Days 8–11: The Hunter Simulations Begin

  The group refocused. Freedom had a taste now and it was like blood and rust.

  The first spar was a brutal reintroduction: Rizaru versus the five of them, her raw instincts allowing her to mimic fighting styles and tactics as described in the intelligence.

  She’d already run them through Kota’s aggressive, heavy-hitting style and Lucious's predatory fast style.

  The next round, she shifted. Her movements became fluid, Delnora's style—fluid, evasive, spatially aware

  But Dozai realized, It was less mimicry and more Rizaru’s own brutal efficiency, using the Hunter's described tactics as a framework to dismantle them.

  A kick snapped at Kenny's knee, a punch kissed the air by Nobu's temple. She zigzagged across the mock arena, a whirlwind of controlled violence.

  Dozai moved to intercept. As he stepped into Rizaru's path, his Maho flickered—a split-second dilation. He saw the micro-shift in her hips, the load of her weight onto her back foot, the target switching from Kenny's downed form to Nobu, who was moving in for a grapple.

  "DUCK!" Dozai barked.

  Nobu obeyed instantly, folding at the waist. Rizaru's high kick to the jaw passed over his head, ruffling his hair. Her eyes flicked to Dozai, a spark of surprise there.

  Seeing the opening, Dozai lunged low, aiming for her planted leg while Nobu, recovering with fluid grace, going for Rizaru's arms.

  Rizaru reacted faster. Her boot caught Nobu squarely on the temple. In the same spinning momentum, her elbow lashed out in a brutal backhand.

  Dozai saw it coming, the arc of the elbow, the twist of her torso.

  But his body was already too deep in the motion to stop. Muscles screamed in honey—slow and thick, until the blow cracked against his cheek.

  The world spun and he ate dirt, the gritty taste filling his mouth.

  A ringing silence followed.

  Nobu pushed himself up slowly. "I know you're just mimicking what they'd do," he whispered, voice tight. "But is hitting that hard really necessary?"

  Rizaru didn't answer again. Her gaze was on Dozai, evaluating.

  Dozai spat a mouthful of dirt and sat up. The side of his face throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

  "We're going to get hit a lot harder than this," he said, pushing to his feet. "Let's go again."

  Nobu dusted himself off, a frustrated scoff escaping him.

  Before the frustration could solidify, Rei was there. A firm, quick pat on Nobu's back and a small, stubborn smile.

  Nobu nodded, reset his stance and turned back to the fight.

  By Day 10, the beatings had become a grim grammar.

  Attack, counter, impact, dirt. Dozai’s jaw still ached from Day 8.

  Rizaru read momentum like it was a second language.

  She wasn’t just training them. She was testing herself.

  Even the guards would slow down their pace when walking by them.

  Two guards leaned against the upper rails, watching the simulated beatdowns.

  “Reminds me of knights,” one muttered. "The brutality of the training."

  “Ha. Knights out there train for real wars,” the other scoffed. “Not rat games."

  Dozai tuned them out, his attention on Rizaru, his breath raw in his throat from all their attempts today.

  “Reset.” Rizaru’s voice was the only clean thing in the dust-choked air. “Kenny, you lead with your shoulders. Nobu, your precision is getting predictable. Roi, you rely too much on your traps. Rei… you’re just too slow.” Her gaze landed on him. “And Dozai… your combat capability is as bad as theirs.”

  Dozai laughed, a dry, hacking sound. “You’re right. I keep trying to throw every attack perfectly.” He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “But I’m starting to figure out how to land one on you.”

  “We’re fighting the wrong war,” he said, pushing to his feet. “She’s not a person right now. She’s a library of their styles. And every style has a counter.”

  Rizaru tilted her head. The others glanced at him, confused.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Dozai sprinted forward.

  “Nobu, Kenny—pressure. Roi, prep something wide. Rei, shadow me opposite. Aim high.”

  A heartbeat of hesitation.

  Then they moved.

  Kenny and Nobu charged straight in. Rizaru flowed to meet them, her style shifting to counter both.

  Nobu threw first. Rizaru caught the strike, twisted, and redirected him—sending his body into Kenny’s path. Kenny had to break momentum to catch him.

