Nyx wasn’t uncomfortable, but worried. She had spent so much time mocking, teasing, and arguing with Nigel that she hadn’t realized how much he had changed.

  Not until now.

  And now—it hit her all at once.

  How much had he gone through without her by his side? She thought back to the past few weeks—the battles, the wounds, the betrayals.

  It felt like they had all been thrown into a storm, struggling just to stay afloat.

  And Nigel…

  Nigel had drowned the hardest.

  For the first time in a long while, Nyx felt a twinge of regret. She should have been there sooner, she should have noticed before it got this bad.

  But now, all she could do was watch.

  “…I need to be alone for a while,” Nigel muttered.

  His voice was flat, lacking its usual dry wit or sharp edge.

  Slowly, he pushed himself up from the floor, his movements stiff but controlled.

  Reaching for a jacket, he slipped it over his shoulders and headed for the door.

  Nyx instinctively took a half-step forward, about to call out to him—

  But she stopped herself. She wanted to go with him, to tell him he didn’t have to be alone.

  But she knew. Right now, she’d only be in the way. So instead—she let him go.

  And as the door creaked shut behind him, a weight settled in her chest.

  The air was thick with humidity, but the cool breeze against his skin made it bearable—almost peaceful.

  Or at least, it would have been—

  If not for the occasional shouts of profanity and the mud-soaked brawls breaking out between rowdy tournament participants.

  Nigel walked through Hizuru at a slow, aimless pace.

  His gaze drifted over the town, taking in the sights—yet registering none of it.

  Shops lined the streets, each one filled with things he might have once cared about.

  A junk shop overflowing with forgotten trinkets and old relics.

  A weaponsmith’s stall displaying masterfully crafted blades with near-flawless finishes.

  Weeks ago, he might have stopped to inspect them, admire them.

  But now?

  Nothing. He felt nothing.

  He didn’t even know why he was wandering the streets.

  His mind was a battlefield, thoughts colliding, overlapping, tearing into each other.

  A thousand voices, a thousand worries, all speaking at once—never quiet.

  He tried to silence them, to push them aside.

  But for every thought he buried, ten more surfaced.

  His head throbbed.

  The pressure grew and grew, tightening until it felt like his skull might split open.

  Then—

  Shhhnk.

  A sharp, precise sound.

  For the first time in hours, his mind paused.

  Nigel turned his head, drawn by the source—

  Jin.

  He stood in an open training space, his katana flashing in the sunlight as he practiced.

  His form was flawless—smooth, controlled, precise.

  Every motion was measured, deliberate.

  Nigel found himself watching.

  Studying.

  Something about the repetition—the consistency of each strike—calmed the chaos in his head.

  “Interested?” Jin asked without turning around.

  Nigel stiffened.

  “I… uh…”

  He wasn’t sure how to answer.

  Jin finally stopped, glancing at him with his usual calm, unreadable expression.

  “If you want, I can teach you a thing or two,” he offered.

  He spoke casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. As if he hadn’t noticed the hesitation in Nigel’s posture, the conflict behind his eyes.

  “Training helps clear the mind,” Jin added. “At least, it does for me.”

  Nigel hesitated.

  He wasn’t sure if it would help. But his mind was a mess, and the alternative was continuing to drown in it.

  So, finally—

  “…Alright.”

  Jin nodded, as if he had expected that answer.

  Then, without another word, he reached into his inventory and pulled out a sword. A katana, its hilt wrapped in crimson cloth, its blade a deep, reflective black.

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  He flipped it in his grip, offering it to Nigel.

  “Here. Take it.”

  Nigel took the blade, testing its weight in his remaining hand.

  It felt… right.

  Jin, meanwhile, retrieved a long bamboo staff from his inventory and drove it firmly into the ground.

  The lesson was about to begin.

  “Try cutting this,” Jin instructed.

  Nigel adjusted his grip on the katana and swung with full force.

  The blade slammed into the bamboo—

  And bounced off harmlessly.

  Nigel frowned.

  “…What?”

  “Wrong.” Jin shook his head.

  “It’s not about how hard you swing.”

  He stepped forward, lightly tapping the unscathed bamboo with two fingers.

  “A sword is an extension of its wielder, not a blunt instrument. You need just the right amount of force—and, more importantly, you need to aim for what I call the ‘cutting point.’”

