The air inside of a training hall was thick with tension, so dense it was nearly suffocating.
The sharp clash of swords echoed off the wooden walls, each strike carrying the weight of sheer determination.
Ragged breaths filled the space, two figures locked in a relentless duel, their movements precise yet desperate.
A swift parry—then a counter. The exchange was brutal.
"Come on, Felix! If that's all you've got, you might as well walk out now."
'Damn you old man..I'm not giving up!'
Adrian's voice was sharp, laced with expectation. Felix's muscles burned, his lungs screamed for air, but he grit his teeth and pressed on. Every dodge, every counter was an uphill battle against his own exhaustion. He fought like a man possessed.
Yet it still wasn't enough.
A feint. A strike. Another point lost.
Felix froze. His hands trembled from exertion before he ripped off his protective helmet and hurled it to the ground with a loud clatter.
"How many times have I lost already?!" he spat, his voice raw with frustration. But the fire in his tone wavered, his breath heavy as he slumped against the wall.
Adrian watched him, arms crossed, expression unreadable. "That was yet another loss, Felix. If you keep this up, you won't have a place in the tournament—whether you like it or not."
Felix clenched his jaw, refusing to meet Adrian's gaze. A cool breeze drifted in from the open window beside him, but it did nothing to cool the heat of his frustration.
No matter how much effort he poured in, no matter how hard he pushed himself—it still wasn't enough. He wasn't the same after his ankle injury. And Adrian knew it, too.
"Maybe it's time to give up, Felix."
The words cut deeper than any blade.
Adrian's voice wasn't cruel. There was no mockery, no scorn—just an undeniable weight of reality pressing down on him.
"I know this isn't what you want to hear. But you're not the same anymore. And maybe you never will be."
Felix stared at the floor, his fingers curling into fists.
Then, a soft thud. A towel landed on his head.
"You know I can't give up."
His voice was quieter now, almost uncertain. His fingers tightened around the towel, absorbing the sweat on his skin.
"This sport… it's all I have left. If I walk away from this too, I'll have nothing."
Adrian let out a slow breath before sitting down beside him. The wind from the window brushed against their necks, a fleeting contrast to the heavy silence between them.
Felix looked up. His green eyes still burned—but dimly now. He ran a hand through his short blond hair, exhaling sharply.
"I know I'm not the best anymore. But my father would have wanted me to keep going. I can't stop—especially not when I'm this close to the trophy." His voice was soft, but beneath it lay a quiet, unyielding resolve.
Adrian met his gaze, his eyes steady.
"Felix… you are not your father."
"You don't have to prove anything to anyone," Adrian continued. "Not to me. Not to your father's legacy. You're not him, Felix."
His tone was gentle, but the weight behind it was heavier than ever.
"You don't have to follow the path he wanted for you. Your leg won't hold up. If you keep pushing yourself , you'll only hurt yourself more."
Something about the way he said it—regret, maybe. Adrian wasn't just talking about Felix's injury. He was mourning all of it. The accident. The struggle. Everything Felix had been through.
Even if none of it was Adrian's fault, he still carried that burden too.
"Think about it," Adrian said, rising to his feet. "We'll talk tomorrow. Go home for today."
No more words. No hesitation.
Adrian simply walked out of the training hall, leaving Felix alone with his thoughts.
For a while, he didn't move.
He just sat there, staring at the floor like a lifeless zombie, lost in frustration. Then, out of pure anger, he slammed his fist into the ground beside him.
His knuckles ached from the impact, but there was no blood—just another reminder of his helplessness.
Leaning against the windowsill, he let the cool night air wash over him. It rushed in like a wild river, refreshing yet relentless.
'Tomorrow, I'll show him.'
The thought burned in his mind as he clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white.
Slowly, he gathered his things, changed, and left the training hall behind.
The streets of Cologne were eerily quiet at this hour. Streetlights flickered, their glow reflecting softly on the pavement.
Felix walked at his own pace, his headphones blasting music at a volume that could probably rupture someone's eardrum.
'This is such a good remix.'
As he crossed a pedestrian lane—something he had done a thousand times before—a blinding light flared from his right.
His instincts screamed. His head snapped to the side.
A massive truck was barreling straight toward him.
His breath caught in his throat.
His legs locked in place.
There was no chance—no way to dodge.
The truck's brakes screeched at the last second, but it was already too late.
He never got to finish.
Everything went black.
He couldn't feel anything.
But he knew one thing for certain.
The darkness stretched endlessly, suffocating and vast.
He wanted to cry, to beg for another start. But there was nothing. Only the endless suffocating void.
'Is this seriously all there is after death?'
His thoughts echoed through the void like a cannon blast.
'Why can I even think? Is my soul going to wander forever or some shit?'
Again, his voice reverberated through the emptiness. The longer he stayed in this endless abyss, the more fear crept in.
A screeching, overwhelming sound, like someone forcing water into his ears under unbearable pressure.
He couldn't take it anymore. His mind screamed. His body trembled—if he even had one.
Then, suddenly—a light.
Blinding, searing, all-consuming. Like a flashbang in a video game.
It didn't disappear. Slowly, it softened.
He tried to voice his thoughts, but instead—
A sharp, piercing wail escaped him.
"My lady! A boy! You've given birth to a boy!"
The voice rang out beside him, but the words barely registered. His mind reeled as he turned his head—if he even had control over it.
Several women stood before him, dressed in flowing robes of white and gold. Their hair cascaded down to their knees, shimmering under the moonlight that bathed the grand chamber in an ethereal glow.
But what truly shattered whatever fragile grasp he had on reality—
They were long and pointy.
Panic surged through him, but before he could even process what was happening, a voice—loud, commanding, triumphant—boomed inside his head.
[Congratulations on your reincarnation, Host!]