Det didn’t return to the stands where the rest of his party probably was. After the events of the arena, he needed some time to himself. To walk. To think. To figure out a solution to the glaring weakness Fourth had exposed.

  His scrolls were as flimsy as, well, paper. Her thrown daggers had torn through them and cancelled his magic with ease. He’d assumed the two seconds to summon a rendition was his biggest problem. In a way, he wasn’t wrong. Just, not for the reasons he’d expected. He’d thought himself vulnerable while infusing his magic. The scrolls were supposed to be the counter to it. Carrying his paintings around allowed him to be mobile.

  That wasn’t enough when his opponent was as fast as Fourth was. Or had the ability to teleport, apparently. Only the shield he’d had from the beginning of the fight had given him half-a-chance. As soon as he’d lost his sword, he’d been out of offensive options. A good old shield-bash to the face would’ve worked fine, if he’d been able to pin Fourth down.

  Even when he’d taken one of her weapons away from her, or, when he’d thought he’d taken one of her…

  Who said she only one? Det carried extra ink and brushes. It would be dumb for Fourth to only carry two knives. She could have another dozen of them hidden across his body, available for use when it would surprise her opponents most.

  Damn, fighting her—losing to her—was far more eye-opening than beating baby-face had been. That was only cathartic.

  Det sighed as he walked, passing people by on the street without looking at their faces. Buildings on both sides of the road similarly blurred as he continued on, no destination in particular. Each step came with some of the critique Beauty had made them go through after their dungeon run on Radiant. What had he done? What could he have done differently? How would it have changed the outcome of the fight?

  Most of the time, he still lost. All the time, in fact. Unless he brought one of his giant renditions into the fight from the very beginning. That, though, led to the question of whether or not Fourth would’ve challenged him at all if he had. She’d called him a feast. An easy meal, in other words. Somebody she knew she could beat and put on a show while doing it. Having a house-sized ink-bear with him may’ve made him appear more threatening.

  Still, even with that monster on his side, he wasn’t sure he’d win. Fourth was just too fast. To counter her the next time they fought…

  Det’s mind trailed off again as he shook his head. That was the wrong way to be thinking about it. He couldn’t make beating Fourth his goal. Sure, he could come up with counters to everything he knew she could do. He could go to her future duels to pick out any tricks she used. Look for openings and weaknesses. By studying her, he could definitely come up with a plan to beat her.

  But, only her.

  He didn’t need to become stronger by beating her; he needed to become strong enough to beat her. End statement. She was his next wall, sure, but she wasn’t his endgame. She was the same thing to him, as he was for her to get in the arena. A step. Part of the path, not the destination.

  So, then it’s not just somebody who can teleport I need an answer to. It’s anybody who can move as quickly as she can. Anybody who can interrupt me infusing my paintings. And, preferably a way to protect my paintings.

  That was… a tall order. Det did better when he could prepare for a fight, like he did for baby-face. He could pick and choose his renditions, and the format of the duel even gave him a chance to summon his weapons right as the fight started.

  Except, that didn’t work against Fourth. She’d seen him do it against baby-face, and countered it faster than Det could react to. Then again, it’s also possible he could’ve gotten that rendition summoned in time. Fifty feet for a thrown dagger to cross, that couldn’t have been instant. He’d just been too slow. That was something he could work on.

  The painted flame on the bottle had worked too. She hadn’t been able to see it. Det wore a lot of black. Who was to say he couldn’t paint some tools directly on his own uniform. Or, something like the armor he’d been thinking about the night before. It was so simple, it was shocking he hadn’t thought of it before.

  … though he would need to test if infusing the rendition would consume his clothes like they did paper. Or, more like walls or mistship decks, if it would leave the surface untouched. Could really go either way. Wait, no, he’d already answered that in the training room. It hadn’t consumed his clothes, but even part of it on his skin had the same limitations as the non-permanent tattoos did. It was a starting point, though.

