The Blood of a Soldier

On the other side of the arena, Nico smirked faintly. "I think I've seen moves like that in a cop movie… you know, the kind where they storm a gang's hideout."

Arga kept up the pressure, each movement as unpredictable as the wind, impossible to anticipate and nearly unstoppable. His opponent tried to fight back, but every punch and kick missed, striking nothing but empty air. In a decisive moment, Arga leaped, spun mid-air, and landed a solid kick to his opponent's chest. The big man fell hard, and this time, he didn't get back up.

The crowd erupted into cheers. Some even clapped, while others remained silent, still processing what they had just witnessed. Arga stood at the center of the arena, his breath steady despite a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. He bowed slightly, offering respect to his opponent, who still lay on the ground.

"You're incredible. Turns out you've mastered a lot of martial arts," murmured the large man weakly before being helped to his feet by a few others.

Ayato stepped closer, his expression a mix of admiration and embarrassment. "Alright," he said quietly. "I admit it. You're much more than just a black belt."

Arga didn't reply, offering only a faint smile as he raised the ring on his hand. "I've proven myself. If anyone still doubts me," he said, his voice calm but firm, "speak now."

Then he pointed at a man sitting behind arpin. "I want to challenge him too. I have a feeling he doesn't like me."

The man froze as Arga's finger directed attention his way, his body trembling with unease. Arpin knew this wasn't going in a good direction. "Enough," he said, trying to diffuse the tension. "There's no need for more fighting."

Arga bowed to everyone in the hall. A heavy silence settled over the room, as if every sound had been swallowed by the suddenly dense atmosphere. No one spoke. Even arpin n, who had been the most skeptical from the start, only gave a small nod—a silent acknowledgment of Arga's victory. The man had shown he was more than just a military academy graduate; he was a true warrior who could turn his weaknesses into strengths.

Gradually, the mood in the hall shifted from skepticism to genuine respect. Eyes that once regarded Arga with doubt now shone with acceptance. They no longer saw him as an outsider but as someone worthy of standing among them—perhaps even leading them.

From a corner of the room, Nining offered a faint smile. Her face reflected satisfaction, like a teacher watching a student finally prove their worth. Her gaze was filled with an unshakable confidence. "I told you," she murmured to herself, almost as if speaking to her shadow. "He's more than meets the eye."

Yet not all hearts in the room had softened. On the other side of the hall, Arpin stood slowly but with determined movements. His sharp eyes betrayed a simmering dissatisfaction behind the silence. Raising his hand slightly, he commanded the room's attention. "Here's my final question," he said, his voice reverberating through the space, shaking every corner of the hall. "If you pass this, I will acknowledge your greatness, and District 3 Hindia will swear its allegiance."

Arga nodded, his face betraying no hesitation, only a resolute determination shining in his eyes. "Alright," he replied, his tone calm but filled with conviction.

Arpin exhaled deeply, as though steeling himself to reveal something heavy. His gaze scanned Arga's face, searching for cracks, any hidden weaknesses. "I always consider a person's background," he began at last. "I didn't choose Ayato because he's Japanese. The painful events of the past still linger in our hearts. I didn't choose Nining either because she's from mainland China. We Taiwanese carry historical wounds that haven't healed. We don't want those tragedies to repeat in this world. Therefore, I need to know your background, Arga."

The room grew even quieter, as if time itself had stopped to hear Arga's answer. The man took a deep breath, and his expression turned serious. Something about him shifted—an aura that suddenly felt weightier, as if he bore the unseen burden of history.

"Alright," he said slowly, his voice deeper than usual. "I will be honest."

He stood tall, his eyes sweeping across the room before finally landing on arpin n. "My father was born in a southern country, Indonesia. My grandfather was a war veteran there, and my father a soldier. We are a military family. But because of the conflicts at the time, my father couldn't return to Indonesia. He was deemed a rebel and forced to settle in Yugoslavia. When Yugoslavia fell apart years later, my father met my mother in Bosnia. They married amidst the chaos in 1995."

His words hung heavily in the air, laden with meaning. Everyone remained silent, captivated by the story slowly unfolding. Arga continued, his voice trembling slightly despite his effort to stay composed.

"My father died during the Srebrenica Genocide," he said, his eyes distant as if recalling memories he wished he could forget but couldn't escape. "After that tragedy, my mother fled to Asia while pregnant with me to seek asylum. Those were hard years for her, alone and without support. When she passed away a few years later, I grew up in an orphanage. When I came of age, I joined mandatory military service. It was my only way to survive and find my purpose in a country that wasn't my birthplace."

Arga paused, allowing his words to sink into the hearts of everyone listening. The weight of the room intensified, as if each person was trying to grasp the enormity of his loss.

"But fate gave me a path," he said finally, his voice steady once more. "I earned a scholarship to attend a military academy abroad. That's where my journey led me to this place."

Nining looked stunned. Sana and Nico exchanged glances, their expressions filled with surprise at this new side of Arga that had just been revealed before them.

"Is this the Arga we know?" Sana whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Or maybe this is the real Arga?" Nico replied, his voice also thick with disbelief.