Training Hall 3,

Fourth Floor,

Learning Building 2.

10th June, 2043.

Klack! Kataka... Clack-la-clack-clack!

Heavy quick sounds like the striking of drumsticks against stone escaped the training room, its rhythmic burst echoing the tight control exerted by its cause. At the center of the hall was a 20mx20m raised platform upon which were placed several wooden training poles roughly thirty centimeters in diameter.

Each pole sported about four to six 'arms' protruding out of them.

These wooden poles were rotating and moving around the platform with reckless, random abandon, eliciting screeches from the wind they shredded in their path. Amid this raging storm danced a young man dressed in a tight-fitted training vest and shorts, his body weaving between the wooden shoots with chilling precision. When one came too close for comfort, he would lash out, slapping and redirecting it from his path.

This training required an enormous amount of spatial awareness and perception, as well as tremendous agility, flexibility, and reaction speed. Without even one of these attributes, any person undergoing this training would only find themselves in a world of pain.

This training room was one of the greatest inventions of Genaco Fitness. Since the Nesla coils powered it, many institutions and even governments bought them to train their soldiers to counter several attackers at one go when retreating was not an option.

The platform had levels of difficulty ranging from 1 – 10. Usually, a trained soldier could handle around rank 3—5, while specialists like the American Navy Seals could go up to level 7 before being forced to stop.

Shockingly, however, the number 8 was displayed on a waist-high station that manipulated the platform's level. The young man weaving his way through the storm was performing at a level above the highest trained individuals!

Of course, this was more an issue of suitability as opposed to skill. Specialists in armies were usually trained for power, speed, and precision, aiming to swiftly take out targets with the least amount of open combat possible. As such, although they lacked the flexibility and speed of the young man, their robust and powerful bodies could tank stray hits from the wooden dummies while they smashed their way through, allowing them to reach all the way to level 7.

The young man, however, although not weak by any definition of the word, could not contest in terms of raw strength. If he were to be hit numerous times, he would be forced to quit early as even though he could fight through pain, his body was not biologically capable of sustaining prolonged punishment.

As such, Suzuki’s method of advancement was to dance around, continually dodging and redirecting the dummies for as long as possible until they reached their 'red zone.'

Since the dummies were meant to mimic being attacked by a mob, they slowed down after about thirty minutes, allowing him to start his counterattack.

Hair matted to his forehead from obtuse sweating, Suzuki gritted his teeth as he repeatedly ducked, weaved, and redirected the blows from the inconsiderate dummies. His eyes darted left and right, quickly taking in the dummies around him and predicting their path patterns before moving to the few 'safe' spots.

The higher the level, the fewer these spots would be; at this point, there were barely three-four constantly shifting zones every second. Suzuki could not dare to imagine what it would be like at level nine or ten.

Without an idea on how much time had passed, Suzuki could only wince as his muscles screamed in protest, clearly none too pleased with the abusive exercise. But he gritted his teeth and held on, just waiting for a sign.

It was then, just as his concentration seemed to be on the edge of slipping, that he noticed it. A dummy to his right seemed to slow down by about a cm/second. It was almost negligible, but Suzuki caught the lapse. Without a shred of hesitation, he lashed out like a tiger out of his cage. His right foot cut a savage arc as it smashed against the dummy. The dummy toppled over as the damage registered.

Immediately, about three to four dummies were forced to reposition their route as they would have collided with the toppled one if they continued. Suzuki leaped out like a cat out of hell at these dummies that had paused for about a millisecond. His fists flew rapidly and smashed into these four, the accompanying pain an afterthought as he retreated sharply just as several dummies zoomed past his previous location.

Suzuki's eyes were cold, a small smirk at the corner of his lips as he took in the five downed dummies. With those five out of the way, the number of 'safe' spots had increased, giving him more room to dodge. Of course, by this point, the dummies had begun to slow down, allowing him to smash them down systematically one by one.

