I stepped out of the arena, my legs still unsteady, heart pounding as if the battle hadn't ended. The echoes of the crowd's cheers still rang in my ears, like ghosts of a moment that felt surreal.
"I won... I actually won..."
The thought looped endlessly in my head, and I couldn't tell if the shaking in my hands was from excitement or fear.
"Just four more wins now, John. Stay sharp."
I was so caught up in the whirlwind of my thoughts, I didn't notice her presence behind me—
Until something slammed into my back.
— "THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT, HANDSOME!"
Ciny jumped onto me like a monkey clinging to a tree. Her legs locked around my waist, her arms wrapped around my shoulders with a grip way too strong for someone her size.
— "Guh— Ciny?! Warn a guy before jumping him like that!"
— "You were incredible out there! What a show!"
— "It really wasn't that spectacular..." — I muttered, even though my face had the smug look of someone who just won the finals.
— "Sure, sure. Anyway, I'm up next!"
— "Wait, really? Can I come watch?"
— "Nope."
— "Come on, quit messing around."
— "I'm serious. No."
I blinked. Her tone had shifted—playful, but hiding something behind it.
— "Why not?"
She looked away, eyes a little clouded.
— "I just… don't want you to see me fight."
There was something fragile in her voice. I didn't press.
— "Alright. If you don't want me there, I won't insist."
She turned back to me with a teasing grin.
— "What a good boy~!"
— "Hahaha... Well, I'll head back to the cell for a bit. Need to sort my thoughts. Good luck out there."
— "Who needs luck when you've got this face?"
— "So humble..."
I wandered alone through the dim corridors of the underground complex, the stone walls cold and damp. My boots echoed against the floor with a steady rhythm as the heat of battle slowly left my body. Still, my mind spun with her words.
That's when I noticed a faint glow coming from one of the rooms. Inside, I saw an old man tinkering with gears and levers, his movements precise, yet gentle, like an artist with his canvas.
— "Excuse me!" — I called out gently.
The man jumped, almost dropping the wrench in his hand.
— "By the stars, boy! My heart's not what it used to be!"
— "Sorry! I didn't mean to startle you. I was just curious… Who are you?"
— "Name's Sin. I'm the resident mechanic here."
He paused. His eyes narrowed as he studied me.
— "Wait a second... Aren't you the kid who flew during the match?!"
— "Ah... yeah. Word sure travels fast, huh?"
— "You nearly gave me a heart attack—in the best way! Haven't seen a fight that raw in decades!"
— "Haha... thanks, I guess? I was kinda just winging it... literally."
He laughed heartily, then gestured at his workbench.
— "I was working on a prosthetic arm, actually."
— "Wait, you have those here?"
— "Of course."
Something stirred in me. My thoughts instantly flew to Ciny—her missing arm, her fake confidence. I clenched my fists.
— "Would it be possible... to get one of those? For someone else. A friend."
— "Normally I trade 'em for favors. But you, boy…" — he smiled — "You lit a fire in this old soul. I'll give you one. Free of charge."
— "Are you serious?! That's amazing!"
— "Dead serious. But... consider it a loan. You owe me a favor down the line."
He moved to a cabinet and pulled out a sleek, dark metal arm with embedded mana crystals glowing faintly in blue. It looked like it belonged to a royal knight or something out of a dream.
— "Here. This one's in perfect condition."
I took it, awed by the craftsmanship.
— "Thanks... really. The friend—it's Ciny. My cellmate."
The moment I said her name, the smile vanished from his face.
— "Ciny...? You don't mean Ciny the Mad?"
— "She's a bit... wild, sure. But I don't know if she's known by that name."
His eyes darkened.
— "Son... listen to me. Keep your distance from that girl. She's dangerous. She once—"
— "Look." — I cut him off. My grip on the prosthetic tightened.
— "Thank you for this. But I'm not going to stand here and let you badmouth someone I trust. I don't care what she did in the past. Right now, she's my friend."
I turned and left without waiting for a reply.
Back at the cell, I sat against the cold stone wall, fingers tracing the edges of the prosthetic arm. I waited.
Then—footsteps. She returned.
— "Hey, John! You didn't think you'd gotten rid of me that easily, right?"
— "You're like a cockroach."
— "Excuse me?! I'm pretty and charming, not gross and squishy!"
I tossed the box toward her.
— "Here. For you."
She caught it mid-air, blinking.
— "What is it?"
— "A prosthetic arm. Got it from the workshop. For you."
She opened the lid slowly. Her eyes widened. The room fell silent.
— "...For me?"
— "Yeah."
She stood there for a moment, frozen. Then, her lips trembled. Tears welled up, then overflowed, sliding down her cheeks.
I panicked.
— "W-Wait, did I mess up?! Did I say something wrong?!"
She shook her head, clutching the box to her chest.
— "No one's ever given me anything... without wanting something in return."
I didn't know what to say.
So, I said nothing.