Akira jolted awake to the sound of a firm knock.
The door opened — Sebastian entered, posture as perfect as ever, clipboard tucked under one arm.
"Master Akira," he said, voice calm. "The commander awaits you on the training field. You are to report immediately."
Akira blinked, vision hazy. Every muscle in his body howled from the week of sleepless language drills. His throat was dry. His sanity thinner than paper.
But he stood up.
Because the alternative wasn't really an option.
He grabbed his bow — the same one forced into his hands that first day — and followed Sebastian through the silent corridors.
Outside, the morning air was cold.Too cold.Or maybe he was just too exhausted to feel warm again.
Raizen stood there — not turned away, not pacing — just watching Akira approach with predatory stillness. Arms behind his back. Eyes emotionless.
"You understand my words now," Raizen said.
Akira nodded, throat dry.
"Good."The commander pointed at the archery range.
"One thousand arrows. Before the sun reaches its peak."
The command hit like stone.
"One thou—" Akira started to say.
And then—
A crushing force slammed into him.
Raizen hadn't moved. Hadn't spoken.His aura — a suffocating wave of killing intent — flooded the air like the world itself wanted Akira dead.
His knees buckled instantly. Breathing turned into a desperate struggle. The bow nearly slipped from his hand.
No warning.No mercy.
The message was clear:
Shut up. Obey. Draw. Shoot.
Akira clenched his teeth, forcing himself upright again — trembling but standing.
Raizen's pressure vanished as abruptly as it came.
The commander now said only one word:
"Begin."
he first arrow flew clumsily.
Akira's arms were still weak, body still adjusting after a week of forced wakefulness. His shoulders burned. His aim wavered with every breath.
Arrow after arrow — each thud against the target sounded heavier than the last.
By the time he reached a hundred, his fingers were numb.
By two hundred, his arms trembled violently.
Three hundred… sweat poured down his spine, his breathing ragged. Each pull of the bowstring felt like it would rip his shoulder from its socket.
Raizen watched in silence — no praise, no commands, not even a flicker of emotion.
Just expectation.
Four hundred…Five hundred…
Akira released the shot, and pain exploded across his hand. He flinched, instinctively dropping the bow.
The string had sliced open the flesh of his fingers — three of them now split and bleeding.
Bright red dripped down the wood and onto the dirt.
"Gh—!" He clenched his hand, shaking. The wound stung sharply with every heartbeat.
He looked at Raizen — hoping for anything. Even a short break.
Raizen's cold eyes stared back.
No movement.
No words.
Only the unspoken demand:
Continue.
Akira swallowed the pain like poison.He grabbed the bow again — blood smearing across the handle. His fingers screamed as he drew the string back.
He fired.
Pain flared, but he refused to stop. Each shot tore the wound further open — blood now streaking down his wrist.
His vision blurred. His legs wobbled.
Raizen's voice finally came — flat and direct:
"Pain is nothing. Death is absolute."
Akira sucked in a breath — and shot again.
And again.
And again.
Akira didn't know how many arrows were left.
He had stopped counting somewhere after eight hundred.
His body was screaming — arms shaking, shoulders burning, wrists raw. His fingers were so torn that blood dripped freely, splattering into the dirt every time he nocked a new arrow.
The world around him narrowed — target… bowstring… breathe… release…
He missed.And missed again.His vision wavered… sometimes he wasn't sure if he was even aiming.
The sun had climbed high overhead, then dipped slightly.
Raizen still hadn't spoken.
Not once.
Akira's lungs stung. He gasped for air, chest tight, dizzy. He blinked sweat from his eyes, but his sight only grew worse.
His next arrow slipped from his bleeding fingers. It hit the ground weakly.
For a moment… a very dangerous moment… he considered stopping.
His hand trembled toward the dirt.
No more…
No.No, no, no.Stopping meant failure — and failure meant he was "not needed."
Akira gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached.
He forced his hand back onto the bow.
"Nine hundred… ninety-nine…" he breathed, barely a whisper.
He drew the final arrow.
The string dug into the exposed flesh of his fingers. He wanted to scream. Instead, he inhaled slowly.
For a brief, fragile moment — his body aligned perfectly.
His stance straightened.
His breathing steadied.
His shaking stopped.
Pain vanished.
His eyes locked on the target's center.
He released.
Thwip—
The arrow cut clean through the air.
THUD.
Dead center.
Bullseye.
silence.
Akira stared, chest heaving, not believing what he'd done. His vision warped — darkness creeping in.
Then…
He heard footsteps.
Raizen finally moved — approaching the target. He stopped before the arrow, inspecting the perfect shot.
Seconds felt like a lifetime.
Finally… just a single word:
"…Acceptable."
Just "acceptable." Akira's chest heaved, disbelief and exhaustion crashing together.
Darkness crept in at the edges of his vision. His knees buckled.
The world swallowed him.