wavered, and she raised his hand slowly, guiding him to look at it. "This is a fight you cannot lose," she said firmly. "They need to accept you and your strength. You need to accept your strength."
The Queen's words resonated deeply within Arata, each phrase punctuated by the gentle glow of her magic. "Your legs, your arms, your mind, and your body, all need to be coordinated," she continued, her voice steady and reassuring.
As The Queen spoke, Arata's heavy eyelids began to droop. Her soothing presence was a stark contrast to the grueling trials he had endured. The green aura around his hand pulsed rhythmically, calming his pain and easing his weariness.
"I saw potential in you when you fought Thronjaw, Arata," The Queen's voice was a soft murmur now, as if her words were meant to guide him into sleep. "You are capable of passing the trial. Do your best."
A gentle smile touched The Queen's lips as she stood up, her figure gradually fading into the dim light of the room. Arata's head fell back against the wall, his body finally succumbing to the exhaustion. As sleep began to overtake him, he felt a renewed sense of purpose and strength, a quiet determination burning within him despite his weary state.
The Queen's final words echoed in his mind as he drifted off: "Do your best." The promise of her support and belief in his potential was a beacon of hope, a guiding light in the darkness of his struggle.
As dawn broke, the first light of the day filtered through the cracks in the training room's walls, casting a warm, golden hue over the space. Arata stirred from his sleep, stretching his limbs with a newfound ease. The soreness from the previous days seemed to have dissipated, replaced by a surge of unexpected vitality. He took a deep breath, feeling the strength that now coursed through him, a stark contrast to the fatigue that had once weighed him down.
"This strength… Is it because my body was sore I wasn't feeling this strength?" Arata pondered silently. His thoughts drifted back to the previous night, the gentle green glow that had enveloped his hand. "Last night… She healed me…" The realization brought a sense of relief and renewed determination.
Butter, perched on the ledge of the window with an air of nonchalance, was engaged in her usual grooming routine. Her tail flicked lazily, and her eyes barely left Arata. "Eat your food, we have to finish your trial," she said, her tone hinting at impatience.
Arata, however, was not swayed. He stood up, his posture straight and confident. "Food afterwards," he declared firmly. "I want to complete yesterday's challenge first."
Butter's ears twitched, and she let out an exasperated sigh. With a graceful leap from her perch, she sauntered to the center of the training ground. Her movements were deliberate, almost casual, as if she were preparing for another routine session rather than an intense confrontation.
In the middle of the room, Butter assumed a stance, her body relaxed but ready. She faced Arata with a calm, almost indifferent expression, her eyes locked on his. "Bring it on," she said, her voice steady as she prepared to be punched.
Arata stood at the center of the training ground, his stance reflecting a moment of deep concentration. His breaths were steady but measured, his mind focused on the technique that had been drilled into him long ago. "Remember what, oto-san (Father) taught me…" he muttered to himself, a sense of resolve sharpening his features.
He took a deep breath, preparing for what would be his most powerful punch yet. His posture was deliberate—one hand was drawn back near his waist, while the other was positioned in front of his face with an open palm. His eyes were closed, his concentration evident as he visualized the technique.
Butter, perched in her stance, watched with a mix of curiosity and impatience. Her tail flicked in subtle annoyance, her eyes narrowed as she observed Arata's seemingly unorthodox preparation. "Wasting time isn't going to—" she began, but her words were cut off by the sudden intensity of Arata's movement.
With a powerful shout of "AYA!" Arata's entire body tensed and then released in a swift, controlled motion. His punch shot forward with incredible speed and precision. The force of the blow was palpable, a tangible surge of energy that erupted from his core.
His fist connected with Butter's cheek with a resounding impact. The strength behind the punch was such that it sent her sprawling backward, her body propelled out of the chalked square ring. The impact left a clear mark, the forceful strike causing Butter to sail through the air before landing outside the ring with a thud.
Butter's eyes widened in shock as she was knocked off balance, her usual calm demeanor replaced by surprise. The force of the punch left her momentarily dazed, her composure shaken as she scrambled to regain her footing. Her tail flicked in agitation, and her expression shifted to one of stunned disbelief.
