One hour and fifteen minutes later...
The pulses of consciousness began to return to Nott's body like faint currents reviving a nearly extinguished lamp... no light, just signs of life. He opened his eyes slowly, his pupils moving heavily, as if forced to defy gravity. The dim light seeping from the corner of the ceiling appeared like a fleeting flicker, yet it was enough to blind his awareness for a brief moment before he adjusted to it again.
A breath.
The sound was faint, barely existent, yet audible within him. A soft inhale followed by a weighted exhale, as if the air itself had grown heavy on his chest, as if the world could no longer contain his breath.
Cold crept into his limbs, unclear whether it stemmed from the stone wall behind him or from the void residing in his soul. His body was limp, as if life itself was clinging on by its fingernails.
His head began to move... very slowly... as if every muscle in his neck resisted him. Not from exhaustion, but from protest against returning to awareness.
The pain wasn't from the body... but from something deeper. Something unseen.
Then...
He saw her.
Lorian.
Sitting across from him, in the corner of the room, her back slightly hunched forward, hands resting on her knees, breathing steady... but her eyes... her eyes fixated on him with an indescribable weight. Not a single look, but thousands of stares condensed into a complex blend of anticipation, pity, discipline, and analysis.
Lorian, with a voice soft like cloth brushing over an open wound... but soaked in vinegar.
Lorian: "Why didn't you confess?"
She didn't raise her voice. She didn't wave her hands. She didn't change her expression.
But the question... was a dagger placed on the table.
It wasn't just a question... it was a veiled accusation, laced with a tone Nott knew all too well. The kind that refuses to be ignored, that forces a reply, even if you don't have the answer.
One second passes...
Then another...
Nott slowly lifts his head, as if dragging it from a deep pit inside his soul. A slight tremble swept through his limbs... not visible, but sensed in the air.
He leaned back against the wall behind him, trying to steady himself. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them heavily. He ran his hand across his face... not as a routine gesture, but as if trying to wipe away a layer of helplessness clinging to his skin.
Nott, in a faint voice, as if an internal thought had slipped out: "Humans are similar in that each holds principles. But the choice to abandon them… that's what sets them apart."
He pauses, his fingers trembling as they clutch the edge of his cloak. When he speaks again, his voice cracks.
Nott: "And I… I'm one of those who refuse to let go of theirs."
Lorian remained silent for seconds. Her breath slowed. Then she sighed... a sigh carrying a mix of disappointment… and admiration.
Lorian: "Did you know that if you had confessed, it would've saved us time anyway? For you… and for them?"
A long silence followed, long enough to hear the beating of Nott's heart. Her tone softened, but retained the quiet sharpness that defined her.
Lorian: "You need to learn when to be silent… and when to speak. When to retreat… and when to advance. The world isn't a fair arena that rewards good intentions. The world… is a battlefield of choices. And those who don't analyze the situation… get devoured."
Silence creeped in again, but this time, it wasn't empty. It was heavy. Weighted. Contemplative.
Nott didn't respond.
His eyes focused on a spot on the floor... not real, but imagined. As if he saw something no one else could. He breathed slowly, deeply, as if reshaping his thoughts from the ground up.
Then Lorian, in the calmest voice she had used so far... but with words that hid a knife behind her back:
Lorian: "...May I ask you something? Why... do you want to become stronger?"
The question… was like someone had pulled the air out of the room.
Nott froze.
Three seconds passed… four...
Then something flickered in his eyes… Surprise? Hesitation? Perhaps an old wound, scratched open again.
He didn't answer.
Thoughts began to clash inside him… pile up… seep in and out of him.
His eyelids didn't move. His breath paused for a second. His heartbeat thundered in his chest.
That question had opened a door sealed shut for years. Behind it were souls, memories, voices, groans… a door he never wished to unlock.
A long silence.
Then in a whisper, like speaking to himself without realizing:
Nott: "…Strength?"
He smiled bitterly... without joy.
