As the group made their way toward Gym #3, Tamara Morin finished sending her report to her Guild Master and the rest of the Captains.
She then sighed, hoping that Astrid Bradford could verify or clear up Alan's story.
I'll be in real trouble if I end up bringing a fraud here.
But the fact that the Headquarters had allowed Alan to enter without triggering an alarm told her everything she needed to know about his authentic status as a Shooting Star.
But if he's been in the guild from the very beginning—as long as Astrid herself—where has he been all this time?
She wanted to ask Jason his opinion, but when she looked around, he was nowhere to be found.
"We're almost there!" Marissa Laflamme said joyfully, dragging Alan by the arm. A white dome marked with a large red number 3 awaited them a few feet ahead.
Once the automatic doors slid open, the atmosphere shifted entirely. A heavy, warm, intoxicating air wrapped around Alan completely.
What is this feeling? he thought, a sudden rush of euphoria washing over him.
Brightly lit signs greeted them with motivational slogans about pushing one's limits and becoming the best version of oneself, and mannequins lined the walls, dressed in athletic outfits bearing the guild's logo—as if giving visitors a glimpse of what champions looked like.
"I can't wait to see what you have in store for us, Founder," Marissa said as she tapped on a virtual window, swapping her outfit for a black spandex bodysuit with pink lines running along her arms and legs in the blink of an eye. The brand name Shadow Veil was printed clearly across her chest. "Come on. Get ready."
Alan glanced at her self-consciously before turning to Tamara. "Hey, could we get something like that first?"
Tamara followed his gaze toward the mannequins sporting official Shooting Stars merchandise.
She narrowed her eyes before glancing at the Gift Shop. "Ah… Sure. Let me—Just a moment, please."
In the meantime, Marissa shot him a funny look.
Alan managed a mild smile back.
Five minutes later, Alan, Anastasia, and Bella crossed a curved corridor wearing matching white t-shirts featuring the Shooting Stars emblem.
These clothes have better stats than my Beginner's set, he thought, admiring his brand-new pants and white running shoes. Same goes for them.
Looking back, he admired the digital girls showing off their fair legs in gym shorts.
A bitter smile crossed his face.
Our old gear was classified as tier 1 and 2 respectively. These are tier 10, and they might as well have come out of a bargain bin.
A cold sense of dread threatened to sour his mood, but he shook his head, turned to the girls, and said, "Let's do this."
The corridor finally opened into a semi-circular ring divided by red and blue, where Marissa Laflamme was already waiting, holding a tenacious grin. A collective murmur swelled from the already-occupied stands when Alan stepped into the arena, and he recognized some of the faces from the cafeteria.
A faint scent of sweat and metal reached him, and he connected it to the intoxicating feeling from the gym's entrance. Giving one last glance at his rival, he finally understood what it meant.
This is the essence of competition.
A scoreboard flickered on the wall beside them, displaying their names and a point counter.
Alan – 0 / Marissa – 0
"Ready when you are, Founder," Marissa said from the blue side of the ring, looking as though she was heading out for a leisurely stroll in the park.
A virtual window appeared in front of Alan before he could even think of a first move.
+-----------------------------------+
Welcome to Battle Gym #3!
Standard Practice Mode.
Rules:
Both participants' levels will match. No weapons. No boosts. No spells. No special gear. No killing.Win condition: 2 out of 3 rounds.
Have fun!
+-----------------------------------+
The moment he looked away from the screen, he found Marissa right in his face.
"Come on, Founder. Let's get to know each other very well…" she whispered, a gleam of mischief in her eyes.
She threw a punch he barely managed to dodge. Sharp air whistled past his ear, and his instincts screamed that he had been attacked with a blade.
But I'm sure that wasn't the case! That was just the pressure of her fist!
"How odd," she said, before crouching and sweeping Alan's feet out from under him casually.
His world tilted as he fell flat on his back, the wind knocked out of his lungs.
"My body feels quite heavy," Marissa commented, eyes narrowed.
But Alan had no time for contemplation. A foot swung into view like a guillotine, which he blocked with his forearms. Whoa! She's strong for her slender frame!
He rolled aside and scrambled to his feet as fast as he could, but that only gave Marissa time to kick him in the stomach and hurl him three feet into the air.
"Is there something you're not telling us, Founder?" she asked in a low voice, so the audience could not hear.
When Alan looked up—fighting down the burning ache in his abs—he found bewilderment written across her face.
Long orange bangs had settled over her right eye, and yet, despite half her face being obscured, he knew exactly what she had figured out.
That I'm a fraud.
He straightened up and fell into the only martial stance he knew—a boxing style.
Marissa chuckled, a dangerous smile spreading across her face. "I told you, didn't I? That I'd know all about you just by exchanging blows!"
