Two days later.
Nott slowly rises from his bed, stretching his tired muscles. He takes a quick glance at the paper pinned to the pillow, then carefully pulls it out. His eyes are full of questions, but there is no turning back now. He sighs deeply as he gets dressed, preparing to leave the room and head to the address Lorian had given him.
He steps out into the crowded streets, where the air is filled with the hustle and bustle of daily life. The sounds of street vendors fill the atmosphere, while children run and play in the narrow alleys. Everything feels alive and noisy, but Nott's mind is focused on one thing.
Nott, thinking to himself: "[Could someone like him really live in a place like this?...]"
He continues walking, his steps steady yet cautious. His eyes scan every corner, every person, trying to read the details in the faces of passersby, until he reaches a building that looks dilapidated. An old sign hangs above the entrance, faded with time. "Al-Sonyo Apartments, For Rent." The building is run-down, its walls cracked and its paint peeling, giving it an appearance aged and worn by time.
Nott pauses in front of the entrance, looking at the paper Lorian had given him, confirming that the address matches the sign. He takes a deep breath and pushes open the creaky wooden door. The sound of the door groaning fills the air, as if the building itself is breathing with every movement.
Inside, the atmosphere is uncomfortably quiet. The corridors are narrow, the lighting dim, creating a gloomy vibe. On the left side, behind an old wooden desk, sits an elderly man in modest clothing, staring at Nott with sunken eyes, as though he has seen too much in his life.
Elderly man: "Oh!! A customer!? Welcome, sir... uh... boy? Damn, get out of here, this isn't a place to loiter!"
Nott: "I'm looking for Stray... Do you know him?"
In that moment, the elderly man's expression completely changes. He takes a breath and falls silent for a moment, before staring at Nott with eyes full of doubt and caution.
Elderly man: "...You... how do you know him?!"
Nott, in a steady tone: "I met him before. I have some questions for him, so please, can you tell me where he is?"
Elderly man: "Questions?... Boy, you need to realize that Stray is no ordinary person, and he won't listen to you. It's not what you think, you'll embarrass yourself... maybe worse.
Now get out of here."
Nott ignores warnings and moves forward. Then he says without turning around.
Nott, with determination: "Then I'll find him myself."
The elderly man tries to move, as if wanting to stop Nott, but something makes him hesitate. Perhaps it's Nott's serious gaze or clear resolve, but he seems unable to intervene.
Nott begins to explore the place, his gaze cautious. His eyes fall on a small staircase in the right corner, almost hidden behind old, decaying furniture. The stairs lead down into darkness.
Nott: "Is this... a basement?"
Elderly man, nervously: "Boy!! Don't get involved in things you don't understand!"
Nott, with an analytical look, staring at the stairs: "From your reaction... it seems like he lives down there."
The elderly man hesitates, then gives in, as if something in Nott's tone or gaze makes him realize that stopping him is futile. But his face is filled with worry, as if something dark awaits the boy at the bottom of those stairs.
Nott slowly approaches the dark staircase, feeling that each step brings him closer to the unknown, and the air grows colder the further he descends.
Nott: "Seems like a place that suits someone like him."
Nott enters and begins to slowly descend the stairs that lead to a door at the bottom. The wooden stairs creak and groan with every step. He reaches the white door, which is slightly ajar, places his hand on the handle, and opens it fully. He sees a long corridor ahead, with a room to his right, in the middle, and a large door at the end of the hallway.
Nott walks with quiet steps, looking around nervously. He reaches the end of the corridor and reaches for the handle, opening the door quietly.
He sees him, Stray, smiling coldly as he sits behind a desk, his eyes watching the door Nott entered from, as if he had been expecting this visit all along.
Stray: "What a surprise, A visit from the loser boy... Tell me, did you come for revenge? Or is your disgraceful defeat still burning inside you?"
Nott, confused, trying to process what he's saying, turns his gaze to the right corner of the room, where he sees a horrific sight. A blood-soaked body of someone from the organization. His eyes wide with terror, his face pale as his mind tries to make sense of what he's seeing.
Nott, stunned: "...W-what is this?..."
Stray slowly rises from his seat, his steps quiet but carrying an unspoken threat, his eyes fixed on Nott.
Stray: "Hmm?... 'What is this?'... Maybe you should ask yourself, what made this man come here... to kill me... at the same time of your visit...?"
A thick silence wrapped around the room like a noose.
