The weight of her words settled over him like a stone dropping into still water. Three days. That was all the time he had to prepare.
Krad grabbed another piece of roasted boar, the sweet glaze melting on his tongue. For a moment, he let himself savor it—the warmth, the flavor, the simple pleasure of a good meal. Then he swallowed hard and set down his fork.
"Alright, alright. Do any of you actually know someone who can help me?"
Vice's lips curled into an amused smirk. "As a matter of fact, I do."
Krad perked up, his pointed ears twitching forward. "Really? Who?"
"His name is Mist," Vice replied smoothly. "A seasoned fighter. One of the strongest within the Tiger Squad."
The words hit Krad like a lightning bolt. His fork clattered against his plate.
"Tiger Squad?" His voice cracked slightly. "Did you just say Tiger?"
Vice arched a brow. "Yes. Mist, from the Tiger Squad."
For a brief, ridiculous moment, Krad's mind catapulted him back to the human world. He saw himself standing on a grand esports stage, bathed in neon lights, his name plastered across massive screens as thousands of fans roared his name. Tiger Esports, one of the most legendary teams to ever dominate competitive gaming. Their players were untouchable, practically gods in the scene.
And he'd dreamed of joining them. Every single day.
"Wait, wait, wait!" Krad practically launched himself out of his chair. "You mean to tell me there's a Tiger Squad in this realm? Like... an actual Tiger Squad? And Mist is part of it?"
"Obviously," Drugo grunted from the kitchen doorway, clearly unimpressed by the outburst. "They're well-known. You'd know that if you bothered to learn anything other than how to stuff your face."
"Shh, Tree Man, this is important!" Krad spun toward Vice, his golden eyes blazing with excitement. "Is Mist like... the squad leader? Or one of those insane top rankers?"
"He's neither," Vice said with a slight smile. "Mist is more of a free spirit. Not one for leadership, but his combat skills are undeniable. He's a tactical genius in battle."
Krad's heart pounded. This felt like fate. Like the universe was giving him a second chance at the dream he'd lost.
"Where is he now?" The words tumbled out, barely contained. "When can I meet him?"
The temperature plummeted.
Krad's breath misted in the suddenly frigid air. A cold fog began rising from the floor, curling around the table legs and spreading across the room like ghostly fingers.
Then he heard it... a voice, smooth and confident, cutting through the mist.
"I'm here."
Krad whipped his head around, searching for the source. Through the thickening fog, a figure emerged, the air itself seeming to twist and bend around him.
Mist was tall and lean, moving with the fluid grace of someone completely comfortable in his own skin. His ash-gray hair fell messily across his forehead, a few strands hanging over sharp pink eyes that gleamed with playful mischief. But beneath that casual demeanor, Krad could sense something else... power, barely restrained.
He wore a sleek black suit that fit him perfectly, tailored to allow complete freedom of movement. A dark charcoal shirt rested beneath the jacket, unbuttoned just enough to be deliberately casual. Around his neck hung a silver pendant bearing the Tiger Squad insignia.
Strapped to his back was a long silver sword, its presence somehow both elegant and threatening. Even in his refined suit, Mist looked every bit the dangerous fighter.
Before Krad could process this, Mist's expression transformed. His face lit up, sharp features arranging themselves into what was probably meant to be a charming smile.
"Miss Vice," Mist practically purred, his voice dripping with exaggerated admiration. "Still as radiant as ever. Truly, a goddess gracing this humble realm."
Vice remained utterly unimpressed, her amethyst eyes narrowing dangerously.
"And that figure." Mist let out a dramatic sigh, pressing his hand over his heart. "The curves of divinity itself. One could only dream to be blessed by such---"
"Don't," Drugo warned from across the room, but Mist completely ignored him.
In one bold, utterly stupid movement, Mist opened his arms wide. "Come here, my dearest Vice! Let this mere mortal embrace the very essence of beauty!"
He lunged forward, aiming for what was probably intended to be a romantic embrace.
KRAK!
A swift punch connected with the top of Mist's head with a satisfying crack that echoed through the room. His body jolted, his carefully styled hair flying in all directions as Vice's knuckles left a visible impact.
Mist stumbled backward, clutching his head with both hands.
"Agh! Wh-What was that for?"
"For being an idiot," Vice deadpanned, shaking out her hand like she hadn't just delivered a punch that could crumble stone.
"Ow..." Mist whimpered dramatically, rubbing the growing bump on his skull. "You didn't have to hit me that hard!"
"That was the light version," Vice said with a dangerous smirk.
Still rubbing his head, Mist let out an exaggerated sigh. "You know, Miss Vice, one day you'll see my charm for what it truly is."
"I see it clearly," Vice replied dryly. "And I'm still not impressed."
Krad couldn't help himself, he burst out laughing. "I think I like this guy already!"
"Of course you do," Drugo muttered, shaking his head.
Despite the ridiculous introduction, there was something about Mist's presence that brought a strange sense of reassurance. Beneath the playful facade lurked dangerous energy, carefully controlled. And if Vice trusted him enough to recommend him, then this training was going to be anything but ordinary.
"Alright," Krad said, determination flooding back into his voice. His golden eyes blazed as he stepped forward. "I need you to train me. Teach me everything you kno---"
Before he could finish the sentence, Mist's fist connected with his face.
THWACK!
The world spun. Pain exploded through Krad's cheek as the impact sent him stumbling backward. His brain barely had time to register what happened before he was already hitting the ground, landing hard on his back.
"What the hell?!" Krad sputtered, glaring up at Mist through watering eyes.
Mist stood over him, a satisfied grin curling his lips. He casually adjusted his suit jacket, the silver sword on his back catching the light. "Too slow," he said, his voice low and amused.
"You... you just punched me!" Krad growled, pushing himself up on his elbows. His cheek throbbed, but honestly, his pride hurt more.
Mist tilted his head with mock innocence. "I thought you wanted me to train you." His pink eyes gleamed. "Lesson one: Never drop your guard. You never know when your opponent will strike."
Vice smirked from her seat, clearly entertained. "I told you he was the best."
Krad rubbed his sore cheek, his pointed ears flattening slightly in annoyance. "Okay, okay, I get it. Training means pain. Lesson learned."
Mist's grin widened. "Good. Because if you're serious about taking on Liyab and the Gods of Rage, you'll need to learn a lot faster than that."
"But that doesn't mean you have to break my face on day one!" Krad shot back, still glaring.
Mist chuckled, offering his hand to help Krad up. "Consider it a warm-up. We leave at once."
"Wait, already?!" Krad yelped, accepting the hand but immediately regretting it when Mist yanked him to his feet with unexpected force. "I haven't even digested!"
Mist smirked. "That's the spirit. Nothing like a little motion to aid digestion."
"And by motion, you mean throwing me around like a ragdoll, don't you?" Krad muttered.
Vice snickered softly. "You catch on quickly."
Drugo walked over and gave Krad a solid pat on the back, nearly knocking the air from his lungs in the process. "Try not to die, idiot. And if you do, don't haunt my restaurant."
"Noted, Handsome." Krad wheezed, still recovering from the friendly assault.