(Modern dimension)
The underground training hall was never truly silent.
Even in its quietest hours, the place breathed—through the low hum of generators, the distant echo of footsteps from the rings above, and the dull thud of fists striking leather. The air smelled of sweat, metal, and something older—anger that had soaked into the concrete walls over years of fights that never made it to daylight.
Sherlin stood alone near the far end of the hall.
Her fists moved relentlessly.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The sandbag swung back and forth, groaning softly with every punch. Each strike landed with precision, but there was something more than technique behind them. Fury. Frustration. Memories she refused to name.
Her knuckles were wrapped tightly, the cloth already darkened with sweat. Her jaw was clenched, teeth pressed together as if holding back words she would never say aloud. Every punch felt like an answer to a question the world kept asking her.
Why are you still here?
Why do you keep fighting?
She didn't stop. She couldn't.
Then a familiar voice cut through the rhythm.
"Looks like that bag owes you money."
Sherlin froze.
The sandbag swung once more before settling. She lowered her fists slowly, breathing hard, chest rising and falling. Without turning, she already knew who it was.
Erika.
Sherlin glanced over her shoulder. Erika stood a few steps behind, hands loosely folded, expression calm but observant. She wasn't dressed for a fight today—no aggressive stance, no challenge in her eyes. Just quiet awareness.
"What kind of emotion are you pouring into that bag?" Erika asked gently. "Anger? Or something worse?"
Sherlyn wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand and forced a small smile.
"I'm fine."
It was the kind of answer people gave when they didn't want more questions.
Erika didn't push immediately. She let silence do the work.
Andrew stood nearby, leaning against a pillar, arms crossed. His eyes flicked between Sherlin and Erika, cautious but relaxed. Unlike the others in the underground, Andrew didn't carry tension in his shoulders—he belonged here, but he wasn't consumed by it.
"How are you doing, Erika?" Andrew asked, breaking the silence.
Erika nodded. "Still alive. That's something."
Andrew smirked. "And where's that fellow who keeps calling me 'kid' like it's a crime?"
Before Erika could answer, a long yawn echoed through the hall.
Scott stumbled in, rubbing his eyes, hair slightly messy, posture screaming I was asleep five minutes ago.
"She literally dragged me here," he complained, pointing weakly at Erika. "I was dreaming. A good one. And suddenly—boom—underground again."
Erika didn't even look guilty. "You snore too loudly to deserve peace."
Scott sighed, then finally noticed Sherlin.
His expression softened instantly.
"Hey, Sherlin," he said with a warm smile. "How are you? Feeling better?"
There was no mockery in his tone. No judgment. Just genuine concern.
Sherlin blinked, momentarily caught off guard.
"I'm… okay," she replied. "Better than yesterday."
From the shadows behind them, someone had been watching.
A tall figure stepped forward, boots heavy against the concrete. His presence changed the atmosphere instantly.
Simon.
He moved with confidence—too much of it. His eyes locked onto Scott, assessing him like a problem that needed solving. He didn't greet anyone. Didn't acknowledge Erika. His focus was sharp and narrow.
"Can we do a duel?" Simon asked suddenly.
Scott blinked. "What?"
"I want to fight you," Simon repeated, voice firm.
Scott stared at him for a second, then yawned again.
"No. I'm tired. And honestly? I don't even know you."
Simon's jaw tightened. "I said I want to fight."
Before Scott could respond, Erika stepped forward.
Her face was unreadable. No anger. No challenge. Just calm authority.
"He's not in the mood," she said. "And he's exhausted. He won't fight you today."
"We can fight later," she added evenly.
Simon's lips curled into a faint sneer.
"So you're the one who fought Sherlin before, right?"
Erika nodded casually. "That would be me."
"I saw your moves," Simon continued, voice dripping with contempt. "They were sloppy. Overconfident. Honestly? Not impressive."
The air grew heavy.
Scott's eyes widened slightly. He turned toward Erika, half-expecting an explosion.
But Erika just smiled.
"Oh," she said lightly. "Thanks for the feedback. I'll work on it."
Scott almost choked.
Is this the same Erika? he thought. The one who breaks bones for fun?
He leaned closer to her and whispered, "Erika… are you okay? Did someone replace you?"
She glanced at him. "Rebecca once told you something, right?"
Scott frowned. "What?"
"If someone tries to fight you with words," Erika said quietly, "mock them politely—or ignore them completely. It irritates them more."
She looked back at Simon.
"This," she finished, "is me being polite."
Simon clenched his fists, clearly unsatisfied, but before he could speak again, Andrew stepped in.
"That's enough, Simon," Andrew said firmly. "This isn't the place. And they didn't come here to fight you."
Simon hesitated, then scoffed.
"Fine."
He shot Scott one last look before turning away and disappearing back into the maze of corridors.
As soon as he was gone, Erika exhaled softly.
"Who's that idiot?" she asked.