  Dozai and Rei hit from opposite angles, both aiming high.

  Rizaru slid between them. A kick sent Rei skidding back. The follow-up came for Dozai—

  His Maho flared. Time stretched.

  He saw the punch coming, knew his body couldn’t pivot in time. Instead, his eyes flicked to Roi—hands shaking as she finished arming her trap, closing in as far as she dared.

  Rizaru’s attention was already shifting towards Roi mid attack.

  Dozai leaned into the punch, opting to let the pain get him out of his slowed world as soon as possible.

  The impact cracked across his cheek. Pain detonated and his world resetted.

  “Now!” he shouted, teeth clenched as he hit the dirt hard.

  Roi triggered the trap.

  A storm of stones erupted, dozens of projectiles tearing through the air.

  Rizaru’s body responded with perfect Delnora grace. Weight shifted to her back foot, hands coming up to deflect, her form a model of evasive efficiency.

  Dozai, from the ground, grabbed the hem of her shirt.

  Just enough.

  Her balance stuttered forcing her to tear free, stepping to the right to escape his grip, dodging the barrage, but landing directly in Rei’s path.

  Rei struck high again.

  Rizaru shifted to evade, her body already coiling into the fluid, spatial pivot of Delnora’s evasion.

  But Kenny and Nobu were already there.

  Kenny drove in from her right, a battering ram of force aimed low to disrupt her base.

  Nobu feinted a low tackle left, then snapped the feint into a brutal, arcing axe kick aimed to slam down from above.

  A closing triangle. No clean exit.

  True to Delnora’s style, Rizaru didn’t try to power through the press of bodies. She pivoted backwards, her spatial awareness seeking the collapse in their formation, the move that would make them crash into each other.

  She reacted a half-second faster than them.

  And Dozai reacted a half-second faster than her.

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  His fist wasn’t aiming for where she was, but for the empty space behind her pivot, the point the style demanded she occupy. He drove forward, his momentum meeting the rotation of her head.

  Her eyes widened a fraction. Instinct overrode style.

  Then the domino effect of her evasion played out.

  Nobu's descending axe kick, aimed for where her head should have been, skimmed past her shoulder. His foot crashed down onto Kenny's back, still doubled over from his low charge.

  Kenny grunted, buckling forward. Rei, trying to pull her own strike, tripped over Kenny’s collapsing form and went down in a tangle of limbs.

  Rizaru's hand flashed up, slipping between Dozai's fist and her cheek at the last possible instant. The punch landed, but as a muffled thud against her palm.

  “Tch.” Dozai breathed heavily, his fist locked in her grip. The strain vibrated up his arm. “You’re way too strong for a beginner.”

  Rizaru’s gaze was electric. “You’re quite dangerous, yourself.”

  In the same motion, her cocked fist slammed into his sternum. The air exploded from his lungs.

  He hit the ground, vision sparking.

  Roi, watching the coordinated assault dissolve into chaos in a blink, simply let her shoulders slump and took a deliberate step back, raising her hands in mock surrender.

  Silence, broken by ragged breaths and groans of pain.

  Rizaru stood amidst the wreckage of their plan. For the first time, her breath was slightly heavier. She looked at each of them: Dozai wheezing on the ground, Nobu clutching his heel, Kenny rubbing his back, Rei untangling herself.

  A smile—sharp and approving—touched Rizaru's lips.

  “That,” she stated, the word carving through the quiet, “was pretty good.”

  She let the praise hang for a beat.

  “Stay unpredictable. Stay coordinated. Exploit everything. Always capitalize off of each other.” Her eyes found Dozai’s. "The way your eyes and brain work... is scary."

  Dozai's exhausted half lidded eyes widen slightly, before letting out a soft chuckle. "Says the powerhouse."

  They kept sparring after a small break. And the next day, they fought harder than before.

  End of Day 11 Status:

  Rizaru was sweating a bit more.

  Days 12–14: Endurance, Synch, and Final Strat

  As the final days counted down, the training shifted from skill to soul.

  It became about conditioning their soul to hold under collapse.