She dashed forward again like an arrow, leading with her head, as if daring him to punch her right in the nose.
You asked for it.
Alan heard a sharp stomp at the exact moment his fist should have connected—the sound of Marissa changing course at the last second and circling him with two nimble steps—before he could feel her breath at the back of his neck.
She whispered, "This is the part where your vision fades to black, but I'll be indulgent since we have a lot of people watching."
Something pressed against the right side of his neck—the tip of Marissa's index finger, its nail sharp enough to pass for a blade—and Alan knew it was over.
"I surrender," he said, and the System immediately picked up his voice, updating the score.
Alan – 0 / Marissa – 1
Cheers and confused groans erupted through the arena as people shared their thoughts.
"Way to go, Marissa! You're the best PVP combatant in the guild!"
"I made 50,000 gold thanks to you. That's my girl!"
"Did he go easy on her?"
"Of course not! Didn't you see him trying to land a hit?"
"So, is he a Support then?"
"Seems so. Which is kind of disappointing for the guy that literally founded this guild. You know what I mean?"
Alan chuckled bitterly at those comments, which did not go unnoticed by Marissa.
"You're not a Support. That much I can tell," she said beside him, arms crossed. "Just by watching the way you shift your weight and tense your shoulders and arms, I can even tell you're used to wielding swords. Still as an amateur, though."
She smirked at the surprise on his face.
She seems straight out of an action anime! Have the people of this world become so battle-hardened they've developed this kind of instinct?
"You could tell all that just from this brief bout?"
"Is it that hard to believe?" She tilted his chin up and studied him from head to toe. "So, what's your real deal then?"
"It's… a long story."
"Fine. Have it your way. You know, no one expects much from a Support in a one-on-one fight. So if you're okay with playing the part, I'll keep my mouth shut."
"It's not necessary," he said before nodding. "But seriously, Marissa, you're the real deal…"
"Thanks. Though you should see the monster we have as Captain in the Rogue Division. You'd kiss the floor in record time. And don't even get me started on our Guild Master—she'd blow half the arena apart, even if it's just a—"
Alan cut her off mid-sentence, grabbing her hand. "Hey, I know there are still two rounds to go, but the result would be the same, so just indulge me on something, please," he said quickly.
And this time, she became self-conscious of the height difference.
During the match, it had not been a problem to reach his neck and force him to surrender, but now she realized her forehead barely reached his chin.
"Okay, what do you have in mind?"
Alan curled his lips into a half-smile, then strode toward the NPCs waiting outside the ring. He spoke to one of them; she nodded and stepped into the arena in his place.
"You're kidding me, right?" Marissa whispered. But when the arena's scoreboard did not update the challenger's name, she narrowed her eyes.
The chosen NPC, Anastasia, performed a curtsy, even without a dress to go along with it.
The audience let their discontent be known.
An NPC stepping into a fight?
That was unheard of.
Maybe in some remote location—where a wild beast had run amok in a town whose residents had long since moved and the Developers never bothered to install a Safe Zone—maybe in a place like that, you might see NPCs fighting to protect the buildings.
But in a friendly PVP match?
Because the first and last letters of the acronym stood for Player, right?
"I'm not trying to hide anything, Marissa," Alan said from his spot behind Anastasia, drawing Marissa's attention and silencing the others. "This is just who I am."
Marissa chuckled the moment Anastasia raised her arms into a boxing stance.
"Okay, I'll play along for now, Founder," she said, charging ahead.
Anastasia threw a punch that was dodged with anticipation, replaying the earlier fight.
"I can't believe you fell for this twice," Marissa said, glancing at Alan from the corner of her eye for a fraction of a second.
She got behind Anastasia with ease and aimed for her neck—as if the maneuver were nothing more than a daily routine—but something like a hydraulic press clamped around Marissa's outstretched wrist, yanked her like a ragdoll, and drove her into the ground.
Marissa's back arched on impact, and despite the sudden disorientation, she knew exactly what to do: roll to the side and dodge.
But her wrist remained locked.
The next thing Marissa saw were the NPC's vacant violet eyes, and a heavy fist hovering inches from her nose.
A collective gasp tore through the dome, then an applause broke across the stands.
Alan approached Marissa and offered his hand.
"Un-freaking-believable," Marissa muttered, getting to her feet.
The giant scoreboard beside them updated.
Alan – 1 / Marissa – 1
Marissa stared at the result, frowning. "I don't understand."
"It's simple. They're lending me their strength," Alan said, pointing at the two NPCs. Bella waved from her spot. "The three of us are a unit."
