Michael woke up to the soft creaking of wood and the unfamiliar scent of herbs. He blinked slowly, his mind heavy and sluggish. As his vision cleared, he realized he was lying in a warm, comfortable bed in a house he didn't recognize.
"Where... am I?" he muttered to himself, pushing back the blanket and swinging his legs over the side.
The room was simple but cozy—wooden floors, a small table with a single chair, and a shelf full of dusty books. Michael rubbed his face, trying to clear the lingering fog from his mind, then stood up and began exploring.
As he scanned the room, something caught his eye: a thick, leather-bound book was on the table. Curious, he picked it up. The title was faded, but he could make out enough to understand it dealt with fire magic.
He opened it and began leafing through the pages. Techniques, diagrams, notes—someone had carefully compiled a lifetime's worth of fire magic knowledge here.
"Wait... this technique…" Michael thought, his eyes locking onto a particular passage. It described the same fundamental method he had instinctively used during his fight against Rob. Excited, he flipped further and found another technique—new, unfamiliar, but powerful.
Before he could study it further, the door creaked open.
Michael looked up sharply to see the village elder—the old man who had commentated during the tournament—stepping inside. The elder, oddly enough, was wearing only loose shorts and a small towel slung over one shoulder.
"Good morning, Michael!" the elder said cheerfully, waving a hand.
"G-Good morning!" Michael stammered, still surprised. "How long was I asleep?"
"Just a day," the elder replied with a chuckle. "You fought well—but you burned through almost every drop of strength you had. Your body needed the rest."
Michael nodded slowly, absorbing the information.
Then, unable to stop himself, he blurted out, "Um… why are you almost naked?"
The elder laughed heartily. "Ah, that! No need to worry. There's a hot spring not far from here—natural, healing, but not popular with the locals. I always take a dip first thing in the morning. Helps the old bones keep moving!"
Michael scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "I see..."
"You should go too," the elder suggested. "Just don't stay more than half an hour. It'll help you recover even faster."
Michael hesitated, then nodded. "Alright. Sounds good."
The elder beamed. "Excellent! It's simple to find. Just follow the path behind my house, head into the forest for about five minutes. You'll find a small clearing—that's where the spring is."
Michael listened carefully, committing the directions to memory.
As he turned to leave, the elder added, "Oh, and take the book with you. Consider it a gift."
Michael looked at the leather-bound tome in his hands and felt a surge of gratitude. "Thank you."
"Just don't forget—you still have responsibilities today. Be sure to show up at the arena where yesterday's matches were held."
"I won't be late," Michael promised, slinging the book under his arm.
With that, he stepped out into the fresh morning air. The sun was climbing higher, bathing the village in gold.
Following the elder's instructions, he found the path and made his way into the woods. The sounds of birdsong filled the trees, and a cool breeze ruffled his hair.
Soon, the clearing opened up before him. A crystal-clear spring steamed gently in the morning light, surrounded by smooth stones and soft moss.
Michael stripped down and eased himself into the warm water. The sensation was incredible—relaxing every muscle, soothing every ache.
He closed his eyes and let himself drift, feeling the tension melt away. The aches from yesterday's brutal battle faded with every minute he spent soaking in the healing waters.
"This is exactly what I needed," he thought with a sigh.
Half an hour passed quickly. Feeling renewed, Michael climbed out of the spring, dried off, and dressed.
Carrying the precious book tightly under one arm, he began heading back toward the village.
The forest path split into two—one way leading back to the elder's home, the other toward the village proper.
As he stood there, choosing his direction, something strange happened.
A voice—so faint it was almost like a whisper on the wind—stirred within him.
"So this is where you live now, old Theodore," the voice murmured.
Michael blinked, confused. He hadn't said anything.
He looked around, but there was no one in sight.
Frowning slightly, he shook his head, brushed off the unease, and continued walking toward the village, unaware that something deep inside him had stirred.