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Chapter 117 - The Waiting Room (II)
🕑 Added 2024-11-23 05:17:53 +0000 UTCAlonso suddenly opened his eyes and gazed at the numbers on the wall. They were still the same.
“How much time has passed?”
“6 hours and 18 minutes,” Houston answered.
Alonso took a deep breath and stood up. He walked straight to the barrel, opened it, and used a cup resting on the side to start drinking. After quenching his thirst, he splashed several handfuls of water on his face, cleaning himself a bit.
He was starting to smell, and it was no wonder given the lack of a proper bath after so much time.
After that, he moved to the table and began eating some of the dishes until his hunger subsided.
He then reclined in the chair.
“I guess we have a lot to talk about, and,” he glanced at the static counter, “seems we have plenty of time.”
“Yes, we do. Where do you want to start?”
Alonso sighed, looking up at the white ceiling. For some reason, he still felt tired, but not the kind of tiredness that more sleep could fix.
“You take the lead, Houston. Not in the mood to think too much right now.”
“... Okay. We can start with the duel with Siddharth.”
Alonso’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“First, my apologies for not being able to—”
“It’s both our mistake, Houston. Don’t dwell on the problems. Let’s focus on solutions and steps forward,” Alonso interrupted.
“Sure. Well, the main issue is our lack of wave control proficiency. It’s not bad, but… for some reason, we seem to fall short when it matters most—like against Siddharth or Chiara. While it’s possible for them to simply be more talented and have been training longer at higher stages, now that we’re two, we kind of have to fix that, don’t we?”
Alonso crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in the chair, deep in thought.
“I suppose this has been on your mind for hours... what’s your proposed solution?”
“Indeed, I’ve thought it through, but… I don’t have a solution. However, it’s clear there are two approaches to EM waves. One is the path we’ve been taking—a path of precision, complexity, and minute control, leveraging our enhanced mental capacity. That’s a path Chiara has taken to the extreme, with a talent I have to admit we don’t possess. Now, after your fight with Siddharth, I felt something different. Well, you probably felt it even more clearly. He wasn’t relying on precision but on pure will, maybe even an abstract way of envisioning wave control.”
Alonso remained silent for a moment. “I always thought it was strange. I believed when I reached the center of the island, I’d meet scientists, researchers, engineers, maybe even programmers. But when I got there, I saw people from different origins. Ayu, who seems to have a martial background, and then Siddharth, who is referred to as a Rishi—I'm guessing that’s some kind of spiritual title, like a monk or something. But it made me wonder: how do they see EM waves? Do they interpret them differently?”
Alonso started absentmindedly playing with the sword in his hand. “And the obvious answer is yes. Each person has their own approach, and believing in that approach can take them further than others. Just like one fighting style or even lifestyle suits a person best, the interpretation of these waves suits some more than others. So… we have to choose ours.”
“Yes. Yes, we do. But… what do you want to do? I, myself, think I got the nerdy, scientific side of you. I don’t think I can easily detach myself from the preconceptions I have. Changing that would set us back completely, since our entire foundation is based on Overdrive. And that’s something I can’t maintain if I change my interpretation of EM waves. I simply… can’t. It’s like trying to make me believe the Earth is flat. Not happening. In the same way, I can’t understand Siddharth’s pulses, his ridiculous mental defenses, or even the pulse you sent in the middle of the fight to counter him. I… I still find it hard to process.”
Alonso’s eyebrow suddenly raised, a hint of confusion crossing his face. “Wait, but that pulse I sent—you helped me stack waves over it… right?”
Houston was silent for several seconds. “No, Alonso. That was all you. You managed to send one pulse with nearly 60% of Siddharth’s strength and weakened it just enough so it didn’t affect you. Note that with basic wave stacking due to constructive interference, I can only reach 34% at the moment, not even close to the intensity of the one you sent. For all intents and purposes… you shouldn’t have been able to do that.”
Alonso was taken aback. That was… just me? But… how?
“As I was saying, the part of you that I represent is now bound to EM waves as we understand them. But you, Alonso, you can change. You are the whole from which I am only a part. You can decide your fate, change your will, and become who you set out to be. So, I’ll ask you again: what do you want to do?”
Alonso contemplated the question. What do I want to do? He stared at the smooth white walls. He hadn’t given it much thought, really. Since he’d changed his mindset and accepted Houston, his focus had been solely on the fight with Siddharth, on getting stronger as quickly as possible. But now… now that he had time, the question hit differently. He realized he hadn’t truly considered it.