  By the third night, they were fighting half-awake, limbs heavy as stone, lungs burning, nerves worn down to exposed wire. The ground felt farther away every time they fell.

  No one complained.

  No one asked to stop.

  Kenny was the first to break and the first to keep going.

  Each time he hit the dirt, laughter tore out of him, wild and unhinged. He laughed as he dragged himself upright, laughed until it ran out of air and turned into nothing. When the sound died, he pushed again anyway.

  Roi snapped early and never stopped. She screamed at the ground, at the walls, at the world—every curse she knew spat between gasps for breath. Then she slammed her foot down and forced herself forward through pure annoyance.

  Nobu said nothing. When his body refused, he hit it, fist into thigh, palm into dirt, knuckles cracking against stone. Again and again. Until he finally stood without a word and went back in.

  Rei let everything out. She cried when she fell. Yelled when her legs gave out. Gagged, vomited, wiped her mouth on her sleeve and rose again, shaking but relentless.

  And Dozai’s eyes stayed open.

  Wide. Sharp. Almost fevered.

  Just a stubborn, burning focus that refused to dim.

  Every time he went down, he rose again, faster than his body should allow, driven by something close to mania, close to obsession.

  By the end, only Kenny matched him in how often he stood back up.

  By Day 13, that night, lying in the dark, Dozai realized they needed a language only they understood.

  “Flare.” Meant to bait a Maho attack and scatter. Everyone would capitalize on the opening. Three taps behind the back, if unable to speak out loud.

  “Boxed.” All units surround. Used in possible combination with Flare. Two snaps of the finger.

  “Red.” Stop everything and retreat. Dozai’s call only.

  He hated the taste of the word. Because if something went wrong during Red, the sacrifice formation had to be formed.

  Rei offered it herself, no hesitation. “If someone yells Red, and not everyone can get away… I’ll stay. I’ll keep them busy.”

  The others stared. It wasn't the offer that chilled them—it was her tone.

  Flat. Resigned.

  As if she’d already accepted it as an inevitability, rehearsing her own death in the quiet of her mind.

  No one wanted to admit it, but she was the obvious choice. The one whose loss would hurt the least in a purely tactical sense. The knowledge sat in their stomachs like spoiled meat.

  Nobu approached. He didn't look at her, his gaze fixed on some distant point on the wall. His hand came to rest on her shoulder, a brief, heavy weight. His voice was low, almost inaudible. "You're not a speed bump."

  Kenny grabbed her wrist, not to pull her away, but to anchor her. His usual grin was absent, his expression stripped bare. "We don't leave people behind," he said, the words gruff and final. "That's not how this works."

  Rei smiled at them, a small, soft, unbearably steady thing that didn't reach her eyes.

  When Dozai next ordered the formation, when he barked “Red,” they had to live it. They had to watch a teammate “die” and force their bodies to turn and run.

  Rei crumpled, a puppet with its strings cut.

  Nobu went rigid, a silent scream locked behind his clenched jaw.

  Roi staggered back, her hands coming up to clutch at nothing, her whole frame trembling with a shock that looked too real.

  Kenny broke. Just for a second. A raw, wounded noise tore from his throat, and he took an abortive step forward before the drill froze him in place.

  In the ringing silence, Rei sat up in the dust. A grimy streak marked her cheek.

  Her voice was terrifyingly calm. “If I die… make sure you guys win it all. I don’t want my last thought to be that I failed you.”

  Roi hugged her knees to her chest, rocking slightly. “Don’t,” she whispered, the word fragile. “Just… don’t talk like you’re already gone.”

  Dozai stood apart, arms folded so tightly across his chest it looked like he was holding himself together. His voice was cold iron. “The formation is a contingency. It is not the plan. My plan doesn’t include it.” He finally looked at Rei, his gaze unwavering. “You don’t get to opt out of the victory.”

  It was a rehearsal they prayed would never reach the stage.

  By Day 14, Dozai told everyone to rest for the rest of the day. He gestured Roi to follow him.

  Dozai and Roi approached the patrol guard hunched against a post, chewing bark with one eye on the gate and the other on the sun. He had bored, bored written into his shoulders. Dozai walked up like he owned the place anyway.

