The screen was still glowing in front of him.
Casting its light across his face like a spotlight on failure.
The fight was already over, their names replaced by the next two combatants.
The crowd's roaring energy had shifted to the new match, the announcer's voice filling the Losers' Lounge with a booming, exaggerated excitement.
Kael heard none of it.
His eyes were fixed on the screen, but they weren't watching anything.
His mind was somewhere else.
Spiraling in slow, broken fragments, he uttered.
Huh?
We lost?
That quickly?
He blinked, his eyes dry, the confusion lingering in his expression.
His jaw was slightly open, not enough to be called shock, but enough to show he hadn't fully processed it yet.
"Even if I didn't prestige…we still would've lost."
The thought hit harder than he expected. His hands rested on his knees, but he could feel his fingertips curl slightly.
That wasn't just a fight. It wasn't even a contest.
It was… a slaughter.
The announcer's voice grew louder in the background, his tone climbing higher as the current fighters exchanged blows, but Kael didn't hear the words.
His thoughts looped, slow at first, then tightening into an obsessive spiral.
A mix of perceptiveness and bitterness seeped in.
That was supposed to be me.
The one who wipes opponents out before they can blink.
The rising star.
The one they whisper about when I leave the arena.
Instead, he was the one people were laughing about.
The one who couldn't even move fast enough to react.
A tight, hot feeling pressed in his chest.
Jealousy. Pride. Shame.
He had taken losses before. He'd lost his two best friends in a dungeon — a pain he thought had taught him what defeat felt like.
But this?
No. This was different.
Or atleast in the moment it was.
That boy — that stranger with the cold stare and the dagger — wasn't just stronger.
He wasn't just better trained or more experienced.
He was everything Kael thought he was supposed to be. And better.
What's worse was…
He looked younger than Kael.
Kael's lips pressed into a thin line, his expression slowly tightening.
The corners of his brows twitched downward. His breathing was steady — too steady — like he was trying not to let it break into something more visible.
No. No. There's no way.
Then—
~ Click!
The quiet crack of fingers snapping jolted through the noise.
Even through the announcer's booming voice, even through the distant roar of the crowd, that single, sharp click cut straight into Kael's focus.
He turned slightly. Lunara stood beside him, her eyes calm, her expression unreadable. Without saying a word, she pulled out her phone, tapped the screen, and held it out to him.
The display showed their opponents' profiles — what little was public.
Both were legends.
Legends rarely displayed their rank. All you knew for certain was that they were over level 150. Beyond that… you could only guess.
"That boy was easily level 200,"
Lunara said, her tone steady, almost casual. She let out a short sigh, then shrugged.
"We stood no chance to begin with."
The words were meant to soften the blow. They didn't.
Kael stayed still, his eyes flicking over the screen but not really reading anything.
He heard her voice, but his brain refused to absorb it.
Yes, they had lost. Yes, he'd been beaten before.
But this…
This was the kind of loss that carved itself into your ribs.
He thought of the shows he'd watched — the ones about unstoppable heroes with overpowered abilities, the ones where raw talent crushed years of experience.
He'd believed that when he got his power, his path would be the same. A steady climb through the ranks. Victory after victory.
He thought with prestige, that he was unstoppable.
But that kid?
That kid could hit level 200 before Kael could even reach the 60's!?
No no no...
Infact, he probably hit that level years ago. And only now was demonstrating his abilities.
A true prodigy.
That bitter taste at the back of his throat wasn't just defeat. It was humiliation.
"Younger, faster, stronger. Gimmie a break will ya'."
At that moment, Kael thought back to all the comments he had received in the past.
"Two legends, and that's their son?"
"Could've swear he was atleast level 50 by now."
"What a waste of potential."
"What a waste....
Of space."
...
Without a word, Kael pushed himself up from the seat.
His movements were sharp, deliberate. He stormed out of the lounge, his pace quick enough to make the people nearby step aside.
Lunara didn't move at first. She'd seen him angry before — frustrated, impatient, cocky.
But this wasn't the same.
She caught up to him just as he reached the main exit of the Colosseum.
"Yo, you good?" She asked, her voice light, almost playful.
She'd chosen the words on purpose, expecting him to fall back into his usual cocky pose, maybe throw out a sarcastic retort.
But he didn't.
He didn't even look at her.
Instead, his eyes were on the floor, his tone flat.
"Lunara… I'm taking a break."
There was no weight to the words. No anger. No fire.
Just emptiness.
"A week's worth break."
"Oh… okay, ha ha."
The laugh was fake, and the words were forced with a playful tone, but it was the best she could manage.
Kael walked out into the open air. The sky above the Colosseum was clear, but in his head, everything felt overcast.
His motivation, had dropped back to 0.
---
Back home, his room was silent.
Kael lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His eyes didn't blink often.
His thoughts refused to slow.
I need to replicate that movement.
That blur. That instant kill. That impossible speed.
But how?
He knew the answer before he even asked himself.
In this world, being a prodigy was the closest thing to being a legend. The only difference was that prodigies had room to improve.
Legends didn't.
Legends had already filled that room to overflowing.
Kael wasn't even close to his end goal.
He wasn't on the same floor, let alone the same building.
He rolled onto his side, pulling his pillow close. His arms tightened around it.
It was quiet in his room. Too quiet.
The first tear hit without warning, hot against his cheek.
He shut his eyes, pressing his face into the pillow. His shoulders trembled, breath uneven.
He curled into himself, knees pulled up, holding the pillow like it could keep the thoughts away.
But they didn't stop.
They looped, over and over, stabbing into the same wound.
His own thoughts began to turn against him.
Insecurities mixed with the harsh truth, merged together with past trauma, Turned his thought process into a mush of bitterness and despair.
You're nothing compared to him.
You're too slow.
You're just a newbie.
You've always been.
...A burden...
Aren't you ashamed?
If you were a higher level than your friends, they wouldn't have died.
But you chose to be lazy. You caused this.
Its..
All.
Your.
Fault.
You'll never reach their level.
Don't even think, about becoming a legend.
... you'll only disappoint yourself...
... again...
Your nothing but a fraud.
Your parents must be so proud of you.
...For killing your friends...
Oh but you tried to cover it up with a weak partnership with a new doll?
Lunara was it?
She'll die too.
"She won't!"
She will... And how exactly do you plan to stop that from happening, at such a low level.
_
—
.Your bound.
.. To repeat..
...Your same...
.... Mistakes....
—
–
The pillow muffled the sound, but it didn't hide the truth.
That night, Kael cried harder than he had since that F class dungeon, infact.
He cried harder than he ever did in his entire life.
It wasn't grief. It wasn't rage.
No...
It was a mix of all of it combined.
He was stuck in a suffocating weight of knowing exactly where he stood — and how far he had to go.
Both his past and present mistakes replayed in his head that night.
Over and over...
It was worse than a nightmare.
No...
It was worse than death.