Nott: "[Is it for survival?… Or for justice?… For revenge? Or to escape?]"
He looked up slightly, his eyes wandering into the void.
Nott: "[…Or is it a path to flee from my shadow… that never stops chasing me?]"
Then, as if trying to redirect the question outward:
Nott: "The Arcans Heroes… do you know them?"
Lorian's gaze shifted.
The spark in her eyes dimmed. She turned her face slightly, her lips curling into feigned indifference.
Lorian: "Hmm? You mean the Heroes of Arcadia?"
Nott, his voice regaining a hint of sharpness, as if clinging to a tiny hope: "They… they're still alive, right? The city was destroyed, yes… but they're heroes. They must have… survived."
Then a moment of hesitation. His voice beginning to recover a trace of its lost sharpness, as if clinging to a straw of hope drifting on a sea of despair.
Nott: "…Right?"
His voice faltered at the final sentence... it shifted from pleading to trembling, as if fear had pierced his throat and drained the air from it. The words came out in broken breaths, not supported by certainty, but driven by a desperate need to escape the possibility of truth.
Lorian, interrupting him coldly... not with cruelty, but with an unalterable truth:
Lorian: "They're dead."
Everything stops
A moment followed… not long enough to be silence, yet not short enough to be a response.
Time in that moment felt distorted, as if everything around him had stopped... except his mind, which began to sink into possibilities he didn't want to face.
Lorian's expression changed. Her gaze no longer held steady. Her eyes drifted... not toward the ground, nor the sky, but inward, toward the place where truths too heavy to speak are buried.
One look from her was enough to shatter the stillness.
Then, in a voice quiet to the point of cruelty, cold without being harsh, clear enough to feel like execution: "They're dead."
As if time hadn't stopped... but fractured.
As if the words hadn't been spoken... but embedded into him like a knife dipped in guilt.
He didn't move. Didn't blink. The air around him grew heavier, as though the gravity of the world had chosen his body alone.
The only sound that followed… was Nott's breath breaking apart.
His eyes widened. His brows lifted. His lips trembled. His body stiffened.
Nott: "…N…no!…"
His eyes filled with pure shock, as if every atom of his soul rejected what he heard.
Lorian, continuing in a steady voice, hiding something beneath thick layers of discipline:
Lorian: "The meteor… struck while they were meeting at the headquarters. All members were present. No one survived."
Silence.
Even the earth itself seemed to stop turning.
Nott couldn't take it. His head dropped. His body trembled from the inside. His breath grew erratic. His hand clenched the blanket beneath him, veins bulging, fingers shaking.
He muttered something unclear. As if his tongue was trying to rewrite reality with new syllables.
But the words were like a sword... not one that kills instantly… but slowly.
Then, in a voice like a whimper, he whispered.
Nott: "…It was my only chance…"
Silence.
His heart… wasn't beating. Or so it felt. Lorian's voice echoed inside him again and again... not as a human voice, but as a lost echo in a dark cave of memories.
His mind tried to reject it. To rearrange the facts. To search in her sentence for a flaw, a mistake, a trick.
But there was nothing. The sentence was clear. Brief. Final.
And suddenly, something inside him broke… something unnamed. As if grief wasn't an emotion, but a being that entered his chest, settled in, and refused to leave.
He looked at the ground, then at nothing. His body was present, but Nott… Nott was no longer there.
Nott: "And…I lost it."
Lorian looked at him silently for a long while. Not just coldness... but reflection. As if she was reading his breakdown letter by letter. Yet, deep inside, she felt something. Pity? Perhaps. Pain? Possibly. But she didn't let it show.
Then, quietly, as if tossing a stone into a still pond.
Lorian: "Your chance?... Is that how you see your life?... Just revenge?"
Nott lifted his head. His eyes were tearful without tears... like the tears choked before they were born.
Nott: "…It... it was everything… They took everything… I just wanted… to return the pain."
Lorian, her tone growing firmer, yet still deeply human: "And where were you in all of that? Did you see yourself? Or were you just a tool in the hands of your rage?"
