Eight years later.
A boy with platinum-blond hair streaked with black and braided sideburns slammed to the ground under a massive fist.
"Get up, Angel! You are a Cru'zu!"
The hulking man before him carried a massive wooden sword in his right hand. Angel's own sword, smaller but sharp and gleaming, was clutched tightly in his hand, sweat sliding down his brow.
Struggling to his feet, dirt and sweat clinging to him, Angel hissed through gritted teeth.
"Yes, Father!" He charged forward, swinging his blade in a wide arc.
His father laughed, stepping back easily."Too slow! And your guard is down!"
A flash of motion — Angel's father swung the wooden sword in a brutal downward arc. Angel barely twisted, his sword clanging against the impact. Sparks flew as the blades met, the reverberation sending a jolt up his arms.
Angel countered with a quick stab, but his father twisted, sidestepping and knocking Angel off balance. The boy stumbled, feet scrambling on the dirt, trying to regain his footing.
"Focus!" his father barked, lunging again. "Don't just attack — anticipate!"
Angel gritted his teeth, taking a deep breath. He ducked low, rolling forward and swinging his blade in a sweeping strike. The wooden sword collided with his, sending a shock through his shoulders. He barely dodged a kick aimed at his side, the force knocking him into a tree.
Wind rushed past his ears as he hit the bark, coughing up breakfast and gasping for air. Tears stung his eyes, and his hands shook on the hilt.
"You did well, son…" His father's voice rumbled, warm but teasing. "But you have a long way to go. Never break concentration on the enemy, even when you get inside their guard. Always stay alert — they could be setting a trap."
Angel's chest heaved. He wiped vomit from his mouth, sweat dripping into his eyes, and nodded. "Yes, Father!"
The older man rubbed the back of his head, smiling despite the fatigue."Training's over for today. And clean yourself up — your mother will complain if you don't. She'd try to stop your growth as a warrior if she could."
Angel let out a strained chuckle, gripping his sword tighter. The fight had left him bruised, sore, and alive in a way only combat could.
Getting up, Angel caught sight of his father's back. Conan Cru'zu's skin—caramel brown, almost shining like bronze in the firelight—showed not a single bead of sweat despite their intense training. His once long, braided hair, black as a moonless night, was now cut short and spiked. This was Conan Cru'zu: former member of the Hera Familia, warrior of legend, and the man Angel was expected to surpass.
"Dad!"Angel's voice cut through the quiet.
Conan stopped mid-step and glanced back. "Hm?"
Angel shifted, gripping the hilt of his blade. "I think I'm gonna train a bit… do some more exercise. Can you tell Mom I'll be out for a little while?"
Conan scratched the back of his head."Yeah, alright. But make sure you're back by the afternoon. I don't want you overworking yourself."
"Ok dad!"
Said Angel who begin to practice his stances. Conan watching back smirked before heading back into the village.
An hour passed before Angel finally staggered back inside. Sweat clung to his bronze skin like a second layer. He had pushed himself way too far today—a two-mile jog, five hundred push-ups and sit-ups, two hundred forty squats, and three hundred pull-ups. Every muscle in his body trembled, but he refused to stop.
Outside, in the yard, lay the giant ranch tool he'd been swinging around like a makeshift sword. If he ever wanted to wield a blade as heavy as a buster sword, he needed endurance—real endurance. So he trained until his arms burned and his vision blurred.
He wished he could check his stats. That was the annoying part. Without being blessed by a god, he was stuck. No Falna, no status board, no way to see how far he'd come. To unlock his real potential, he needed to be in a Familia and blessed by a god or goddess.
Levels… the highest in history were seven and nine—monsters of strength. He had a long road ahead of him.Even his father, once a member of Hera's Familia, had reached Level Eight before everything fell apart.
Angel exhaled, steadying his breath.He wasn't there yet—but he would be.
Before I could even continue my exercises, the front door exploded inward.
And no — exploded wasn't an exaggeration.
Wood splintered, hinges screamed, and the door was kicked clean off its frame.
Standing there was my mother.
She did not look happy.
In her iron grip was my father — the strongest man I knew — completely unconscious, his massive frame dangling helplessly in a chokehold like a defeated monster.
"Angel…"
Her voice was calm.
Too calm.
"What time," she continued, adjusting her glasses, "were you supposed to come inside?"
The pressure in the room skyrocketed. The air felt heavy. Suffocating.
I swear my soul tried to leave my body.
"I–I—!" I stuttered, desperately scrambling for words. "W-Well, Dad said I could stay out till noon! I've been training since seven, so I thought—"
I stopped mid-sentence to check the small watch strapped around my wrist.
11:47.
Dread crawled up my spine.
Slowly, I looked back up at her.
My mother's turquoise-blue eyes were sharp behind her glasses, her blonde hair neatly tied into a bun — the calm, controlled appearance of a woman moments away from delivering divine judgment.
I had only one option.
And it required sacrifice.
Sorry, Dad. I'll repay you someday.
I bolted forward and threw myself at her legs, clinging on like my life depended on it.
"M-Momma, I'm sorry!" I cried, forcing tears as convincingly as I could. "I just wanted to be stronger! I thought if I trained harder, Dad would see me as worthy—worthy to be his son! His heir!"
My voice cracked at the perfect moment.
Silence.
The room held its breath.
Behind her, my father let out a faint, strangled groan.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
This was it.
My mother's expression softened, her grip loosening as she looked down at me.
"Baby… you don't have to prove yourself to your father," she said gently. "You're already very strong for your age. When I was your age, I was worrying about boys and picking flowers."
She smiled faintly."So don't push yourself too hard, okay?"
I nodded quickly, relief washing over me.
Then… curiosity got the better of me.
"Does that mean—"
WHAM.
A fist slammed down on my head, pain exploding as an instant anime-style bump swelled up.
"Now both of you," my mother snapped, her sweet tone completely gone, "get your asses in the bath and clean yourselves up. We're going to be late."
She adjusted her glasses, glaring down at us.
"And don't wear anything stupid."
With that, she turned on her heel and marched back into the house, leaving behind a destroyed doorway, one unconscious father, and me clutching my throbbing head.
I glanced down at Dad, who was still out cold.
"...So close," I muttered.
End of the chapter