Vivian's revelation had left the air in the room charged with static electricity. "The Munkai Tournaments," plural, resonated in the silence like an alarm bell. Michael felt the weight of those words expanding in his mind, multiplying the danger, the scale, the immensity of what he had gotten himself into.
Vivian, their face still marked by a cold anger, directed their violet gaze straight at Michael. Their voice, though measured, held the tense calm of a sword before it is drawn.
"Michael, listen closely, because this is what matters now," they said, each word a nail hammered in. "Before you even begin the tournament proper, you will have to face a more immediate and dirty preliminary trial. Three people. Three aspirants or talent hunters who have detected your nascent contract, your energy signature. They want to tear away your right to participate, either to sell it to another sponsor, to absorb your potential, or simply to eliminate the weak competition before it matures."
The air in the room seemed to turn icy. Michael felt a chill run down his spine. This wasn't a distant threat; it was imminent.
"Michael," Xix interjected quickly, trying to take control of the conversation, his tone urgent but practical. "You will have fifteen days before the first fight. And, as announced, the tournament's preliminary elimination rounds begin in one month. That gives you a total of thirty-one days to train. Thirty-one days to stop being prey."
The numbers hit Michael like fists. Fifteen days. Thirty-one. They were deadlines for his survival. The shock paralyzed him. His eyes darted from Vivian to the nothingness where Xix was, unable to focus. His mind, already at its limit, became a whirlwind of silent panic.
I have to fight? But I'm not ready. How? With what? Against who? A mage? A monster? How do I defend myself? How do I attack? Do I run? Do I hide? Will I die in an alley again, but this time for something I don't even understand?
His breathing became shallow, rapid. The walls of the room, so spacious moments before, seemed to be closing in.
Vivian watched the panic overflowing in Michael's eyes. With a smooth but firm movement, they extended their hand and placed it over Michael's clenched, trembling fist. Their touch wasn't warm, but stable, like a rock in the middle of a furious current.
"Don't worry," Vivian said, their voice had lost its edge and was now surprisingly serene. "I will help you. I will teach you to defend yourself. To not die in the first round."
The word "defend" pierced the fog of panic. Michael shifted his gaze to Vivian's hand, then to their violet eyes. "Defend myself?" he repeated, as if the concept were new, an unexpected lifeline.
"Vivian," Xix interrupted, trying to steer the conversation back to the original plan. "We… were hoping you would teach him some magic. Something offensive. To level the field."
"Magic?" Vivian closed their eyes and took a deep breath, as if asking a higher power for patience. When they opened them, there was a practical fatigue in their gaze. "It's very little time. With luck, and if he breaks through, he'll learn the absolute basics. Enough to not accidentally kill himself."
Michael, feeling the need to assert something, to take any control, latched onto that idea. "It's enough!" he said, his voice sounding louder than he intended. "I could… improvise in the moment." It was more a desperate attempt to convince himself than them.
Vivian stared at him, then turned their attention to the empty space beside Michael. "Xix, I know you don't fully trust me, and I don't blame you, given my… condition. But I would like your permission to teach him the basics. And if possible, to focus primarily on the Nemesis State."
The name fell into the room, and Vivian's reaction was immediate and visceral. A shadow crossed their face. Their hands, which were on the table, clenched slightly. Michael watched as their eyes, for an instant, lost focus on a distant point, as if seeing hard memories, ancient and painful battles. But with a visible effort, they ignored it, shaking their head and fixing their gaze on Michael with absolute seriousness.
"Michael," they said, their voice now grave, with no trace of the earlier laughter. "You will suffer."
Michael, still pumped by a false adrenaline of bravery, straightened in the armchair. "I know. I'm prepared." He tried to put on an expression of sure determination.
Vivian shook their head slowly, with a sadness that frightened Michael more than any shout. "No. You are not. Not even close. Believe me, the training will be hard. Exhausting. It will push you to the limit of what you think you can endure. And we start tomorrow at dawn." They paused, and their expression softened a degree. "For now, let's eat something. And I will explain, theoretically only, the most basic things."
They got up and headed toward what Michael assumed was the kitchen, an open, bright space at the back of the room. As they walked, they spoke over their shoulder.
"Magic, the energy we call essence, mana… it has many names. It exists in all living beings. But to channel it, to give it form and purpose, most need a focus. An object that acts as a lens, a conduit." They stopped by a counter and gently took an object from a drawer. They held it up for Michael to see.
It was an old pocket watch, of tarnished gold. The face had no numbers, but intricate engravings of plants and constellations. The hands were thin needles of bluish silver. Around the edge were inscriptions in a language that made Michael's eyes hurt just from a brief glance.
"This is my focus," Vivian explained, running a finger over the lid with tenderness. "As long as I have it with me, I can weave magic. You need to bind your will to an object, and never, ever separate from it if you want to manifest magic reliably. Normally, the binding ritual would take weeks of meditation and subtle attunement…" They left the sentence hanging, looking meaningfully at Michael. "But your case is more urgent. That's why, if we are to do anything useful in fifteen days, we must go straight to the Nemesis State."
"What's so special about this… Nemesis State?" Michael asked, leaning in intrigued, momentarily forgetting his hunger.
Vivian placed the watch on the kitchen table. "It's complicated. Watch." They didn't make a dramatic gesture. They simply took a deep breath.
(In the kitchen air, a translucent illusion appeared. It showed a person's figure, their silhouette glowing with an electric purple aura. Then, Vivian raised their own fist. Instantly, an emerald-green fire, alive and crackling, enveloped their hand and forearm. It didn't burn the table, didn't emit heat Michael could feel, but it radiated a palpable energy, a sense of contained, fierce power.)
