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A brief silence stretched between them. Then—Donald's face shifted, adopting a look of exaggerated understanding.

"Ohhh, I see," he drawled, nodding as if he had just pieced together some grand revelation. "You miss your sister, and you want to meet her?"

Arthur didn't react to the condescension in his tone. He simply nodded.

Donald sighed dramatically, his expression softening into something mockingly sympathetic.

Then—his hand moved.

Arthur's eyes flicked downward as Donald's palm landed on his right shoulder, gripping it lightly.

There was something unsettling about it.

A gesture of reassurance. It seemed. But Arthur knew better.

Donald smiled—a small smile.

"Arthur… I'm afraid I can't let you see her."

Arthur's pupils dilated, his mind racing through every possible scenario. Why? What happened? Is she—

Donald's voice, calm but laced with sincerity or it seemed like, filled the silence.

"As you know… your sister's health was already critical. After transferring her to our best hospital, we've done everything we could, but—" he paused, "—her condition is still declining. The doctors are working day and night, trying to slow the cancer cells from spreading and figure out a solution, but…"

Arthur's jaw clenched tightly, but he forced himself to remain composed. He knew Donald's games—this wasn't just about his sister's health.

"Her condition is really bad," Donald continued, faking concern. "I'm afraid you can't see her face-to-face right now."

For a brief moment, Arthur's vision blurred with rage. His fists itched to move, but he held back. His mind was already plotting the thousand ways he'd make this right.

Then Donald added as if offering Arthur a hand of help, salvation.

"But… I can allow you to talk to her through a video call."

Arthur's heart twisted at that—a video call?—like some distant stranger. But he swallowed his anger, forcing his expression into something neutral.

He nodded stiffly. "Alright. Thank you."

Donald's fake smile widened, his hand finally lifting from Arthur's shoulder.

"You're welcome, Arthur. We care a lot about you two siblings. Your sister is in good hands."

Arthur's face remained calm, but inside?

A storm was brewing.

Donald's facade of sympathy lingered as he spoke,

"Alright, I'll sort it out with the doctors as soon as possible." His tone carried that same false comfort, the kind that made Arthur's skin crawl. "It's late now, so your sister's most likely asleep—her condition, you know. But tomorrow morning, talk to Raymond. He'll call me, and we can set up the video call."

Arthur nodded stiffly, though inside his patience was wearing razor-thin. Why the middleman? It made no sense.

Why the layers of separation? Why the games?

His fists clenched at his sides, but he kept his expression calm.

Donald's eyes lingered on him, as if waiting for something, then shifted the topic.

"How have you been finding the base?" Donald's voice took on a casual air. "I heard from Raymond that you met Jacob."

Arthur's mind flicked to the encounter. Jacob—the supposed leader of the beta players squad.

"Two talented younglings like you need to interact more," Donald continued. "Jacob's a good kid, you know? He's the leader of the beta players squad."

Arthur nodded again.

Donald's smile didn't falter as he studied Arthur's face, searching for cracks.

"So… any plans?"

Arthur's brow furrowed slightly. "On?"

Donald's smirk deepened. "Leaving the prison."

Arthur's mind raced, but he kept his cool. He knew exactly what Donald meant—not this military base—but the prison inside Armageddon. The one where they still thought he was trapped alongside Adam.

He let out a soft sigh, crafting his response.
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"It's… difficult." Arthur's voice held just enough frustration. "My relationship with the mayor was already strained, and after what happened recently, it's even worse. He's got me in a special cell, all alone. I tried using the city teleportation scroll—but it didn't work."

He let the silence stretch as if weighing his options.

"I'm thinking of a few ways to escape," he added, "but honestly, it seems impossible for now. Do you have any ideas?"

"Not yet," Donald replied, his voice silky. "But I'll let you know if I come up with something."

...

Donald's grin widened as he gestured toward the car.

"Alright, now that's solved, come with me. I want to show you the training ground for our players."

Arthur kept his expression neutral but followed without a word.

"I want to show you why being with us isn't a disadvantage," Donald continued, his voice smooth, "but actually the best decision you could've made."

'Best decision?' Arthur scoffed internally but climbed into the passenger seat, closing the door behind him.

Donald started the engine, the car humming softly as it started moving.

They drove in silence for a few moments. Arthur glanced out the window, watching soldiers moving in formation, and others practicing drills.

The entire base was a well-oiled machine, running under tight control.

Then, up ahead, a large, familiar building came into view.

Arthur's eyes narrowed.

'The gym.'

He remembered it from the tour Jacob had given him—the one he'd politely declined to enter.

Back then, Arthur had declined because it was irrelevant to him, a waste of time. But now, Donald was leading him straight there.

The car slowed as they pulled up to the front entrance. The structure loomed over them, modern and sprawling, with reinforced glass walls.

Inside, Arthur could already see rows of equipment and people moving—training, sparring, pushing themselves past their limits.

Donald cut the engine and stepped out.

"This," he said, waving his arm dramatically, "is where we give you more strength. Where talent gets forged, where your true potential is laid out in front of you."

Arthur climbed out, following him inside. The air inside the gym buzzed with energy—machines whirring, weights slamming against the ground, and the occasional clash of blades in the sparring arena.

Arthur's gaze flicked across the room.

Beta players were scattered everywhere.

Some were lifting insane amounts of weights, their muscles rippling under the strain.

Others practised martial arts, their moves sharp and efficient. In one corner, he saw a group sparring with wooden swords under the watchful eye of an instructor.

Donald looked at Arthur and said.

"I want you to spend a few hours in the gym, check it out, make some new friends, and train. Your body is important—you should take care of it."

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and walked away, his footsteps growing fainter with each step.

Arthur stood there, motionless, watching Donald's retreating figure until it vanished through the glass doors.

'Why did he bring me here?'

He clenched his fists.

Donald's words played back in his mind like a broken record, but Arthur didn't buy a single syllable.

'Care about my health?'

Arthur scoffed. There wasn't a shred of trust between them. Every action Donald made was calculated, every smile a mask.

As Arthur lost himself in his thoughts, a voice woke him up.

"Arthur…?"

'This voice...'

Time froze.

Arthur's entire body jolted as if an electric current had surged through him. Every muscle tensed, his breath caught in his throat.

His heart slammed against his chest.

'No. It can't be…'

But he knew that voice.

How could he forget...

It was impossible to forget.