Nott's heart pounded against his chest, louder than Stray's words. His eyes darted between the bloodstained corpse and the man standing before him like a specter.
His breath caught in his throat. For a split second, he couldn't speak. His thoughts scrambled in panic, as if trying to outrun the shadow looming over him.
Nott: "[fuck, What if he doesn't believe me!...? What if I die here!?]"
His throat tightened. Then, with all the strength he could muster, he finally broke the silence...
Nott, after a brief silence, speaking with a steadier voice... though still tinged with tension: "I… don't know him. I didn't come here to take revenge on you, or to fight you. That's not why I'm here."
In a moment charged with tension, Stray moves with lightning speed, almost like a ghost, appearing in front of Nott in an instant. His hand holds a gleaming dagger, pointed toward Nott's neck. A cold sensation rushes through Nott's body as he feels the sharpness of the dagger close to his skin, the metallic scent of blood seeping from the nearby corpse.
Stray, in a calm voice: "If you don't know him, then why are you really here? Think carefully before you speak, because your life depends on your answer now."
Nott froze in place, as if Stray's words were an invisible noose tightening around his neck.
He felt the room closing in, the walls bending toward him slowly, the ground trembling beneath his feet. Cold sweat traced down his forehead... not out of fear, but from a truth he hadn't dared to face before. "Why am I really here?"
The question didn't just come from Stray... it came from within.
In that moment, Nott wasn't standing before a killer or a stranger… but before a twisted mirror reflecting his own fragility.
His fingers trembled slightly. His eyes scanned Stray's expressionless face, but he wasn't just seeing him... he was seeing every moment of weakness, every stifled scream, every failure he buried deep, hoping it would never surface.
And just before he could speak it aloud, the darkness had already moved.
Nott screamed, his voice broken and gasping: "I came here… to become stronger!!"
It wasn't just a declaration. It was a desperate cry torn from the depths of his soul, soaked in pain, disappointment, and weakness. In that moment, Nott had stripped himself bare before a man who knew no mercy.
Stray froze.
His body remained still like a statue, but his eyes... those glacial, lifeless eyes... flickered with a sudden spark. Something stirred within him. A glint of something dark. It wasn't sympathy… it was a cold, dangerous curiosity.
The silence that followed was suffocating... thick, heavy, as if time itself had stopped breathing.
Stray, in a low, cold voice tinged with something strangely hesitant: "What did you say?"
Nott swallowed hard. His throat was dry like sand, and his hands trembled slightly. Yet despite it all, there was a faint glimmer in his eyes... a flicker of broken courage, but real nonetheless.
Nott, speaking with a tense, strained voice, each word seeming to tear itself from his chest: "The reason I came... is because I want you to train me... to teach me how to figh-..."
He didn't finish.
Stray, suddenly, with a voice sharp as a whip: "Boy… who the hell do you think I am?!"
Nott wasn't given a second to react.
In an instant, everything turned.
Stray vanished from his spot, as if he had evaporated. Nott only saw him again when the pain exploded.
A foot slammed into Nott's face with the force of fury, of disdain, of raw power.
The sound of the impact echoed like an explosion.
His head snapped back violently. The world blurred. Time fractured.
His body flew through the air like a discarded puppet, crashing into the back wall... A wall that couldn't withstand the force. It shattered on contact. Dust, broken bricks, and flaking paint scattered everywhere as Nott crashed through and landed in the next room, buried in the wreckage.
But the pain wasn't just physical. His face was covered in blood, his breath short and ragged... each inhale a battle, each exhale a stab.
His trembling hand reached to lift himself up… but he couldn't. His body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, like his bones no longer obeyed him. Like gravity itself had turned against him.
His eyes stared at the cracked ceiling above, while his soul bled beneath the surface.
He didn't know whether he felt humiliation, betrayal… or shame.
Then, Stray's voice... calm, lethal... cut through it all:
Stray, from behind the settling dust, his voice echoing in Nott's skull like a whisper from a dark cellar: "Strength isn't something you ask for… it's something you tear out of yourself... after you die inside, and rise again."
Then silence.
Not peace… but warning.
Nott is hurled across the room, crashing into the wall with immense force. The impact causes the wall to collapse around him, sending dust and debris scattering through the air. He lands in the adjacent room, blood covering his face. His arm struggles in vain to lift him, but pain burns through his body like fire.
