"T, thank you!" The first to break the silence is Sheeda.
She is both surprised and excited to receive the drumstick. Ibnor took a look at her and the corner of his lips slightly raised.
"Well.. that's a good start. That should be enough… For now. Being excessive will only raise suspicion." He thought as he continued to focus on his own plate.
However, he noticed that there is less sound now, indicating lack of activities. He raised his head only to see that every eye was practically trained on him. Feeling a mixture of nervousness and confusion, he blurted a question.
"What?"
"No.. it's just been a while since you came here," Harris said, faking a cough.
"Mmm," Ibnor gave a short reply, choosing to believe Harris.
"Yes, it's been a while since we all gather together like this. It would be great if we do this more often." Farisha suggested, trying to ease the conversation.
"Mmm.." Ibnor simply gave a noncommittal nod, neither giving an agreement nor outright objection.
Things are getting awkward again. Ibnor simply doesn't know how to act in front of his family while the others are on the edge because they don't know what topic they should talk about.
Farisha and Harris looked at each other, speaking with their eyes instead of their mouth.
"This brat, I should do something about him." Harris brow twitched.
"Don't, it will only push him away more." Farisha gave him a sharp glare.
"Fine, at least he is behaving like a normal person now…" Harris gave a weary look.
"So, let's just pretend nothing happened, we don't know what can trigger him to switch back to his old behavior." Farisha raised her eyebrow.
"Alright, I'll avoid mentioning some sensitive topics for now." Harris grabbed a glass of juice and down it in one go.
The awkward silence continued until the end of the meal.
"Khaleed, Ibnor, after you're done, come into my study room." Haris told his sons as he wiped his mouth with a napkin.
Then he stood up and left the dining hall. After the meal, Khaleed and Ibnor immediately went into Harris's study room. Reaching the door, Khaleed knocked on the door with three simple knocks.
"Get in." A short response can be heard from inside.
Khaleed and Ibnor stepped into the study, the heavy door clicking shut behind them. Harris sat at his desk, his gaze piercing.
"Do you know why I called you here?"
Ibnor glanced at Khaleed, a quick, almost imperceptible shift of his eyes, before meeting his father's stare.
"Whatever it is, I'm sure it's for my own good."
Harris and Khaleed exchanged a startled look.
"Docile? Since when?" The thought echoed between them, silent yet clear.
"You said you wanted to train seriously. Why?" Harris pressed, his voice low, his eyes boring into Ibnor as if trying to excavate the truth from his very soul.
Harris's presence, his sheer aura, was suffocating. Ibnor felt the air thicken, pressing in on him. This question, he knew, was paramount to his survival. But the pressure was too immense to allow for casual thought, for a carefully crafted lie. It demanded an honest answer, born of instinct.
"I... want to survive!" The words burst from him, raw and unbidden, straight from the deepest part of his being.
"What?!" Both Harris and Khaleed recoiled, genuinely taken aback.
Khaleed's mind raced, cycling through countless speculations, but a threat to Ibnor's life had never once crossed it.
"Who dares to threaten the life of MY SON?!" Harris's killing intent exploded, a tangible force that made both Khaleed and Ibnor stumble back a full step.
"Hold on! Wait! Hear me out!" Ibnor pleaded, his voice anxious, desperate to calm the storm he'd inadvertently unleashed.
"Speak!" Harris commanded, his voice a low growl.
"I can't depend on you forever," Ibnor began, the words coming faster now. "If, one day, you're gone, what am I going to do? Brother would be hard-pressed solidifying his position in the group. He might help, but only to a limited extent. If I don't start now, it'll be too late. I know my shortcomings. The way I am, it'd be impossible to survive. Even if everyone cast me away so I didn't become a burden, or simply used me for their advantage, I wouldn't make it. That's why I need to train. At least, if I'm good enough, I can survive."
The room fell silent, the weight of Ibnor's confession hanging heavy in the air.
"Was he simply acting all this while?" Khaleed questioned, his eyes fixed on Ibnor, trying to discern truth from performance.
Such foresight, such vulnerability – it simply didn't align with the Ibnor he knew.
Harris, too, frowned, a ripple of surprise crossing his face.
"At nineteen, he's thinking that far ahead? When he should be enjoying a life without worries?"
"Why ask your brother?" Harris finally broke the quiet, his voice calmer now.
"I don't have the connections," Ibnor admitted. "You already know I'm not gifted with weaponry, so I figured as long as he could get me some professional to show me the ropes, I think I'd manage... some way, somehow."