  Finding minor solutions to his problems—or at least the beginning of solutions—got Det’s feet moving faster. He could admit to himself that getting beaten that badly had been a hit to his ego. But, whether it was his ReSouled body, his drive, or just good, old-fashioned stubbornness, it wasn’t going to keep him down.

  Yes, he’d lost this time. Now, he was moving on. Next time—or the time after—he would win. Det had spent twenty years trying and failing to get back to Earth. That hadn’t broken him. He hadn’t given up. He wouldn’t start now. Especially not over something so small as losing a duel that didn’t matter.

  With that determination in mind, Det rounded a corner and started back to the suite. If he was going to critique himself after that fight, he might as well get some help. And there wasn’t anybody who liked giving him harsh feedback more than Calisco. Might has well use that to his advantage. The others might’ve seen something as well. That was what he needed to keep on his path forward.

  That and the two bags of sugar-coated mini donuts he picked up from a shop he passed right after he turned the corner. The smell from the place took him right back to Earth and the donut shop he took Natsuki to every week after her piano lesson. Their tiny secret from mom.

  A little shop, tucked down an alley, with only enough seating for six people who didn’t have much concern for personal boundaries, and the smell of doughy heaven. Run by an old couple from eastern Europe—Det had no idea if they had donuts in their heritage—they made the best sugar donuts he’d ever found. And he’d looked. Oh, how he had looked.

  The minute he’d gotten even a whiff of this place on Mount Avalon, his body had gone into the store and ordered before he’d realized what was going on. ReSouled learning, no doubt. Whatever, the impressive bag he carried in each hand would make for good bribes to get his roommates to take the time to tell him what he’d done wrong. If that wasn’t enough for them, it’d still be fine. Det would gladly lock himself in his room to tear his performance apart.

  With the two bags of donuts all to himself.

  Them, and memories of sitting in that little donut shop back home with his daughter. It wouldn’t be a bad evening at all.

  It turned out Det actually spent most of the walk back to the suite thinking about his daughter instead of going over the fight again. Easy to justify, since he would review with his roommates. For those few minutes walking the rest of the way back to the apartment, getting lost in memories was a good reset.

  Something that let him open the door to his suite with a small smile on his face, and none of the annoyance at himself for having lost the match.

  “There you are,” Sage said as Det walked down the hallway to the shared space in the suite. Other than Sage, the space was empty. Nobody was in the kitchen area or at the countertop seating. The curved couch was bare around the magical, floating screens that worked a lot like TVs did. All of the doors—other than Sage’s—were closed to the private rooms off to the sides. “I was surprised when you didn’t come back up to the seats for the rest of the matches.”

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Det stopped. “The rest of the matches? There was more than just mine?”

  A sharp chuckle came from the ReSouled sitting at the counter. “You thought all those people in the stands came to just see you? Sounds like somebody has an ego to rival Calisco’s.”

  “That’s just mean,” Det grumbled. “I guess it makes sense, though. Was it other duels after mine?”

  “Exhibition matches before the next dueling circuit gets started,” Sage said. “Mainly C-Rankers, with some popular B-Rankers from last season headlining the ticket.”

  “Was it worth watching?” Det said.

  “Meh, it wasn’t bad,” Sage said. “They were all playing it pretty safe, so as not to give anything away before the next season really starts. Nothing gained or won by going all out in these pre-season fights. You didn’t miss anything you should worry about.”

  “Wish somebody had told me about that,” Det said. “Ah well, nothing to do about it now. Just you here?”

  Sage pointed what looked a lot like a french-fry in Det’s direction. “Somebody had to wait for you in case you came back all gloomy and broody. We both know Calisco would not be the best choice for the role.”

  “Figured she’d be here to yell at me for losing,” Det said.

  “Oh, she was mad,” Sage said, a grin on his face before he plopped the fry in his mouth.

  “Wonderful,” Det said. “Something to look forward to.” He looked at the bags of donuts in his hands. “Maybe these aren’t for her…”

  “But not mad at you,” Sage added after a sufficiently dramatic pause.

  “Huh?” Det said. Not his most eloquent response, but it conveyed his emotions well enough.

