“…Are you saying you won’t fight me because… I’m too good-looking?”
Uga looked away sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You look like girl… but stronger. Big Sis say don’t hit pretty people.”
A ripple of laughter ran through the audience.
Even the commentator stifled a snort.
“Well… that’s a first,” he said. “Mic Nor has just been disarmed by… compliments?”
Michael sighed quietly, raising one hand to his forehead.
As his voice faded, Michael’s figure blurred.
In the blink of an eye, he was in front of Uga, spear swinging downward in a swift arc.
His speed was impressive—sharp, precise—but his posture remained casual. Relaxed, even.
Had it been Renn standing before him, Michael would have approached differently. After witnessing Renn’s fight with Prince Rui, he knew better than to underestimate him again.
Despite his clear strength and potential—Michael suspected the bulky youth could even contend with those a stage above his current rank—his earlier performance hadn’t shown anything particularly threatening.
Michael’s eyes narrowed as Uga raised a single hand and caught the spear mid-swing.
A dull shockwave burst outward from the clash, rippling through the air like a stone dropped in still water. Dust rose. The arena floor trembled faintly.
But neither of them budged.
The force of the strike, which would’ve sent others flying, felt like a breeze to the two standing at the center.
Michael’s gaze sharpened slightly.
Back on the stage, the dust slowly settled.
Michael didn’t pull back.
He let the shaft of his spear remain in Uga’s grip, as if testing the boy’s strength further.
Didn’t even seem to register the tension in the moment.
He simply held it—curious, like someone wondering if this was part of the duel or some strange ritual.
Michael’s fingers shifted slightly along the haft of his spear.
He tilted his head. “You don’t want to win this competition, do you?”
Uga blinked. “Why say that?”
“You’re not taking it seriously,” Michael replied, voice calm but firm. “You’re not trying.”
Uga’s brows furrowed for the first time. “That not true. Uga will win.”
Michael raised a brow. “Oh? By just standing ?”
Uga scratched his head, then said with surprising clarity, “Big Sis say… Uga not hit pretty faces. Not mean Uga can’t win. Uga can still make you surrender.”
That made Michael pause.
There was something in Uga’s tone.
For the first time, Michael saw a flicker of wisdom in the large youth’s eyes.
Not mindless. Not clueless.
Michael sighed softly and gave the spear a tug. Uga, without resistance, opened his hand and let go.
Michael took a step back, distancing himself slowly, then stopped and planted the butt of his spear into the ground.
A faint crack split the arena floor.
“If you won’t take this seriously, then let me show you what happens when I do,” Michael said, tone shifting. “My next attack won’t be a tap. It’ll be a real punch.”
He reappeared before Uga like a streak of lightning, twisting as his leg came whipping up in a powerful kick aimed at the waist.
It wasn’t flashy, but it was sharp. Fast. Clean.
His arm snapped down.
A gust of wind rolled out from the clash.
Michael landed and took two light steps back. A smile slowly stretched across his lips.
“…You can see me, can’t you?” he whispered.
For the first time, he also used Detect on Uga.
There was no professional at all.
Uga had always been different.
From the moment he was able to walk, he had show innate strength that was outside the norms.
He came from the village of Darun, nestled deep in the southern hills of the Lionheart Kingdom, far beyond the borders of what most nobles or officials even remembered. A place left off maps. Left off reports. Forgotten.
There were years they didn’t pay taxes, and no one noticed. Or maybe no one cared.
But Darun had never needed much. The people farmed. Hunted. Lived simple lives. Bartered and shared among themselves. They had clean water, game in the forests, and fields that yielded just enough. It wasn’t wealth. But it was peace.
Uga, even at a young age, had been a part of that peace.
At age three, he had beaten the strongest hunter in the village in an arm-wrestling match.
At four, he once lifted a boulder no grown man could shift, just because he was looking for a lizard under it.
At five, the village elder had taken to calling him Godborn. They meant it jokingly… mostly.
Then came the tragedy.
It wasn’t a raid or a war or a fire.
They came at night—at the exact moment the hunters had returned with their largest catch in months. The scent of blood and meat must’ve drawn the beasts.
What should’ve been a celebration turned to massacre.
The strongest hunters died first.
The rest tried to fight. Some grabbed their bows, others grabbed knives, farming tools, anything they could find. But it wasn’t enough.
The few who escaped didn’t run through the roads—they fled through the forest.
The monsters, drawn more to the raw meat of the day’s hunt, didn’t chase them all.
Uga ran with his older sister. She was eight, fast, and clever. She had always protected him, even from himself.
But in the chaos, they were separated.
One moment, she was pulling his wrist, dragging him forward through roots and leaves, telling him not to cry, to keep moving—
Then something roared behind them.
She shoved him forward.
“Hide here, Uga. Don’t move. Don’t move. Big Sis will distract that big guy, okay?”
Uga stayed hidden, just like she told him.
Curled up under the roots of a large tree, holding his breath every time he heard footsteps—whether beast or man.
But hunger doesn’t wait.
Eventually, the ache in his belly overpowered the fear in his chest.
On the seventh day, the five-year-old boy could no longer bear it.
Driven by instinct and desperation, he crept from his hiding spot and stumbled into the forest.
For the first time in his short life, food nearly killed him