Andrew scratched the back of his head. "Family friend."
Sherlin walked over, her expression neutral but her voice steady.
"Our parents were business partners first. Then family friends."
Andrew nodded. "Simon's had a crush on Sherlin for years."
Sherlin shot him a warning look. "Andrew."
"Alright, alright," Andrew raised his hands. "But it's true. He proposed. Multiple times. Got rejected. Hard."
Sherlin crossed her arms. "You're crossing your limits."
Andrew sighed. "Okay. I'll stop."
Sherlin turned back to Erika.
"He's rich. Comes here rarely. But he knows everything that happens in this underground. Every fight. Every rumor."
She paused.
"I think he has spies here."
Erika's eyes sharpened—not with anger, but interest.
"Good to know."
Sherlin shrugged slightly.
"He's not a bad person," she added. "Just… short-tempered."
(Historic dimension)
The king sat calmly on his throne inside the grand hall of the kingdom. The hall was prepared for the annual soldiers' function, an event that took place once every year to honour bravery and sacrifice.
Jaccob walked forward and bowed slightly.
"Your Majesty, if we leave now, we can reach the ceremony grounds on time," he said.
The king nodded. "Very well."
Soon, the king arrived at the open ceremonial ground, where Alexander was already standing, overseeing the arrangements. The atmosphere was serious and respectful. A soldier stepped forward and announced loudly that the ceremony would begin.
"Today," the soldier said, "the king will honour the Soldier of the Year—chosen for bravery, loyalty, and sacrifice."
The king stepped forward and spoke clearly.
"Paulen," he announced.
A soldier stepped out from the formation. Paulen stood straight, trying to hide his emotion.
"Paulen has fought bravely against our enemy kingdoms," the king continued. "He stood strong beside Erika during the war and served this kingdom without fear. For his courage, he is named Soldier of the Year."
The king placed the honour upon Paulen and handed him the prize amount. The soldiers struck their swords to the ground in respect.
After that, Alexander stepped forward.
"This year," he said, "eighty-seven brave soldiers lost their lives protecting this kingdom."
The ground fell silent.
At Alexander's signal, every soldier raised their sword in honour of the fallen. The king lowered his head briefly, then turned to Jaccob and Alexander.
"Ensure the families of the fallen receive compensation and support," the king ordered.
"Yes, Your Majesty," they replied.
As the ceremony neared its end, Alexander spoke again.
"My king, due to increasing threats around the kingdom, I advise assigning two personal guards to protect you at all times—even at night."
The king smiled faintly.
"I am not so weak yet, Alexander," he said. "If you wish to test your concern, face me in a duel."
The soldiers exchanged glances as Alexander slowly lifted his head.
(Robotic dimension)
Sergain was sleeping in his bed—but his sleep was shallow and broken.
In his dream, fragments replayed themselves again and again.
A figure in a black scarf, moving fast.
A child lifted into the air.
A mother's scream tearing through the street.
The sound of footsteps fading into nothing.
Sergain jerked awake, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding violently against his chest.
He didn't wait.
Grabbing his keys—and a sharp tool from the table—he left his apartment immediately and drove straight to Olive's house. The streets were empty, the city lights cold and distant.
He knocked.
Minutes passed.
Finally, the door opened. Olive stood there, visibly surprised.
"Sergain? Why are you here at this hour?" His gaze dropped briefly to the object in Sergain's hand. "And why are you carrying that?"
Without answering, Sergain stepped inside.
They sat facing each other, the tension heavy in the room.
"Listen to me carefully," Sergain said. "I've connected the pattern."
Olive leaned forward.
"Wherever the black-scarfed man goes," Sergain continued, "the cameras crash. Near the lab. Near the document theft. Near the toy shop. It's always the same."
Olive nodded slowly.
"But this time," Sergain said, his voice firm, "it was different. Kidnappings usually happen when no one is watching. This one happened when we were present. Three of us. He knew."
Olive's expression hardened.
"He didn't plan the kidnapping from the start," Sergain said. "He adapted. He changed the plan on the spot—to distract us."
Sergain stood and began pacing.
"I chased him for ten to fifteen minutes. That's all it took. And in that short window… something happened inside the toy shop. Something we didn't see."
Olive exhaled slowly. "You believe the answer is there."
"Yes," Sergain replied without hesitation. "My intuition is screaming it. The toy shop is hiding something. Even if my eyes didn't see it, something is there."
Olive thought for a long moment.
"Breaking in won't help," Olive said finally. "The place is protected. Cameras, sensors—too many risks."
Sergain stopped pacing. "Then we make a plan."
Olive nodded once. "Yes. But not tonight."
He checked the time. "It's past one. You need rest. We both do."
Sergain hesitated, then slowly relaxed.
"Stay here tonight," Olive added. "In the morning, we think clearly. We plan carefully."
Sergain finally agreed. "Alright."