  “She was mad at Fourth,” Sage said. “For ambushing you like that. Then she was mad at Beast for not letting her jump in for her own Right of Revenge. Then she was mad at herself for agreeing with Beast’s reasoning.”

  “Which was?”

  “That she couldn’t win the fight,” Sage said. He slid the plate full of fries slightly to the side, placing it equally between two of the seats in front of the counter. “They’re no kettle chips, but they aren’t bad.”

  “Thanks,” Det said, and dropped the two bags of donuts on the counter, before sitting down in the seat next to Sage. One hand to bring a fry from the plate to his mouth, some chewing, and he nodded. “Yeah, these aren’t bad. Where did you find them?”

  “Freezer,” Sage said.

  “We have a freezer?” Det said.

  “That’s what I said when Weiss told me about it!” Sage laughed.

  “Huh,” Det said again. He really needed to expand his vocabulary, but the word was just so useful. “Back to Calisco. Beast told her she’d lose?”

  “Oh yeah,” Sage said. “Pretty bluntly.”

  “As Beast usually does things,” Det said.

  “Yup,” Sage said. “Calisco was already out of her seat when Projection called the fight. Beast’s hand came down on her shoulder like a vise, sitting her right back down. Told us all right there, we didn’t have a chance at beating Fourth if we jumped in.”

  “Were you considering jumping in too?” Det said, pointing a fry at Sage to emphasize the point.

  “No way,” Sage said. “She would’ve dismantled me with those knives of hers.”

  Det looked to where Sage normally carried his own pair of daggers. “Is that jealousy I hear in your voice?”

  “Possibly,” Sage said. “You may not have been able to see quite how terrifying she was from where you were in the arena…”

  “Oh, believe me, I saw,” Det grumbled. A chomp into another fry—they really were pretty good—helped vent the annoyance he thought he’d put behind him.

  “Really, I don’t know if you could have,” Sage said. “For you, it probably felt like a… like a chaotic onslaught.”

  “Dramatic wording choice,” Det said to Sage’s shrug. “Pretty accurate, though.”

  “From the stands, however…” Sage held up a fry for emphasis. “We could see just how in control she was. Not just of the fight, but of her every teleport. Every thrust, throw, jump, or movement. She wasn’t just reacting to where her daggers were or ended up; she was planning three or four moves ahead.

  “That you managed to hit her—twice, at that—was kind of insane,” Sage said. “It’s also the reason you got the applause when you were leaving. She was putting on a demonstration and sending a message to everybody in the stands watching. Or, at least, that had been her plan. You derailed it a bit.”

  “Not enough,” Det said.

  “Not enough,” Sage agreed. “But, don’t take it so hard. You sent your own message a few minutes before. Aarak didn’t know what hit him. Hell, he still might not know what hit him. The way you splattered his nose all across your shield made the entire arena wince.”

  Det nodded. “That did feel pretty good. Hopefully it shuts him up for a while.”

  “Even with the way the arena does injuries, there is no way he didn’t leave that fight with a bit of trauma and regret,” Sage said.

  “Speaking of the arena, why didn’t anybody tell me injuries in there aren’t exactly real?” Det said. “Was the whole week of fun and torture just an illusion?”

  “First off,” Sage said, holding up a fry in each hand. He bit into the one in his right hand first. Then he realized he shouldn’t speak with his mouth full, and held up a finger for Det to wait. After he swallowed, he continued. “Everybody knows about the magic of the arena. Why would we tell you?”

  “I didn’t know about it!” Det said. Another angry bite of a fry helped.

  “But, what did you think happened after…” Sage looked at the door to Tena’s room. “After, you know, Tena speared you in the face?”

  “I thought Jeckles healed me,” Det said. “He was there when I woke up.”

  “I guess you were unconscious when they took you out of the arena,” Sage said. “There can be some complications with that when people wake up outside the arena. He was probably around to make sure nothing like that happened.”

  “More like to take the credit of fixing my teeth,” Det grumbled.