Her words were a slap.
Nott recoiled... not physically, but internally. As if she struck a part of him he didn't know was exposed. He searched for an answer… but found only silence.
His eyes lowered again. Inside him, a silent storm raged.
Lorian, calmly, like laying the truth on a table that doesn't tolerate denial.
Lorian: "If you want to reclaim what was taken from you, you must start here…"
She pointed to his chest. As if speaking to his soul.
Lorian: "…with yourself."
She paused for a few seconds, then continued:
Lorian: "Revenge isn't the end of the road, Nott. It's the beginning. Either to build something greater… or to destroy everything."
Then she closed her eyes for a moment, as if giving him time… to choose the path.
Nott slowly lifts his head, his eyes full of doubt, yet deep inside, he recognizes that her words hold a painful truth.
Nott, in a trembling voice: "But how? How can I become stronger?.. There's no one left to fight for… or against.
What do I have left now…"
Lorian interrupts him, stepping directly in front of him, her tone carrying a heavier weight:
Lorian: "You're still here. And that means you have a chance."
If you're seeking revenge just because you're angry, you'll never get what you want. Revenge isn't the end of the road, it's the beginning. The beginning of a path that might make you stronger… or completely destroy you.
Nott stares at her, as if her words are piercing through him, revealing something buried deep within. But he remains silent, unable to confront the mountain that suddenly stands before him.
Lorian steps closer with calm strides. In a low voice filled with wisdom, she speaks:
Lorian: "True strength, Nott, isn't in your ability to take revenge, but in your ability to never need it... To reach a point where no one can take what you love... not by force, not by deceit."
A few seconds pass. The words hang in the air like smoke, slowly settling. Nott's eyes flicker... not in defiance, but in hesitation. His breathing steadies, but there's a tremble he can't hide. His gaze drops ever so slightly, as if the weight of her truth nudged his chin downward.
Lorian: "To become both the shield and the sword for everything that matters to you. Revenge… it's a fleeting desire. It consumes you the moment it succeeds but leaves you empty afterward."
Another beat of silence. Nott clenches his jaw. His fingers twitch against his knees as if trying to hold onto something invisible... something slipping through his grip. Behind his stillness, his mind spirals through distant memories: the scream of a mother, the heat of blood, the hollow thud of a body falling. He exhales quietly, barely audibly.
Lorian: "Strength, on the other hand, reshapes you... makes you someone who can't be defeated, not just in battle, but in the face of life's hardships."
Her voice softens, but it strikes even deeper. The words settle like a final note in a melancholic song. Nott doesn't move. His throat tightens. His vision blurs at the edges, not from tears... but from exhaustion, from realization. The room is still, heavy, sacred... as if no sound dares interrupt the silence that follows. Even time itself seems to slow, allowing the meaning to settle deep within his chest.
Her words settle into the silence of the room, as if drawing a new path before Nott... a path filled with thorns, yet leading to something greater than mere revenge.
Lorian, in a quiet voice: Sometimes, Nott, real strength comes from no longer seeing the past as a prison, but as a lesson. To understand that pain doesn't aim to crush you, but to shape you. If you can see things that way, you'll realize you don't need revenge. You'll realize you've become greater than any wound, and stronger than any betrayal.
Nott lifts his head slowly, his eyes holding a mix of doubt and contemplation. He felt that Lorian's words were not just advice, but a challenge... a challenge to look within and face his darker depths.
Lorian, sharply: "Even if your enemies were alive… could you defeat them now? Those you're chasing aren't ordinary people. They're monsters... trained, merciless. If you want to face them, you have to become stronger than every weakness you have. Stronger than your fear, your anger… and yourself."
Her words struck like lightning, cutting through the darkness surrounding Nott. He felt something different... like a small flame igniting inside the void.
Nott, voice trembling but with a flicker of resolve: "How can I… begin?"
