Charles trudged down the stairs with his shoulders slumped. The second his foot hit the hallway, the scrawny man greeted him with a death glare.
He didn't say a word this time, just pointed at the filthy wall with a sharp gesture and tossed the damp rag at him. Charles caught it mid-air and, without a peep, got to work.
The rest of the morning blurred by in a haze of effort and sweat. He scrubbed walls, hauled buckets of grimy water, and swept a floor caked with dirt and pebbles.
The man didn't help much—just barked orders and griped every time Charles missed a spot.
By the time they finished, the sun was high, and Charles's arms felt like lead.
He was wiped out, but at least they'd knocked out most of it.
Lunchtime rolled around. Charles trailed the scrawny man, who was speed-walking toward a wider hallway.
He had no clue where they were headed, but figured sticking close might score him some food and a breather.
They reached the entrance to a rustic dining hall—long wooden tables and the smell of fresh-baked bread wafting through the air.
Charles's stomach growled, but before he could step inside, a hand stopped him cold.
"What're you doing here, Rian?" said a burly guy blocking the doorway. He had a scruffy beard and a grease-stained gray tunic. His eyes raked over Charles with disgust.
Charles blinked, thrown off. He pointed at the scrawny man, who was already slipping into the hall.
"Came with him. Been working all morning."
The guy let out a low, rumbling laugh.
"Working? You?" He leaned in, his breath reeking of stale beer. "Forget your place, trash? Clan leader banned you from the dining hall 'til everyone's done eating. Direct order. So get outta my sight."
Charles frowned.
"So where do I go?" he asked, trying to keep his cool.
The guy shrugged with a mocking grin.
"That's your problem, not mine. Beat it."
Charles ground his teeth but didn't argue. He turned and walked off, hunger gnawing at his gut.
'What kinda place is this where everyone's so damn cranky…?' he thought.
As he wandered, Charles considered heading back to the arena to catch a fight and figure out more about this world.
But Lira and Kain's words flashed through his head.
'Crap,' Charles thought with a sigh.
He wasn't ready to risk running into them again—not yet.
Instead, he veered down a side hallway and stumbled into a small enclosed courtyard. In the center stood a simple fountain, water trickling from a carved stone.
It was odd seeing something like that in such a rough, dusty place, but at least he was alone.
Charles stepped up to the fountain and checked his reflection in the water. His hair was short and black, like Lira and Kain's, and his eyes were a sharp blue.
It was the first time he'd seen Rian Cole's face—back in the boss fight, it'd been too scruffy and beat-up to make out.
With no one around, Charles decided to test something. He dropped to the ground and started doing push-ups.
One, two, five, ten… he hit twenty and barely felt winded, even after working all morning.
Charles grinned to himself.
"Not bad," he muttered.
In real life, he'd be lucky to hit ten before face-planting.
Feeling pumped, Charles mixed it up.
Diamond push-ups, hands together in a triangle. Then one-arm push-ups, balancing with a leg for support.
To his shock, Rian's body handled it like a champ.
Muscles flexed, but no panting, no shaking.
"This guy's ripped!" he said under his breath, chuckling a bit. "Maybe I should try that…"
Charles flipped into a handstand, bracing his feet against a wall near the fountain, and started doing push-ups upside down.
One, two, three… he was about to hit five when voices cut him off.
"Rian Cole!"
Charles dropped his feet to the ground and turned, still smirking. Two guys were closing in, both wearing tunics like Lira and Kain's, with blue trim hinting at some rank.
They had brown hair and dark eyes, and their faces were twisted with anger.
Charles sighed.
"What do you want?" he asked, standing up and brushing off his hands. He wasn't in the mood for more lectures.
The guy on the left—taller, with a scar on his cheek—stepped forward.
"How dare you talk to us like that, trash?" he said, his voice quivering with outrage. "What, no bowing now? Who do you think you are?"
The shorter one, just as mad, nodded.
"We warned you before, Rian. This spot's ours. You can't train here doing your dumb push-ups. Get lost!"
Charles let out a long, tired sigh.
"Fine, I'm going," he said, raising his hands in surrender.
He took a step to leave, but the tall guy stopped him, planting a hand on his chest and trying to shove him back.
This time, Charles reacted. He dug his back foot in and didn't budge an inch.
The guy frowned, clearly caught off guard.
"What? You gonna fight back?" he asked, his voice getting louder.
The shorter one edged in from the side, fists clenched.
"You've always been a smartass, Rian. Guess we'll have to teach you again."
Charles gritted his teeth.
Their hostile vibe was getting old, but he noticed something else.
His heart was racing—not from fear, but something different. A weird energy was starting to buzz through him.
Charles could feel a kind of static building at his fingertips.
It was strange, but not bad.
For a second, Charles's mind went fuzzy. A memory that wasn't his hit him out of nowhere.
Rian, in this same courtyard, getting pummeled by these two. Punches to the gut, kicks to the legs, while he just raised his arms to block.
Rian never fought back.
Charles blinked, confused.
'Why didn't he fight?' he thought.
These guys didn't seem that tough—no intimidating vibe like Lira or Kain.
They were… just basic bullies.
The static in Charles's fingers spiked, and his body felt primed to move.
Should he fight like Charles? Or back off like Rian?