The silence inside the cave was a physical presence—thick and suffocating. The sound of wind howling through the cracks at the entrance seemed like the lament of something that had died long ago, a constant reminder that the outside world was a lethal trap. At the center, the small campfire crackled, casting dancing shadows on the walls that made the refuge seem at times like a sanctuary, at times like a tomb.
Alex broke the silence. He was sitting on a supply crate, methodically cleaning the blade of his knife. His eyes, hardened by the last forty-eight hours, scanned the face of each of his companions.
"Everyone," Alex said, his voice cutting through the tension. "We need to be prepared for anything. Smith's announcement about an individual battle changed the rules of the game. This is no longer about how the group moves as one, but about how each of you stands your ground when the arena lights are focused on your head alone."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
"By the count, this event will probably happen on the fourth or fifth day, since there are three official games left. We have precious time—but not much. We'll use it to train now, and right after that we'll head to the place Salazar mentioned. If there's anything there that can level the odds for those without combat experience, we need it before the draw. Foxy, you train Dante. I'll train Harry. Yuki and Elisa, you train together. I believe everyone here is capable—but luck won't save us this time."
Foxy, who was leaning against the damp wall, idly rolling a small stone between his fingers, lifted his head. His dark lenses reflected the fire's orange glow, hiding the black abyss Dante now knew lay behind them.
"Leave it to me, captain," Foxy replied, his voice carrying that familiar sarcasm which, strangely enough, was starting to sound almost comforting. He pushed off the wall with a fluidity that defied human anatomy and walked over to Dante. "We're going to get rid of some of that fear of yours, blondie. Fear is like the smell of rust in an old machine—it tells you you're going to lock up when you're needed most. And honestly? If we make it out of here alive, that terror will haunt you for the rest of your life if you don't learn to face it now."
Dante felt his stomach churn. The image of Foxy's eyes on the beach still flashed through his mind every time he blinked. Still, he saw Alex watching him, waiting for a response. The young man took a deep breath and nodded, even though his hands still trembled slightly.
"Okay…" Harry interrupted, adjusting his glasses with a nervous, mechanical gesture. "What exactly are we training for, Alex? I'm a data analyst. My biggest physical battle so far was with a jammed printer. How do you expect me to face monsters like John in a one-on-one fight?"
Alex stood and handed Harry a sturdy wooden staff.
"You're not going to fight like John, Harry. You're going to fight like Harry. The secret to survival isn't being the strongest—it's being the one who makes the fewest mistakes. We're going to train your reading instinct."
The Dance of Predator and Prey
In the farthest corner of the cave, Foxy and Dante began their session. Foxy removed his coat, revealing lean arms defined by fibrous muscle, like tightly strung piano wires.
"The first mistake of someone who's afraid," Foxy began, circling Dante with steps that made no sound on the stone floor, "is focusing on the opponent's face. You want to see his anger, to predict the scream. Forget that. The face is theater. Look at my shoulders and my hips. They're the engines of movement."
Dante tried to focus, but Foxy's presence was oppressive. Suddenly, Foxy threw a straight punch. Dante shut his eyes and instinctively stepped back, tripping on a rocky ledge and falling onto his back.
"See?" Foxy stopped above him, the firelight casting a shadow that made him look enormous. "You closed your eyes. The moment you deny yourself sight, you hand over your life on a silver platter. If I wanted you dead, you'd be gone before you felt the pain of the fall. Again."
Dante got up, brushing dust from his pants. Frustration began to burn in his chest, slowly replacing panic. He lunged with an awkward punch. Foxy simply tilted his head aside, letting Dante's fist pass through empty air, and with a light touch to the young man's chest, shoved him back again.
"Why are you doing this?" Dante gasped, regaining his balance. "You know I know what you are. I saw your eyes, Foxy. Why the hell do you care whether I survive or not?"
There was a break in Foxy's movement. He stopped, head slightly tilted. The silence in the cave seemed to thicken for a moment.