Eventually, only the youth remained, surrounded by a field of 'corpses.' Of course, the dummies were not dead, but only on standby until the next user activated the platform.

Rooted to the spot, Suzuki, drenched in sweat, occasionally trembled. It was not that he did not want to move, but more like he could not. Each time he tried moving his feet, sharp pains ran up the length of his thigh, so harsh in their warning that even the incomparably resilient young man could only suck in deep breaths as he waited for his body to stabilize.

Suzuki understood that it would take several weeks before his body could handle The Platform at level 8 without severe repercussions. Added to that, the heavy workout he had put himself through as soon as he returned from the game world, and it was a wonder he was even able to stand at all.

The pain eventually subsided after about ten to fifteen minutes, allowing Suzuki to make his way out of the training hall. However, the ceaseless throbbing in his thighs let him know that he would have to refrain from strenuous exercise for at least two days. Suzuki sighed inwardly, acknowledging his rashness. Similar to how Razznik influenced him, it seemed he had been affected by Kashi's sudden rapid rise in strength.

Alas, reality was different from the game. There was no way to get strong that fast without paying the appropriate price. However, to Suzuki, it was precisely this slow, arduous progress that he enjoyed, the pain in his legs reminding him of his mad search for strength back in junior high.

Back then, while Razznik rose in power, Suzuki had gone around challenging all combat-related clubs without discrimination. The Suzuki of then, who Adachi had likened to a massive clump of unchecked rage, was only able to keep his anger in balance when he was in a fight.

To avoid a situation where he provoked people blindly, Suzuki challenged the combat clubs, spending approximately two weeks to a month to completely steal their techniques before crushing their leaders.

Naturally, even if Suzuki was a heaven-defying genius, two weeks was too small to steal an entire dojo's skills. However, that was without factoring the time Razznik spent in-game polishing the skills. The Suzuki of then had been really brash, even going as far as taking trains to neighboring cities to challenge popular delinquent schools so he could experience battles against numerous foes.

Suzuki shook his head with a rueful smile as he recalled these 'fond' memories. During his trip down memory lane, he returned to the locker room, took a shower, and changed to a pair of dark grey T-shirt and sweat pants.

Though Suzuki was lost in his memories, it did not stop him from immediately coming to a halt a few meters from the door, his muscles tensing as he stared at the man who stood at the doorway.

Sporting a pair of square rimmed glasses, the snake-eyed man seemed to fill the entire doorway with his presence. Although bald, the man had a full, sharply cut dark beard currently fiddled with by his right hand. Suzuki could not be sure, but the man looked to be in his late twenties to early thirties.

Suzuki's fingers tightened around the strap of the gym bag slung over his shoulder. "Who are you?"

The bald man smiled as if expecting this question. He answered, "Nagashiki Kaido. Feel free to call me, Kai." Even though he seemed amiable, his frame never left the door, ultimately revealing his intentions. He did not plan on letting Suzuki go.

Suzuki frowned. "I'm not interested in your name." He took a step forward, killing intent visible in narrowed eyes. "Who are you?"

Something flashed in Kaido's eyes, and for a second, Suzuki felt like a viper was watching him. It was an oppressive feeling he had only suffered once outside the game world, and that had been from James Shouyou. However, it was gone in a flash, that sickening smile still apparent on Kaido's face. "I guess this much is necessary. I am Kaido, team leader of Titan's Breath." He searched Suzuki's eyes expression, his brow raising when he saw the look of indifference on the younger man. Could it be they were so insignificant... or? "Could it be... you have never heard of me?"

This time it was Suzuki's turn to raise a brow. "Should I have?"

Kaido's brows shot up in confusion. "You... what team do you belong to? Only Gladiator Prospects should be able to use this training hall freely." Indeed, Kaido was shocked. When one of his teammates had reported seeing a crazy guy rush from level 1 to 7 on the platform, his interest was immediately piqued.

Kaido ran over to see which of the teams had been hiding such a talent, only to discover that he did not recognize the young man!