The room he landed in was entirely different. A wide space, with a boxing ring in the center, punching bags hanging from the ceiling, and various weapons mounted on the walls. In one corner stood a simple table with small equipment and a coffee machine humming quietly, as if the place were constantly prepared for battle.
Everything in this room spoke of strength, discipline, and readiness for combat. The sharp weapons glinting in the shadows, the metallic scent mixed with sweat and blood... it all made Nott feel like he had entered the lair of a true warrior.
As Nott struggled to catch his breath, Stray slowly advanced toward him. Each of his steps sounded heavy, as if the very room echoed with them. His eyes looked down at Nott as though all he could see was raw weakness.
Stray, in a cold, mocking voice: "So, you want to become stronger? You talk about strength as if it's something handed out... Strength is taken, seized... through cruelty, through pain...
You think you're capable of enduring that? After what I've just seen… are you still convinced you deserve my training?"
Stray continued to walk toward Nott, now lying on the floor. He crouched beside him, holding a sharp dagger gently against Nott's neck, as if warning him not to move. His eyes gleamed coldly as he whispered:
Stray: "Is that really... why you came here? Hmm? Oh… shit, he's passed out."
Stray sighed for a moment, then stared deeply at Nott's face. His eyes widened slightly, as though he were seeing a piece of his past in the boy lying before him. He stared silently for several minutes, lost in thought, muttering inwardly:
Stray: "[This kid… he reminds me of myself when I was foolish… though I still am.]"
Then, he noticed the patch Nott wore over his eye. A sharp curiosity overcame him, and he slowly reached out, attempting to remove it. But suddenly, and without warning, Nott moved with incredible speed. He grabbed Stray's left wrist with a firm and steady grip. In one swift motion, Nott snatched the dagger from Stray's hand and flung it across the room. The metallic clatter of the blade hitting the ground echoed as a sound of sudden resistance.
In that same moment, Nott raised his legs and kicked Stray in the chest, lifting him off the ground and throwing him backward with all his might. The air around them pulsed with tension, but Stray didn't attempt to defend himself. Instead, he looked on with calm admiration as he hit the floor hard.
Nott struggled to stand, gasping for air, his face twisted in pain and fatigue, yet he refused to give in. He gripped Stray's left arm tightly, twisting it with precision, pinning it between his legs as he tried to control him.
Nott: "Don't move… unless you want to lose that arm."
Stray's smile widened as he lay on the floor, letting out a sarcastic breath as if none of this surprised him.
Stray: "Hmm… did you see those moves on TV or something...?
I liked that, kid... but..."
In a flash, Stray pulled another dagger from his right pocket. The glint of the blade under the room's dim light revealed just how deadly the moment had become.
Stray: "You forgot about my right arm!"
Like lightning, he slashed the blade toward Nott's leg, but Nott, already alert, reacted just in time. He bent his knees at the perfect moment, causing the blade to strike the ground instead of his body. The screech of metal on floor rang out, but Nott seized the opportunity and shoved Stray's body back with force.
Nott rose quickly despite the exhaustion clearly etched across his face. His body trembled and ached from the brutal wall impact, yet he remained determined to fight. His heartbeat thundered, thoughts racing through his mind... but his resolve blazed like fire.
He stared at Stray, locking eyes. And in that moment, it became clear the battle wasn't over yet.
Stray: "...Heh... hehehe...
Boy… like this, you're going to make me even more savage!"
Stray gripped both daggers tightly, his fingers clenched as if trying to strangle death itself. His wide eyes gleamed with a madness laced with ecstasy. Under the dim glow of the overhead lights, evil seemed to drip from his expression. He exhaled sharply... then lunged toward Nott like a war arrow released from a bow, screaming from the depths of his lungs. It wasn't just a cry... it was a roar torn from a past soaked in violence.
The echo of his scream bounced through the room, stirring primal instincts and igniting the air with the tension of battle. Sparks flew as the blades clashed and spun between his fingers in a wild dance, slashing in every direction without mercy... as if his hands had forgotten what hesitation meant.
Nott stood at the heart of this storm of steel and fury, moving like a shadow. With every blink, he teleporting. Keep vanished and reappeared... dodging, breathing fast, calculating each step with instinctive precision. He wasn't merely fighting... he was surviving a man who had surrendered all reason.
Every strike carried the intent to kill, and every dodge was a dance on the edge of death.
Nott, internally: "[Damn it... this man isn't just a fighter… he's a storm. Completely insane!]"