Nott remains silent, his eyes drifting toward the floor. He knew Lorian was telling the truth. He felt as if he were standing before an insurmountable mountain... an obstacle too great to climb.
Lorian rises quietly from the chair, moving lightly toward the table beside her, and picks up a small piece of paper. Nott watches in silence, his eyes tracking her every movement. She cuts the paper with precision, as if she knows exactly what she's about to do.
She quickly writes something on the paper, then raises her head and looks at Nott.
Lorian: "This… is the address of someone who can train you."
Time seems to pause for a moment. Lorian draws Nott's attention with her next cold remark.
Lorian: "He… is the one you faced during the fake trial."
Nott suddenly recalls what happened during the test... the terrifying opponent he faced. The memory of that encounter stunned him. Confusion and awe began to show on his face. How could he face that person again?!
Lorian, watching his reaction with total composure: If you stay here and learn our methods, you'll be nothing more than an assassin.
Her voice is firm and direct, as if she knows his weak points and exploits them with precision. She continues, watching him with sharp eyes.
Lorian: "You'll never survive in direct combat unless you train efficiently for years. And that would be a waste of time."
Her words hit him like stones. He feels the weight of the reality she's laying before him. He had always known his path was difficult, but he never imagined it would be this hard.
Lorian: "That's why… this is the right person to guide you. Although I doubt he'll accept you as a student. So try to convince him by any means necessary."
Then suddenly... without warning... Lorian throws the paper at Nott with incredible speed. He barely registers what happened until he notices the paper slicing past his ear, piercing the pillow behind him and embedding itself with unexpected force.
Nott, internally: "[A paper?... How did she make it that strong?!]"
That paper wasn't just a note with an address... it was a clear signal. Not just of the trainer's identity, but of Lorian's astounding power… the full extent of which Nott still did not comprehend.
Lorian turns without waiting for a response. Her steps are firm and steady as she heads toward the door. Just before leaving, she casts one last look at Nott and delivers a final line... whether advice or a challenge:
Lorian: "…If you truly want to become stronger for revenge, then you must return in five years. That's when the real trial to join the organization will begin."
She pauses for a moment at the door, turning her head slightly. Her voice drops, yet still carries that same sharpness:
Lorian: "And not just to join the organization… but to face real battles."
A long silence follows the words. Nott closes his eyes for a moment, sinking into the image that Lorian had painted in his mind. Time passes slowly as he drowns in a sea of memories and questions. In this silence, he feels the weight of the internal struggle tearing at him, between vengeance and true strength, between his desire for revenge and the promises Lorian insisted he face more than just violence.
Lorian exits the room without turning back, leaving Nott alone to face his fate.
The door to the room closes quietly, and the silence deepens. Nott remains still, even the air around him seems to breathe with difficulty. An empty moment absorbs everything around him, his eyes fixed on the void. The words Lorian had spoken continue to hum in his ears, and he cannot escape them, nor can he ignore them.
Nott stares at the paper pinned to the pillow, his imagination drowning in tangled thoughts, feelings of questioning, fear, and astonishment crowding his mind.
His gaze never leaves the paper, but he sees only a distorted image of a reality shifting before him. His mind races with time, trying to gather his scattered thoughts that are clouded. Fear creeps into his heart as if it were an invisible beast. He wasn't prepared for this moment, and everything that had happened exceeded his expectations. As he drowns in this mix of emotions, a feeling of doubt begins to surge within him... whether Lorian was right, or if he had simply been manipulated.
On the third floor – the Falcon team was training in their gym.
The noise from clashing metal and heavy weights filled the room. The physical efforts seemed endless, but there was a kind of harmony in their movements, as if every muscle contributed to creating a unified scene of strength. Dialogue shifted between team members, but there was something uncomfortable in the air, something they couldn't explain.
Scorpion, with a surprised laugh: "Are you kidding me?! The boy who everyone thought would be nothing but a burden, did all this?!"
As his voice filled the gym, brimming with astonishment, everyone noticed his surprise, but everything paused for a moment. Silence filled the space briefly before the team's laughter erupted.