Suzuki was about to rush his way out but paused when he heard the Gladiator remark. Taking a closer look at this man, he seemed to have a faint impression of him at the gathering earlier. Of course, he could be wrong, but Suzuki decided to play along for the time being. "Team Four."

"Four?" Kaido's brows sunk even lower. "Have you not updated your team name? Who is your leader?"

Suzuki remained vigilant, but he could already tell this guy did not arrive with ill intentions. Although Kaido had a naturally predisposed evil aura, Suzuki could feel it resulted from his unique temperament and not that the guy was actually evil or anything.

Since Kaido's goal seemed to be information gathering, Suzuki chose to comply and see if he could get any himself. After all, he had been in the game for over six days. A lot could have happened in that time.

"I do not know what you mean by team name. And no, we do not have a team leader."

Kaido revealed a blank stare, completely shocked. "Wait, you have registered for the competition, right?"

Once again, Suzuki returned the question with an indifferent gaze.

The snake eyes blinked in apparent disbelief, staring at the puzzle before him. Since Suzuki's team was numbered fourth, there was no way they would not have received the message. What the hell had this team been doing? Kaido immediately found himself at a crossroads, his mind weighing the pros and cons of either helping this clueless guy out or deceiving him.

Kaido hesitated, but when he recalled the figure dancing through the level 8 storm, a determined glint flashed in his eyes. That's right. He had already spilled the beans. If he tried to deceive this dude and Suzuki found out the truth later, Kaido would gain himself a potentially powerful enemy with no plus side.

On the other hand, Kaido could gain a potential ally with no costs. The decision came easily to him. "Do you have your phone?"

Suzuki fished through his pants pocket and took out the device. Truthfully, there was no need to ask that question since the phones acted as keys to 90% of the facilities in the campus.

Kaido nodded. "Check your messages. There should be an announcement posted up three days back."

Suzuki did as he asked and flipped through the inbox folder, ignoring the dozens of Campus Sysemt update messages. Surprisingly, although he had dozens of messages from that address, there was only one other address that had sent him a message, and that message was titled 'Centurion Placement.'

Suzuki clicked on that message and inspected its contents.

Apparently, Genaco had completed a new line of suits they called Centurions. The contents warned that the Centurion project places were severely limited, so the Gladiator teams had to battle it out for a spot in the Centurion project. Naturally, they would be using the Gladiator suits in the contest to determine which team had the best prospect in terms of Neuro-Sync adaptability.

There were also added incentives such as seven-figure sums in salaries and monitored leaves to the outside world. However, although Suzuki was neither interested in money, nor did the outside world hold any particular shine, his fingers trembled slightly from excitement.

Why?

That was quite simple. The young man loved fighting!

The harder and more challenging the fight, the better! So it went without saying that Suzuki was immediately pumped for this. Hmm, it seemed he would have to work out a system with Kashi, so neither of them lost out too much.

Suzuki clicked the 'Register' tab. The screen displayed the names of his teammates and the team name "Team 4" above. He did not know why, but he seemed to be allowed to make the administrative decision as to whether to register or not and change the team name. Well, when he considered his team's makeup, he could vaguely understand why he was chosen as the leader.

A crazy murderer(?), a weird gothic hacker girl, a big-breasted bishoujo who had no qualms molesting a man she just met, and Usman Taki. Ah, now that he thought about it, though Taki had his shady parts, he should be the most normal of them all, right?

Suzuki shook his head as he instinctively edited the team name and registered his team. After all, it was not like he could fight alone. The whole team had to be registered if he wanted to participate. Well, if anyone complained, he did not mind fighting alone. That would be even more stimulating.

Satisfied, Suzuki placed the phone in his pocket. "I owe you one."

Kaido nodded. He appreciated the young man's straightforward personality. Therefore without any pretense, he responded. "Mmn, I'll hold you to that." He noticed Suzuki adjust his bag like he was going to leave. Since he found the young man intriguing, he asked, "I never got your name."

