After taking another rest and catching his breath, Rowan was called by Nikolai for his next training session. This time, Nikolai led him to a boxing arena where Rowan saw Bancho waiting for him—already in boxing shorts and gloves, shadowboxing in the corner.
Rowan took one look and muttered, "Oh shit."
"Yes," Nikolai said with a nod, "it's time for you to learn a proper fighting style. And who better to spar against than Bancho, who is already a master of boxing? I have no idea how a gorilla learned boxing, but in this case, it's useful."
He paused briefly, then added, "However, I must also warn you—while you spar against Bancho, Sora and I will be launching magic attacks at you at random from the sidelines."
Rowan looked over and saw Sora smile and wave at him cheerfully before several magical spell circles appeared behind her, all pointed directly at him.
"We're really doing this, huh," Rowan said, deadpan.
"I'm afraid so," Nikolai replied, though the amusement on his face made it very clear he enjoyed this far more than he should.Oh and don't worry about dying same as before. If you die you'll be resurrected but now that rule applies to bancho as well.
Rowan strapped on a pair of boxing gloves and climbed into the ring. Bancho was showboating, pumping his fists in the air. Sora, now on the sidelines with snacks in hand, was shouting enthusiastically, "Yeah, go Bancho! You're the best!"
Rowan shot her a glare. "Really? Why aren't you cheering for me?"
She smiled brightly. "Would you cheer for you? Or would you cheer for the awesome gorilla?"
Rowan frowned but begrudgingly conceded her point. Getting ready for what he suspected was going to be a complete pummeling, he stepped forward into his stance. Off to the side, Nikolai now wore something resembling an old-school boxing coach's outfit, an amused smirk etched into his face.
"All right, fighters ready?" Nikolai called. "Begin!"
The bell dinged.
Rowan advanced toward Bancho with his fists up, orthodox style, his body turned more to the right to shield himself with his non-dominant shoulder and arm. He made himself a smaller target, bent his knees slightly to center his weight, and set his feet an equal distance apart. Then, leaning his upper body forward, he exploded toward Bancho with fast, controlled movement—exhibiting surprising footwork and precision for someone with no formal boxing experience. Letting his instincts and natural combat talent take over, he fired a jab like thunder directly at Bancho's chin…
Only to hit nothing.
Bancho was still there—grinning smugly. Rowan stood in confusion for just a second too long, and the gorilla seized the opportunity. With perfect timing, Bancho launched a brutal punch to Rowan's gut that dropped him to the canvas instantly.
He only realized what had happened after the hit landed—Bancho had leaned back just enough to dodge the jab, a precise maneuver requiring total control of distance. A master's move.
Nikolai appeared between them, telling Bancho to retreat to a neutral corner. Bancho waved his arms in the air in triumph while Rowan struggled to breathe. Somewhere between gasps, Rowan heard Nikolai counting. Around the five count, a snide voice chimed in from the sidelines.
"Does little Rowan need his blankie? Or maybe his body pillow?" Sora teased. "He's napping pretty hard over there!" She cackled.
Rowan gritted his teeth and forced himself to his feet by the count of nine. He locked eyes with Nikolai, who studied him for a moment.
"Done taking a nap?" Nikolai asked, smirking.
"It's almost like you guys were born assholes," Rowan grumbled.
Nikolai let out a deep, elegant laugh. "Trust me, the stronger you get, the more you appreciate a sharp mind and a sharper wit."
He stepped out of the ring again and gestured for the match to continue.
Again and again, Bancho made a fool of Rowan, demonstrating a wide array of boxing techniques. He outboxed him, outfought him, countered every move. He was sometimes a swarmer, sometimes a slugger. Rowan was hit with every style imaginable.
Bancho used Jack Dempsey's Dempsey Roll, Thomas Hearns's shotgun jab, Muhammad Ali's rope-a-dope, Floyd Patterson's gazelle punch. He even threw in advanced counter techniques—cross counters, short-motion uppercuts.
Rowan kept hitting the canvas.
But slowly, something began to change.
He started to absorb the techniques. Mirror them. Adapt. Even as magic attacks flew from the sidelines and Sora pelted him with insults, he stayed on his feet longer, dodged more, and countered more effectively. Gradually, his own unique form of boxing began to take shape—an unyielding style that never stepped back. A style reflective of his will.
