The gym was empty, save for rows of workout machines. Only one person remained inside. A bucket of water sat on the floor, and with a mop in hand, he began cleaning the floor.
Reaching a weight bench surrounded by dumbbells, his head turned in every direction. His eyes confirmed he was alone. He lay down on the bench, dumbbells in hand. He did five bench presses. He stood up—five squats. Then he reorganized everything before continuing his cleaning work.
When he reached the pull-up station, he repeated the same pattern, knocking out a few pull-ups. Leg press, lat pulldown, shoulder press... As soon as he reached a machine, he took advantage of it, completing a few reps before returning to his cleaning.
Two individuals walked past the gym. The gaze of the one with the square jaw lingered on the silhouette inside. A smirk tugged at his lips.
"Speak of the devil... there he is."
"So that's him?" replied the round-jawed one.
They walked past the gym, passing a silhouette standing against the wall right next to the entrance—arms crossed, one foot propped against the wall.
Round-jaw continued: "If he can't level up, why is he trying so hard?"
Square-jaw clasped both hands behind his head.
"Hmm, you don't even want to know the worst part. Heh. Stick around until tonight, and I'll show you how we make easy money."
Their voices faded away.
The silhouette by the entrance remained motionless for a moment, eyes fixed on the gym. Then, it vanished into the shadows of the hallway.
***
That evening, inside a training room—large, spacious, and mostly empty—three individuals were gathered. The young teenager and the two men from earlier.
The teenager pulled out his phone, tapped the screen, and slid it back into his pocket.
"You were saying?"
Square-jaw shifted his gaze from the pocket to the boy's face.
"I was saying that I have a technique for you. If you want, I can show it to you for a hundred credits."
Round-jaw, shocked, turned to him and whispered: "What technique are you talking about for a hundred credits?!"
"Shut up and watch."
"A technique?" the boy asked calmly.
Their gazes locked for a moment, then: "Alright. Show me."
Square-jaw stepped forward and began a series of combinations.
The silhouette, leaning against the wall near the entrance, observed. The teenager didn't blink. His eyes followed every single movement without missing a beat. His pupils darted sharply in their sockets.
Is he trying to memorize the technique just by seeing it once? the silhouette wondered, perplexed.
After the demonstration ended, the teenager showed his phone screen. The other man scanned it with a hidden smile. Then, he and his sidekick walked out.
"See? That's what I call easy money, haha."
"How is that possible? Is he obsessed with techniques?"
"Apparently. He pays when you show him a technique, even if it's a mediocre one."
"Isn't he afraid of getting ripped off?"
"Don't even think about it. He's very good at gathering evidence and reporting you to the Guild."
"So is he smart or stupid?"
"Who knows? Might be because of his past."
"Should we call him the 'Technician'?"
"Haha, that's a good one. It actually fits him perfectly."
Their voices died out, even to the keen ears of the hidden expert.
He cast his gaze back into the room. The teenager stood frozen for a moment, unmoving. Then he began. He started repeating the combo he had just been shown. Even if it wasn't quite there yet.
He repeated the same sequence over and over. Then, after a while, the silhouette's eyes widened. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Unbelievable! In just a few minutes, he can perfectly replicate a technique he saw only once. It's truly impressive. But...
The expert's eyes locked onto a misplaced foot that broke the rhythm. A poorly turned torso that exposed his flank to an enemy attack. Hands held too low, leaving his head wide open.
But... the technique itself was filled with flaws from the very start. And the guy who demonstrated it didn't even master it.
A faint smile touched the expert's lips. Interesting. His foot lifted. Let me guide you a little, then.
Suddenly, his foot froze mid-air. The expert froze too.
What... what is he doing?!
His wide eyes, locked onto the boy, couldn't believe what they were seeing.
The overextended foot, which broke the rhythm of the original technique, was becoming a perfect anchor for a torso pivot, followed by a sweeping curved attack.
Is he correcting the errors?
His eyebrows furrowed.
No, that's not it...
The poorly turned torso, which exposed the flank to an attack, was becoming a natural trap. It baited the opponent into an obvious, easy target. And in that obviousness, the enemy would rush their movement, overcommitting—and that's where the void awaited them.
The lowered hands, which left the head exposed, now made it untouchable. Because the eyes, freed from the obstruction of a guard, saw wider and farther. And the hands could drive up faster from below, propelled by the very momentum of the enemy's own strike.
He wasn't correcting the errors. He was feeding off them to set a lethal trap. Even if he was doing it unconsciously.
A bead of sweat rolled down the expert's temple.
The flaws are so grotesque that even I would have fallen for the bait.
He covered his mouth with his hand. "Haa..."
The sound escaped him. Remedy spun around instantly.
"Who's there?!"
The silhouette ducked back behind the wall. Oops!
Silence.
Then, a voice spoke from behind the wall: "Your posture was bad."
Remedy froze, staring at the doorway.
The silhouette stepped out from behind the wall and walked into the training room.
He was slightly older than Remedy. A lean, athletic build, a pendant around his neck. Mid-length brown hair tied back, a scar through his eyebrow. A large coat concealed two short sabers worn on a crossed belt.
Their eyes met. The stranger's eyes carried the exact same weariness as his own.
The young man stepped toward him. "Your technique is impressive. You managed to take a mediocre style you saw only once and turn it into a new one, filled with traps."
The teenager remained silent.
"But it still needs to be polished to be perfect."
He reached his hands behind his back and drew both sabers from their scabbards. The blades traced a twin arc through the air before his hands caught the hilts firmly.
"Watch closely!"
Then, he began executing the new version of the technique the boy had just performed.
His foot stepped forward, exposing his chest, before he pivoted sharply to the side as if dodging a direct attack. Then his saber carved through the air from the side, rising into a fluid, razor-sharp slash.
The boy's eyes stayed locked on him, watching the technique performed with breathtaking precision and fluidity.
"That's how it's done..."
With a flick of his wrists, the sabers spun once more, and he slotted them back into their sheaths. He turned toward the door.
"Your name is Remedy, right?"
"Y-yes!"
The expert began walking out.
"You're good with techniques. If you want to learn more, come see me."
Remedy watched him walk away. "What is your name?"
"Me?!" He paused at the doorway. "Call me..."
A snap of Remedy's fingers broke right in front of the man's face.
"Hello!"
Soren blinked back to reality. A faint smile followed.
"Ah, my bad. You've gotten fast enough to grab my arm now. It just brought back a few memories," Soren stated.
End of chapter 8