At first, his brain couldn't process it.
He simply kept glaring at Hector with raw, unadulterated hatred, wanting to etch every line of the man's face, every disdainful crease of his expression, into the deepest, darkest corners of his soul.
Slowly, the words began to register, but he still didn't react.
He understood what each word meant individually, yet he didn't dare believe what they meant when put together.
No, it wasn't that he couldn't understand—he was just terrified to hope. It hadn't been long since he had lost his arm, but the sheer weight of this sudden, permanent loss already felt unbearable.
He couldn't fathom living out the rest of his life as a broken remnant.
So, even though the promise came from Hector—the very monster indirectly responsible for his agonizing suffering—even though he knew he shouldn't trust a single syllable, and even though he knew whatever remedy existed wouldn't be free, simple, or kind... despite all of it, Gil just couldn't stop that tiny spark of hope from igniting inside his chest.
Maybe, just maybe, his life wasn't permanently broken.
Even as he hated himself for such pathetic weakness, Gil couldn't stop that tiny spark of hope from taking root.
Responding to the subtle, internal shift within him, the sphere—which had begun to darken into absolute, abyssal black—slowly reversed its terrifying transformation.
The pitch-black shadows dissolved, fading back into a deep, blood-red hue. Bit by bit, the crimson receded as well, giving way to its original warm, golden glow.
Finally, as if acknowledging that the immediate life-or-death threat had passed, the sphere simply faded away into nothingness.
Even if Gil refused to admit it out loud, he was hanging on Hector's every word.
But even as that fragile hope flickered to life, a small, cold, sober voice in the back of his mind urged him to stay on guard.
Have you already forgotten who put you in this state?
It's painfully clear this guy has bad intentions for you.
Did you forget what his intent felt like ?
Those restraints ?
Regardless of what he says, never forget that this man does not wish you well.
Seeing that his words had produced the desired psychological effect, Hector stepped back slightly and began to speak aloud, his voice echoing in the ruined room.
"Alright, now that you're calmer, listen closely. If you want to get back what you lost," he said, casting a casual glance at Gil's empty sleeve, "well, you're going to have to do a lot more than this. Oh, don't worry—I'm not going to ask you how you managed to kill that beast. There'd be no fun in you just giving me the answer. I'd rather figure it out myself. In short, you'll have to prove that it wasn't just a stroke of luck, and that you can be more than just... this."
Gil's expression tightened, unable to hide his growing unease.
Hector, noticing the subtle shift in the boy's eyes, chuckled wickedly. "What? You didn't actually think it was over after that arena bout, did you?"
Gil's face darkened further.
Of course it wasn't over.
A place like this would never let anyone go that easily.
"No, it doesn't stop here," Hector continued smoothly. "All you and the others have done so far is prove that something can still be made out of you. Now, if you want to recover what you've lost—and perhaps even gain more..."
He flared his blue-and-black aura once again, heavy, dense, and suffocating enough to make the air vibrate.
"...then you're going to have to show that your value surpasses everyone else's."
Gil had to force himself not to violently clench his jaw at those words.
Show my worth? Go to hell! Go straight to hell!
Gil wanted nothing more than to scream it right into the man's face, to throw another frantic rampage and unleash every bit of fury burning inside his soul.
Not content with taking his arm, these people were still unsatisfied—they wanted even more from him.
And the absolute worst part was that he had no choice but to play their sick, twisted game if he ever wanted to reclaim what had been brutally taken from him.
Being acutely, painfully aware of his own powerlessness only made his mood grow infinitely darker.
Sensing that nothing else he said would sink into the enraged young man's head for now, Hector simply turned on his heel.
Hands tucked casually behind his back, he called out over his shoulder as he strode toward the ruined doorway:
"Well, it seems you're not quite ready to do what needs to be done. Ah, whatever! I've got all the time in the world. Good luck! And try not to die too easily. After all, I've got my eyes on you now. It'd be such a shame."
With those final, mocking words, he walked out before Gil could even attempt a verbal response.
Gil was left alone in the destroyed medical bay with his spiraling thoughts, his heart completely exhausted.
He genuinely didn't know what to do.
Unbidden, hot tears began to pool in his eyes, but he forced them back with everything he had, adamantly refusing to yield to weakness in this place.
Raising his remaining arm to cover his face, he retreated deep into his mind, paralyzed by the harrowing choice before him: play along with these monsters, or live out the rest of his existence as a broken, incomplete remnant.
He had no answer.
Meanwhile, out in the quiet corridor, the picture of absolute composure Hector had displayed moments ago vanished completely.
He leaned back heavily against a stone pillar, his face significantly paler than before, his expression turning dangerously dark.
What the hell did that kid do?
Though he would never admit it to Gil, Hector hadn't come out of that desperate energy barrage entirely unscathed.
It hadn't felt like a physical strike, either.
Spiritual?
Psychic?
Something tied directly to the mind ?
In that quiet moment, all trace of casual amusement and nonchalance vanished from his demeanor.
For the first time, he reconsidered whether he had made the right call. The damage Gil had managed to inflict was minuscule—hardly a handicap, something his formidable physique would naturally heal before the day was even over.
But the sheer fact that a one-armed brat could bypass his physical defenses and harm him at all spoke volumes.
Is this really worth the trouble?
Hector questioned himself, his brow furrowing deep in thought.
He wasn't blind.
He had seen the raw, consuming, predatory hatred burning in the kid's eyes back in that room.
The moment Gil grew strong enough, Hector knew exactly who those newly sharpened fangs would tear into first.
For a split second, a dark impulse crossed his mind, hesitation lingering as he contemplated turning right back around to finish the job and end Gil once and for all.
Then, slowly, a sinister, twisted smirk stretched across his face.
After all... isn't that exactly what I want ? The stronger he gets, the better it works out for me.
Reclaiming his usual nonchalant swagger, he straightened his posture and continued down the dimly lit hallway.
Along the way, he ran into a masked, hooded figure belonging to one of the organization's lower factions—someone who seemed to immediately recognize him and stopped in their tracks.
"Oh, it's you, kid," Hector greeted casually, stepping aside. "I take it you're here for those three? Go right ahead. Two of them are still out cold, and the other one's awake. Just make sure you do a clean job—and if there's any trouble, come find me directly."
"...Yes, sir," the masked figure responded after a short silence, bowing his head slightly.
Hector looked down at the masked youth for a brief moment before faintly shaking his head, a subtle flicker of pity passing through his eyes.
That one isn't bad either. It's just a pity that his state of mind is... already broken.