Rowan stood outside in his training clothes, a knife strapped to his waist, heart pounding with anticipation. He had asked Sora to summon him a mentor — someone who could turn him from a weakling into a powerhouse.
A brilliant light flared before him, blinding him momentarily. When it faded, Rowan found himself staring at an elegant setup: a long table and chairs that looked entirely out of place in his front yard.
At the head of the table sat a man who looked to be in his early twenties. His wheat-colored hair fell neatly across his brow, and his amber eyes glowed with a quiet, nostalgic warmth. He was tall, muscular, and moved with the kind of effortless poise that screamed old money. His suit was sharp, tailored to perfection, and he drank his tea with an aristocratic air.
For a long moment, the man simply observed Rowan, a faint, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips — like he was remembering something from long ago.
Finally, he spoke, his voice rich and smooth.
"I suppose proper introductions are in order. I am Nicolai C. Tolvaj."
Rowan tilted his head.
"Isn't Tolvaj Hungarian for... thief?"
Nicolai chuckled, the sound low and amused.
"It is. My ancestors had quite the sense of humor. No better way to hide than in plain sight, after all."
"So you really are a thief?" Rowan asked cautiously.
Nicolai didn't answer. Instead, he vanished in a blink — reappearing behind Rowan without a sound.
Rowan spun around instinctively, his body tensing as Nicolai leaned down and whispered:
"I don't know. You tell me."
Rowan stumbled back a step, his heart racing. Nicolai only smiled, amused by the boy's reaction.
"What I am," Nicolai continued, straightening his cuffs with casual precision, "is your teacher. And I do not take my duties lightly. From now on, you will listen to my every word. Without question. Am I understood?"
Rowan swallowed the lump in his throat. He squared his shoulders.
"Yes, Mentor."
Nicolai's smile deepened, a glint of approval in his amber eyes.
"Good."
He pulled out a well-worn silver pocket watch, its surface polished from years of use. With a practiced flick, he opened it and said crisply,
"Let's stay on schedule."
As he approached, adjusting his sleeves, Rowan smirked.
"Really? Adjusting the sleeves? What's next — you gonna tell me manners maketh man?"
Before he could blink, Nicolai slugged him square in the face.
"Are you done?"
"Yeah," Rowan groaned, rubbing his cheek. "I think I'm good."
"Good. Then we can begin."
The atmosphere changed instantly. The tension in the air was suffocating. Just locking eyes with Nicolai made Rowan feel small. Powerless.
Then came the words.
"Attack me as you will. It won't matter anyway."
Humiliation and self-loathing surged within Rowan, replacing his fear. Gritting his teeth, he launched himself at Nicolai, aiming a roundhouse kick at his head.
Nicolai barely moved. He tilted his head back just enough to evade the kick — so precise, Rowan could swear he felt the wind graze the man's face. Before Rowan's foot hit the ground, Nicolai stepped forward with blinding speed and gently pushed him in the chest.
Rowan was sent flying.
He crashed through the air and slammed onto his bed — five stories up.
Stunned, he blinked and sat up, dazed.
Did he just throw me five stories?!
Nicolai's voice cut through his thoughts.
"Are you having a little nap? I'm not sure I have that kind of time."
Rowan groaned and stood up. From the ground below, Nicolai was still smirking at him — as if he hadn't moved at all.
Despite knowing he couldn't win, Rowan was determined to show what he was capable of. He took a breath, dropped from the window, and landed gracefully a few paces from Nicolai. He drew his knife, assuming a practiced stance: dominant foot forward, body turned sideways, left hand up to guard his jaw, right hand gripping the blade in a reverse grip.
His eyes burned with grim determination. This wasn't just training anymore.
Nicolai smiled approvingly.
"Yes. That is how you should approach every opponent, no matter the situation."
A tense silence followed.
Then, in a relaxed tone, Nicolai said:
"Are you waiting for permission? Attack me."
Rowan struck. His movements were swift and fluid. He jabbed with his knife, aiming straight for Nicolai's heart.
With one hand behind his back, Nicolai casually raised his other arm and smashed the back of his hand against Rowan's wrist. The knife slipped from Rowan's now-numb hand. But Rowan twisted, caught the blade mid-spin with his left hand, and lunged for Nicolai's ribs.
Big mistake.
Nicolai stamped the back of Rowan's thigh and twisted his body to intercept, catching the knife and tossing Rowan to the ground. Rowan rolled away and recovered instantly, charging in again.
This time, he came close, shoulder nearly brushing his opponent. He lashed out with an elbow, simultaneously transferring the knife to his other hand and going for the thigh.
Nicolai leaned back, dodging the elbow, and brought his knee into Rowan's arm, knocking the blade off-course. With one fluid motion, he raised his leg and side-kicked Rowan in the ribs — but before the boy could fly, he slammed his foot down, pinning Rowan to the ground.
Rowan gasped, staring up at the foot on his chest — and at the condescending smile above it.
That smile filled him with rage.
Nicolai saw it — and immediately, his expression changed to something far more serious. Fatherly, almost.
"Don't let rage overtake you," he said gently. "It serves no real purpose. It will blind you to what you need to see. But remember this moment — burn it into your mind. Because this is what you'll see again… should you fail to gain the strength to protect what's important."
Rowan calmed. Slowly, he nodded.
Nicolai stepped back.
Rowan climbed to his feet. Breathing heavily, he took up the stance most natural to him — a simple boxer's stance. He tensed his legs.
And then he moved.
Faster than ever before.
Energy surged into his right arm, gathering from fist to elbow. Sora, watching from the side, went wide-eyed.
"Rowan, wait—!"
But he didn't hear her.
Nicolai met her gaze. He only smiled.
Rowan launched his punch —
"Ultimate Skill: Normal Punch!"
It landed flush on Nicolai's jaw. Dust and debris exploded around them.
Rowan grinned. He felt it connect.
But as the dust cleared… he froze.
His fist — still pressed against Nicolai's unmoving jaw — was shattered. The force of his own attack had rebounded, unable to damage its target.
He stared at his ruined arm, the adrenaline delaying the pain.
Then it hit.
Agony like nothing he'd known tore through him. Flesh mangled, bone pulverized, blood vessels ruptured — his arm dangled uselessly.
He screamed, collapsing.
Through the haze of pain, he barely heard Nicolai's voice.
"Power uncontrolled brings nothing but ruin. But I'd be happy to teach you how to control it."
Nicolai snapped his fingers. From Rowan's shadow, dark tendrils emerged, cocooning his arm. Life force drained from the surrounding plants and insects, flowing into his body. His arm began to mend — not just healing, but strengthening.
Nicolai sat down with casual grace, sipping his tea as though nothing had happened.
To the side, Sora and Bancho each held up scorecards marked "10."
"Really?!" Rowan groaned, glaring at them.
"You two are just gonna betray me like that?"
"Not my fault," Sora shrugged. "That was a masterful ass-whooping."
"You're supposed to be on my side!" Rowan barked.
"Get good, scrub," Sora said with a smirk.
"Okay, I have what I need," Nicolai said calmly. "Take five while I finalize your training regimen."
Rowan lay on the ground, chest heaving, body aching. Rain began to fall, soaking into his skin — and with it, shame and bitter resolve hardened like steel inside him.
He wasn't there yet.
But he would be.
No matter what it took.
---
[Quest Updated]
Title: Training For Real
Objective: Survive Nicolai's Training
Reward: 1 Master Skill
Penalty for Failure: Survive Five Nights at Freddy's as the Night Guard