Project Superior: A Hero’s Awakening

February 15th, 1810

Several days had passed since the start of the Gladiator Grand Festival. Through grit and skill, Xavier—known to the masses as Klay Worthmore—fought his way through countless opponents. Some were formidable warriors, others monstrous in strength and ferocity, their power unmatched. Yet, Xavier emerged victorious in each fight, earning the love of the roaring crowds.

Whispers of his skill spread like wildfire. They called him Klay-more, the Young Gladiator, a name both affectionate and awe-stricken.

Now, with the final trials looming, where the last two contenders would face each other for the grand prize, Xavier sat in solitude at the Dragon's Den tavern. The dimly lit space buzzed with chatter, but he kept to himself, cloaked in a black robe with the white tiger mask Miss Anastasia had bought for him concealing his face. The mask, slightly lifted above his lips, allowed him to sip his favorite fruit smoothie, the cold sweetness calming his thoughts.

As people moved around him, their attention kept drifting toward the hooded boy at the corner table. His presence carried an air of mystery, his stillness oddly inviting yet guarded.

"That's Klay-more," someone whispered nearby, barely containing their excitement.

"The Young Gladiator?" a friend replied, leaning closer.

"Yes, him! I can't believe someone so young has made it this far in the Festival."

"He's incredible," the friend said, lowering their voice. "But there's no way he's winning his next match."

"And why's that?"

"Because," the other whispered, leaning in conspiratorially, "I heard he'll be facing the Grim Reaper of the Abyss."

The name hung in the air like a dark omen.

"The Grim Reaper?" the friend exclaimed, eyes wide. "No way. Is that true?"

Xavier, overhearing their conversation, remained unfazed, though their words sank into his mind. The Grim Reaper of the Abyss, he mused. He'd heard the name in passing before, whispered like a curse among the gladiators. Now, it seemed his next trial would bring him face-to-face with the legend.

He exhaled softly, pushing the thought aside. It doesn't matter, he told himself. I've faced worse, and I'll face this too. But even as he reassured himself, his thoughts wandered to another concern. Adam. How does that man know who I really am? Did Grandpa Graviil send him to watch over me? Or… is there something more?

Just as Xavier raised his glass for another sip, a tap on his shoulder startled him. He turned to see the man who'd been haunting his thoughts.

Adam Durandal.

"Speak of the devil," Xavier muttered under his breath, his unease masked by a polite smile.

"Yo!" Adam greeted warmly, his grin disarming. "How's life treating you, Klay? Or should I say… Young Gladiator?"

Xavier stiffened, but he quickly forced a grin, his natural kindness shining through. "Oh, hey, Sir Adam! I'm doing well. What about you?"

Adam pulled out a chair and sat across from him, his casual demeanor putting Xavier on edge. "Great, great," Adam replied, waving for the bartender. "It's good to see you again. I was hoping we could talk."

"Talk?" Xavier asked, tilting his head. "About what?"

The bartender brought over a glass of the tavern's strongest brew. Adam swirled the liquid thoughtfully, the dim light catching in its amber depths. A heavy silence fell between them, broken only by the muffled voices of the tavern crowd.

Finally, Adam spoke. "Have you ever heard the tale of the white dove?"

Xavier blinked, caught off guard. "No, I haven't."

Adam smiled faintly. "It's an old story. A tragedy, really." He leaned back, his voice taking on a storytelling cadence. "Once, there was a white dove, taken from its parents by hunters who coveted its feathers. The dove was treated as a trophy, paraded around for its beauty until one hunter, moved by pity, set it free. That act of mercy cost the hunter dearly."

Xavier leaned forward slightly, his curiosity piqued despite himself.

"The dove escaped, braving storms and dangers, until it was found near the ocean by a kind family. They nursed it back to health, gave it love, and made it one of their own. But despite its new life, the dove longed to return to its parents." Adam's voice grew softer, more somber. "One day, the hunters came back for what they believed was rightfully theirs. And they would stop at nothing to reclaim it."

When Adam finished, his words hung in the air like an echo. Xavier felt a strange pang in his chest, the story striking a chord he couldn't quite place. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked, his voice low, cautious.