  “Cutting point?” Nigel repeated.

  “Every object has weak points, even something as solid as steel.” Jin met his gaze. “If you can read the energy of your target, you’ll see them.”

  Nigel exhaled through his nose.

  “That sounds nice in theory, but in a real fight, wouldn’t that give my opponent extra time to attack?”

  Jin smirked.

  “No.”

  He tapped his own temple.

  “Once you master it, recognizing those weak points becomes second nature. It happens in a fraction of a second—faster than thought.”

  He turned back toward the bamboo.

  “If you can learn this, you’ll end fights faster, use less energy, and rely less on brute strength.”

  Nigel’s fingers tightened around the hilt.

  “…Or, I could just infuse my energy into the blade and make it stronger,” he pointed out.

  Jin exhaled.

  “That’s not how my family fights.”

  His voice was even, but there was a weight to it.

  “We use swords traditionally. We never infuse them with our energy. We wrap them in it, but never infuse.”

  Nigel raised a brow.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s dangerous.” Jin gestured to the katana in Nigel’s hands.

  “If you can’t control your energy perfectly, it will backfire. You’ll damage your weapon—or worse, yourself.”

  Nigel considered that for a moment.

  Then he glanced down at the flawless craftsmanship of the katana, running his thumb lightly over the hilt.

  “…Maybe.” His lips curved slightly. “But with a sword this well-made, I’d bet it could reach its full potential if I infused just a little energy into it.”

  Jin paused.

  Then he shrugged.

  “That’s your choice.”

  He crossed his arms.

  “My family follows tradition. That doesn’t mean you have to.”

  A smirk tugged at his lips.

  “But if you want to do it, you better have absolute control. Letting your energy flow into a weapon takes an incredible amount of focus. One mistake, and you’ll destroy either the sword—or yourself.”

  For the first time in what felt like forever—

  Nigel felt a flicker of excitement.

  Something beyond survival. Beyond just getting stronger to keep himself alive.

  Something genuine.

  “Alright, let’s do it.”

  Jin nodded.

  “Then here’s your first test.”

  He gestured to the bamboo stalk.

  “Infuse the katana with your energy and make a clean, vertical cut.”

  His expression turned serious.

  “I’ll guide you through the process.”

  Nigel exhaled slowly, focusing on the sword in his grip.

  And for the first time in days—

  His mind wasn’t drowning in chaos.

  It was clear.

  “Alright. Let’s begin,” Nigel said, lifting the katana as he took a deep breath.

  Jin stepped beside him, his tone steady, instructive.

  “First, keep your grip firm.”

  He lightly tapped Nigel’s hands on the hilt.

  “The blade mustn’t tremble. Even the smallest shake will throw off your cut.”

  Nigel adjusted his stance.

  “Second. Control your breathing.”

  Jin placed a hand on his own chest.

  “Keep it centered here. Then, distribute your energy down to your arms. Let it settle.”

  Nigel followed along carefully.

  So far, so good.

  But then—

  “Now, clear your mind.”

  Shit.

  The moment Jin said it, the chaos returned.

  It rushed in like a flood—all the suppressed thoughts, the spiraling doubts, the unrelenting noise.

  He clenched his teeth, forcing himself to stay focused.

  “Now, visualize your energy in your fingertips. Let it flow into the blade. Envelop it.”

  Nigel tried. He really did.

  But his mind refused to cooperate.

  It was like trying to grasp water slipping through his fingers. Still, he pushed through, forcing the energy outward.

  Slowly—painstakingly—it began to seep into the katana.

  When he looked down, he saw a faint aura wrapping around the steel.

  It flickered—unstable, uneven—but it was there.

  He exhaled sharply, lifting the sword higher in preparation for the cut.

  “Stop!” Jin’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

  Nigel flinched.

  “I told you—your mind needs to be blank!”

  Jin’s eyes were sharp, alarmed as he stared at the katana.

  The energy around it was wrong.

  It wasn’t steady or controlled—it was wild, unstable.

  And it wasn’t just any energy.

  It was red.

  Twisting, writhing—like flickering flames threatening to consume the blade itself.

  “If you swing it like that—”

  But Nigel had already moved.