"Because you're my group, blondie," Foxy said, and for the first time the mockery vanished from his voice, replaced by a cold, cutting seriousness. "The world out there never gave me anything but reasons to be the monster they think I am. But here… Alex gave me a seat at the table. Harry trusts my knife. And you—terrified as you are—you still haven't stabbed me in the back. I'm not a good man, Dante. But I am loyal to those who don't treat me like a freak. Now raise your guard. If you don't learn to dodge me, John will tear your head off and I'll have to carry your body. And I hate dead weight."
Dante felt an emotional impact he hadn't expected. He realized that Foxy's loyalty wasn't rooted in morality, but in fierce pragmatism and a near-tribal sense of belonging. He planted his feet and raised his fists. This time, he didn't look at Foxy's glasses—he looked at his opponent's right shoulder.
The Geometry of Violence
At the center of the cave, Alex and Harry sparred with their wooden staffs. Alex showed no mercy, moving with the precision of someone who had survived extreme situations long before the island.
"Harry, fighting is a system of equations!" Alex shouted as he delivered a lateral strike that Harry blocked purely on reflex. "If your opponent has more mass, the impact force will crush you. You don't block force—you redirect the vector!"
Harry was sweating heavily, but his analytical mind was beginning to map patterns.
"If you rotate your left foot forty-five degrees… the strike comes from below," Harry murmured.
On Alex's next attack, Harry didn't try to stop the wood with his own. He rotated his body, letting Alex's staff pass by, and used his own to lever the leader's arm, forcing Alex to stumble to keep from falling.
Alex stopped, breathing hard, and smiled with satisfaction.
"Excellent. You're starting to see the geometry of combat. Keep this up and you'll be the hardest target on this island to hit."
Beside them, Yuki and Elisa trained in silence, methodical and focused. Elisa taught Yuki how to use agility to strike vital points.
"You're small, Yuki. Your advantage is stealth and precision," Elisa explained, demonstrating how a strike with the base of the palm to the jaw hinge could stun a man twice her size.
"I always thought I needed someone to protect me," Yuki confessed, her soft voice echoing off the stone walls. "At first, I only followed Alex because I was afraid of being alone. But now… I don't want to be just a burden."
Elisa looked at her with genuine respect.
"No one here is a burden, Yuki. Smith tried to turn us into animals for his entertainment, but he forgot that some animals hunt better in a pack. You're our hidden blade."
They returned to training, and the harmony of their movements showed that the bond between them had gone beyond mere survival—it had become a sisterhood.
The Pact of Sweat
After hours of exhaustion, the group finally stopped. The smell of sweat and effort filled the cave, but the mood was one of strange communion. They sat around the fire, sharing the last cans of rations.
Dante sat near Foxy. He was still shaky, but there was a new light in his eyes. He took his water bottle and offered it to Foxy first. The man in dark glasses accepted it with an almost imperceptible nod.
"Tomorrow at first light, we leave for Salazar's warehouse," Alex announced, watching his companions. "We'll take whatever he hid there, then come back to prepare for the tournament. Smith thinks he can break us by separating us in the arena, but he's wrong. Every one of you proved today that you have something worth fighting for."
Alex lingered on Foxy a moment longer. He knew the group had its shadows, and Foxy was the largest of them. But he also knew that in the chaos of that island, shadows were what kept the light alive.
"Harry, organize the maps. Elisa, check the condition of our improvised weapons. Yuki, rest. Tomorrow will be a long day."
As the group prepared to sleep in shifts, Dante lay down and stared at the cave ceiling. He was still afraid of Foxy—but it was no longer the fear of prey facing a monster. It was the respect of an apprentice before a force of nature that, for some inexplicable reason, had decided to protect him.
The group's unity was now solid, forged not only by fear of Smith, but by the sweat and loyalty shared in the darkness of that cave. The real game was only just beginning—and they were ready to fight.