Carr

There was some commotion after we had hugged each other, but we didn’t care. After some mild arguing, the meeting was called off the night and Mikhail took me to a separate room to speak to me. Celle and the others shot me a questioning glance, but I shrugged and muttered, “It’s fine, I’ll explain later,” as if I knew what was going on exactly. A part of me had been expecting not to find out anything for a few months again. To not know what was going on.

Turns out, seems like I forgot what coach’s style was like.

“You are probably wondering,” he started, opening a bottle of wine, “how I came to this world and became president of this place.”

I stared at him blankly. “Sorry—president? Not king?”

“I don’t believe in monarchy,” he shot back, pouring generous glasses of wine for us both. “They told me I was going to serve as king and I told them to shove it up their ass. So I became their president, no matter what they call me.”

“President. Of a kingdom.”

“Yes.” He pushed a wine glass in my direction and I gratefully accepted it. Lord knows I’m going to need it. “It wasn’t exactly a job I wanted.”

He really never gave the impression that he would have enjoyed the attention or the duty. Something was definitely wrong there. “This is probably the time when I should ask how you came here,” I said, slowly. “And—how long you have been here for.”

Mikhail studied his wine glass for a moment, then set it down and pulled an open bottle of rum from the side of his chair and took a generous swing from it. “You familiar with the Steel Price, yes?”

Suddenly the wine tasted bitter. “Yes,” I muttered. “I am.”

He nodded slowly. “My wife and kid were killed in an accident—the fucker with the hat did it to send me here. Only he couldn’t really close out the job on me, accident wise. I became really paranoid, you know? So he just gave me cancer and called it a day.” He studied me cautiously. “You know how that story went. I arrived here some five years ago, feeling rather pissed I was literally dead and still not allowed to see my wife and kid. Fucker with the hat told me they were there, in the ocean of souls, and that I would be able to see them when my mission was done. Told me he wanted me to kill god, or alternatively, train a lot of people in this world to become strong enough to kill god.”

Fucker with the hat probably refers to the Old Gambler, I considered. It’s interesting…between Johan, myself, Max and coach…he’s picked a lot of people from the same area. Fencing is a small community, especially at the top level—chances are, you could throw the name of any fencer in the top of the world and I would probably have talked to them on more than one occasion. But still, why was it that the Old Gambler had focused specifically where we lived? It wasn’t always the case. Duartes was in Portugal when it happened…right? That was something to talk to the Old Gambler about. Or Isabella. “What did you do then?”

Mikhail looked at me with a face full of surprise. “I told him to go fuck himself, punched him in the face, then jumped on the first ship going to Razil I could find—heard this place wasn’t affected by that stupid fucking magic, figured he couldn’t annoy me here. Almost died, too. Apparently not many trips make the trip successfully.”

I considered this for a moment. “Honestly, if I knew there was an island without magic when I first came here, I would have probably come here too instead of just…fencing like a maniac looking for a place to die.”

Coach smiled proudly at me. “Glad you didn’t, though. Was really fun getting news about how you kicked everyone’s ass.” He gestured at the sword around my waist. “And glad you came to your senses and started using a pistol grip again.”

I laughed alongside him. “Mikhail, I have to ask…how did you become king of this country?”

He adjusted his position in his seat and drew a deep breath. “See kid,” he began, in the tone that implies he is not impressed with his own reasons, “I became president of this kingdom by accident. They had just created a constitution here. Fantastic, right? But they wanted a monarch to rule over them too—almost a constitutional one. I don’t have much power. Hence why I think president is a better title, see, shitty kid?”

My eyes narrowed and I muttered, “Mikhail, you imbecile, that makes even less sense. Presidents have more power than kings.”

“Eh, what about Germany?”

“That—is still—the German president still has more power than most constitutional monarchs. I think. Probably. Hopefully?” Fuck, didn’t expect to get quizzed on geopolitics here. Wait, no, they definitely have more power!“Listen, doesn’t matter, that’s on Earth—and I’m not there anyway!”