“I used to be a man of science, Houston. Always thinking, always calculating. When I couldn’t solve a problem, I simplified it, tackled it from a different angle, used approximations. I always thought that was who I was, and that skill would give me an edge in this new world… in The Tower. And it worked, at first. My logical approach set me apart from others like Abhijit, Jonah, Oleg, and the rest. I thought that was the way to go. After all, it’s EM sense combined with a much faster mind. It seemed like the best strategy…”
Houston remained silent, listening.
“But now… now I’m not sure that’s what I want, or even the best approach. Facing evolution… I want to follow its flow. I want my growing body and mind to reach their limits, unbound by an overthinking mind. I don’t want to hesitate anymore—I want to act, instantly. I want my sword to be where it feels right, not where I calculated it should be. I want to feel the rhythm of the fight, not reduce it to angles and numbers. I want to sense the EM waves as a flow of energy, not just as an entity reduced to amplitude and frequency. I… want to rely on my instincts. I want to fight for the enjoyment of my body, not the headache of my mind. I want to dance with the forces around me, as if every breath, every strike, is a pulse in sync with the world itself. I... want to feel alive.”
After a while, Houston spoke. “That’s good. I was feeling you were already going in that direction, but it is good to hear it.”
Alonso remained thoughtful. Sure, he wanted to feel that way, but… how? It wasn’t as if there was a switch he could flip to change his preconceptions from one moment to the next.
“It’s okay,” Houston said. “Change is always a slow, incredibly hard process, even if The Tower seems keen on speedrunning it. But now that you’ve decided… just go for it. Take your time, enjoy the feeling. Step by step, I’ll be with you along the way. You’ll never be alone.”
Alonso smiled, a heavy smile. “Thanks, Houston,” he said, gripping the sword in his hand. “I think I have an idea of what to do. But for now, I just want to—" he performed a quick slash with his sword, "—practice with my blade for a while. We can focus on the waves and everything else after my body gets tired.”
As he steadied the sword in his grip, a flash of Ayu’s tear-streaked face flickered in his mind. Then Chiara’s voice, calm but cutting, echoed: “Who will she believe, Alonso?”
His jaw tightened, his fingers gripping the hilt so hard his knuckles turned white.
“Don’t,” Houston said, his tone sharp, laced with irritation. “Forget about that bitch. Focus on what’s ahead and leave that shit behind.”
Alonso exhaled sharply, forcing the tension down his arms. The anger churned within him—at Chiara, at the Tower, at everything that had led to this moment.
“Fine,” he muttered after a long while, resetting his stance. “Let’s do this.”
Overdrive 25%
“Sounds good,” Houston replied, his voice lighter. “And seeing as we have plenty of food and water, well, enjoy yourself to your heart’s content.”
He began with a basic stance, feet shoulder-width apart, sword gripped firmly with both hands. His body was relaxed but ready to move as he shifted his weight slightly forward.
His first movement was a thrust, the blade driving straight ahead, controlled and deliberate. His feet slid across the floor with practiced ease, maintaining balance and stability.
He followed with a quick, upward slash from the lower right to the upper left, his legs bending to lower his center of gravity. Pivoting into a sideways stance, he swung for a horizontal cut, the blade slicing through the air in a smooth arc.
Without pausing, he moved into a downward vertical chop, stepping forward to close the distance. His footwork was solid, though not flawless, but the strike came down with enough force to make up for it.
Each step carried his momentum forward as his blade descended in a swift arc. His mind was empty—no thoughts of angles, probabilities or calculations—just the feel of the sword in his hands and the rhythm of his motions.
Alonso’s body twisted as he moved into a series of diagonal slashes, first left to right, then right to left, flowing with his sword. His pivots allowed for quick shifts in direction, though there was still a hint of heaviness in his movements. He wasn’t perfect, but his focus was on maintaining the flow, letting the sword become an extension of himself.
His breathing remained steady, syncing with his footwork as he continued through the motions.
Finally, he transitioned to a thrusting strike, his body coiling and pushing forward in a strong, focused motion. His foot drove into the ground, providing the stability needed for the thrust, the sword tip aimed at an imaginary target’s center.
As the minutes stretched into hours, sweat formed on his brow, his hair clinging to his forehead. Yet, with each motion—each precise swing and thrust—a smile grew on his face.
It was just him, alone in the empty white room.
No judgments, no outside opinions, no hate or anger. No roles to play, no expectations to meet. Just him, and the simple act of swinging his sword.