Footsteps slammed against the ground, echoing through the high walls like a beast chasing its prey. Stray was pursuing Nott with wild intensity... his steps swift, his breath sharp, his eyes gleaming with the shimmer of death. He didn't move like a man, but like a predator stripped of all mercy.
Yet Nott, despite his panting and the adrenaline surging through his veins, wasn't running blindly. His eyes were observing, analyzing, searching for an opening in the storm of violence that pursued him. In the chaos of the moment, his mind was an island of calm in the heart of a hurricane.
Then suddenly... without warning... Nott dropped low, his body bending with astonishing agility to evade a vicious kick aimed at his neck. He slid slightly to the right, his hand firm and decisive, pulling a dagger from his belt and hurling it forward with all the strength and focus he could muster.
The dagger flew like a strike of fate... but Stray twisted his body with inhuman grace, narrowly avoiding the blade, dancing with death itself. Nott didn't wait for the outcome; he seized the moment, teleporting to the center of the hall, where the floor beneath him was wide and exposed.
And then... something shifted above. A faint metallic creak.
The ancient chandelier, suspended for decades, began to sway… and then... without mercy... it snapped from the ceiling and plummeted.
It hit the ground with a thunderous crash, the sound resembling a massive explosion. Glass shattered, metal shrieked, and a dense cloud of dust erupted in all directions, flooding the space in a choking gray haze.
Amid the wreckage, Nott appeared several meters away, gasping for breath, one hand on his knee, sweat streaking down his forehead. His eyes scanned the smoky air, hoping... desperately... that it was over. That he had survived.
But he felt it before he saw it... that chill… that murderous intent.
From within the fog, Stray emerged. His silhouette cutting through the dust like a nightmare made flesh. Silent. Merciless.
Stray, with demonic calm: "Didn't I tell you...? Never rely on that silly ability of yours in a real fight."
Before Nott could reply... before he could even breathe... Stray lunged with terrifying speed. His fist arched through the air, slamming hard into the side of Nott's neck, striking a precise and devastating point.
Nott collapsed like a puppet with cut strings, his body hitting the ground with brutal force as the darkness swallowed him whole.
Stray stood over him, his gaze locked onto the boy's unconscious form. There was no rage... only curiosity. A faint smile crept onto his face, a mixture of admiration and enigma.
Stray, softly: "This boy… how far will he go… years from now?"
One hour and twenty-seven minutes later…
The footsteps echoed on the worn wooden floor, cutting through the silence of the room. Lorian entered, making her way towards Stray, who was sitting on the worn-out couch. Her steps were confident, though her face betrayed a mix of concern and anxiety. The fresh air she brought with her contrasted sharply with the stifling atmosphere inside.
Here's the improved version with added details to enhance the atmosphere and psychological tension:
Stray: "… Heh, what a visit."
The sound of his chuckle echoed through the room, but the laughter felt hollow, as if he were masking something deeper. His eyes never left Lorian, but there was a subtle, almost imperceptible twitch in his jaw.
Lorian: "Stop the nonsense. Is he alright?"
Her voice was sharp, filled with urgency, but underneath it was a quiet tremor of fear. She took a step closer to Nott, her gaze lingering on him before returning to Stray, her posture rigid and tense.
Stray: "… Hmm... Yeah, he isn't badly hurt…"
He paused for a brief moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to gauge her reaction. The room felt colder now, the silence pressing in as he spoke, but his tone lacked any true remorse.
Lorian looks to the other couch and sees Nott's body covered in bruises. She quickly approaches and checks his breathing, realizing he's just asleep.
Lorian, shouting: "I told you not to overdo his training! Do you want him to die by my hands!!?"
Her voice echoed in the room, sharp and raw, the tension in her chest palpable as she clenched her fists.
Stray: "I didn't accept him as my trainee yet. This was just to satisfy my curiosity and my desire to fight him after that match in the trial."
His tone was casual, but his eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of something darker behind his words.
Lorian: "I thought you'd already satisfied your obsession today when you killed that person in your office."
She stepped closer, her words laced with bitterness, her eyes flashing with a mix of disbelief and anger.
Stray: "Heh, heh heh, sorry, I knew it was someone else's doing, but I wanted an excuse to fight him.
Have you figured out who sent him?"
A low chuckle escaped him, like a predator savoring a meal, but his expression quickly shifted to one of mild curiosity.
Lorian, Sighs: "… Don't worry about it. As for the boy, I'll bring a doctor to treat him."