Mikhail took another long sip from his bottle and smiled at me. God, it felt good to see him smile again. I never thought I would see that again. “You know, kid, to be honest my original intention was to use all the non-power I had to do nothing. Didn’t want us getting involved in this fight at all. But my disciple insisted, because her former boytoy wanted help, so I agreed to hear them out…even if there’s fuckall I can decide by myself. Limit of my powers seems to be listening to people whine, then relaying it to the other people. Sometimes I can get the public on my side. Fuck it if I know, never really tried pushing for much. Just want a quiet life, and this way I don’t have to work for food or a house.”

Are you saying you accepted becoming a figurehead king for the sake of not having to work? Of course he did. That checked out. If the king is mostly just a figurehead, it makes sense why he was allowed to have the title.“Wait, hang on—your—disciple? Is Estella your disciple?”

“She is.”

For some reason, this hurt me and I knew it was unreasonable. Have to be mature about this. He hasn’t done anything wrong, it’s not like he betrayed me by having another disciple this is just—shit, why do I hate it so much?“And that changes things somehow?”

“It does. The Champion of this country has more power than I do, to be honest. Look, what I was saying before is they needed anyone to be their king and they held a tournament. The magic bullshit doesn’t work here, so…I cleaned house.” He shrugged. “My body might be old, but the fucker-with-the-hat did away with most of its issues…temporarily, at least. Turns out that level up bullshit can even make this shitty body of mine go on for just a bit longer. Have been getting worse.”

I looked up at him. “Wait, so then if you don’t get any more levels, you—”

Mikhail shrugged. “Yes. My tumor is going to come back, and I will die pretty much immediately.” He tilted his head to the side and laughed at my concern. “So what? Let the dead rest. Annoying enough they brought me back.”

A whirlwind of emotions went through me at once. I had just met him again, and now he was saying that the moment he couldn’t level up anymore he would leave again. No. No. No. “We can get the levelling up system working again,” I said quickly. “We just have to steal the god powers from Johan. It will be fine. And—and even if not, we can look for a stockpile of spheres, and—” Shit. Valle is going to want to use them for war. For a moment I imagined Valle attempting to keep a pile of spheres that could keep my coach alive away from me for the sake of this stupid war. I would fight him, I realized. There was no conflict there. “It’s going to work out, Mikhail, we just have to—”

He threw his glass of wine at my face. “See what you made me do, you shitty kid?” he asked angrily. “You made me waste alcohol. Damn.”

“I—what the hell, coach? I’m just trying to figure out how to keep you alive!”

His features relaxed. “I know,” he said, softly. Then he stood up, walked toward me and put his hand on my shoulder. “I know, kid. But I was never meant to be around here, and to be honest, I’m…tired. I want to go. I have to see my wife and kid, they must be lonely without me. I…I heard their voices at one point, you know? Was almost there. Then the Hat-Fucker threw me in here and…I was stuck. Wanted to just go ahead and die at first, but did you know it’s really hard to kill yourself when you got this level bullshit? HP makes it really, really difficult to kill yourself before someone spots you doing it and tries to be a noble hero. Bah. No, kid, I will be glad when I leave.” His hand went from my shoulder to my head, and he messed up my hair as he once did in the past. I feel like I’m a kid again. “Besides, don’t you hate leveling and magic? What happened to that?”

“Yeah, I hate it,” I shouted, “I hate it a lot. I’d rather die than earn a single level.” Words that I never thought of came to my heart at that moment, and made their way to my lips. “Because levels make light of the fencing you taught me,” I muttered, in a low voice. Shit. That’s…that’s part of the reason, isn’t it? It was most of the reason, if I could get myself to admit it. “Everything you taught me about hard work, dedication, perseverance…those countless nights we worked together to make me stronger…it feels like levels are making light of that. Feels like gaining a level would be throwing away everything I learned with you, coach.” And everything I am, the person I grew up to be…that all came together in that dusty old gym. “I really would rather die than gain a level. But if it would mean keeping you alive, then I would sell my fucking soul if that’s what it took.”

I expected him to tell at me, to hit my head again. Instead he sat down beside me and pulled my head against his chest. “It must’ve been pretty lonely after I left, eh?”

“Yes,” I muttered.

“It must’ve been really difficult to get better at fencing without me.”

“Yes,” I muttered, feeling tears well up.

“It must’ve been really painful to be on the piste and not hear me shouting at you.”

I had to pause not to cry. “Yes.” Then, with more effort, fighting that suffocating feeling in my throat, I said, “It was.”