Adam set his glass down, his smirk returning. "Why do you think, Xavier?"

The name hit Xavier like a slap. He froze, his heart pounding. Adam leaned closer, his tone playful yet cutting. "Yes, I know who you are. Xavier Ivanovich. Or should I call you Ashford instead?"

Panic flared in Xavier's chest. His hand slid under the table, ready to summon Excalibur if Adam made a move. "How do you know my name?" he demanded, his voice trembling despite his efforts to stay calm.

Adam chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "I've known all along. You're not as hidden as you think, young prince."

Xavier's mind raced, his body coiled like a spring. Who is this man? And what does he want from me?

Noticing how on edge Xavier was, Adam softened his demeanor, his smirk shifting into a playful, almost childish grin. "Wow now! No need to look so serious around me," he said, throwing up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm just here to talk about something important, that's all."

Xavier tilted his head slightly, suspicion flickering in his crimson eyes. "And what exactly would that be?" he asked, his voice steady despite the rising tension in his chest.

Taking a slow sip from his drink, Adam leaned back, his tone casual. "Do you remember the story of the white dove I told you not too long ago?"

"Yeah?" Xavier replied, his confusion evident.

"It's such a tragic tale," Adam continued, his gaze wandering as if lost in thought. "That poor dove spent its entire life not knowing who its real parents were. The desire to meet them burned so fiercely… only to slowly wither away as time went on."

Xavier stayed silent, his focus sharp as Adam's words began to sink in. Then Adam turned to face him fully, his piercing eyes locking with Xavier's. "But you," Adam said softly, "you haven't let that desire die, have you? You still yearn to know the truth. To meet your real parents."

Xavier stiffened. "My real parents?" he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Adam's smirk returned, sly and knowing. "No need to play dumb, Xavier. I know very well that you're not the biological son of Jonathan Ashford. You were adopted."

Xavier froze, his heart pounding as Adam leaned in slightly, his voice lowering.

"I know who you really are," Adam said, his expression darkening. "A child found in a basket near a ship bound for the Kingdom of America. A lost dove, just like in the story—craving not just to know who their parents were, but to meet them."

Xavier stared at Adam, his mind racing. He felt exposed, unmoored. How could this man know so much about him?

Adam's finger pressed lightly against Xavier's chest, the gesture oddly intimate yet unnervingly deliberate. "And I also know," Adam said quietly, "about the hatred you carry for that man—your uncle, Percival Ashford."

Just hearing that name sent a chill down Xavier's spine. His body trembled involuntarily, memories flooding back of the day his father died in his arms—slain by the very man Adam now spoke of. Xavier clenched his fists under the table, but the trembling wouldn't stop.

Adam took a step back, his expression softening. "I'm sorry for upsetting you," he said, his voice calm and measured. "I didn't mean to dredge up painful memories. I only wanted to propose a deal."

"A deal?" Xavier murmured, his voice faint.

"Yes, a deal," Adam repeated, his tone sharpening slightly. "I can help you. Help you get your revenge against the man who mercilessly killed your father… Percival." He paused, studying Xavier's reaction. "You might deny it, but I know even a pure-hearted person like you can't suppress the hatred you feel for him. And trust me—I hate him too."

Xavier remained silent, but deep down he knew Adam was right. That festering grudge, the one he thought he could suppress—it still burned.

"And," Adam continued, "I can even help you uncover the truth about your parents. Like their names… Oh, wait—what were they again?" He tapped a finger against his chin in mock thought before smirking. "Ah, yes. Andrew and Julia Laurent."

Xavier's breath hitched. "Laurent?" he whispered, his voice trembling.

"That's right," Adam said, his tone casual but laced with satisfaction. "I've known about you for a long time, Xavier. Long before you ever knew me. I've been watching you." He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "And I can tell you everything you've ever wanted to know about your sweet little family. All you have to do… is come with me. Back to my home country. There, you'll find the truth about your past—the truth that's been hidden from you."

Xavier didn't respond. His thoughts were a whirlwind, his emotions barely contained. Adam's words had pierced through him, leaving him utterly unmoored.

