"Will Fafnir be the one to train my partner?" Ddraig asked, his curiosity piqued.
Makoto simply shook his head. Before Irumi could ask more, she gestured for him to follow. "It doesn't matter! Come on, senpai! Kiba showed me the place where he usually trains, it's perfect—"
Instead of following her, Makoto reached out and gently placed a hand on her shoulder, stopping her.
"We need a better place." Without further explanation, he retrieved the Velvet Key.
The familiar blue door materialized against the wall of the music room. He pushed it open and stepped through. After a moment's stunned hesitation, Irumi followed, her eyes wide with wonder.
The world shifted into the endless blue of the Velvet Room. Irumi spun slowly, taking in the ornate bars, the plush velvet seats, and the two attentive residents. "What... what is this place?" she breathed, her voice a hushed whisper.
"The Velvet Room," Makoto answered simply. He didn't stop, leading her past a curious Elizabeth and an equally curious Ryoji, towards amore imposing door at the room's far end—the entrance to Tartarus.
"There is a better place we can use."
Irumi, too awestruck to question him, simply nodded and followed. The second door opened not onto a street, but into a vast, shadowy lobby with a blood-red carpet and a impossibly tall ceiling. The air hummed with a strange, oppressive energy.
As they began their ascent, moving through the twisted, shifting architecture of the Tziah Block, Irumi's amazement only grew. She gazed, stupefied, at the impossible geometry, the floating platforms, and the eerie, green-tinged light.
"Okay," she finally said, a half-nervous, half-exhilarated laugh escaping her. "This is... definitely better than the place Kiba uses."
They arrived at a large, empty platform, suspended in the dizzying heights of the tower. It was perfectly isolated, utterly indestructible, and completely private.
"Ddraig," Irumi said, addressing the gauntlet. "What's the plan? What do we do?"
"The plan is simple," Ddraig replied, his voice taking on a gruff, instructional tone. "Fafnir fights you. Combat is the purest, most effective crucible for a dragon's growth. It forces adaptation, power, and understanding."
Irumi's confident expression vanished, replaced by sheer panic. "What? I can't fight a dragon! Not yet! He'll vaporize me!"
Ddraig's laughter boomed from the jewel. "I would have given anything to have a dragon spar with a partner of mine without it trying to rip his soul out. Now that we have this chance, do not waste it. Makoto Yuki, you may summon Fafnir."
'Iii can go! Leeeet me at him!' Fafnir screeched, his consciousness straining against Makoto's will, eager to manifest.
But another presence intervened. 'It is my task to teach the Magician proper form and her boisterous partner some respect,' Kohryu stated, a rare note of sternness in his usually placid voice. Ddraig's presumptuous ordering had irked the great dragon. 'Universe, you may observe. I will handle the instruction.'
Makoto nodded. "Kohryu."
The air behind him shimmered with a brilliant, golden light.
"I am Thou. Thou art I. From the Universe in thy soul I am born. The earth is my body. Water, air, metal, and fire are my domain. I am balance and order incarnate. I am equilibrium and harmony. I am Kohryu, the Yellow Dragon, and as such, the faithful warden of the Universe."
The magnificent, serpentine form of Huang Long materialized, coiling in the air above them. His golden scales gleamed, and his presence filled the vast space with a sense of immense, ancient, and utterly calm power.
"Well, Ddraig," Irumi said, a hint of teasing in her voice as she looked at the gauntlet. "It seems it won't be your 'buddy' training us after all."
She waited for a retort. None came. "Ddraig?" she asked, looking at the green gem. It was silent. "Hello?"
"What is the problem, whelp?" Kohryu asked hiding his amusement behind his wise appearance, his voice a calm rumble that nonetheless vibrated with immense authority.
When Ddraig finally spoke, his voice was not the proud boom Irumi was used to. It was hushed, reverent, and laced with something she had never heard from him before: awe, and a touch of fear.
"This is... impossible. I don't believe it. I can't believe it. Even acknowledging you are from another world... Even if it makes a terrible, logical sense... The original Huang Long. The third dragon god..."
Irumi blinked. "Dragon god? What does that mean?"
"It doesn't concern me, Magician. Nothing more for now," Kohryu said, his tone shifting to one of a patient tutor. "You are here to learn. I am here to teach."
As he spoke, his colossal form dissolved into a shower of golden motes, which reformed into the figure of an old man with kind eyes and a simple straw hat. He adjusted his hat and stepped closer. "I expect your full cooperation in this, Y Ddraig Goch. Is that understood?"