He nodded slowly. “But you are not alone anymore, are you?”

After he left, things were quite difficult for a while. I went to tournaments, doing worse and worse every time, but Max kept me in check and helped me stay motivated. When I went to university, I met Jack, Danner, Clara, Katherine…and Johan. Even though I hated Johan so much, looking back on those days, I felt…happy. Like I belonged somewhere. My life fell apart when Johan started his descent into madness, and I came here expecting to find a place to die. Like coach.

But then I met a lot of people. Celle, first of all. She was kind of crazy and scared me a lot at first, but it was her crazy motivation that kept me going for a while. It was like being taken along by a hurricane. Valle, he was my first opponent in this world…and my greatest rival. I owe him a rematch, still. Fedal, he annoyed the shit out of me when we first met…but he makes me prouder of him every day. Isabella, she’s literally insane, or was insane at least. But she’s a good person trying to do what’s best. *Max…*I can’t believe I met him again here. He hasn’t changed at all. Gilder attracting problem like a lunatic isn’t even what gets me, it’s more that I’m surprised he was the one Max was always talking about. Thought his partner would be someone who had his life a bit more together than that. But I like that bastard anyway, even if he gets us in trouble all the time. *Valder and Nevada…*those royal siblings give me a lot of shit. But they both earned my respect, in different ways.

“I am not alone, no,” I muttered. “Doesn’t mean I’ll be happy that you have to go.”

“But you will be fine,” he told me gently. “And besides, I was dead already—just be glad we get to spend some more time together before I leave again.” He messed up my hair one more time then said, “And when it is yourtime to go…I will introduce you to my family. My son will be happy to meet you. He always wanted an older brother.”

It was here that I gave up trying to stop crying, trying to be an adult. There was no way that would work. No, I wanted to be an immature kid at that moment and that’s what I decided to go for. “Hey, coach—can I make one request?”

“Anything, shitty kid.”

The idea came suddenly but I could not stop it. “Before you go—can you...can you stay long enough to watch me win the world title here? It never felt right, you know? When I became world champion on Earth and you weren’t there to see it.” It bugged me more than I cared to admit it, but it was just how things were. Sometimes you just had to do things like that. That I was given a chance to make up for being too immature when he died the first time…gotta be thankful for that. And I can’t waste it. “I’m not asking you to wait long. Just…just one shot. That’s all I need. I’m going to win, and I want to celebrate with you.”

“You have a deal, kid,” he muttered. There was a pause. “Actually…that is part of the plan I would like to propose.”

I pulled my head away from his embrace. “What did you have in mind, coach?”

“Estella is the one who thought of it, really. It’s something we can probably convince the suits here to do. This country is mighty casual since it barely has to worry about anyone else, but people have been a bit nervous since magic died. Nervous…and excited, to be able to trade with the wider world. But they might be able to listen to this if we try a little hard…and your friends are good at putting on a show.”

“Okay, seriously—what is it that you are planning?”

“The World Cup,” Mikhail told me plainly. “Johan is losing support faster than he expected, thanks in part to the fact he’s a fucking idiot, but also thanks in part to the fact he’s not a legitimate Emperor until he wins the Battle for the Crown. Once Johan is taken care of, everything should sort itself out, right? So let’s combine the two. The winner of the World Cup this year will have the title of Emperor—surely Johan won’t complain about that, eh?

There was something oddly fitting about this. Thinking back about the things Johan used to say, about all the bullshit he used to cry about, pretending it was all for the sake of his brother…it all came down to the world cup. The title I earned and he didn’t. “I somehow doubt Johan is going to agree to a ceasefire until then.”

Coach shook his head. “Oh, he will…if Cresna has fucking guns. What is he gonna do? He is losing support left and right. Mad man is launching an attack on Cresna as we speak, last I heard. If your friends back there can hold, we can probably convince him to settle it in a tournament—he’s arrogant, and he must think on some level that legitimacy to his claim would fix most of the problems with his reign.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, “that…that is fine. I can do it. I’m going to win that tournament if it’s the last thing I do. And I’m gonna make you proud.”

Mikhail nodded and smiled at me. “Then let’s get started convincing the fuckers who have actual power here—they just might listen. And then, we can get started heading to the Flying Castle of Vyzerworth for the World Cup.”