Tamara watched the result with the same astonishment as everyone else—even though she had witnessed Bella defending her 'sister' from Jason beforehand—and found herself wondering whether Alan Warden had unlocked a Class no one had ever heard of.
A Class that lets you use NPCs like minions, the way Beast Trainers do? I'm pretty sure nothing like that exists.
She pulled up the Navinet and started searching, just in case she had missed a developer patch.
Marissa gave the scoreboard one long look and snickered. "Hey, not an excuse, but I was genuinely caught off guard. I underestimated you both. So, are you in for round three to settle this? I won't go down easy this time."
"Sure. I could use the training."
Marissa returned to the blue side of the battlefield as Anastasia shifted into her new stance—her left arm rising loosely to chest height, bent at the elbow and angled slightly across her body, while her right hung low at her side, fist lightly curled and still. Nothing about it telegraphed aggression. She simply stood there, calm and patient, like someone propping a door open with one hand while the other waited to be needed.
"A shield and a sword," Marissa whispered just by glancing at her. "That's your weapon of choice, yes?" She licked her lips.
They looked at each other, and Marissa made another realization—she was not watching Anastasia's eyes. She was watching Alan's.
So it really is you I'm fighting, Founder…
They charged at the same time.
"Fine by me!" Marissa called out, giddy.
Under normal circumstances, Marissa would never charge ahead—she would lurk in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Sword wielders were tough, and she could never compete on raw strength. Normally.
But here, Battle Gym #3 had equalized their stats—which, in the end, did not matter. Marissa's slender frame had already been shaped to be a swift dagger, or a flat-out arrow if the situation called for it.
Even with identical speed stats, Marissa's body already knew what it was: a swift killing machine.
Everyone else saw Anastasia throw a punch. In Marissa's eyes, it was the thrust of a sword.
She deflected the incoming attack by redirecting Anastasia's wrist. When that failed, Anastasia performed a 'shield bash'. Marisa braced against it with an open palm, something she would never attempt outside this place.
Come on, Founder, you can do better than that, Marissa thought, a smirk forming on her face, only for it to vanish the moment a headbutt connected.
She could not remember the last time anyone had headbutted her like that.
More like… never.
Blood ran down.
That alone—combined with the fact that she had been caught off guard again by someone she had written off as a novice just minutes ago—made her pop a vein.
With this move, you're telling me you'd do anything to win, huh.
Marissa's hands moved in rapid succession—a grab, a twist—until Anastasia's arm was wrenched behind her back in one fluid motion that drove the NPC to one knee.
Marissa planted herself behind her rival and applied steady upward pressure, threatening to pop the joint clean out of its socket.
"How are you going to get out of this one, Founder?" Marissa asked aloud as she wrenched the trapped arm an inch higher. "Are you willing to sacrifice one of her arms just to win?"
"Y-YES!"
That answer came from Anastasia, and it made Marissa frown.
As for Alan, he remained silent, watching the scene: the NPC with lavender hair tied in a high ponytail, down on one knee, straining to break free as Marissa Laflamme threatened to snap—or outright tear off—her arm.
In a world of superhumans, I genuinely believe she'd be capable of that, Alan thought, his palms growing sweaty.
"What's it going to be, Founder? Do you both surrender?" Marissa pressed, wrenching the arm higher.
An involuntary groan escaped Anastasia's lips before she said, "N-No… If the price for victory is an arm, I'll gladly pay it."
Marissa shook her head. "Whoa! Where did that come from? Relax! This is just a practice match." She then shot a glare at Alan. "Right?"
Alan's mouth went dry. He could barely find the words.
All he had to do was say surrender. Marissa was right. But a voice from the back of his head said otherwise.
"What would you do if this were a real situation? …If the day comes when you have to sacrifice one of your beloved, cute dolls, what will you decide? Faces as smooth and beautifully rendered as theirs might benefit from a scar or two… but a whole arm? Would it be worth it?"
"I…"
"Or would you freeze in place, knowing you were the one who cornered her into misery?"
"…sur—"
"You're not fooling me… You were hoping to come up with a brilliant tactic to break free, but time's up! And your anxiety is going to make you—"
"—watch her suffer," Marissa finished the sentence, her eyes going cold in a way that said, 'you'll have to learn this lesson sooner or later.'
She turned to the NPC.
The audience held their breath.
Alan's eyes went wide.
"PLEASE, DON'T—!"
Anastasia's arm produced a nasty crack that reverberated through the dome, and a second later, Bella retaliated with a knee straight to the opponent's cheek.
Marissa's head snapped to the side from the force, and she went down hard, skidding slightly as she landed on her side.
Alan blinked, still processing what had just happened, and ran into the arena.
This is the same thing that happened at the Hearty Stew—but this time I don't think I caused it.
