January 21st, 2022
***
Round two was a significant jump in difficulty. On top of being deaf, Clare had changed the pitching machine's parameters when she left. Gone was the rhythm and predictability — now baseballs flew out at random in a radius around him. Richter inched his way across the beam compared to leaps and bounds before.
He had to let his body adjust; His instincts and intuition would adapt, but not without a couple stray hits. The first score was a double-tap just above and below his left elbow, two gritty fastballs that ground away his skin like sandpaper.
Their combined force snapped it like a twig, and two bounces later he was staring up at Blake and a few others.
"?%&! &^!"
Seems they didn't know about the earbuds. Or maybe they didn't know he was wearing them? They were too distracted looking at the Picasso his blood had painted all over the floor. Motioning to his ears was enough of an explanation, though Blake looked uncomfortable. It was odd; Richter didn't peg him for the squeamish type.
He pulled out some extra gauze Clare left and wrapped his arm. It's not like he could use it, though he didn't need to for this kind of training. As long as the blood loss stopped it'd be fine.
Part of the problem was how much he'd already lost. Early signs of anemia were kicking in - pale skin, shortness of breath, and weakness. But the beam beckoned for more, so Richter hobbled over for round three. The others gave a wide berth to avoid the targeting. Annoyingly, most stood around to watch. Did they even care about the competition? Back-ups or not, training should be taken seriously. Yet even Uriel was fixated on his efforts.
So be it — Clare had warned him about sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. He blocked them in his mind, wiped down the beam, and gave it another shot. Attempt three made it close to halfway before another hit. A curveball dug into his lower back this time, lodging into his flesh. It served as a stop-gap for the bleeding while he staggered to his feet.
Disoriented, Richter yanked it out and slapped on a few layers to patch the hole by his appendix. It didn't hurt because he couldn't feel - his body worked to numb everything. Add that to the list and he was getting a head start on this sensory deprivation training.
Though maybe he was more dazed than expected. Some of the spectators looked concerned - that couldn't be right. Sure he looked like hell, but that's how it goes sometimes. Did they not train like this? Richter knew his limits; he'd pushed them countless times. Training in all states of injury and exhaustion was important for growth.
"#%@!"
Guess Blake disagreed. He stepped between Richter and the beam, prompting him to take out an earbud.
"What's the problem? Don't worry, I'll clean up."
"Very funny Jim. But I just have to know — why are they training you so hard?"
"You call this hard?"
He regretted those words. While true to his feelings, it was best left unsaid. Blake's eyebrows twitched, and a couple stepped forward to support him; the two he mentioned before - Tera and Plax.
Tera wore a blue martial arts Gi with the Scathhers embroidery. Her black hair was rounded back in a bun. Plax's Gi was green instead, with a 'V' for the symbol. As a matter of fact, Blake was in a Gi too.
Maybe Richter didn't notice before from exhaustion - or the lights were too dim - but Blake's was a brown, tanned leather. And he'd seen the symbol before; It was the same as the training prism he used.
The silhouette of a man - Stadz.
Tera took the lead, "What he's trying to say is: Why is Clare training you out of all the back-ups? You're just a Beginner; any of us would be a better choice. And why do you get to use all the special equipment? We've been left to our own devices this whole time. Uriel was only allowed a prism because of his dad. So seeing you with all this..."
"—Quit beating around the bush Tera," Plax snorted. His green eyes matched his Gi. "Yeah, It's a little concerning for our value proposition. See Jim, some of us really like the benefits of being a backup. The all-inclusive lodging, food, and weekly pay are hard to beat. So the seed of doubt has been planted: What if the reason they're investing in you so much is to cut some of us loose? Better to nip it in the bud now, you understand?"
Richter understood completely. Their concern wasn't for his well-being but their own. The resulting silence was heavy. From the looks he was getting, it became clear Plax wasn't alone in this.
"It's only been a couple days since I started. Aren't you overreacting a little?"
Blake shook his head. "That's the problem. Clare is pushing you so quickly."