  “That too,” Sage laughed, eating the fry in his other hand. As soon as he did, he seemed to realize he had a second point he still had to make, and grabbed another from the rapidly dwindling pile. “As for the training week, they turned off the arena’s protective magic for that. We could’ve really died. None of it was faked.”

  “That somehow makes me feel both better and annoyed at the same time,” Det said. “If the arena could stop us from dying—even if we didn’t know about it at the time—why would they shut it off? Isn’t that risky?”

  “Because we’re ReSouled,” Sage said. “And our bodies learn better from real experiences. If we know we’re going to be fine as soon as we leave, our bodies also know that. It is, in a way, like you called it, an illusion. As a result, our bodies won’t adapt as quickly to what happens to us in there, because we’re not under any threat. You know, the broken bones, the bleeding, etcetera, will just be a waste.”

  “I would hardly call electrocution, poisoning, gassing, drowning, hanging, crushing, and dismemberment ‘etcetera’,” Det interrupted.

  Sage waved a fry around to dismiss the concern before continuing. “Etcetera,” he said again. “All of that pain would’ve been for nothing, or, at least, for minimal gain.”

  “How do you know all this?” Det asked, stealing his own fry before they were all gone.

  “Because I’m from a family that produces and trains ReSouled every cycle, remember?” Sage said. “I was taught all about this before I came. Anyway, back to your question, the arena is special.”

  “You don’t say?”

  “Don’t be like that,” Sage said. “It is, and not just because of the peculiar protective magic it uses to prevent us from dying in duels. What’s special is that our bodies never seem to adapt to it. No matter how many duels you fight, or how much you practice within the arena, it’s one of the few things our bodies will never completely adjust to. Or, in the case of the arena, will never adjust to. It will always affect us the same way, by changing any real injuries to imaginary injuries once we pass through the gate.”

  “I guess it wouldn’t work very well if you could build up a resistance to the magic of it,” Det said. “Would give one of the fighters a hell of an advantage.”

  “It really would,” Sage said, snagging the last fry literally out from under Det’s hand as he reached for it.

  “That’s fine, I was saving room for donuts anyway…” Det grumbled. Sage just smiled as he ate the final french-fry, and Det ignored him in favor of grabbing the donut bag. There was the temptation of withholding any of them from Sage, but Det could be the bigger man.

  He reached into the bag and handed Sage one of the small palm-sized ‘nut-balls’, as the baker called them. A drastically unfortunate name, which the baker didn’t seem to realize. Whatever. He even gave Sage two. Of the plain ones.

  As for Det, he took one of the full cinnamon-sugar donuts. Or, whatever was closest to cinnamon on Elestar. Totally being the bigger man there.

  “Really?” Sage said.

  “Yeah, you going to fondle them or put them in your mouth?” Det said, looking at the two sweets in Sage’s hand. They both winced. “That… sounded way worse than it was supposed to.” He reached into the bag and handed Sage a full donut—chocolate glazed—in apology.

  “I’m definitely going to eat all of them now,” Sage said.

  “Plenty to go around,” Det admitted. “Got enough for everybody. But, back to something you said before. You said the arena is one of the things our bodies will never fully adjust to. What else should we worry about?”

  “The usual stuff,” Sage said. “Complete destruction of your head or heart, for example. Enough damage to either of those things will be enough to actually kill you, even at S-Rank. Of course, at S-Rank, it would take something else of S-Rank power to do enough damage to actually threaten you.”

  “Sometimes I really do think we’re zombies,” Det said.

  “Zombies don’t care if their hearts get punched out or destroyed,” Sage pointed out.

  “Zombies don’t care much about anything other than brains,” Det said. “Speaking of brains—or lack thereof—where is Calisco? Or the others? I thought one of them would’ve come out while we were talking.”

  “Eriba and Weiss went to get some groceries for dinner,” Sage said. “As for Tena and Calisco, after getting it pointed out they couldn’t win the fight, they needed something to blow off steam.”

  “They went to one of the training rooms?” Det guessed.

  “Hah, no,” Sage said. “Retail therapy. They went shopping.”