Her voice softened, but there was an underlying tension in her tone... resignation, yet determination.
Stray: "No, you won't bring anything."
He said it flatly, almost as if issuing a command. His gaze was cold, unyielding, the room growing heavier in his presence.
These additions create more emotional depth and atmosphere between the characters.
Lorian, pausing for a moment: "Excuse me?"
Stray slowly stands up and fixes his gaze on Lorian, standing across from her, his face showing a mix of determination.
Stray: "I was wondering about his arrogance and pride. You won't coddle him anymore. He needs to learn how to handle injuries and wounds on his own."
His words hang in the air, calm and unwavering, as he watches her reaction, a hint of something unspoken in his gaze.
Lorian: "He's twelve! Do you really want him to take care of himself like this?"
Her voice was a mix of concern and disbelief. The room feels heavy with the weight of her protective instincts.
Stray: "I've lived this way a thousand times since the moment I was born… If he wants to be stronger, he has to follow my way."
His voice is colder now, almost distant, as though he's speaking from a place deep inside, where emotions have long been buried.
Lorian falls silent for a moment, her eyes focusing on Nott, who was lying on the couch.
The silence stretches, the only sound being the faint hum of the room. Her gaze softens as she watches him, her worry clear but hidden behind a facade of resolve.
Lorian, sighing deeply: "Fine, but if he's not fully recovered in five days, I'll cancel the amount we agreed on."
Her words feel reluctant, There's a quiet determination in her voice now, but also a sense of frustration.
Stray: "Heh heh, alright, this is fine. Whoever, I didn't agree for the money, and you know what I mean."
His chuckle is dry, almost mocking, but there's something softer beneath it. He lets his words linger, his eyes drifting back to Nott.
Stray and Lorian stood near a dim corner, the faint light from a flickering ceiling bulb barely pushing back the shadows.
Stray reached into the pocket of his long coat and pulled out a dull metallic cigarette case. He flipped it open with a practiced thumb,
took one out, and placed it between his lips.
Stray, in a low tone, as if speaking from behind smoke not yet lit: "What about the council meeting… did it go well?"
A thick silence settled over the room, as if the question itself had brushed against something that shouldn't be touched.
Lorian didn't answer right away. She turned her head slightly, casting a quick glance toward the old couch in the corner of the basement.
Not was still lying there, his face half-buried in the pillow, his breaths calm, like a stranger asleep from another time.
Then she turned her gaze forward, to the wall.
Lorian, softly, her voice weighted with fatigue: "…We're not talking about that here."
She said it, then released a long, slow sigh... as if she were emptying something out from deep within her chest.
Stray didn't respond. He simply raised his old metal lighter, and quietly lit the tip of the cigarette.
A faint spark.
A small flame.
Then silence again.
Lorian: "I'm leaving now."
She turns away, the finality in her tone unmistakable, yet her footsteps falter for a moment.
Stray: "Hmm? Leaving so soon? We haven't sat down to have tea together yet."
His words are teasing, but there's a slight curve to his lips, a flicker of something behind his eyes... something unexpected, something like invitation, but unspoken.
This version includes more subtle pauses and nuances to the characters' emotions, adding to the depth and tension of the scene
Her footsteps echoing against the concrete floor as she walked out.
The only sound left behind was the soft scrape of her shoes against the dust and gravel.
Stray remained still, a thin cloud of smoke drifting from his lips, his eyes fixed on nothing... as if the unspoken answer… had said enough.
Lorian gestures with her hand, raising her middle finger as she walks out. Stray laughs lightly, remaining standing as he watches Nott. Stray recalls the moment when he was about to remove the Eyes-patch from Him, and how Nott stopped him then.
Stray: "Heh… I'll respect that."
The next day.
Nott wakes up to find himself lying on the couch, his body in extreme pain, covered in old white cloths and ice on his chest and back, with a piece of cloth on his head. He slowly sits up.
Nott: "… Ugh... Damn, what's this!?"
Stray is standing by the coffee machine, approaching Nott. The room is dimly lit, the smell of coffee mixing faintly with the sterile scent of dried blood.
Stray: "Oh... Good morning, lazy. Are you really planning to participate in the Noctis test like this?"
His tone is mocking, but there's a sliver of concern buried beneath the sarcasm.
Nott: "What's this stuff you wrapped around me?"
He shifts uncomfortably on the couch, squinting at the makeshift bandages.
