The Void Player's Ascension

Five Days Ago

The rhythmic clang of metal against metal echoed through the association's training room as Khent entered quietly, carrying a folder under his arm. The sight before him made him pause. Adrien, the association president and the Philippines' most revered player, was immersed in spear practice. Each movement was fluid and precise, a harmonious dance of power and grace.

Khent stood in awe, watching the intricate techniques. Adrien's control over the spear was mesmerizing, like a warrior painting with every strike and spin.

"It's beautiful," Khent muttered under his breath.

As his admiration grew, he noticed something off. Adrien's equipment his armor and spear looked worn and battered, with scratches, cracks, and a dull sheen that suggested long, relentless use.

Adrien, sensing someone's presence, stopped mid-swing and turned to face Khent. "What are you doing down here?" he asked, lowering the spear.

"It's about the information you requested," Khent began, stepping closer. "It's going to be delayed for a while."

Adrien sighed, resting the spear against the wall. "It's okay," he replied, though the slight furrow in his brow betrayed his frustration.

As Khent set the folder down, his gaze lingered on Adrien's equipment. "When are you planning to change your gear?" he asked, his tone shifting to concern.

Adrien glanced at his armor and shrugged. "They're still usable."

Khent frowned, his brows knitting in frustration. "Usable? Adrien, you're not planning on dying inside a gate, are you?!"

Adrien blinked, startled by Khent's outburst. "No, sir!" he said, throwing up his hands in mock surrender. "When did you become my mom?"

Khent flushed, his face reddening with embarrassment. Without thinking, he punched Adrien lightly on the shoulder. "Don't joke around about that!"

Adrien chuckled softly, though his thoughts drifted. "This is the first time someone has scolded me out of genuine concern, not hatred or disappointment." Memories surfaced of his parents reprimanding him when he was younger. Not out of care, but because he couldn't live up to their impossible expectations. The stark contrast warmed his chest.

Noticing Adrien's sudden silence, Khent softened his tone. "And if your equipment is shabby, it won't just put you at risk, it'll damage the reputation of the association."

Adrien tilted his head slightly. "I didn't think about that," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

Khent crossed his arms. "We have some great equipment in the association's armory. You should take a look."

Adrien shook his head. "There's no need for that. I just need a good smithy," he replied, his voice steady with confidence.

Khent sighed, already knowing what Adrien meant. "Fine, but it's going to take time to find a forge."

Adrien smiled behind his mask, grateful for Khent's understanding. "This is why Khent is a good friend and manager I don't have to explain myself. He just gets it."

As Khent made a note to start searching for a smithy, he glanced back at Adrien, who had already picked up his spear again. For all his flaws, his recklessness, his tendency to brush off danger, Khent admired Adrien deeply.

"You know," Khent said, half-smirking, "next time I'll scold you harder if you don't listen."

Adrien grinned beneath his mask, his voice light. "Got it, 'mom.'"

The two exchanged a knowing look, a bond of trust and camaraderie.