Jaguar smiled, shaking his head in disbelief: "Yeah, man, I was shocked too when I saw him sitting on top of four guards, stacked on top of each other."
As Jaguar smiled, the impact of their words lingered in the air. But the noise returned, as if the truth had suddenly engulfed them. Everyone tried to find an explanation for what had happened, but no one had the full answer.
Cheetah, with a voice carrying astonishment mixed with doubt: "I heard that Kain trained him... but what kind of training could raise someone to this level in just one week?"
Heina, wiping sweat from her brow with a towel: "He trained under me and Wolf. Him just surviving is a miracle."
The conversation slowed, as if they were all questioning what had happened in the shadows, what had driven the boy to achieve this power so quickly?
Meanwhile, Falcon and Cheetah focused on heavy weightlifting. After minutes of strenuous effort, Falcon stopped, sitting down to catch his breath as his eyes sank into deep thoughts.
Breathing quickens, but time seems to move slowly. Falcon breathes deeply, while his mind wanders in other directions. He was in a deep state of contemplation, searching for a completely different meaning behind what had transpired.
Falcon, with a calm tone: "...That boy."
The words descended slowly through the air. Everyone caught their breath, the tension returned to the room as if they were all waiting for some hint. The tone in Falcon's voice suggested something deeper than mere admiration.
Falcon: "He has a strong heart like I've never seen in someone his age before.
He took down four guards trained by the Python organization in 40 seconds, endured harsh torture at the hands of the Joker... and yet, not a single word escaped his lips."
A heavy silence falls among the team members, a silence that reflects everyone's shock.
Scorpion, with a sarcastic smile: "Nah... You're exaggerating, captain. He was probably begging and crying like a child."
Before he can continue, he receives a light tap on the head from Jaguar, who looks at him with a disapproving expression.
Scorpion, rubbing his head: "Ugh! What the hell, man?!"
Jaguar, sharply mixed with sarcasm: "Can't you appreciate what that boy did at such a young age, you fool? ... I bet you're jealous of him."
Scorpion, grumbling but smiling: "Hah? Jealous? ... If I'm going to be jealous of someone, it would only be Utris... that jerk is insanely popular with women."
Jaguar and Cheetah burst into deep laughter, their echoes filling the room, while Falcon smiles faintly, his laughter blending with theirs. The atmosphere, once charged with tension, suddenly transforms into an unexpected celebration, as if the tension evaporated into the air, replaced by a sense of ease and relief.
Meanwhile, in a dark room with a dim lamp light.
The faint lighting added to the atmosphere of mystery. Landon sat, speaking in a low voice, as if every word carried a secret. The air in the room pulsed with tension and anxiety.
Landon: "Yes. That boy... I don't think the boss knows his identity."
His voice was low, but carried a sense of investigation or a promise yet to be fulfilled. His calmness resisted the feeling that filled the room.
Caller: "...I heard she had Yutris treat him."
The conversation slid into the air of the room gradually, with the words carrying a sense of excitement. The feeling of fear crept slowly, as if the truth was about to be revealed.
Landon: "...I don't think she planned that. Her facial expressions were genuine. I think it's because he's just a kid and hasn't confessed."
At that moment, the room became more still. Every word from Landon clung to the ears as if it were still hanging in the air, with everyone waiting for a revealing moment that could change everything.
Caller: "...Make sure the operation goes smoothly. That boy's identity must remain hidden."
The decision took shape through the caller's words, but no one knew if this plan would succeed. The room became more pressured, as if the very air carried something heavy.
Landon: "Don't worry. I heard they'll send him to Stray... and Stray's known for hating guidance."
The voice dropped suddenly, and the room became even more mysterious, as if time slowed down in that moment. Every word opened a new door of questions.
Landon: "So, I'll prepare something for him... it's not polite to send him empty-handed, right?"
The call ended, and everything returned to silence. Each moment in the room felt heavy, as if the consequences were beginning to form.