Adam didn't wait for an answer. He drained the last of his drink, setting the glass down with deliberate care. Rising from his seat, he adjusted his coat and turned back to Xavier. "I'll give you three days to decide," he said evenly, his voice calm but commanding. "Once the Gladiator Grand Festival concludes, you can tell me your answer. Will you abandon the family you've known to uncover the truth about your own? Or will you let the truth slip away, like the white dove's forgotten dream?"

He began to walk away but paused, glancing back over his shoulder with a sly smile. "For now, I'll leave you to think about it. See you in two days on the battlefield… my dear rival, Xavier Laurent."

With that, Adam disappeared into the tavern's shadows.

Xavier sat motionless, his mind reeling. Minutes passed, but he didn't move an inch. Even behind his white tiger mask, the weight of his turmoil was palpable, enough to make the other patrons avoid him entirely, their eyes full of unease.

As Xavier sat there, lost in thought, his mind drifted far from the bustling tavern around him. He was completely unaware of his surroundings until Miss Anastasia and Alcmena returned, their voices cutting through the haze. They entered the tavern with cheerful energy, clearly satisfied with their trip to the city. Anastasia, ever lively, approached him with an animated smile, launching into mesmerizing tales of everything she and Alcmena had seen.

But Xavier didn't respond. He didn't even look up. He just sat there, motionless, his mind elsewhere.

Sensing something amiss, Alcmena leapt gracefully onto Xavier's shoulders, his small claws resting lightly on him as he gently tapped Xavier's cheeks. His voice, usually brimming with confidence, carried a hint of worry. "Is everything okay, Xavier?"

The question seemed to pierce through the fog in Xavier's mind. With a sudden start, he blinked and forced a smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine, Master," he replied quickly, his tone overly casual.

Anastasia wasn't convinced. Her perceptive eyes narrowed as she studied him. "Are you sure, Young Master?" she asked, her voice softer now but filled with concern. She could see through the facade as easily as a clear pane of glass. Something was troubling him—deeply.

Alcmena, too, wasn't fooled. As Xavier's contractor, the two shared a connection deeper than words. Through their shared bond, Alcmena could see glimpses of Xavier's thoughts, his conflicted emotions, and the heavy weight pressing down on his soul.

Sensing the tension, Anastasia decided to lighten the mood. With a bright smile, she changed the topic. "Why don't we head to the Colosseum?" she suggested. "There's a match happening now at the Gladiator Grand Festival. It might do us some good to relax for a while."

Xavier nodded absentmindedly, grateful for the distraction. Together, they left the tavern, the atmosphere around them easing slightly. Alcmena perched comfortably on Xavier's head, his tail swaying as he lay down in a relaxed pose. "I hear you'll be fighting that suspicious man, Adam the Shadow Reaper, in your next match," Alcmena remarked casually, though his tone hinted at the seriousness of the matter.

"Oh!" Anastasia gasped, her curiosity piqued. "I heard about that too, Young Master! We'll need to prepare you thoroughly for that fight to give you the best chance of winning. Don't you agree, Lord Alcmena?"

Alcmena smiled warmly, nodding. "Absolutely, my lady. We must ensure our future hero doesn't suffer an embarrassing defeat in front of such a large audience," he said with a light laugh.

Despite their banter, Xavier remained unusually quiet. He walked alongside them, his eyes downcast, his thoughts consuming him. The weight of Adam's words hung heavy in his chest, and he couldn't shake the feeling of being exposed, vulnerable.

Revenge against Percival? Hatred towards him? Xavier thought, his mind a turbulent storm of doubt and emotion. That's not what Father taught me. He taught me to forgive… to rise above anger and hatred. But am I truly as pure-hearted as people believe? Can I really call myself a hero like the Great Hero, Saint Sebastian, if my heart is tainted by such feelings?

He clenched his fists at his sides, his gaze distant as he wrestled with the dilemma. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to answer him.

As the trio continued toward the Colosseum, the lively chatter of the festival surrounded them, but Xavier remained silent, lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts. The path ahead of him seemed shrouded in uncertainty, and for the first time in his life, he doubted the purity of his own heart.