The training chamber hummed softly with machinery as maintenance bots cleared away broken drones and repaired the scarred platforms left behind by previous sessions.
The entire team stood gathered around Mike.
And each of them had changed.
Today marked the ninetieth day inside the Temporal Training Chamber, meaning a little over seven days had passed outside.
Dante stood tall and firm like a mountain.
His physique had grown noticeably more imposing, muscles fuller and properly toned, veins faintly visible beneath his skin as though raw power threatened to burst from within. A proud grin stretched across his face as Mike silently acknowledged his progress.
Freya stood between Dante and Renji.
Her body had become more refined through training, toned and flexible with a natural elegance that remained untouched despite her growth. Her metallic wings rested neatly behind her as her green eyes darted around nervously the moment Mike's gaze landed on her.
Renji adjusted his glasses with a small smile.
His physique wasn't as eye-catching as the others, but the difference was obvious. His frame had become leaner, sharper, and noticeably more athletic.
Anyone looking at him would know he had genuinely put in the work.
Emiko grinned mischievously as tiny sparks danced around her body, faint flashes of electricity illuminating her athletic frame beneath her short sports top.
Her body was compact, toned, and explosive-looking, radiating restless energy even while standing still.
She looked built for speed.
The ever-elusive Echo stood nearby, fully cloaked beneath a black hood and face mask.
Her once crimson eyes had shifted into a glowing violet, faintly visible beneath the darkness.
There wasn't much to observe physically due to her clothing, but something else had changed.
Her presence.
It felt... absent.
As though she existed and didn't exist at the same time.
(It seems she's unlocked another stage of her ability.) Mike thought inwardly.
⟦ Affirmative. Subject's energy signature is nearly undetectable. Presence fluctuation observed. ⟧
Mike nodded slightly, a small smile tugging at his lips as his gaze moved on.
But the smile didn't reach the part of him that counted.
How much of her is left? The thought surfaced before he could sink it. How much can I strip away before she's just... a function? A shadow that kills on command?
He looked at Echo—really looked at her. The way she stood, motionless, waiting. Not for the match. Not for the team. For him. Only ever for him.
Ninety-nine loops, and he'd never built a team. Never tried to save anyone but Mio and Chloe. Now he was collecting people like crystals, slotting them into his pocket dimension, his base, his hierarchy. Making them stronger. Making them his.
Making her less.
The smile faltered for half a heartbeat.
Then it was back.
Chloe stood beside him with her arms crossed, casually blowing a bubble of gum.
Her frame had become lean and refined, slender but firm, every movement carrying a quiet sense of explosive force.
She wasn't bulky.
Just perfectly conditioned for combat.
Standing on Mike's right was Mio.
She wore an oversized hoodie, concealing most of her figure, though her naturally slim and flexible frame was still noticeable beneath it.
Her bluish-white hair was neatly tied into a bun, exposing her calm face and icy blue eyes.
Eyes that were currently locked onto Chloe.
Chloe stared right back.
An invisible tension sparked between them.
Mike looked at them both—Chloe's defiant posture, Mio's quiet storm—and something moved behind his ribs. A memory, or a hundred of them. Loop 12: Chloe's Solar Flare burning out against Brad's hand. Loop 33: Mio's Absolute Protection cracking like thin glass, her storm-colored eyes wide with disbelief. Loop 99: Both of them on the apartment floor, blood in halos, blood in static.
They'd stood like this before. Trained like this. Grown stronger, leaner, more refined. He'd watched their muscles tone and their powers sharpen across dozens of timelines, always believing this time would be different.
It never was.
His jaw tightened. A muscle twitched in his cheek.
"Mikey?" Mio's voice, soft and sudden.
He turned. She was looking at him—not at Chloe, not at the chamber. At him. Her head tilted slightly, storm-colored eyes narrowing with something that looked almost like recognition.
Almost.
"Nothing," he said, the word too quick, too light. He coughed into his fist. "Just thinking."
She held his gaze a moment longer. Then the almost-recognition faded, replaced by her usual gentle concern. "You sure?"
"Yeah." He forced the smile wider. "Just planning."
He stepped forward, drawing everyone's attention.
"Now then," Mike declared, folding his arms. "Let's get down to business."
Silence fell across the chamber.
Everyone focused on him.
"Today, we're going to be doing some real combat training. Not with drones or dummies..."
Mike paused, letting the tension simmer.
"But with each other."
Chloe's gum popped.
Her eyes widened for a split second before a grin spread across her lips.
"I call dibs on Mio."
"I wanna fight the boss," Dante declared instantly.
"Guys, I..." Freya hesitated, fidgeting slightly. "I don't think we should be fighting amongst ourselves."
Her voice lowered.
"What if someone gets seriously hurt?"
STAB!
"What the hell?!"
At the sudden sound, everyone snapped their heads toward Mike.
A knife was buried deep in his arm.
Gasps echoed throughout the chamber.
Mio's eyes widened in horror as she rushed toward him.
"Why would you do that, Mikey?!" she shouted.
Mike didn't answer right away.
He was looking at the blade. At the blood welling around the steel, warm and real and his. The pain was sharp, immediate, almost relieving—a single point of clarity in the fog of ninety-nine loops. He deserved this. For every time he'd failed them. For every loop where he'd stood over their corpses and sworn next time. For building TATARUS like a fortress against his own grief, filling it with people who trusted him, who didn't know he was a graveyard in human skin.
His fingers closed around the handle.
One more loop. One more failure. One more—
"It's... alright," he said, the words rougher than he intended. He pulled the blade free in one sharp motion.
Blood spilled briefly.
Then Mike grabbed his injured arm.
The wound closed instantly, flesh restoring itself as though it had never existed.
Mio froze.
"I-Is that a healing ability?" she asked in awe.
"Not exactly," Renji said, narrowing his eyes.
He adjusted his glasses.
"That wound didn't simply heal."
He pointed at Mike's arm.
"Look carefully. There isn't even a trace of the spilled blood."
His gaze sharpened.
"It's a reset."
"Time manipulation, I presume."
Mike smiled.
The smile felt like a mask he'd worn so long it had fused to bone.
"As expected of a genius."
He turned back toward the others.
"With my time ability, I can rewind injuries. Even amputations."
Emiko's eyes lit up.
"So I can go completely wild, huh?!"
Mike immediately raised a finger.
"But," he said firmly, "I still need physical contact to activate it, and getting injured still hurts like hell."
Like hell. Like hell. Like every loop where I watched you die and couldn't touch you in time.
He glanced around the group.
"So try not to overdo it, okay?"
Freya visibly relaxed.
"Since we have a healer... I guess it should be fine."
"So how do we decide opponents?" Echo asked, pulling down her hood slightly. "Do we just pick?"
"Good question," Mike replied.
"The result of these matches will determine the hierarchy of this team."
Chloe smirked.
"So... a ranked match."
"Exactly," Mike affirmed.
Renji stepped forward.
"Then might I suggest drawing lots?" he proposed. "That should be the fairest option."
Mike snapped his fingers.
"Perfect."
A grin spread across Emiko's face.
"Then let's do this!"