(Flashback — 5 minutes before Mira met Demian)
[In front of Mira's room]
At that moment, Mira and Goliath were standing in front of the room, talking to each other.
"Goliath, I'll stay at the base of the staircase. Until I come back, don't let anyone enter my room, even if you have to stop them by force," Mira said.
"Understood, Miss Mira!" Goliath exclaimed.
Mira then turned and headed toward the stairs, but before leaving, she looked back at Goliath and said, "Take care. I'm trusting you, Goliath."
"Yes," Goliath replied.
(End of flashback)
...
[ In front of Mira's room ]
At that moment, Alan and Goliath were staring each other down.
"So you're not going to let me pass, Goliath?" Alan asked, clearly trying to avoid a fight.
"No. I received an order from Miss Mira not to let anyone enter the room," Goliath said firmly.
"I understand. Then I'll have to get through by force," Alan said as he began to raise his mana.
Noticing this, Goliath did the same.
The pressure in the air increased as both of their mana began to rise.
Alan's mana wrapped around his body like an unstable yet intense current, reinforcing his muscles and senses. Goliath, on the other hand, remained firm like a wall, his mana concentrated in a raw, solid form, spreading through his body like an invisible armor.
"Then come," Goliath said, taking a defensive stance. "But know that I won't hold back."
Alan took a deep breath and moved first.
He propelled his body with mana, closing the distance quickly, and threw a straight punch at Goliath's chest. The impact echoed through the corridor, but Goliath only stepped back half a step, grinding his teeth.
"He's tough…" Alan thought.
Goliath responded immediately, twisting his body and delivering a powerful side blow. Alan managed to raise his arm in time, reinforcing it with mana, but even so, he was thrown against the wall beside the corridor.
Bang!
Alan dropped to his knees, his arm tingling.
"You've improved," Goliath said, advancing with heavy steps.
Alan smirked as he stood back up.
"Then I'll have to go further."
He concentrated mana in his legs and vanished from sight for an instant, reappearing beside Goliath with a low kick aimed at his supporting leg. Goliath grunted as he felt the impact and lost his balance for a brief moment.
Alan took advantage of the opening and landed a rapid sequence of strikes to the abdomen and face.
Thud. Thud. Crack.
Goliath staggered back two steps, spitting a bit of blood onto the floor.
For a moment, silence took over the corridor.
"Good," Goliath said, wiping his mouth with his forearm. "Very good."
Then he smiled.
"Now it's my turn."
Goliath's mana exploded outward.
He charged like a bull, completely ignoring the pain, and grabbed Alan by the arm before he could retreat. With absurd strength, he spun him around and slammed him into the ground.
Boom!
Alan felt the air leave his lungs.
Before he could get up, Goliath was already on top of him, delivering a punch reinforced with pure mana. Alan crossed his arms to defend himself, but even so, he was pushed back, sliding across the floor.
"You're fast and you have good mana," Goliath said, breathing heavily. "But your blows still lack weight."
Alan stood up with difficulty, his body aching, but his gaze remained firm.
"Maybe," he replied. "But I'm still standing."
The two faced each other again, just a few meters from the door to Mira's room.
Alan was breathing heavily, feeling the damage beginning to weigh on his body. Goliath also showed signs of pain, but remained solid, as if he were becoming harder to bring down with each passing second.
The fight was balanced.
But it was undeniable.
Goliath still had a slight advantage.
Alan wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand and took a deep breath. Instead of advancing again, he slowed his pace.
Goliath frowned.
"…Are you giving up?" he taunted.
"No," Alan replied calmly. "I just stopped fighting the way you expect."
Alan took a few lateral steps, keeping his distance and forcing Goliath to turn his body to follow him. His eyes analyzed everything: the narrow corridor, the marks on the floor, the heavy breathing of his opponent.
He's far too strong for me to beat head-on… but he's not fast, Alan thought.
Alan focused his mana not in his fists, but in his feet.
Suddenly, he advanced—not to attack, but to provoke.
Goliath took the bait.
He stepped forward and threw a direct punch, as powerful as before. Alan narrowly dodged, letting the blow pass inches from his face, and touched the ground with his hand, using mana to propel himself backward.
Goliath's fist slammed into the wall.
Crack!
Stones broke loose, and the impact echoed through the corridor.
Alan didn't waste time.
He reappeared behind Goliath and struck precisely at the side of his knee—not hard enough to break it, but at the right angle to stress the joint.