Suzuki had half a mind to butt him off, but he recalled that the guy had just helped him. With a slight frown, he said, "Mato Suzuki."

Kaido was pleased that Suzuki did not brush him off thoroughly. So even though there was a slight bite to the young man's tone, he chose to ignore it. "This might seem a bit rude, but what's your Line profile name?"

Rather than call it ‘L.N.E,’ many casual gamers referred to the game as Line . Kind of like COD as opposed to C.O.D.

Suzuki's eyes narrowed. "Why do you want to know?"

Kaido's eyes slightly widened, impressed by the intimidating aura pouring off the young man. "Some teams have started forming alliances in-game to boost their leveling speed. Since we are all working in the same place, I thought it would be best if we—"

"Allied, so the other teams don't wipe us out in-game?" Suzuki snorted. It wasn't hard to see what was truly happening. Before this competition, the teams might have just wanted to increase their leveling speed. But now, it would not be weird if they started hunting each other in the game to reduce their competitors. Frankly, Suzuki wanted to tell him to piss off. After all, he preferred to fight alone, but it seemed the guild leader in his head had other ideas. With a sigh, he said, "I cannot tell you my name, but I work for the Hopeful Maggots."

Shockingly, apart from a slight brow raised, Kaido did not have too heavy a reaction. With a disappointed sigh, he muttered, "Oh, that is unfortunate. I’m based at Imperium, so it would be hard for us to work together."

Suzuki found his lack of reaction amusing. Not to be arrogant or anything, but he knew Kashi's Hopeful Maggots was an impressive beast of a guild right now. Someone not impressed by that would either be incredibly arrogant or have strength equal to or surpassing the guild. Suzuki was ninety-nine percent sure it was the latter. Later, Kashi would have to find out from Leila about guilds active in Imperium.

The two men, realizing they would not get much else from each other, decided to call it quits temporarily.

Suzuki nodded as Kaido moved out of the doorway, allowing him to pass. Suzuki's brow rose when he stepped into the hallway to see two men at either side of the door. The young adult to his left had shaggy brown hair that was tied into a ponytail at his back. His lean body had signs of muscles, which showed he had recently begun exercising.

In contrast, the meat bun to his right was both extremely fat and tall. He was at least three heads taller than Suzuki, and the young man could not help but stare at those arms the size of his head. Though others could not tell, Suzuki's trained eyes could see the muscles rippling beneath that layer of fat. Both men resembled the extremities of the otaku stereotype, but Suzuki did not find anything amusing about them.

Instead, after analyzing them and determining they would not pose much of a threat if they were to gang up on him, he turned back to Kaido. "Incidentally, how many teams are there?"

Kaido's eyes revealed an appreciative look when he noticed Suzuki did not discriminate against the two men. Unfortunately, it was more like Suzuki did not give a damn about them, just like he did everyone else. "Twenty-six, five-man teams."

Suzuki nodded, then glanced at the two at the sides of the door. "Are these two your teammates?"

Kaido nodded. "The broomstick's Nagashiki Kaizen and the meat bun's Nagashiki Kaizo."

Suzuki brows rose in surprise. "A family of pro-gamers. Can't believe I actually met one in real life." He paused and then glanced at them again with renewed interest. "...Are you strong?"

Kaido revealed a slimy grin. "Reality might be tough, but it would be difficult to find someone to defeat us in-game or in the gladiators."

Suzuki revealed a toothy grin, which made Kaido's heart palpitate. "Is that so?" His eyes seemingly locked onto all three men simultaneously, like a predator on its prey. "I look forward to fighting you guys." With those words, he adjusted his gym bag and strode down the hall.

Kaido watched Suzuki leave with mixed emotions, but was brought back to his senses by a buzzing by his right thigh. He fished out the phone and revealed a wry smile at the notification that arrived. "How aptly named," he murmured as he led his brothers out of the building.

Final Team Registered: Crazy Heads!

Registration Closed. Please Standby for Further Details.