Without realizing it, Rowan had developed his first refined fighting style. A foundation he could build upon, evolve, and master.
He was no longer a brawler with good instincts. He was now a fighter.
His opponent recognized this change even before he did. In the middle of their most intense exchange yet, they stood toe-to-toe, rooted in the ring. Rowan wasn't copying Bancho anymore—he was fighting his own way.
He used his stance to its fullest, swaying and weaving between blows to land short, compact counters. When he needed more room to dodge, he used the "rock away" technique with explosive sidesteps, striking at Bancho's undefended sides.
Bancho responded by picking up the pace, hitting harder. Finally, he unleashed a devastating overhand right toward Rowan's left.
Rowan took it on the shoulder, twisting with the blow to negate its power, then used the momentum to weave downward and launch a vicious short-motion uppercut. Bancho leaned back just in time—the punch slicing through his guard but missing his chin.
Seeing Rowan exposed, Bancho launched a left hook.
Rowan blocked it with his left elbow and countered with a savage right hook.
Bancho ducked low.
But it was a trap.
Halfway through the motion, the punch changed from a hook to a downward chop, landing squarely on Bancho's face. The gorilla, caught off guard and off balance, had no chance to brace.
He tried to tank it—wrong move.
Rowan had activated Normal Punch at the last possible moment, pouring everything into the strike. The blow hit Bancho so hard that he smashed through the ring's canvas, breaking it in half and forming a crater where his face landed.
The gorilla lay still, eyes shut.
Rowan stood there, bloodied and exhausted, looking down at his fallen opponent.
Nikolai leapt into the remains of the ring to check on Bancho. After inspecting him, he stood and walked over to Rowan, the ghost of a proud smile on his face. He raised Rowan's arm.
"The winner," Nikolai announced, "in the 876th round by knockout—Rowan."
As the words hit him, Rowan's body gave out. Before he could even deliver the snarky remark that was forming in his head, he passed out.
---
Hours later, Rowan awoke to the smell of something delicious. He went downstairs and entered the kitchen, noticing that it was already late evening. He had slept for hours.
He joined Sora and Bancho on the couch watching TV. Bancho looked over and signed a few gestures. They translated directly into Rowan's mind: Good game, boss.
"Thanks," Rowan replied. Then turned to Sora. "Since when can he do that?"
She shrugged. "I was bored, so I taught him."
Rowan blinked. "Also, how can I understand him?"
"You're a devil, jackass," she said. "Devils understand all languages."
"Oh. Yeah, that's right. I forgot about that… Maybe it's the few hundred deaths I've suffered in the last—how many days has it been?"
"It has been 3 months and 14 days," Sora said casually.
"…What?"
"How has nobody noticed I haven't been at school?" he asked.
"Nikolai has some kind of magic pocket watch that resets time every 24 hours. Don't ask me. You'd have to ask him."
Rowan chose not to think too hard about the fact that everything he'd endured had technically occurred in just one 24-hour loop. Even though, for him, it had been three and a half months. He sighed and chose to focus on watching this world's crappy knock-off of Dragon Ball Z until dinner time.
About 30 minutes later, Nikolai called them to the table, where he served a luxurious steak dinner. Rowan would have gone into detail, but he was too hungry. Just as he was about to devour it like a savage, Nikolai smacked him on the head.
"Elbows off the table. Back straight. Eyes forward. I know you weren't raised like a noble, but you are one. So start acting like it."
Rowan obeyed, knowing there was no point in arguing. As they ate, Nikolai said, "You did remarkably well in your training. Tomorrow will be your final test. Then I must leave you."
Rowan felt both relief that the training was nearly over and a tinge of sadness that Nikolai would be leaving.
"Will you come back?" he asked.
"Perhaps," Nikolai replied. "But not for a long time. And by then, I expect that you will have done more than step foot on the game board. I expect you to have completely mastered its rules—and conquered all the other players."
Rowan nodded confidently. "I'll do my best."
"Good," Nikolai said, smiling warmly. "I would hope so. After all the effort I put into training you. Now enough of that—finish your food before it gets cold."