  “We need access to the three fighting zones,” Dozai said. Voice low, steady.

  The guard spat at the ground. “Can’t you see I’m on break?”

  Roi chimed in like she was reminding him of a favor. “Hellick said to give reasonable requests a pass. You heard her.”

  The man’s jaw tightened, he stared deeply at the kid's eyes. His hand drifted toward the baton at his belt.

  Dozai didn’t flinch.

  He pointed, calm and deliberate, at the red camera in the corner, the little light blinking over the gate. For a breath the guard’s face flickered.

  “Fine,” the guard grunted, pulling out bark to chew on. “But quick. If my break is over by the time you guys are done, I’ll remember your faces.” He shoved the gate open with one foot.

  They stepped into the first place they’d ever been allowed to train: the zones.

  Zone One: The Deep Pit

  A ruined nest of tunnels and chutes. Water beaded on the rock and ran slick across the floor; iron dust made the air taste metallic in Dozai’s mouth. Old carts dangled from snapped ropes, clacking soft when the draft moved.

  Roi circled behind him, voice light as she slid a flat stone into a crease placing down traps. “If they fall, they can complain about their dignity.” She deadpanned; Dozai almost smirked.

  Zone Two: The Spine

  An old rail bed, the rails now ribs of rust. Beams leaned like teeth, and every angle tried to betray you. The air smelled of grease, old sweat, and the faint copper of dried blood.

  Dozai tested a slanted beam with the pad of his hand. “Could climb these. Aerial sneak attack...”

  Roi lightly tapped the rail with her feet. “This part is unstable. Could lead the opponent here for collapse.”

  Dozai nodded.

  Zone Three: The Heatbox

  A collapsed smelter, the breath of old fires still warm in the vents. Heat shimmered off warped plates. Some vents spat steam without warning; metal had fused into strange ridges.

  Dozai crouched, feeling the warmth on his face. “We can kite them through this. The heat is the hottest in this area.”

  She circled the ruined furnace like a ghost, hands finding hollows, pockets where a soot-oil pouch could hide. She hummed under her breath, tallying trap points.

  They worked the hours: tripwires from frayed tarp string, soot-and-oil pouches jammed into furnace cracks, metal plates positioned at slope edges to kick and send sliding. Everything had a hinge, a pull, a promise.

  He memorized the route out of each zone until the paths lived in his feet. Roi moved like someone blessing each trap, quick, furtive, whispering one-liners that made the danger feel almost personal.

  By the time they left, their hands ached and their clothes tasted of iron and soot. They didn't know if the traps would hold. But knowing didn't matter anymore.

  Outside, the guard shoved the gate shut behind them. Roi slipped her hand into her pocket and tapped the flat stone she’d snuck earlier, like it was a secret worth keeping. They walked in step, the dirt crunching under their torn shoes.

  “You’re good at this,” Dozai said.

  Roi shrugged. “Blacksmith parents, remember. Good ones, I think.” Her eyes stayed ahead, voice steady. “I used to watch them bend iron like it was soft. Guess that’s why I like making traps. Building and putting pieces together.” She hesitated, lips tightening. “…Didn’t matter, though. Still ended up here.”

  The corner of her mouth curved, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “All that work, and I’m the broken tool tossed aside. So much for forging iron myself one day.”

  Dozai didn’t answer right away. He studied her face, the shadow in her eyes. Finally, he said quietly, “Then maybe now you can forge something else.”

  Roi glanced at him, suspicious. “Some obnoxious line incoming? Go on. Can’t be any worse than what Kenny tells me.”

  He met her look, tired but unflinching. “Your own path. Starting with this arena.”

  For a beat, Roi looked at Dozai, longer than she ever had. Longer than she meant to.

  Then she snorted, shaking her head.

  "I hate when nice people make me feel things.” She held her fist out as they walked. “Don’t go dying on me, strategist.”

  Dozai tapped her knuckles with his. “Likewise, engineer.”

  They walked on, side by side.

  Their feet in sync for the first time since they met.

  Tomorrow, they face Hellick’s real trial.

  They've done everything they could.

  Whether that was enough?

  They'd find out when the blood started.