William's breath caught in his throat. For a moment, he thought he was imagining things. But no—Zenith was awake. Her eyes were half-open, and a faint smile touched her lips.
William froze. His mind went blank.
His mouth opened, but no words came out. He just stood there, staring at her like the world had stopped moving.
Zenith's lips moved again, her voice soft but clear. "Are you okay, William?"
The sound hit him like a jolt.
"—ah, no, I… I should call the doctor now!" His words tumbled out in a rush. He shot up from his chair so fast it nearly tipped over, then ran out of the room.
Moments later, the door burst open. A nurse and a doctor rushed inside. Both froze when they saw Zenith awake. Their shock lasted only a second before they hurried forward, checking her pulse, breathing, and mana flow.
William stood outside the door, peering in. His chest felt tight, his legs stiff. He wanted to go back inside, but he couldn't move. After a short while, he turned away and left the hospital.
The cool evening air hit him as he stepped into the street.
His thoughts spun out of control.
The memory of his earlier outburst stabbed at him. He remembered shouting, his voice breaking, his anger spilling in front of her bed. And then—her eyes had opened.
Had she heard everything?
The thought made his stomach twist. Fear and worry weighed him down. He didn't know the answer, and it scared him. All he could do was walk faster, as if moving would ease the pressure inside him.
Thunder rumbled above, and through the storm of his thoughts, a memory surfaced—Zenith's voice saying, 'I believe in you.'
Raindrops fell one by one against his cheek. Then another. Soon, the rain poured, soaking his uniform.
William slowed to a stop.
Her words echoed, steady and unshaken.
He stood on the side of the road, head lowered, expression hidden as rain streamed down his body.
Slowly, he raised his hand and pulled off his glove, revealing cracked skin and torn red flesh.
Every raindrop stung.
It was the hand he used to fire his sniper. The recoil was so strong that he had to grip it with all his strength to hold on. Every shot ripped deeper into his palm until the flesh split.
The sight made his chest tighten. His hand looked ruined, ugly. It reminded him of the forest—how useless he had been. When the two women faced Jack head-on, all he managed were three weak, pointless shots from the side—a complete dead weight.
Bitterness rose in his throat.
He clenched his fist, ignoring the sharp sting in his raw palm.
"I'm weak," William muttered.
He remembered what the Toxcarver poison did to people.
The burning under their skin, like fire eating them alive. The numbness spread through their limbs until they couldn't move. The way breathing became harder with every second.
Most didn't last long. Thousands had died. A thousand more had broken under the pain.
But Zenith…
Images filled William's mind. Her body wrapped in bandages, skin twisted by poison. Yet she still laughed. She still found a way to smile, even through clenched teeth. She tried to bring light into a place that should have been nothing but misery.
She endured. She fought through it day after day when her body should have given up. She faced that pain and didn't back down.
That memory cut deep into William's chest. How could she, suffering more than anyone, still keep going—while he, healthy and unhurt, only complained?
"Yet here I am," he whispered. "Crying about training. Acting like I'm the victim. Wanting to quit after only a short while…"
The rain poured harder, soaking his uniform. Thunder cracked above, but her voice rose above it all: I believe in you.
His breath shook. His chest tightened.
"No more excuses." His voice was rough but steadier now. "I'll become strong. No matter how much it hurts. No matter how many times I fail—I'll grow stronger."
He slid the glove back over his torn hand. The pain was still there, but he didn't run from it.
This wound wasn't a weakness. It was proof he was moving forward.
One step at a time—that was enough.
And one day, he wouldn't feel so pathetic, so sorry for himself.
All of a sudden, his bracelet buzzed against his wrist, snapping him out of his thoughts. A faint blue light glowed on the surface.
William tapped it.
[Message Received: Unit Zero]
The text appeared clearly:
"Return to Unit Zero immediately if all personal business is finished."
He stared at the message. Slowly, the resolve in his eyes hardened into determination.
He clenched his jaw.
This time, he would not turn away.
***
At the Unit Zero base, William sat on a bed in the infirmary. The sharp smell of medicine filled the room.
"Yep, nothing serious," the elf doctor said cheerfully. "Just some head trauma. Nothing a healing spell and a serum can't fix."
Before William could react, the doctor jabbed a syringe into his neck.
He flinched but didn't say a word. It was already done.
Minutes later, the doctor waved him off, holding another syringe. "All done! If you ever get another concussion, come straight to me."
William gave a quick nod and hurried out of the infirmary.
He walked straight to the warehouse.
The smell of metal and oil filled the air as he stepped inside. Weapons lined the walls, glowing faintly under enchanted lights.
At the desk sat the old dwarf, reading from a floating screen. He looked up as William entered and spoke. "Come back for your rifle, I assume…"
He paused mid-sentence, eyes narrowing on William, then a slow smile spread across his face as if he'd discovered something interesting.
"Yes," William said, walking up to the desk. "I lost it when Jack dragged me away. You still have it, right?"
"Of course." The dwarf adjusted his glasses. "Every weapon here is worth a fortune. Not something you can just throw away."
He snapped his fingers. The shelves behind him shifted, and a sleek black sniper with red accents floated out. It landed gently in William's arms.
"Thank you," William said, bowing his head before turning to leave.
"Wait." The dwarf's voice stopped him. He tossed William a small device.
"Take this." Then he turned back to his work without another word.
William frowned at the device, turning it over in his hands as he left the warehouse.
The moment he stepped outside, the device lit up. A holographic screen projected into the air.
The title flashed bright and clear:
[Sniper Assassin Training Course]
William's brows furrowed. "Assassin?" he muttered.
"That's right," a voice answered from the shadows of the courtyard.
William spun, gripping his rifle tight.
A tall figure stepped out of the darkness, dressed in a black shinobi uniform, his face uncovered.
The air around him was heavy and sharp—like the edge of a blade.
As he stepped into the light, William recognized him. The same man who had saved him from Clara before, who had given him his first training in Unit Zero.
"Um… Sir?" William saluted awkwardly.
"From now on, you will call me Master Raiden."
"Master?"
"Yes. I'll be overseeing your training."
"All of a sudden?"
"You got the tag right?" Raiden pointed at the devices in William's hand.
"That means I will be responsible for training you into an assassin sniper. Do you understand?"
Realization hit William, and he quickly stood at attention. "Understood."
"Good. Follow me. We start now."
"Yes? But it's nighttime."
"And? Does the world stop just because it's dark outside?"
Raiden's eyes sharpened as he walked into the courtyard's shadows.
William hesitated only for a second before tightening his grip on the rifle. His heart pounded. The word assassin kept repeating in his head with every step he took.
This wasn't just training. It felt like he had willingly stepped into hell itself.
And there would be no turning back.