The fourth day came too fast.
Dirga stood by Naya’s bedside one last time, whispering a quiet promise. Then, with a final glance, he left the hospital. On the way out, he messaged Jane:
"I’ll be busy for a while. Please look after her."
The reply came quickly.
By the time Dirga stepped into the penthouse, it was eerily quiet.
"...Where the hell did that rabbit go?"
He shrugged off his boots, took a quick shower, and made himself a light breakfast — fried rice, eggs, and leftover dumplings. Just as he lifted the spoon, a voice whispered behind him.
Dirga flinched. The spoon flew.
Sasa, now back in his old man form, caught it mid-air like it was nothing.
"Please," Dirga muttered, clutching his chest. "What if I had a heart attack?"
"You won’t die. Not yet." Sasa floated down beside the table, grinning. "Today’s lesson: sensing."
"Yes. Energy. Presence. Intent. Environment. Even malice." Sasa waved a finger. "It’s about anticipation."
Dirga raised an eyebrow as he chewed. "So what? You gonna give me a manual?"
"No." Sasa’s grin stretched wider. "You’re already in the test."
Something buzzed past Dirga’s right cheek.
His body moved on instinct — gravity shifted around him, and telekinesis snapped into place. The object froze midair.
Not just any mosquito — translucent, shifting in and out of visibility like it was wearing a cloak of light itself.
"What the hell is this?"
"That," Sasa said proudly, "is your enemy. Level one, camouflage mosquito. Your job? Sense it. Stop it. Survive it."
"If it stings you..." Sasa clicked his tongue. "Let’s just say it’ll be more than itchy."
Dirga squinted. "So this is supposed to train my perception?"
"Yes. You’ll get one mosquito today. Two tomorrow. Four the next. Each stronger. Each harder to see, faster, and smarter."
"Until the tournament begins," Sasa said with a shrug. "Each ’level’ lasts longer. Three days for level one. Six for level two. Then twelve..."
Dirga muttered under his breath. "Exponential growth. Of course."
"Oh, and no sleeping with protective barriers. You have to train your passive awareness. The second you drop your guard, you get stung."
Dirga sighed, letting his spoon clink into the bowl.
"Fine," he said. "What’s lesson four?"
"Ahh." Sasa grinned again and clapped his hands. "Weapons."
The air warped — and the world bent.
In the blink of an eye, Dirga found himself standing in a vast arena of endless stone, surrounded by ancient weapons displayed like museum pieces. Spears, swords, staves, gauntlets, chains — weapons from forgotten ages and impossible futures.
"This..." Dirga breathed.
"...is one of my many little pocket dimensions, well an armory" Sasa said casually. "Here, we find your weapon. Because fists are fun, but focus needs form."
Dirga stepped forward, eyes scanning the endless blades.
"What if I want to keep using my hands?"
"Then pick a weapon that works with your hands. Gauntlets. Bracers. Claws. Maybe even cursed chains."
Sasa leaned close, voice low and serious for once.
"You’re not just a fighter anymore, Dirga," Sasa said, voice unusually solemn. "You’re a concept. A walking anomaly. Your weapon must amplify that."
Dirga placed his hand on the nearest gauntlet — a monstrous thing forged from obsidian and rusted crimson metal. The moment his skin touched it, the gauntlet thrummed, a heartbeat made of iron and fury. It wasn’t just forged — it was alive in its own way.
Power pulsed through his fingers like pressure from deep space.
Dirga flexed his hand. The joints cracked. The gauntlet moved like liquid metal, but heavier — like the weight of gravity itself wrapped around his bones.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
The mosquitoes would come. The tournament would come. Death would come.
Dirga tested the gauntlet with a punch, the impact echoing like a cannon in the empty pocket dimension.
"Not bad," he muttered.
Then turned toward Sasa.
"What about you?" Dirga asked. "What’s your weapon?"
Sasa grinned — wide, devilish. With a snap of his fingers, a golden slot machine slammed into reality beside him with a mechanical CLANG. It gleamed like molten metal, its surface engraved with devil sigils, demonic faces, skulls, and unknown celestial runes.
Dirga blinked. "That thing...?"
"Oh yes. Goldy." Sasa patted the top like a loyal pet. "She’s temperamental, but deadly."
The lever groaned as Sasa pulled it. The reels spun — symbols blurring into rings of flame and light.
Click... click... click...
The machine screamed, flashing crimson and gold. A weapon materialized in Sasa’s hand — not summoned, but chosen.
It was a sleek cane-sword laced with silver flame, its hilt coiled like a serpent devouring a clock. The air around it distorted, warping time and light.
"This," Sasa said, swirling it casually, "is how I roll. Every spin, a new possibility. Every jackpot, a new nightmare. Buffed by fate herself."
Dirga could feel the aura radiating from it — not heat, not cold, but something worse. Like a blade that had pierced souls.
He took a step back, lips tight. "That thing’s cursed."
"Compliment accepted." Sasa winked.
Another mosquito dive-bombed him from the right. Reflex kicked in. Dirga twisted and punched with the gauntlet — the mosquito exploded in a flash of static and dust.
Dirga turned back toward Sasa, eyes narrowed.
"You said there was one mosquito for each day," he said slowly, "and the count increases by one each day. Right?"
Sasa raised both hands, sheepish. "Well... I said one mosquito will attack. Didn’t say how many times it’ll try. Or when. Or from where."
Dirga’s expression darkened.
"Training!" Sasa cut in cheerfully. "Unpredictability is part of sensing. You’re welcome."
"You need to be more specific."
"I’m a devil, not a lawyer." Sasa shrugged. "Semantics is our favorite game."
Dirga sighed, rolling his shoulders. "Fine. Let’s try this thing out."
Without another word, he launched forward — fist cocked, gauntlet gleaming with gravitational energy.
Sasa grinned, his blade sliding free with a shhhhing. "Oh? We’re sparring now?"
The space around them shifted — gravity thickened, tension surged.
And the lesson began.