"Yeah." Plax took a heavy step toward him. "Look, we didn't live this long by being nosy. You could be blackmailing Clare for all we know — doesn't matter. Just ease up a bit. We get that you have to put on a show when she's around, but when she's gone? Grab a drink. Sit back. Throw a punch here and there or whatever she tells you to do," his friends nodded along.
Richter could feel how genuine they were about this - about the mutual benefit and underlying threat. It was a unique level of frustration. He couldn't just stop, even if he wanted to. "And what if I'm committed to training for the competition?"
Their expressions soured.
"Big talk Jim. You're serious about this? Who're you looking to replace?"
Richter sneered, "Isn't it obvious?"
Another line of false confidence. But it's much easier to spin a narrative than create one - Plax and his followers had done the hard part. If they thought he wanted to replace them, then might as well roll with it. And like a moth to a flame, Plax's mind spun toward a logical conclusion. In reality, Richter had no idea who was part of their line-up, nor the details of the competition.
Plax did.
"Ahh, Rias," Plax murmured, his eyes widening. "She's the only Swordsman on the line-up, so of course you'd target her spot.
He combed his hands through his short black hair, "I gotta hand it to you Jim; You've got balls. It's almost a shame she'll crush them. Rias doesn't take kindly to challengers."
"Guess I'll wear protection."
Blake and Tera cracked a smile, but Plax was irritated. "Well there's no time like the present. How about you schedule the fair fight? It'll be too late to get you leveled if you wait. I can fast-track it for you."
This put him in an awkward spot. Saying no was out of the question since he was supposed to be vying for her spot. Saying yes puts him in contact with someone high-profile. What if she knew who he was?
Richter made a note to ask Clare about her. For now, he needed to stall.
"Clare says I'm not ready yet, but soon."
"You gave Uriel a hard time, sounds plenty ready to me."
This intrigued him a little. "Are you implying that Uriel and Rias are equally matched?"
Plax shrugged, "Uriel used to brag a lot about their spars. Said he gave her a run for her money, even taught her some moves."
Richter was frozen stiff - his eyebrows twitching. The idea of Uriel teaching anyone terrified him. By his own standards, he wouldn't trust Uriel to teach at all. He glanced over - pale and bandaged - with all the disgust and disappointment he could muster.
Uriel caught his glance like a bullet, wincing in embarrassment. It was the same look his dad gave him when he found out.
"Well Rias must be incredible then." Richter took a deep breath. The injuries were starting to wear on him by now: he was seeing double. "I'll have to train even longer to be ready. Speaking of which, I should get back to it."
Plax held his tongue and stepped away. Maybe he could offer a friendly nudge after all. There was a glint in his eye that went unnoticed except by two of his friends. They huddled in the back...
Meanwhile, Tera and Blake were on damage control.
"Don't think too hard about it, only a few people feel the same as Plax. Most of us know better than to think about replacement," Tera murmured.
"How many is a few?"
"Maybe five at most. Admittedly, it doesn't feel good when your employer goes radio silent. Nobody likes feeling worthless."
"What you mean is that nobody likes feeling inferior; they were fine with the status quo. Don't appeal on their behalf."
Tera pursed her lips, "Don't judge what you don't know." She walked away to busy herself with a steel dummy. It's not surprising she didn't like that since she seems close to Plax.
"You're a strange one Jim. I hope your honesty doesn't bite back - Rias is a mean one. The guys are all bark though."
Blake shuffled away, leaving him to train. He wondered if it'd be so simple.
'All bark...hmm.'
Richter put the earbud back in and focused on the beam. Attempt four was pitiful for distance but improved for contact - he'd escaped with a glancing hit. Battered and at his limit, he drank down a healing potion. This was the loop he'd be in for a while, just rinse and repeat.
Coincidentally, Plax and his friends were gone: They'd left with a plan in mind. And true to Blake's claim, they were all bark. It's just that they were going to bark really loudly. The three journeyed to the Vander office and grabbed a challenger's application from the front desk.
A system was created that required three acknowledgments to earn a fair fight. The goal was to ensure that only qualified challengers applied.
So Richter was 'lucky' then that Plax, Chris, and Ferrel preached his skills. Plax grabbed a pen and settled into a plush chair. The application was several pages long, but it'd be worth it. His smile told the whole story.
***