Goliath grunted and dropped to one knee for a brief moment.
"Tch…" He tried to stand up too quickly.
That was exactly what Alan was waiting for.
Alan focused his mana into a single point and struck Goliath's abdomen at the exact moment he forced his body upward. The impact was dry and deep, knocking the air out of the giant's lungs.
Goliath staggered backward.
"You're aiming where it hurts most when the body is moving…" Goliath muttered, surprised.
Alan kept his guard up, his breathing controlled.
"You fight like a wall," Alan said. "But even walls crumble when the pressure hits the right place."
Goliath advanced again, but now his movements were slower, more cautious. Alan noticed—and smiled inwardly.
He began alternating real attacks with feints, forcing Goliath to defend against blows that never came, gradually draining his mana.
Another mistake.
Alan rotated his body and landed a direct punch to Goliath's chin, using the full rotation of his torso to compensate for the difference in strength.
Goliath stepped back twice, his heavy feet dragging across the floor.
For the first time, Alan was breathing better than he was.
The advantage had shifted.
Goliath raised his gaze, serious now, recognizing the situation.
"…So that's it," he said. "You're not trying to defeat me with strength."
Alan planted his feet firmly in front of the door to Mira's room and smiled.
"No," he replied. "I'm making you get tired before I do."
"Damn it!" Goliath shouted. "Don't think I'll let you defeat me with such a simple strategy!"
Goliath charged at Alan with all his strength. Seeing this, Alan simply sidestepped and said calmly,
"It may be a simple strategy, but if it's working, that's all that matters."
Sensing Goliath's rage, Alan used the wall as support and leapt into the air. He concentrated a massive amount of mana into his leg, then spun midair to build even more momentum before directing a powerful kick toward Goliath.
Realizing there was no time to dodge, Goliath quickly focused a large amount of mana into his arms and raised them to defend.
Boom!!
A thunderous sound echoed through the corridor as Alan's kick connected.
Damn it… I won't be able to withstand this, Goliath thought, as the ground around him began to crack and his legs trembled under the overwhelming force pressing him toward the floor.
At that moment, the pressure of both of their mana began to split the surrounding walls, the cracks creeping dangerously close to Mira's room. Goliath noticed.
No… I can't let her room be affected by this battle, he thought.
Catching Goliath in that brief moment of distraction, Alan poured even more mana into his leg. Finally, he broke through Goliath's defense and landed a clean kick to his face, slamming him straight into the ground.
Goliath lay on the floor, apparently unconscious, while Alan stood before him, breathing heavily from the immense mana expenditure.
That was really difficult… I've already used more than half of my mana. But now isn't the time to worry about that. I need to get into Mira's room, Alan thought as he turned toward the door.
But without Alan noticing, a shadow rose behind him.
Goliath was standing right at his back.
"Ah—!"
Alan tried to turn around quickly, remembering Demian's words.
"Never lower your guard until you're sure the fight is over, Alan."
But before he could react, a massive punch struck his head, smashing him violently into the ground.
Boom!!
A loud crash echoed. Alan was now on the floor, his head completely bloodied, barely conscious.
Cough.
He spat out a mouthful of blood and thought,
How can he still stand after that blow?
Alan tried to understand how Goliath had managed to rise, until something came to his mind—something Demian had once told him while explaining mana.
"Alan, it's not just quantity and efficiency that decide a fight. There's also an unpredictable factor: emotions. Emotions can make someone's mana stronger for a short period of time, so you need to pay attention to that too."
So that's it… Goliath's will to stop me from entering the room gave him the strength to stand back up, Alan realized.
Alan clenched his teeth.
Damn it… why did I have to mess up now?
He tried to get up, but his body wouldn't move.
I can't fail now… just now that I have a dream again. I want to see the world, I—
Alan then lost consciousness.
…
(Flashback)
[Black Zone – many years earlier ]
Alan was born like any other boy in the Black Zone.
Nothing special.
The streets where he grew up were narrow, covered in dust and shadows, with simple houses made of old wood and reused metal. At night, weak lanterns lit the paths, and during the day the sun punished everything equally — people, rooftops, and hopes.
Even so, Alan had a family.
His father worked whenever he could, doing heavy labor in exchange for a few coins. His mother took care of the house and improvised meals with what little they had. It wasn't an easy life, but it was a real one.
They laughed sometimes. They talked at the table. They shared the little bread they had as if it were enough.