"I was about to praise you as an intelligent child when you revealed your thoughts. But just now, you sound like a complete idiot." Harris sighed, a long, drawn-out sound.
"Wha...?"
"Are we a poor family?"
"No."
"An average family?"
"No."
"So why would you need a random professional?"
"Ah!" Ibnor exclaimed, the realization hitting him. "Of course. The Ezad Group would have the best of the best."
"Forget anything else now," Harris continued. "I'm asking you this: How serious are you about training?"
"Since I'm doing it for survival, I'm putting my life on the line!" Ibnor declared, conviction burning in his eyes.
"Listen closely. If you go through with this, there's no backtracking, no return, and no objection. You might have to let go of all the life of leisure you've known. Do you still want to proceed? I'm giving you a chance to think it over. There's no room for regret after this."
"I won't regret it!" Ibnor met his father's gaze without flinching. "Anything for my survival in this cruel world."
Harris simply looks at him before calling a name.
"Zainal."
"Yes, Master," the old butler's voice replied from the doorway, his presence unnoticed until then.
"Zainal." Ibnor's mind immediately accessed the game's lore. "Harris's right-hand man, Khaleed's guardian after Harris's death, a special NPC aiding the hero in the Ezad Group arc."
"Can I leave his training to you?" Harris asked, addressing the butler. "I think your method is suitable for him."
"If the second young master can endure, it will definitely benefit him," Zainal replied, his voice calm and steady. "If he agrees, I will gladly assist him."
"Good. From now on, his training will be your priority."
"As you wish, Master. I'm looking forward to working with you, second young master."
"Likewise, Mr. Zainal."
"I'll meet you at your apartment tomorrow, 4:00 A.M."
And just like that, Ibnor's path to survival, through arduous training, was set.
***
Ibnor barely managed to wake up. His body protested, heavy with sleep, but a frantic glance at the clock confirmed Zainal's terrifying punctuality. The moment he pulled open the main door, the old butler stood there, a perfectly composed figure in the dim predawn light.
"Good... morning...?" Ibnor mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
"Good morning, Young Master." Zainal's voice was crisp, unwavering.
"So, are we starting...?" Ibnor yawned, rubbing his eyes. "What are we going to do?"
"I will have to assess your current level before I can devise a suitable training plan," Zainal replied, his gaze unwavering. "You can begin by running around the apartment complex."
"Is there a time limit?" Ibnor asked, a flicker of hope.
"No."
That hope died.
"How long, then, do I have to do it?"
Zainal's expression didn't change, but his eyes seemed to glint with a silent challenge.
"Young Master, what was the reason you stated for undertaking this training?"
"I want to survive," Ibnor began, then frowned. "But what does that have to do with—"
"Start running."
"But how long?" Ibnor pressed, a tremor of dread starting in his stomach.
"Until you can no longer run."
Ibnor's jaw dropped.
***
The first lap was a shock. The second, agony. By the third, Ibnor's lungs burned, his legs screamed, and his mind, still accustomed to the soft comforts of Earth, rebelled with every fiber of his being.
Fuck… I'm dying…
Each breath was a ragged gasp, each step a monumental effort. The apartment complex, once a symbol of his new, albeit problematic, luxury, transformed into an endless, mocking track.
"I can't go on…"
"Why am I doing this?"
"I can't breathe…"
"My legs are so heavy…"
"I can't do this…"
"No more… I should stop now…"
"This should be enough… Right…? I…"
Various negative thoughts, a chorus of self-pity and exhaustion, ran through his head. He wanted to stop. He craved the sweet release of simply letting his body fall, to collapse onto the manicured lawn. The pain was real, sharp, unwelcome. He hated it. He hoped, desperately, that this was just a bad dream, a particularly vivid nightmare that he would soon wake from, back in his comfy gaming chair.
But every time that thought surfaced, the reality of the past few days slapped him in the face. The news, Aryssa's cold eyes, the original Ibnor's monstrous reputation, the terrifying fates awaiting him in this game-turned-reality. This wasn't a dream. This was real. And because it was real, all the more reason he could not give up. Otherwise, a fate worse than death was waiting for him. So, he gritted his teeth, pushed through the searing pain, and continued.
Zainal, meanwhile, was a silent, unmoving sentinel. He walked just a few paces behind Ibnor, a phantom presence that offered no comfort, no encouragement, only an unwavering expectation.