He slid to Anastasia's side. "Are you okay?" Then turned to Marissa. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for this to—"
"I'm sorry too." Marissa sat up, touched her face, and laughed out loud. "I think I got a little carried away."
Tamara strode over and wrinkled her nose at Marissa. "No shit." She then opened her User Interface and selected a medium-grade potion. "Anastasia, drink this. It'll heal you instantly."
The NPC, teeth bared against the pain, glanced at Alan for permission.
Alan only nodded, though part of him wanted to remind her she was allowed to make her own choices.
After drinking it, her HP returned to green, and an invisible force snapped her arm back into place. The bone knit itself together in under five seconds.
Alan exhaled. "Thanks, Tamara."
"You're welcome." She offered a brief smile, then shot a glare at Marissa—who ignored her and extended a hand to Alan.
"No hard feelings?"
"None," he said immediately, shaking it.
Outside, an impatient figure did not wait for her winged beast to land and jumped down. Three cobblestones cracked beneath her feet without her noticing, for her gaze was already locked on Gym #3.
She ran immediately, ignoring the people greeting her.
Her heart was pounding like the first time she had faced her first Boss.
No, this doesn't compare. I wasn't that nervous back then, because I had him by my side.
Even so, she entered the building with sweaty palms and a ragged breath.
She could not bring herself to walk through the backstage halls—it would feel endless, and she had no patience for that right now—so she barged through the audience area and craned her neck from behind the bleachers.
Oh…
Her chest ached when she saw the person she had flown toward at full speed.
How long had it been?
Five years, six months, and three days—but who's counting?
And for a fraction of a second, she did not recognize him.
He still had that unmistakably reddish hair, but it had grown considerably. Did he seem slightly taller? She could not tell from that distance, but something about his shoulders told her he had filled out a little.
Those were the only differences she could make out from where she stood.
As if sensing a new pair of eyes on him, he glanced toward the bleachers—and she slipped back behind the bleachers in a panic, suddenly self-conscious about how she looked.
I must be drenched in monster blood!
She pulled up a virtual window that served as a mirror, only to observe blue streaks running through her hair--Jötnarkungen's blood.
Shit! I should've showered first!
"Gear!" she hissed under her breath, and a gallery of equippable clothing expanded before her. The Makeup menu flashed at the top.
(What's your mood today?) the menu asked her privately.
"Something to cover my head, and get rid of these stains. Quick!" she said, peeking around at the arena.
(Understood. Choosing… 'Fishing Hat' and 'Tundra Princess' makeup preset.)
"W-Wait, NO!"
The grime smeared across her cheeks and forehead—courtesy of monster entrails—was wiped away automatically as blue lipstick and indigo eyeshadow materialized on her face, and the randomly selected hat settled onto her head.
"'Tundra'—?! Why is this preset still in here? I only used it for that stupid Halloween costume, you absolute—!"
"Hey," a male voice called from behind her.
She turned slowly, finding Alan Warden standing right beside her.
Oh, my goddess… He really is taller now.
"Um… hello," she replied in a quiet voice, peeking up at him from under the fishing hat.
Both stayed quiet—as did the rest of the attendees in Battle Gym #3.
Had time stopped in The Novus, the result of some unforeseen glitch?
It really seemed that way.
Or was it only happening here, caused by the two of them?
Say something, Bradford.
"W-Welcome back, A—"
He hugged her.
Alan Warden—the supposed founder of the hundred-man guild—hugged the Guild Master as if they were old friends. Something no one would dare.
Later that day, when witnesses recounted the moment to others, they would say: "I genuinely thought Astrid was going to shove the guy off and punch him straight through the wall all the way to the Big Beth. But no! She just stood there, rigid and stiff as a fish stick."
It did not help that Alan murmured, "I missed you so much," in her ear.
When they finally separated and Astrid looked up at him with a flushed face, she caught sight of the commotion already building around them: whispers, stares, jealous expressions, judging gazes, nodding heads, dumb smiles, furrowed brows.
Astrid shot a glare at everyone, grabbed Alan's hand, and said, "Come with me." Then she pulled him toward the exit, called her winged lion, hopped on, and flew far away from the noise of the guild, leaving the two NPCs behind.
The demonstration had finally ended, and it had left behind a few revelations: Yes, Astrid knew the guy—far too well, some might say—so he was the real deal. And secondly, he possessed a skill no one had ever heard of until now.
And there was one more guild member who had watched the match with great curiosity.
A certain pyromancer sat at the very back row of the bleachers, legs crossed, one elbow propped on her knee, chin resting on her fist. She snickered as she rewatched the fight, automatically recorded by the gym.
"Using NPCs for battle?" she said. "What a joke…"