Alan grew up hearing simple phrases:
"Don't complain.""Be grateful.""Surviving is already enough."
And for a long time, that really was enough.
He helped with small chores, ran through the streets with other children from the Black Zone, and returned home dirty, tired, but smiling. He didn't dream big. He didn't expect much from the world.
Until that day.
It was an ordinary day. So ordinary that no one would remember it if not for what happened next.
Alan was helping carry some boxes when he slipped. His body lost balance, and he fell hard, hitting his head against a rusty metal structure.
The dull sound echoed.
Alan collapsed to the ground without moving.
Blood slowly began to run down the side of his head.
Time seemed to stop.
His mother screamed.
His father rushed to him, holding the small, limp body in his arms, calling his name again and again. Desperation took over. People gathered around, some shaking their heads, others whispering that "there was nothing to be done."
The injury was severe. Far too severe.
Alan wasn't breathing properly. His eyes were empty.
Everything suggested he wouldn't survive.
But then…
The bleeding stopped.
The wound began to close.
Before everyone's eyes — especially his parents' — the flesh regenerated, the bones realigned, and Alan's body reacted as if the accident had never happened.
He coughed.
He opened his eyes.
"Dad… Mom…?" he asked, confused.
The silence that followed was worse than any scream.
His mother took a step back.
His father slowly let go of him, as if he were holding something he could not understand.
Fear replaced relief.
Alan didn't understand. He was alive. He was fine. But the looks he received were not of happiness — they were looks of shock, of distrust.
From that day on, everything changed.
The touches became rare.The conversations grew short.The smiles disappeared.
Where there had once been simple affection, there was now distance.
Where there had once been care, there was now silence.
His parents began to avoid him. They never said anything directly, but Alan felt it. He noticed when his mother avoided his gaze, when his father spoke to him only when necessary.
At night, he heard whispers.
"That's not normal…""What is he…?""What if he brings trouble…?"
Alan tried to be the same. He tried to act normal, help more, smile more.
But the more he tried, the further away they became.
Until the day the men arrived.
Men dressed far too well for the Black Zone.
They spoke in low voices with his parents. Alan didn't hear everything, but he heard enough.
"Coliseum.""Good price.""A chance."
His mother was crying.His father couldn't look at him.
By the time Alan understood what was happening, it was already too late.
He was taken away.
There was no real farewell.There was no explanation.Only silence… and fear.
As he was led away, Alan looked back one last time, hoping someone would call out to him, tell him it was all a mistake.
No one did.
That was the day Alan lost his home.
But worse than that…he lost the place where he believed he belonged.
(End of flashback)
...
[ In front of Mira's room ]
Golias remained standing, panting, watching Alan's body lying on the ground.
Blood ran down the boy's head, forming small pools among the cracks in the floor. The blow had been clean, direct—strong enough to knock down anyone.
He took a deep breath.
"…It's over," he murmured, still clenching his fist.
But then—
Golias frowned.
Something was wrong.
The mana in the air began to change.
It wasn't explosive.It wasn't aggressive.
It was… strange.
A chill ran down Golias's spine when he realized that Alan's mana—just moments ago weak and unstable—was beginning to grow.
And it didn't grow chaotically.
It flowed.
Calm. Continuous. Persistent.
"…What?" Golias muttered, taking an involuntary step back.
The blood on Alan's head began to move.
Before Golias's eyes, the open wound slowly started to close. The skin reconnected, the bones realigned, and the flow of mana concentrated exactly where the body had been most damaged.
The corridor fell into absolute silence.
Alan moved.
First his fingers.Then his arm.
With a low groan, he pressed his hand against the floor and began to rise.
Golias's eyes widened.
"Impossible…" he whispered.
Alan remained on his knees for a moment, breathing heavily. Blood still stained his face, but the wound was no longer there. His body, which moments ago had seemed at its limit, now pulsed with renewed mana.
Golias felt the pressure increase.
It wasn't brute strength.
It was vitality.
"So… that's it," Golias thought, feeling a strange weight in his chest. "It wasn't just endurance… nor pure mana."
Alan slowly lifted his head.
His eyes were still heavy, but there was something different in them now—a silent determination, sustained by a power that refused to let him fall.
Golias clenched his teeth.
"…Regeneration," he murmured.
He finally understood.
Alan's magic wasn't for attack, and it wasn't for defense.
It was the ability to stand up—again,and again,and again.
Alan's magic was the magic of regeneration.