"This fire is a spell, a simple pyrokinesis manifestation," Vivian explained. "The Nemesis State forces magic to circulate inside your body, instead of projecting it outward through a focus. Essentially, it's a state of personal magical overload. It gives you speed, strength, endurance, and senses increased brutally. Your blows carry the weight of spells without casting them. It is an immensely powerful state… but terribly draining."
"So I could… throw fireballs? Manipulate earth?" Michael asked, his eyes shining with a glimmer of hope.
"In theory, yes, while in Nemesis. You could channel elemental effects through your body. But it's not omnipotent. Besides extreme physical and mental exhaustion, the state has a critical cooldown period. You need at least twenty minutes to safely activate it again. If not…"
The illusion in the air changed. It showed the same figure with the purple aura launching a colossal attack. But then, the purple energy began to accumulate erratically, clumping together in the figure's chest, forming a grotesque, glowing knot. The image showed a silent, devastating implosion: the energy collapsed inward, and the figure disintegrated in a flash of violent light.
"What the hell…?" Michael murmured, instinctively stepping back.
"That," said Vivian, dispelling the illusion with a gesture, "is the danger of the Nemesis State. A great boost and defense, but it leaves the user vulnerable afterward, and if abused or forced beyond the personal limit, it destroys the user from within. The magical implosion leaves no trace."
Michael paled. The fear he had managed to contain returned with force. "It sounds… harsh."
"Fortunately for you, Michael," Xix intervened, speaking for the first time since the initial revelation, "that won't be strictly necessary in all situations. If you obtain a good innate Ability from the contract, you could rely less on Nemesis for skirmishes."
"An ability?" Michael turned toward Xix's voice, confused. "How?"
"Don't worry," said Vivian, beginning to chop vegetables with a knife that had appeared in their hand. "All participants get one or two unique abilities, derived from the nature of their sponsor and their own potential. They normally manifest in the week following the contract's signing."
A genuine relief, the first in hours, flooded Michael. "Haha, at least that's some good news."
"Michael," said Xix, his tone more serious. "The ability depends on our specific contract, on the union of your will to survive and my… nature. We won't know what options will be presented to you until they manifest. And you, Michael, will have to choose. You can only keep one of the two offered."
A choice. Another weighty decision. Michael frowned. "I'll have to choose between two… That'll be tough."
"But tell me something, Vivian," he asked, returning to the table where it now smelled of herbs and something cooking. "Can everyone use the Nemesis State?"
Vivian, from the kitchen, answered without turning around, their voice now more relaxed by the culinary routine. "No. Only humanoids, or beings with a similar energetic and physical structure, can safely access it. Other races have their own versions of overload, but Nemesis is specific to our… configuration."
"I see…" Michael looked at his own hands, imagining them wreathed in green fire. "Hey, you really don't have to cook, honestly…"
Vivian laughed, a genuinely cheerful sound that contrasted with the tension of minutes before. "Don't worry. It's nice to have company. And my boyfriend won't be coming today, so there's plenty."
"Truly, the fame of humans is worthy of recognition," Xix commented, his tone bordering on mocking admiration.
"It is, I can attest to that," Vivian responded, laughing comfortably as they sautéed vegetables in a pan that seemed to heat itself.
"The fame of humans?" Michael asked, completely lost.
Xix and Vivian laughed in unison, a strange and harmonious sound that filled the kitchen. It was as if they shared an inside cosmic joke.
Vivian, still laughing, turned and winked a violet eye at Michael. "It's for being so hot, haha."
"Hot?" Michael scratched his head, more confused than ever.
"They are referring to the remarkable tendency of humans to form… intimate bonds with practically any intelligent race they encounter," Xix explained with academic calm. "It is a subject of study and some awe in wider circles."
Michael's jaw dropped. "Are you joking?"
Vivian let out another hearty laugh, shaking the pan. "No, we're not! That's why they're known in some sectors as the 'true romantics of the cosmos.' Hahaha. They always find a way to… connect."
"Certainly, they don't say no to an interested lady," Xix added, as if quoting a report.
"And the human ladies are no slouches either, believe me!" Vivian added, serving the food onto two plates that appeared on the table. "I've seen things that would surprise you."
Michael didn't know whether to believe them, but the atmosphere had become so absurd and warm compared to the nightmare of moments before, that he couldn't help but laugh too. It was a laugh of relief, of contained madness being released. "Haha, well… I guess it's a compliment… in some way."
And so, between awkward laughter and theoretical explanations about mana flow and bodily tolerance limits, Michael had his first real dinner since leaving his mother's house. The food was simple but delicious, and for a while, the weight of the fifteen days, the month, the multiple tournaments, receded a little.
But when they finished, and Vivian showed him a simple room to sleep in, reality returned. He looked out the window at the Minneapolis night. Thirty-one days remained until the tournament preliminaries. Fifteen days until his first real fight, against an unknown enemy who wanted the little he had.
As he lay down, Michael clenched his fists. The fear was there, a cold knot in his stomach. But now, for the first time, there was something else: a direction. A teacher. Training that would begin at dawn. And the promise of his own ability yet to come.
"Tomorrow," he whispered to himself, closing his eyes.
In the living room, Vivian looked at the pocket watch in their hand, their violet eyes reflecting the faint light. They remembered their own Nemesis, the pain, the fleeting glory. You will suffer, they had said. And it was true. But in their eyes there was also a flicker of hope, a rekindled curiosity. Perhaps, just perhaps, this dirty, tenacious boy, this "cockroach" chosen by a nameless god, could surprise them all.
The training began at dawn. The fifteen-day countdown had started.