  The momentum was already in motion.

  He brought the katana down.

  And then—

  Boom.

  A violent blast tore through the clearing, sending a deafening shockwave in all directions. A cloud of dust and dirt erupted, obscuring everything.

  Nigel staggered back, his hand burning.

  He hissed, shaking his fingers—the skin blistered, raw, red. Second-degree burns.

  Jin coughed, waving away the thick dust, before his gaze fell on the aftermath.

  His breath caught.

  “…Unbelievable.”

  The bamboo stalk—the original target—had been split cleanly in half.

  But that wasn’t what was impressive.

  Behind it—

  The ground itself had been cleaved open.

  A deep, jagged trench stretched several meters down, as if the earth itself had been split apart.

  Nigel blinked at it.

  “…Huh.”

  Jin exhaled, shaking his head.

  “You managed to do that with no control… If you ever master this, I don’t even want to imagine what you’ll be capable of.”

  The thought wasn’t entirely comforting. Jin glanced at Nigel’s burned hand.

  “You’re reckless,” he muttered, then sighed.

  “…Which is why we’re training every day from now on.”

  He met Nigel’s gaze.

  “You need to learn how to fight with only one arm.”

  Nigel didn’t argue. He knew it wasn’t a choice—the Reaper was useless to him now.

  From now on, he would have to rely on katanas, short swords, or daggers.

  There was no going back.

  Nigel sighed.

  “…I’m gonna miss it,” he murmured.

  The next few days passed in relative peace.

  Everyone was focused on recovering, training, and regaining their strength.

  “Seems like everyone’s keeping busy,” Nyx remarked, placing two steaming cups of tea on the table.

  “Even with this rain, they’re all out doing their own thing… except for the two of us.”

  Nigel let out a low sigh, reaching for one of the cups.

  “Ever since the last mission, I get tired way too fast,” he muttered, taking a sip.

  “And training with Jin? That’s not helping.”

  He lifted his left hand and flexed his fingers.

  “Not to mention, having a missing arm really slows you down.”

  There was no bitterness in his voice—just plain exhaustion.

  But still, compared to before, he seemed better.

  More willing to talk.

  Nyx sat across from him, wrapping her fingers around her own cup, letting the warmth seep into her hands.

  “You know… it’s been a long time since we’ve really talked,” she said.

  Her voice was light, but there was something beneath it.

  Something that made Nigel glance up.

  “A lot has happened.”

  “Yeah.”

  His response was flat, tired.

  Nyx hesitated.

  “I won’t force you to say anything,” she said carefully. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

  Nigel exhaled slowly.

  Then—

  “No. It’s fine.”

  He set his cup down, running his hand through his hair.

  “You deserve to hear the full story.”

  There was no emotion in his voice—just resignation.

  And so—he told her everything.

  From the moment he saw the Sentinel officer chasing Elyra.

  How he killed him.

  How the Sentinels retaliated—how they burned City Seventeen to the ground, slaughtering everyone.

  And how his only escape had been the Chaos Tournament entrance buried inside the Sentinel’s corpse.

  Nyx listened in complete silence.

  Not just hearing him—but feeling every word, every weight, every scar left behind by the past.

  She wanted to say something.

  To tell him it wasn’t his fault.

  To promise him that none of it defined him.

  But she knew.

  There was nothing she could say that would change what had happened.

  And that—that hurt more than anything.

  Because she loved him. She had for years.

  His tenacity. His resilience. His unwavering will to survive, even when the world had given him every reason to give up.

  The way he never let pain break him.

  The way his dark hair fell over his face when he was lost in thought.

  The depth of his amber eyes, always burning with something—rage, sorrow, defiance.

  Nyx had been in love with all of it. And she regretted never saying it.

  Never being there sooner.

  Being apart for so long.

  Maybe—maybe that chance had already passed.

  Maybe it was too late.

  But even if it was—

  She would still stay by his side.

  Even if she could never hold his hand, she would still be there for him.

  She would keep him standing, even if he never noticed.

  Nigel let out a slow, unsteady breath.

  “…Thanks for listening,” he murmured.

  His voice was softer than usual.

  He picked up his cup again, staring into the dark liquid.

  “Telling you helped. A little.”

  Nyx swallowed.

  And smiled—just a little.