"Okay. Remember—take it easy."

And somehow, miraculously, the knight seemed to understand the purpose of this training.

It lunged again. Its fist came fast—but not war-crime fast. Just regular fast. Which Shiro’s brain registered as manageable fast, which was frankly the nicest thing the anyone had done for him all day.

He caught the punch between his palms, twisted his body, and drove a spin kick straight into the side of Enkidu’s helmet.

Solid hit. Clean hit. He almost smiled.

Enkidu countered with a fist from below.

He did not almost smile anymore.

The punch buried itself into his ribs with the kind of thunk that definitely meant something important inside him had just relocated. His body launched into the air, slammed into the wall, and left behind a Shiro-shaped dent like some kind of horrifying cartoon—before peeling off and crumpling to the floor.

His favorite little notification chimed cheerfully in his head, like a coworker who hadn’t read the room.

[Passive Skill: Limitless—Activated]

[You have sustained damage.]

[Your body grew stronger.]

And just like that, he was kicked out of the inner realm again.

He lay there for a second. Blinking. Breathing. Wondering if the ceiling had always looked like that or if his eyes just weren’t focusing right.

Then he dragged in a few shaky breaths, closed his eyes, and sank back in.

"Round three," he muttered, rolling his shoulders.

They clashed again.

And again.

And again.

The knight held back—just enough. They traded blow for blow, Enkidu slowly dialing the strength up, inch by inch, notch by notch, like a very patient instructor who also happened to be a walking siege weapon.

He kept going. Got kicked out. Went back in.

Kept going. Got kicked out. Went back in.

The cycle continued.

Hours passed.

Nonstop clashes. Nonstop chimes. Nonstop notifications politely informing him that yes, his organs had once again been rearranged, and yes, his bones had been broken into pieces, and most importantly—he was getting stronger for it.

And the hits started to hurt less.

Not because Enkidu was pulling punches—the knight wasn’t. Shiro’s body was just... catching up. Adapting. Toughening in real time, like the universe was forging him one bruise at a time.

So every time the pain started fading?

Enkidu stepped up.

Hit harder. Moved faster. Closed the gap between them a little tighter.

And the pain came rushing right back.

’Oh good,’ Shiro thought as another punch folded him clean in half. ’I can totally take this. Easy. No problem. Born for this, honestly.’

He was not.

He stayed there on all fours, staring at the floor as his vision did slow, lazy laps around his head, breath coming in short ragged gasps that didn’t seem to bring in any actual air.

’...Never mind. I can’t.’

He rolled onto his back with all the grace of a dying fish and stared up at the fuzzy ceiling, which was, conveniently, also doing slow lazy laps. Great. The whole room was in on it now.

Then—a knock.

Soft. Careful.

"Shiro?" Her voice came through the wood, gentle as always. "You okay?"

He dragged himself across the floor—and yes, dragged was the right word, because his legs had filed for early retirement—until his back hit the door. He opened his mouth to answer.

His mouth had thoughts. His voice had a different idea.

He felt her settle against the other side. Back to back. Only a thin slab of wood between them.

"Want me to get you something to eat?" she murmured.

"It’s okay." It came out as more of a sound than a word. Like a sentence that had given up halfway through.

So they just stayed like that. Him leaning his head back against the door. Her doing the same on the other side. Quiet. Two people sharing silence through a piece of wood, which honestly might have been the nicest thing that had happened to him all week.

After a while, when the room finally stopped spinning and his voice agreed to come back to work—

"Thank you," he said softly.

Just calm, even breathing on the other side of the door.

She’d fallen asleep. Peaceful. Soft, even breaths through the wood like nothing in the world could touch her right now.

Good.

’Sleep well,’ he thought, eyes drifting half-shut. ’I’m going to make sure you stay this peaceful. Forever.’

A pause.

A quieter thought. One he didn’t quite want to think, but thought anyway.

’Even if I’m not there to see it with you.’

Unlike last time, this wasn’t just about him.

Last time, it had been simple. Clean. Just him versus the so-called father who’d thrown him away like trash. Just revenge. Just rage. A nice, neat little fire he could carry around in his chest.

Now?

Now it was something else.

Now it was about the love he never got from his real father. The mother he never got to meet. The normal, boring, beautiful life that had been ripped out of his hands before he’d even known he had it.

It was about Rei—never getting to hold him. Never getting to hear him say father out loud.

It was about Nilha—never getting to watch him grow. Never getting to hear him call her mother. Never getting to hold him.

It was about Nora. About every quiet moment, every stupid argument, every chance to just be near her that had been taken before it ever started.

It was about all of it.

Every piece.

Every stolen second.

He closed his eyes.

And just like that, he was back in his inner world.

He felt focused. Calm. Steady.

Across from him, Enkidu’s ruby eyes flared to life—burning bright for the first time in this entire training.

From the shadows beneath the knight, something stirred.

Its massive ebony blade rose, slow and deliberate, like the dark itself was handing it over. The moment Enkidu’s gauntlet closed around the hilt, the blade lit up—a low, dangerous glow—and then thickened, the air around it bending under the weight of all that mana.

The tip leveled at Shiro’s chest.

He stepped forward.

Both daggers materialized in his hands—gentle, weightless, and radiating a silver glow.

He smiled. Small. Sharp. Tired.

"Final round."