Stray: "Hmm? What? … It's sterilized cloth. I cleaned the wounds to stop the bleeding.
Also, I set the broken bones and applied ice to reduce swelling... A medical solution will do if you don't have disinfectant.
You should know all this if you want to survive. Do you want to wait for a medical team, or maybe have Utris treat you, or someone else...? Don't rely on others; they won't be able to take care of themselves."
Stray speaks in a calm, instructional tone, his right hand casually in his pockets, as if he were explaining how to make tea instead of treating injuries.
Nott: "Yeah, yeah. Anyway, is this supposed to be cloth? It looks like a torn garbage bag..."
He winces as he touches the wrappings, clearly unimpressed with Stray's field medic skills.
Stray: "Oh, sorry, Princess. Would you prefer something softer? Stop being dramatic, and act like a man."
He sipping his coffee, the cup steaming like the heat of his words.
Stray: "You won't find those fine fabrics you're used to in Noctis when you're in a real battle."
His tone was sarcastic as usual, eyes drifting over the bandages wrapped around Nott's body.
Nott frowned, clear signs of gloom shadowing his face, while Stray sat on the opposite couch sipping his coffee. He then placed another cup on the table in front of him.
Stray: "Alright, drink this and let's begin your first training."
He gestured toward the cup as if there was no room for delay.
Nott took the cup, but suddenly, in a puzzling moment, he spoke in a sharp voice... as if something exploded inside him. As if something had been dormant inside him… lifeless, unseen, untouched... yet undeniably present.
And now, after all he had been through, after every wound suppressed and left to fester… that thing began to stir, stretching quietly, as if rising from beneath the rubble... not in haste, but like one who knows their moment has come.
The anger in his voice wasn't just a reaction… it was an old voice, one that Nott had forgotten he even had.
Nott: "Don't call me those names again."
His tone was unexpectedly firm, filled with bottled-up seriousness and anger.
Stray froze for a second, as if the words had stunned him.
Stray: "...What?"
He stared at him, puzzled, as though Nott had spoken an unfamiliar language.
Nott: "Those damn names... Don't call me that!"
His voice trembled slightly, but he stood his ground.
Stray: "Uh… oh… it was just a joke, kid. Don't let it get to you... [Damn… this kid has one hell of an inferiority complex…]"
Nott, sighing as he set the cup aside: "...Do you have cocoa? I don't drink coffee."
He said it softly, as if the request itself was an attempt to ease the tension.
Stray: "Cocoa…?"
He raised an eyebrow, then added with a tone mixed between threat and teasing.
Stray: "You little brat, shut it or I'll call you that damn title again!"
The days flowed like water between the fingers, followed by weeks, then months.
Nott found himself caught in a whirlwind of harsh, intense training.
The schedule became strict, and the effort relentless.
Every week, he faced Stray... his unyielding opponent.
Their battles weren't merely tests of physical strength, but trials of will and resolve.
Each time, Nott discovered new limits to his capabilities… and surpassed others he once thought were the end of the line.
The training was no longer confined to the basement, now all too familiar with its damp walls and hard floor... it had extended into the city's streets. There, in the crumbling arenas of street wrestling, Nott faced opponents of all kinds, each with their own fighting style and unique skills. Their participation in the wrestling league wasn't just an opportunity to test his abilities... it was a ground for sharpening them, a crucible for refining his strategies.
At first, defeat clung to him. The other fighters overpowered him with ease, and his body absorbed the blows like a canvas marked by every mistake he made. But something changed. With every fight, Nott learned something new: how to read his opponent, how to dodge fatal blows, how to exploit weaknesses. His falls were frequent in the beginning, but every fall was followed by a stronger rise.
With time, Nott was no longer a mere novice. His presence in the ring began to unsettle his opponents, and his confidence grew with every victory. Gradually, his encounters with Stray shifted... from harsh blows and stern instructions to balanced fights that mirrored a clash between a mentor and a student who had begun to transcend his limits.
Over a year and eight months, Stray took Nott on an exhaustive tour across every wrestling, combat, dueling, and shooting arena in Raymar. That period became a constant trial, with Nott placed before increasingly difficult challenges. He faced Stray in a total of 86 matches, losing every single one decisively.
But those losses were not mere failures... they were harsh lessons that formed the foundation of his growth. Each defeat was a chance to uncover a flaw, and each match was another stone laid in the building of his skill and resolve.