The morning air carried the sharp chill of dawn, the ground beneath Arata''s bare feet cool and rough. He shifted slightly, feeling the uneven terrain press into his skin. The training grounds stretched wide before him—a mix of packed dirt, stray patches of grass, and scattered stone, all worn down from countless battles fought here before.


    Zetsubo stood at the center, arms crossed, his five-star insignia barely visible beneath his sleeve. His sharp gaze swept over the group, lingering on Arata for a moment longer than the rest.


    "Today marks the start of your training," he said, his voice calm but firm. "You need to understand where you stand—and what it means to fight at this level. Each of us will spar with you. Two of us today. The rest will be later. Three minutes per round. No favors. You fall, you get back up. If you lose, you learn. Understood?"


    Arata swallowed, then nodded. "Understood."


    Zetsubo''s eyes flicked to Omega.


    "You''re first."


    The First Spar – Omega (The Unmovable Force)


    Omega cracked his knuckles, each motion slow and deliberate, like a man who knew he never needed to rush. He rolled his shoulders, his massive frame casting a long shadow over Arata.


    "You get the first hit, kid," Omega said, his tone more amused than serious. "Make it count."


    Arata clenched his fists and dashed forward, fast. His bare feet barely made a sound against the dirt as he launched a sharp punch at Omega’s midsection—


    The moment his fist connected, it felt like he had punched a mountain.


    Omega didn’t even flinch.


    "That all you got?"


    Arata barely had time to process his failure before Omega''s arm moved. Fast.


    A massive fist swung toward him like a battering ram. Arata twisted his body, barely dodging, but the sheer force of the air pressure made his stomach lurch.


    Then—the real hit came.


    Omega’s palm slammed into Arata’s chest.


    It wasn’t even a punch. Just a shove.


    But it sent Arata skidding backward, his body bouncing against the dirt. His vision blurred as he struggled to catch his breath. The impact felt like a sledgehammer against his ribs.


    "You’re sturdy," Omega said, watching him calmly. "But in a real fight? You won’t get a second chance to breathe."


    Arata forced himself up, his arms trembling, but determination burned in his chest.


    This wasn’t over. As Omega left the field, another entered.


    The Second Spar – Beatrix (The Speed Demon)


    Arata had barely caught his breath before Beatrix was already standing in front of him.


    Unlike Omega, whose sheer presence was crushing, Beatrix felt like a blur. Her four-star insignia glowed faintly on her wrist as she spun her twin sais lazily between her fingers.


    "You ready, kid?" she teased, bouncing lightly on her feet. “Try to hit me~”


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Arata didn’t hesitate.


    He lunged forward—and punched at nothing.


    A sharp breeze brushed past his cheek. Then—


    A jab to his ribs. Then his side. Then his shoulder.


    Beatrix was gone before he could see her.


    "You’re slow," she teased, her voice coming from everywhere and nowhere.


    Arata gritted his teeth. She was toying with him.


    He swung again—and she ducked.


    "Swing and a miss," she giggled, tapping his forehead before vanishing.


    Arata growled in frustration, eyes darting around, trying to predict where she’d strike next.


    And then—she got serious.


    The teasing vanished.


    In an instant, Beatrix shifted gears.


    One moment, she was flickering in and out of view—the next, she was right in front of him, her speed turning into pure offense.


    A kick slammed into his side.


    Arata staggered, barely keeping his balance. Beatrix didn’t let up.


    She twisted mid-air, following with another strike, forcing Arata to dodge clumsily.


    "Lesson one," she said, landing gracefully, her sais gleaming. “Speed kills.”


    Arata wiped the sweat from his brow. This wasn’t just about strength. He had to think.


    As Beatrix dashed away from the training ground, leaving a gust of wind behind, Zetsubo stepped forward.


    The Five-Star Lesson – Zetsubo vs. Beatrix and Omega


    Arata lay in the dirt, his lungs burning, muscles shaking from the brutal sparring. He could barely lift his head, but something kept him from collapsing completely. Pride. Grit. That flicker of resolve was still burning.


    Zetsubo walked toward the center of the field, hands in his coat pockets.


    "Stay down," Kate started, moving toward him. “You’ve done enough—”


    "No," Zetsubo said, voice calm but commanding. "He needs to see this."


    He turned to the group.


    "Beatrix. Omega. Step forward. One at a time."


    Beatrix raised an eyebrow, spinning her sais. "You want us to go again?"


    "No," Zetsubo said. "I want him to understand what mastery looks like."


    Zetsubo vs. Beatrix – Clean Precision


    Beatrix blurred, vanishing into thin air as she shot toward Zetsubo from the side.


    But Zetsubo was already behind her.


    She gasped. “How—?!”


    He answered her—and Arata—with a smooth voice: "Speed is useless if you announce your movements."


    A palm to Beatrix’s back halted her mid-air.


    She landed, blinked, and twisted to strike. Her sais flashed—


    CLANG.


    Zetsubo caught both blades between two fingers.


    “You’re fast,” he said. “But speed without control is noise."


    He released her, and with one final glance, said, “Done.”


    Beatrix slowly lowered her sais, nodding with quiet awe.


    Zetsubo vs. Omega – Strength Redefined


    Omega cracked his neck. “Alright. Let’s see it.”


    He charged—massive, overwhelming. The ground quaked.


    Zetsubo stepped aside like he was gliding.


    Omega’s fist missed by an inch.


    Zetsubo didn’t counter. Not yet.


    “Strength without timing,” he said aloud, “is like swinging a tree in the wind. Impressive—but ineffective.”


    Omega growled and launched a second, thunderous blow.


    Zetsubo leaned in—just enough—and redirected it with a flick of his wrist. He slipped inside Omega’s guard—


    —and tapped Omega’s chin.


    A soft strike. But Omega stumbled.


    “Precision wins wars,” Zetsubo said.


    Omega steadied himself, chuckled, and nodded. “Yeah. You got it.”


    The Lesson Ends


    Zetsubo turned back to Arata, still lying on the ground, wide-eyed.


    He crouched beside him. “You fought hard. You lost. And that’s perfect.”


    Arata blinked. “Perfect?”


    “You can’t grow if you think you’re already strong.”


    Zetsubo stood, voice steady. “You saw what control looks like. What clarity feels like. That’s your path.”


    He looked toward the others.


    “Training continues tomorrow.”


    And to Arata, with a faint smile—


    “Rest. You’ve earned it.”