The reply from the Boosted Gear was immediate and utterly deferential. "It would be my honor."
Irumi looked at the old man, then down at her silent gauntlet, a wave of concern washing over her. "Thank you, sir," she said, her voice automatically dipping into a tone of great respect, influenced by Ddraig's shocking behavior.
Kohryu waved a gentle, dismissive hand. "Please, please. I am humbled, Magician, but you need not use such a formal tone with me. We are here to work together." His kindness was genuine, and Irumi felt a wave of relief soothe her nerves.
'Ddraig, I don't get it. Why are you so scared? He seems like a kind old man,' she mentally whispered, hiding a smile.
'Partner...' Ddraig's mental voice was deadly serious. 'In our world, dragons are the pinnacle of strength. And the absolute strongest among us are the Dragon Gods. Great Red, who drifts in the Gap. Ophis, the Infinite Dragon God... and the Huang Long, at least until he was killed in a battle against the other two. The Shinto pantheon tried to resurrect their creator, but they only managed to summon a pale ghost, a shadow of his true power—something now wielded as a mere beast.'
He paused, and Irumi could feel the genuine terror in his thoughts.
'Nothing can stand between clashing dragons. I know this isn't our Huang Long. I felt the same with Fafnir. But this one... his power is serene, absolute. He feels... even stronger.'
Irumi decided to table the cosmic horror for later. She bowed deeply to the old man before her. "I'm in your care, Master Kohryu!"
The training that followed was a masterclass in discipline. Kohryu was a phenomenal teacher—patient, insightful, and impeccably organized. He balanced theory with practice perfectly. He studied the flow of power within the Boosted Gear, correcting Irumi's stance, her breathing, the way she channeled her will. He taught her how to feel the "boost" not as a wild surge, but as a controlled, building wave.
"That gauntlet is a truly formidable weapon," Kohryu commented after observing her execute a technique.
"Its potential for growth is nearly limitless." He then turned to Makoto, who had been observing quietly from the side. "Universe, I have an idea to help the Magician visualize her opponent. A training tool."
He delved back into the shared consciousness of Makoto's soul.
'These "Sacred Gears" function on concepts of desire and embodiment, similar in principle to Nihil weapons. I believe you could craft a facsimile for sparring,' Kohryu suggested.
'The thought had occurred to me as well,' Apollo's voice chimed in, eager and proud. 'Allow the magnificent Apollo to bestow upon you my brilliance, Universe! Behold!'
A warmth spread over Makoto's right hand. The air shimmered, and a glove materialized on his hand. It was crafted from a soft, supple violet silk, intricately embroidered with delicate gold threads that formed swirling solar patterns.
Thin, elegant gold chains secured it snugly to his wrist and forearm. At the center of the palm, a bright crimson Greek letter Omega glowed with a gentle, warm light.
"What is that, senpai?" Irumi asked, stepping closer to examine the beautiful and suddenly appearing garment.
"I think it's a Sacred Gear equivalent," Makoto said, flexing his fingers experimentally. The silk felt incredibly comfortable, moving with his skin like a second layer.
'I know, I know. You can call me Apollo the Stylist himself,' the god hummed, immensely proud of his creation. 'It needs a name, something worthy! Let us call it... Python! To honor my glorious deed of defeating that monstrous serpent!'
'Your ability to name things is even more lacking than your humility,' Odin commented dryly. A brief, familiar argument erupted among the Personas, which Makoto promptly tuned out.
He and Irumi began to spar. Makoto, channeling Apollo's immense prowess in ancient pankratium and armed with his experience from training with Akihiko Sanada, was a surprisingly effective combat instructor.
He showed Irumi how to pivot her hips into a punch, how to distribute her weight, how to use the "boost" to enhance her speed at the moment of impact rather than just her raw power. The Pyro Alpha glove—a name settled upon after a heated debate involving Apollo, Odin, and an enthusiastically opinionated Jack Frost—responded perfectly, its glow intensifying with his focus, mimicking the emotional response of a true Sacred Gear.
For thirty intense minutes, they trained. Irumi pushed herself relentlessly, her determination fueled by grief and a thirst for strength. Finally, her body gave out. With a gasp, her legs buckled, and she collapsed onto the cool, strange floor of Tartarus, breathing in ragged, heavy gulps of air, sweat plastering her hair to her forehead.
"Thanks, senpai," she panted, raising a trembling hand in a gesture of surrender. "But I'm done. Totally... completely... done."