Arata, still standing at the center of the ring, opened his eyes, now filled with a mix of satisfaction and determination. The punch had not only demonstrated his strength but also reflected his unwavering resolve to succeed. He took a deep breath, his body still buzzing from the exertion, and watched as Butter slowly recovered from the unexpected blow.
"WHAT THE HELL?! THAT FUCKING HURTS!" Butter's scream echoed through the training grounds, her voice filled with shock and pain. Her eyes were wide, and she clutched her cheek where Arata's punch had landed. The sudden intensity of her reaction was a stark contrast to her usual composure.
Arata stood in the center of the ring, his expression a mix of surprise and realization. His muscles ached from the training, but a newfound strength surged through him. "That training… It really paid off…" he murmured, a hint of awe in his voice as he glanced at his hands, still tingling from the impact.
Butter's frustration was palpable as she continued to berate Arata. "Of course it did, it's supposed to give you crazy body strength. BUT YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO DEFEAT ME WITH YOUR SORE BODY! WHO THE HELL HEALED YOU?!" Her voice rose in anger, the frustration evident in every word. The intensity of her scream was so powerful that it reached the Queen's chamber, causing her to chuckle softly at the unexpected turn of events.
Butter's annoyance was evident as she huffed and tossed a badge toward Arata. "Tsch!" she spat out, clearly irked. The badge landed with a soft thud at Arata's feet. Butter's tail flicked in agitation as she averted her gaze, struggling to hide her irritation.
Arata picked up the badge and examined it with curiosity. "What's this?" he asked, puzzled.
"It's my badge of acceptance," Butter said tersely, her voice tinged with frustration.
"But… I haven't defeated you yet…" Arata protested, his brow furrowing in confusion.
Butter shot him an exasperated look. "You knocked me out of the square ring and that's all that matters." Her tone was clipped, a clear sign of her agitation. Despite the annoyance in her voice, a small part of her was impressed by Arata's determination.
Arata's face softened into a grateful smile as he accepted the badge. "I see… Thank you…" he said, bowing deeply in a gesture of respect. "Huh?" Butter's confusion was evident as she turned her head slightly to avoid eye contact.
"Thank you… Really, Master Butter," Arata continued, his voice sincere. "This strength… Without you, I wouldn't have gotten it." His words were filled with genuine gratitude, a stark contrast to the intensity of their training sessions.
Butter, still avoiding eye contact, let out a reluctant sigh. "Whatever… I guess, you're welcome." Her voice was softer, a mix of resignation and reluctant acceptance. The annoyance in her demeanor was still present, but it was overshadowed by a begrudging respect for Arata's perseverance and growth.
The tension in the room eased as Arata's gratitude and Butter's reluctant acknowledgment marked the end of one chapter of his training.
"You should take a bath or something. I will send in the next Master. You better prove him wrong as well or I will be really angry…" Butter said, her voice holding a grudging respect mixed with a hint of lingering annoyance. As she walked toward the door, she glanced back at Arata, her expression softening slightly. "Hey, if you are this hero she mentions, I will tell you a story during your free time when I'm back."
Butter's tone had a touch of warmth, and her eyes conveyed a flicker of genuine interest. "It's a story about the hero who will one day save us Undergrounders and create a world where Undergrounders and humans stay together. It's all if you are interested…"
Arata's face brightened with a smile. "Of course, whenever you are back," he responded, his voice carrying a note of eagerness.
"Aight! I will tell you about it when I am back!" Butter replied with a rare smile, her annoyance now replaced with a hint of camaraderie. She left the training area with a sense of purpose, her tail flicking behind her as she exited.
Arata watched her go, feeling a mixture of relief and anticipation. He turned his attention to the food laid out before him, the spread of fruits, vegetables, and meat tempting him after the grueling training. With a deep breath, he dug into the meal with enthusiasm, savoring each bite. His body still ached, but the fresh strength and determination he felt made the food taste even better.
In another room, Uriel stood waiting, his imposing presence casting a shadow over the space. The room was filled with a palpable tension, the result of his rigorous training with Elio over the past five days. Uriel's expression was stern and focused, his eyes scanning the area with a practiced intensity. He was ready for the next challenge—Arata, who was about to face a new phase in his journey.
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