*3 Months Later*
The morning air in Lynden was crisp, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and pine as a lone boy pedaled along the quiet and foggy streets.
Yeah, it's none other than Ray Skylark. The boy, who quit school just because his teacher reprimanded him for not paying attention in class.
Well, at least that's what they all say.
The town was still waking, but he was already in motion, his breath steady, his muscles loose.
The forest ahead loomed in the distance, a sea of green stretching beyond Dickinson Park. It was familiar terrain, one he had visited countless times in his past life, and now, once again.
His bicycle's tires crunched against the gravel as he veered onto the dirt path leading into the woods. The towering evergreens swallowed the sky above, the thick canopy casting long shadows over the ground. He weaved through the narrow trail, following the familiar route that led deeper into the forest, surrounded by mist.
Minutes later, he arrived at the base of the high hill.
A steep incline stood before him, jagged with loose stones and tree roots that jutted out like hidden traps. His bicycle came to a stop against a sturdy pine, and he dismounted smoothly, stretching his arms as his gaze traveled up the peak.
'Sigh, here I go... again.'
Ray had been coming here every morning for the past week. And every time, he had failed.
It didn't matter how many times he told himself this was necessary, that he had fought worse battles, faced stronger enemies, and endured greater pain.
Right now, his body wasn't what it once was.
This training was... a foundation. If he couldn't master his movements here, how could he ever hope to fight in the future?
Ray exhaled sharply. No more thinking. It was time to move...
By the time he reached the peak, his breath was steady, but his legs burned from exertion. He took a moment to roll his shoulders, glancing down at the dense forest below. This was where the real training began.
Ray exhaled slowly. His foot pressed against the earth.
Then, after scanning the trees for a second,
'Sigh, I might be a lunatic."
He moved forward.
It started slow and steady, but as he continued to descend, the wind lashed against his face as he picked up speed. The first few strides were smooth, his steps light against the forest floor. His body moved on instinct, adjusting his weight to the natural dips in the terrain.
Then came the first obstacle—a fallen log sprawled across his path.
Jump!
He leaped, his foot barely grazing the rough bark as he cleared it. His landing was stable, knees bending to absorb the impact. Good.
But he didn't get to pause even for a moment, because he had to move, or the inertia might take some of his teeth off. Or the whole face? Yeah, he might be crazy to even come up with a training like this...
The next challenge appeared almost immediately—a cluster of thick roots twisting along the ground like grasping hands.
He veered left, aiming to weave through the gaps. But his foot caught on an unseen root.
"-Shit!"
A split second. A critical mistake.
His balance wavered. Gravity yanked him forward, and before he could recover,
–Crash!
"-Argh!"
His body collided with the hard-packed earth.
The impact rattled his bones, dirt clinging to his clothes as he rolled forward to reduce the damage.
Then, after what felt like an eternity, he suddenly spread his limbs.
The hard ground, gazed at his hands, leaving scratches, the backside of his t-shirt ruined. And then, he came to a sliding stop...
–Haah... Haah...
He lay there, taking a moment to catch his breath. After some time, he hastily checked his body. Thankfully, no serious injury.
"-Kha!... Hehe, sigh... again." He pushed himself up.
Ray's jaw tightened. Too slow. Too careless.
He turned without hesitation, climbing back up the hill.
Again.
.
.
.
The second run was no better. This time, he cleared the roots, but his timing was off on a sharp turn.
The trunk of a pine met his shoulder with unforgiving force.
A sharp pain shot through his arm, but he barely reacted. He staggered, steadied himself, and climbed back up. On the third attempt—
His speed increased, movements more confident, but that overconfidence cost him. A hidden patch of loose gravel betrayed his footing, sending him into a rough skid. His side scraped against the ground before he tumbled to a stop.
He lay there for a moment, staring up at the canopy above.
Then, with a slow exhale, he got to his feet.
His arms stung from scrapes. His muscles ached. But his mind remained focused.
Back to the top.
The fourth, fifth, and sixth attempts followed the same pattern. Every time he improved in some way—his balance, his reaction time, his ability to spot dangers.
But he still wasn't fast enough.
Two hours passed.
Ray stood at the base of the hill, breathing heavily. Not even once had he made it down flawlessly.
He clenched his fists.
In his past life, something like this wouldn't have even been training. It would have been a warm-up. But right now, this was his limit.
And it wasn't enough.
His knuckles tightened, nails digging into his palms.
But then, just as quickly, he let out a slow breath.
This was why he was here.
He wasn't training because he was strong. He was training because he was weak as fck.
Ray turned away from the hill and walked toward his bicycle. His body was sore, his skin marred with dirt and scratches, and his t-shirt ruined for the third time in this same week. But his mind was calm.
He would return tomorrow.
And the next day.
And the day after that.
Until he succeeded.
After getting on his bicycle with a painful grimace, he slowly started to paddle towards his home, away from any kind of training for the day.
.
.
.
By the time Ray arrived home, the morning sun had shifted higher in the sky, casting short shadows over the quiet streets.
He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing against the cool metal of his house key. The door unlocked with a familiar click, and he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.
The first thing he did was head for the bathroom. The cold water stung against his scraped skin, but he endured it in silence. The bruises were starting to darken—evidence of his repeated failures.
After drying off, he moved to the kitchen, the scent of warm food filling the air as he prepared dinner. A simple meal. Nothing extravagant. Just something to refill the energy he had burned away during training.
He ate in quiet, without hurry, and his mind distant.
Even after washing the dishes, the thoughts lingered.
He changed into fresh clothes—casual, unremarkable—and stepped out of the house once more.
Not toward the forest.
Not toward the hill.
But somewhere else.
The streets of Lynden now were filled with a few people as he cycled through them, the town settling into its usual morning bustle.
His destination wasn't far.
It never was.
Minutes later, he arrived.
The hospital.
.
.
.
***
A/N: Sorry, readers and bots. I won't be able to update new chapters for some unknown duration.